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Saturday, May 14, 2011

Two and a Half Weeks ...

at my new home in Zombe village.

Received a huge welcome from my new family and friends!  About half way between Mbala and Zombe the children started calling my name and chasing after the cruiser (which was filled to the brim ... bed, mattress, and bookshelf balancing precariously on top, the inside busting with my food, buckets, clothes, and the multiple bags of books that I acquired during training).  When we arrived at the house, or hut, I took nothing inside as the entire village had come to help.  Then to get my bed frame into my bedroom.  It would not fit through the door, so the men tried to hoist it up over the walls and the wood frames holding the roof up.  The Headman (Fewdays Mutapa - wonderful, respectful man) balancing himself on the top of my walls as the older boys try to raise the bed frame up to him.  It was quite a sight and quite the introduction.

The second day was woken up at 6:00am as all the women had come to hoe, slash, and sweep my yard.  The third day, learned how to play Zambian dodgeball (played with a ball made of plastic bags and scraps of fabric) and I knew I was finally excepted into the village when the women began hurling the ball at me instead of simply tossing it nicely.  On 4 May a Russian tourist came to visit the chief and I was summoned to be part of the festivities (and will forever remain on the vacation footage of one pale, Russian man).  He remains the only other white person I have seen since leaving Kasama.  The children continue to talk about our difference of skin color and now refer to me as "brown" instead of "white".  The following Friday, I walked with some new friends to Tanzania (just about 6km) for the monthly market where everything from whole, live cattle to shoes to bicycles are sold for very little.  On Monday, school began and the students from the surrounding villages returned to school.  After school, I learned to play Zambian mancala (played in holes in the ground and a handful of small rocks) and attended a late night dance party, after trying to identify and explain constellations (which is hard to do, especially in Mambwe).  Yesterday, came into Mbala to meet a variety of government officials, see the hospital and the police station, and complete paperwork with immigration (Zambians love their paperwork).

I am quickly becoming adjusted to this new environment.  I have learned to carry water on my head (although I have yet to master balancing it without hands) and have mastered the art of lighting a brazier (small, round, and metal that you fill with charcoal, light, and then swing vigorously).  I have built up a brick platform in my shower area where I can place my bucket of water and have built a door for my toilet.  I have attended a Catholic and United Church of Zambia service and will be attending a Pentecostal service with the chief and his family tomorrow.  I have decorated my home with pictures, postcards, sunflowers, and a large world map, and often indulge the villagers in a game of "Where's Jessica".  I have met many people in the village and have taken the time to sit, talk, and overcome the painfully awkward moments.  I have answered many questions about life in America and increased my appreciation for our free education system.  I have read four books and am working on a fifth.  I am discovering the curriculum for the students here and hold afternoon math and English lessons (using the sand as my board and a stick as my chalk). 

And, most importantly, I am happy, safe, and thoroughly enjoying each day.  It's not easy, and the adjustments are larger than I had previously imagined, but each and every day something beautiful happens, whether I'm up early enough to see the beautiful sunrise over the mountains behind my home, my brother next door correctly answers a math problem we've been struggling with for a few days, a new field of sunflowers is discovered, a trip to the river with friends to swim and bathe, I am not the first person to school but am beaten by a student, an invitation to dinner of nshima and cabbage, and no matter what, each night the Southern Cross illuminates my path home.

All my love from the southern hemisphere. 

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