About 5 years ago we returned to the states from Africa and I experienced a huge culture shock.  I was so surprised and extremely unprepared for the emotional roller coaster and had very few tools to help me understand these conflicting views and philosophical musings I found myself engaging in about life. I wanted to be neutral, but knew that everything was skewed by my personal experiences. I had to be comfortable with that knowledge and accept the truth about myself and those around me.  And the truth is that I had come to realize that I understand people from a limited viewpoint, and I don't always agree with certain cultural norms. I saw a rugged, organic kind of care and compassion that comes in community that can't be purchased. 


Everything seemed to be shared corporately where we were living in Zambia.  If you had a well with running water, you shared it with all your friends. And you were happy to do it. Actually it was an honor because water was prized - especially clean water. Your neighbors came to wash their clothes and you helped them. Their children brought plastic gas containers recycled into water carriers and filled them at your spigot or hose.  Or you gave a friend a piece of soap and they had a jolly time bathing in your water supply. Plates and dishes, pots for boiling water over the fire were all washed at your well. This went on all day long, into the dark night and they never ran out of conversation or smiles. Their need became a social event filled with laughter, sharing, caring and honoring the needs of others.

Sweat, Dust and African Pop Music

     Lily and I were jogging late in the morning and I spotted my neighbor standing on the side of the road, at what I assumed was a bus stop.  And sure enough as I peered up ahead there was a white mid-sized bus with big black letters that said something about transit. Within a few seconds I was back on a road trip from Ndola. We had just finished haggling over how much money we were going to hand over for ten stuffed dolls and animals at the postal service.

     "500,000 Kwacha!  That's obscene for a few puppets," I moaned under my breath!  It's for the children!" I pleaded with the postal worker.

     That didn't seem to dent the look of disdain on her face.  I'm not sure at what price we ended our negotiations, but after a long, arduous and hot wait in line and another long and heated debate over a few stuffed toys, we made our way to the bus terminal. She didn't know it, but these toys were puppets, a precious gift from the states - the efforts of a fund-raiser initiated by a handful of teens who wanted to make a difference. They wanted to help us. We trained the Zambian and Congolese teachers how to tell bible stories to the children using these puppets.  Most of them had never seen a puppet.

     I couldn't make sense of the tangled mass of buses, and so we began rapping on the doors of a few buses with drivers, seeking the nearest transport to Luanshya.  After several inquiries - most understood English, we were directed to a bus toward the back of the lot.

     "When do you leave for Luanshya?" Dan (my husband) asked the driver.

     "It is full, we go," said the driver.

     "Well, that narrows it down," I thought, but we climbed into the empty bus anyway and made our way to a metal seat near a window.  A few minutes later an older black man stepped onto the bus rattling off a message of sorts in what sounded like Lunda, and we were promptly ushered off, following him to another bus that looked so full it was about to explode!  Dan squeezed into a seat with 3 large, sweaty black men, while I opted to use my precious cargo as a seat in the aisle, facing the back of the bus.  Baskets full of fish, greens and plantain were stuffed under seats and in between riders.  A chicken was squawking somewhere in the back and a crying baby was loosened from it's mother's back, swaddled in a colorful chitenge, to rest comfortably on mama's lap.

     We roared off onto the city streets making our way to the only highway in Zambia, careening at about 120 kilometers.  Jarring bounces, the loud motor sounds, Swahili banter and laughter were all part of the ride and I rather enjoyed the adventure, except for the temperature.  Even with the windows open and the dust breezing in, the heat was unbearable. Perspiration ran down my face and body.  Relief did come when a dusty whoosh of air blew through my window and cooled me off as the breeze touched streams of sweat against my flesh.

     Vendors poked trinkets, roasted corn and fruit through open windows at bus stops.  African pop music blared on radios, the rhythms were beginning to sound and feel familiar to me.  Inexpensive wood furniture lay sprawled against the dusty terrain along the road.  I never saw trash or litter, even on the busy streets in the center of town.  Nothing lay unused.

     Two hours later, we stopped at our destination. We stepped off the bus and my body was still vibrating from the bumps and loud vibrations, making a lasting impression in my African memories.  Clutching my valuable box, I imagined the looks on small black faces, the children excited to see the surprise that awaited them behind the curtain.  

Mosi - oa - Tunya

             "The Smoke That Thunders"
     A wall of foam behind us, plunging 300 feet into the Zambezi River.  Moso-oa-Tunya or "the smoke that thunders" takes your breath away.  When I encountered this 'wonder of the world' it captured my attention and inspired me.  I knew then, that my destiny was something bigger than I could have imagined, forming on the horizon of my mind.  I really didn't have to travel half-way around the world to find it, but my journey has become part of my destiny.

Defer and Prefer

When I prefer the inklings of someone else, especially when they are in disagreement with my own preferences, the delicious outcome is the appreciation that flows out of your friend, spouse, significant other or even a stranger, when they realize what you have done on their behalf.  Often times they may not have a clue about your 'sacrifice', however, preferring and deferring has it's own reward.

Five years ago when my husband sent me an e-mail from Zambia, I read between the lines and replied,"when are we all going back to Zambia?!" If I didn't go back with him, I would have missed all those struggles, challenges and life-changing experiences that have helped to shape our lives, especially our son.  We can look back and review the outrageous moments and laugh, and share in the pride of making it through incredible hardships. 

Here's my girl Lily! She had some fun in the water when we took her down to the river!

The Day We Found Lily

I felt nervous, excited and a touch anxious all at the same time. We were kind of quiet in the car, on our way.

     “We should call her and let her know we’re driving out to her house and we’re just about there. Here, use my phone, she’s in my contacts,” I said to my son.
     “1100 that’s the street number mom, turn here!”
     “Oh, I love this house. It’s beautiful out here. What a place – lots of wide open space for them to run,” I said as we pulled into the drive, parked up closer to the barn and walked up to where a young woman was standing.
     “Hi, I’m Jennifer, nice to meet you. They’re all in the barn.”
     “So nice to meet you too Jennifer!” Big day for us – we had a dog in Africa, but we left Simba with the rest of his family. It wasn’t right to take him from his home. He’s an African dog and it’s nothing like Africa here. He may not have survived the culture shock!
Before the door swung all the way open, we could see 2 or 3 snouts pushed through the crack.
     “They’re so cute – beautiful! How old are they?”
     “3 -4 months. Do you want to see the father? He’s the lab.”

     So that’s how it all began last week– the day we met Lily, part German Sheppard, part Lab. When Chad woke up that morning he stepped on the case for Lily Allen’s CD, and so it was how Lily got her name. She was a very shy and bashful puppy….at first. The owners named her The Shy One. Docile didn’t even begin to describe her. At first we had to literally carry her everywhere because she was too timid to even move. But not anymore! The parsonage is in the city, so she began to have a little whine when she was missing us that grew into kind of a louder whine/grunt and last night she found her voice when a moped turned down the alley and sped by her domain!


I’m on the same page with Lily. Like her, I am finding my voice. I hope it’s strong and beautiful but not too loud to scare you off!

August 12, 2010

While in Africa, my supervisor spoke to me about his work as both a missionary and businessman which spanned most of his adult life. He struggled to get projects up and running, perfected in all of the details of operation before launching into another much needed enterprise. So much was needed among the people he was co-laboring with in this corner of the world. There was farming, planting, building and producing hand-made pieces to be sold in the free market - just to name a few. He was also involved with various ministry activities in several neighboring countries. He came to the conclusion that they would work simultaneously on all the projects - each in different stages of development, and not require that any of it had to be at a certain level of completion before they gave themselves permission to begin work on something else. He said it was very messy and chaotic most of the time. He learned to thrive in the chaos and not lose his momentum to dream, do, believe and conquor. So I will do the same. While my blog is under construction, I will continue writing as my design ideas bubble up to the surface of my thoughts.