Preparing to Say Goodbye

I think most Princeton in Africa Fellows have run into this problem...you become to embedded in your life in your respective country and city that blogging becomes a distraction from simply living it. I meant to complete the Zanzibar version for my little three-part epic post, but to be honest, it would take me hours and hours. And that means hours away from Lusaka, from the city that has become my home. Is it possible to actively transition out of a life you've grown accustomed to? Can you prepare yourself for an inevitable departure when all you want to do is hang on to every last moment? My life has become complicated..finishing up last work (including closing down my long-term impact assessment that has eaten up 50% of my time and effort here), celebrating some important accomplishments (one of our students was accepted into African Leadership Academy, two waitlisted , probably the most important moment in KF's short history), preparing to leave, getting ready for my replacement Mark's arrival (today, actually).

It is fundamentally impossible to convey how much this experience has changed my life. When I look back at myself a year ago, I remember a different person: uncertain, naive, and in many ways lost. Yet, somehow, over several months, I fell in love with this beautiful country, the friends that became my family that grew alongside me, the frustrating yet invigorating flexibility and independence awarded to me in my position, the students who have left a permanent mark on my heart. And throughout it all, I found myself solidifying the things that I knew I had always cared about but was afraid to admit to. I found a strange, unshakable confidence--in my ability to adapt, to connect to people, to make things happen when they once seemed impossible.

A week ago I was sitting with my boys, Iwell, Dennis, and Penius outside of Ibex Hill School around a cement round table, talking about the future, about how quickly time can pass, about moving on and moving forward. It was my favorite time of day in Lusaka...chilly, like a New England fall, everything painted in a soft, dull orange glow as the blood red sun began to set over the yellowing savannah that covers the outskirts of the city. I knew at that moment that leaving Zambia, and these students who let me into their lives, would be one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Not that they aren't used to it...KF students have been forced to become accustomed to people coming in and out of their lives. I think what I realized at that moment was that I had gained more from them than they ever could from me, and also that that was not a bad thing. My faith in these students, my confidence in their maturity and leadership, the discoveries that they, perhaps unknowingly, helped me to make, have dramatically altered the course of my life.

Next year I will be working in New York for the Opportunity Network, an organization that connects promising high school students with career exploration, networking, internship placement, and college access. Right now, that makes all the sense in the world to me, but a year ago I would have never guess what my next step would be. Although part of me always felt comfortable in the role of mentor (at Bowdoin, in Admissions, the McKeen Center, on Residential Life), nowhere have I felt most alive in this role than in Lusaka. I think that in many ways I needed this year...this opportunity for personal growth and reflection, this chance to have an impact on the lives of young people, to fully understand that working to provide educational opportunities to deserving students (or young people, generally)is what I am happiest doing.

I am so grateful for this, for everything, for the ups and downs, the contradictions and discoveries, the frustrations and accomplishments, the families, the students, the KF staff members, the trips and the friends and the many moments where I felt that I was exactly where I should be at exactly the right time. I will hang on to my piece of Zambia for the remainder of my life, not only because of the memories that I will continue to cherish, but because this country and this experience have permanently transformed what I believe I am capable of.

Coming here was a risk, perhaps the biggest one I have ever taken. For those of you who have been following, thank you, for sharing this experience with me, and for supporting me in my decision to make this leap. It means more to me than I can possibly convey.

This will likely be my last post before I get back to the States. I'm so excited to share stories with everyone in person in a couple weeks.

Best,

Jamie

Worlds Collide, Part Two (Squeeze)

We (Me, Zack, Jess, Maxime, and Mike) left for Livingstone the next day, and aside from some minor incidents (as often happens on Zambian roads) we made it there in good time. I was very excited for Zack and Jess to see a bit more of the country, considering that Lusaka isn’t exactly a fully accurate representation of Zambia as a whole. After arriving at the backpacker, we met my fellow Princeton in Africa friend Hannah (Midd grad, working for Mothers2Mothers in Cape Town) and some other people. It was amazing to see Hannah again…the last time I had seen her was at orientation at Princeton about 10 months previously, and it was refreshing and reassuring to share experiences, successes and disappointments with her. The PiAf network is absolutely wonderful…everyone has had a shared (and typically similarly life-changing experience), and I feel lucky to know that I will be part of this network for the rest of my life. We almost immediately drove out to see the falls; and since it was April (when the waters of the Falls are at their highest volume), we could already see the streams of mist spraying up over the river’s end from a distance. This was my third time seeing the falls, but sharing them with my friends was a special experience. This is Zambia’s natural wonder, it’s source of pride and admiration, and it always lives up to its reputation. The Falls numbed the senses with their thunderous roar and ceaseless and often violent mist. As we walked throughout the park we were soaked within minutes. I remember standing on the famously narrow bridge over the canyon, which during April is pounded 24 hours a day by the spray, and taking in, once again, the incomprehensible and sublime power of Victoria Falls. Nothing I will ever see will compete with this sight. And this time I was fortunate enough to share it with two of my best friends.

The next day Zack, Jess, and I got up early for a small safari at Mosi-au-Tunya national park, a small reserve that happens to boast Zambia’s entire population of (7) white rhinos. We got up early in the morning, hopped on the open-safari truck, and headed out into the bush. We saw some of the usual sights…hippos, zebras, monkeys, warthogs wildebeest, and more, and were thoroughly entertained by our guide, Crispin, whose favorite animal was the “gilaffee” simply because “it’s just so funny.” We had heard that it’s possible to track down the rhinos if you push the guides a bit, so we asked Crispin, who promptly called the rhino trackers on his cell phone. From there, we sped off into the bush in search of them, finally pulling up next to a group of 4-5 Zambian park rangers armed with enormous shotguns. We hopped off the truck and followed them into the tall grass, and after five minutes stumbled upon the most massive bull rhinoceros (the only dominant male in the entire country) I had ever seen. Somehow Jess got coaxed into taking a picture in front of it (dangerously close to it, I might add). After 10 minutes of rhino viewing we stumbled back onto the truck and headed back to the park entrance. We didn’t get to see elephants or “gilaffees,” but hiking into the bush with a group of Zambian park rangers to track down a rare rhinoceros was absolutely worth it.

Back at the lodge Alice joined us, and we spend the day relaxing by the pool. That night we went for sun-downer drinks at the Royal Livingstone, a classic, and watched another spectacular sunset over the river. After a delicious Italian meal at Olgas and a night full of mirror dancing at a local club (Zambian’s LOVE dancing in front of mirrors) we packed up our stuff to continue on the next leg of our journey.
This part of the trip was fairly uncertain…I had got some advice from a friend to check out a small town called Sinazongwe, which is a peaceful way to check out Lake Kariba, the huge manmade lack in southern Zambia. After we pulled off the main road from Livingstone we sank down into the Zambezi Valley, enjoying one of the most spectacular views of the Zambian countryside I had ever seen—rolling hills, clay huts dotting the landscape, fields of sunflowers, and everything painted in the dull orange-yellow glow of the afternoon African sun. And we also took turns playing dj, rocking five ipods at once. After stopping on the side of the road to buy charcoal from a group of Tonga children (it took us about 20 minutes to get what we wanted across to them…), we turned onto a typically atrocious Zambian side road and continued for another hour or so until we finally saw glimpses of the lake through the trees. SInzaongwe barely merits the term “town.” The downtown consisted of a few tiny shops, a deserted clinic, and a local men herding along cows and goats. Jess and I had somehow managed to find us a campsite right on the lake (the lodge owners, one of two in the entire town) offered to let us stay there for free. So they led us down to the campsite, which was a beautiful deserted stretch of grass right on the lakeside. There were bathrooms (no water though, and we were advised to be on the lookout for crocs when we filled the bucket from the lake), a bouldered-in area for a fire pit, and a braii. Pretty much everything we needed. We spent the afternoon setting up tends, relaxing on the water, and preparing dinner. The quiet and solitude of the place was addicting. It was our own little spot. Nobody disturbed us the entire night. Alice made a fire as some of us attempted to light the braii, and we enjoyed a delicious dinner of sausages and fresh grilled vegetables. We spent the rest of the night sitting by the fire, playing music softly from my car, and gazing at the stunningly clear night sky, the stars putting on a show for us.

Although I could have left the next morning and been happy with the trip, we had biggr plans for the next day. I had been communicating with a man named Squeeze (yes, Squeeze), a local B’hai man who had promised to show us around the local village. We met Squeeze, a calm, soft-spoken but warm man dressed in a vibrant yellow shirt, in “town”, then headed down another dirt road which snaked through a small river bed and into Sinzaongwe Village. The ultimate goal of the day was to have lunch at the “chief’s palace” with the chief himself, but until then we were unsure whether or not he would be in town. We arrived at the palace (which turned out to be a simple, green house) and sat outside on rundown wooden benches, chatting with Squeeze about the village and waiting for the chief to appear. When it became clear that he wasn’t home, we decided to stroll around the village. Sinzaongwe village is a fisherman’s town, and gets most of its stock from the lake. The village was moved from its original location when the government decided to construct a manmade lake; although a hassle, the village actually ended up getting running water and electricity as part of the deal. Squeeze told us about the culture of the village, the power structures, his family, the role of the chief. We met a local headman; headmen are the chief’s second hand men, and they are responsible for taking complaints and advice from members of the chiefdom (and eventually reporting to the chief if necessary). We met Squeeze’s family (his daughter, at 14, was pregnant…a common occurrence in Zambian villages), visited the primary school (and met Sinazongwe’s local DJ), and then headed back to the palace. It turned out the chief was in town, and he wanted to have lunch for us. When we arrived back at the palace, we sat outside waiting to be welcomed in. Even having lived in Africa for almost a year, I’ll admit that I was expecting the chief to fit more squarely into my perception of African chiefs. Yet, out walked a perfectly normal looking man dressed in khaki, sporting a cellphone on his belt. He offered us sodas to drink. In Zambia, traditional structures still exist, but it’s also true that things change and adapt to modern times. Nowhere was this more on display for me than on that porch.

We sat on the chief’s porch for about an hour, listening to stories about his family (he had several wives, many children, and dozens of grandchildren), about how he was unexpectedly, due to family linage, selected to be chief, about his chiefdom of 54,000 people, about the relationship between the chiefs and the government. The chief told us all about the culture of the Zambezi Valley, which comes on display every July at an annual festival (the entire village was in the process of preparing for the arrival of thousands of guests). The Valley boasts a special traditional dance that includes dancing, singing, drumming, and a unique form of horn playing that is incorporated into the rituals. The chief and Squeeze showed us how to blow into the horns, which are taken from impala, kudu, cows, and other animals. After a while we were told that lunch was ready, and were led past goats (there were a couple goats that thought they lived in the house) into the living room, where out meal was already waiting for us…nshima (of course), vegetables, village chicken in gravy, rice, and fresh bream from the lake. We sat down and dug in, listening to the chief tell us more about the village, and about B’hai (the chief and his entire family were also of the b’hai faith). Before we set off we were led out back to meet the chief’s wives and check out his collection of elephant skin drums. After a couple pictures, we said our goodbyes and thank yous and were on our way. An absolutely random and incredible experience. And I still have the chief’s number in my phone.

Although we were absolutely exhausted the next day, Jess, Zack, and I still had work to do. Applications to edit, an interview prep to prepare for. We spent most of Tuesday preparing for the meeting, and after a quick trip to the vegetable market, we headed out to pick up our students. It was amazing to see my friends spring into action….Jess handled the case study review, Zack and my friend and mentor Patti handled interview prep (Zack had just completed medical school interviews, so these things were fresh on his mind). And I sat back and watched my friends fall so comfortably into my life and my work. It all seemed so natural. Again, I was reminded that this disconnect that I had previously viewed as permanent was nothing more than an illusion. It was broken the minute my best friends stepped off the plane. The meeting was exhausting and finished at 8:00 (my poor friends…). But on the whole, it was incredibly successful, and it would have been impossible without the help I received. That night, to add to the already exhausting day, I locked my keys in my car (while running) at the Grassroot house, and we worked for two hours trying to pry the door open. Eventually we were saved by my mechanic Bestus , a mechanic-superhero.

The next day I dropped Jess of at FINCA, a local microfinance organization, where she spent the day riding around on minibuses through compounds with Zambian loan officers (and apparently not stopping once for lunch). Zack and I went around to my schools, and then played Frisbee. He was getting to see all aspects of my life in Lusaka, and Frisbee certainly has been an important and possibly vital release for me.

Jess and I spent Thursday together (she was leaving two days later), stopping by the tailor to pick up our items and taking a trip to Mundawanga, a local animal sanctuary. We spent most of the day sitting on the grass under a tree, talking about how ridiculously far both of us had come in such a short amount of time. It was an incredible day, and it was capped an awesome birthday dinner for my friend Chileshe at a Korean restaurant. On Friday, as I had expected, KF hit a snag in its ALA applications. I left Jess and Zack with Maxime, and went to ensure that we had all the require forms for our students. Somehow, we had overlooked collecting grade reports from the schools. After a momentary panic, I sped to our two represented schools, and after some very frustrating conversations with school administrators (the schools don’t keep up-to-date transcripts, so we worked out an unnecessarily complicated system to ensure that the completed reports would be emailed to ALA while I was in Zanzibar. Sometimes things work that way here…you think you cover all of your bases, but at the last minute unexpected circumstances threaten all of your hard work.

On Saturday we went with friends to the monthly Dutch Reformed Church Market for
some last minute shopping and some food. Two weeks had sped by, and I couldn’t believe t hat Jess was leaving already. Zack and I drove her to the airport. It was really difficult…Jess works in Guatemala and I had no idea when I was going to see her again. Yet, somehow I felt like this experience, being able to share my life with her even for a short two weeks, had connected us in a truly unbreakable way. It had been a whirlwind of a trip for her. But it had, in many ways, been an accurate representation of the incredible randomness and unpredictability of my life here. I can’t possible express how much it meant to have her there, to have the opportunity to let her into my little slice of Zambia, to show her how and why Africa had subtly yet permanently found its way into my blood. In the airport I said a teary goodbye to my friend. Again, I was struck with a new sense of appreciation for the perplexing yet strangely rational way my life had somehow taken its course. Thank you, Jess. It meant more to me than you can possibly know.

Worlds Collide, Part 1

The thought of having friends visit has never felt real, even though I’ve known for months that Jess and Zack were coming across the world to see me. In many ways my life in Zambia has been a separate reality from everything I knew back home, something that disoriented me when visited the States for Christmas. Communicating with family and friends is helpful and necessary, but in the end there is only a certain point of understanding that can be reached…not because of lack of effort, but simply due to the fact that you can’t really understand Zambia unless you’ve seen it, experienced its bizarre yet strangely addicting contradictions.

The week before Jess and Zack arrived, KF received news that out of 20 Zambian finalists for African Leadership in Academy, 9 were from our program. This meant that, for the first time, Zambia would host a finalist weekend. ALA would be coming to Lusaka to evaluate all 20 students based on a number of team activities, group discussions, personal interviews, and examinations. The fact that ALA had never conducted a weekend here left them in a difficult place, and I and KF offered to assist in the planning process. This meant recruiting interview observers from the community, finding a school to host (which ended up being Leopards Hill, one of our partner schools, which boasted 6 of the 9 finalists), and, perhaps most importantly, assisting our students in the application process and preparing them for the difficult yet sure to be moving experience of an ALA finalist weekend. Prior to my friends’ visit I had worked hard to finish a good amount of work so that I could spend a substantial amount of time with them. But this is Zambia, and this is the reality of work with a small but ambitious organization. Work comes in waves, and sometimes, as with ALA, in tidal waves. ALA gave our students 2 weeks to prepare applications, which included longer essays, teacher and community recommendations, extensive financial and visa forms, and examination results. Having visited ALA in December, I understood the uniqueness of this opportunity, and the life-altering experience that an acceptance would be for any of our students. Furthermore, it would almost certainly be a triumph for KF, which has yet to graduate a grade 12 student and is in the process of navigating through the infuriatingly mess process of college and scholarship applications for disadvantaged Zambian students.
My boss was away in Europe, and I jumped at the opportunity to spearhead this process. KF sprang into action, and it was amazing to see how the essential gears that fuel this organization set into place. Our accountant volunteered to collect the financial and visa information from all 9 families, while our programs officer embarked on the surprisingly difficult task of acquiring effective recommendations from teachers, mentors, and other community members. I chose to help our students with the applications, as well as prepare them for the interview weekend.

Then Jess arrived. Jess is one of my best friends from Bowdoin, and is working in Guatemala City for Safe Passage—the organization that introduced me to international service and educational access while at Bowdoin. She had never been to Africa, but I was confident that she would embrace this experience in every way possible. Seeing a familiar face from my other life walk out of the terminal was more shocking than I had imagined; at that moment, I felt my two worlds colliding and meshing together in a way that I had never experienced. I felt exhilarated, and then, suddenly, eternally grateful. That I would be able to share my world with somebody very close to me, but more importantly, that I was fortunate enough to have best friends who would fly across the world to see me. After a long hug we walked out to my car, and I was already feeling giddy at the thought of driving her back to the city, about letting her into this life that has for whatever reason always felt so separate. We went to the Sunday Market at Arcades, met my roommate Oliver, and then headed back to my flat on the other side of town. Maxime (another Bowdoin grad) came over, and we sat on my porch sharing experiences, reminiscing about Bowdoin, and enjoying the cool April air as the sun sank lazily over the palm trees in my yard. Catching up with Jess was so important to me…we are both having very similar experiences, working for similar organizations, and have the benefit of sharing similar career goals, and it was fascinating to compare and contrast the social realities in our respective countries, to admit to mistakes and disappointments, and to share our successes and achievements.

I didn’t really give Jess much time to adjust (or to sleep…). She was in Zambia for the first time, and there was so much I wanted to show her. The next day we drove out to Chibelo Basic School, the small, underfunded, yet progressive school met where KF began. While waiting for our host, I took Jess to visit the Mwenes, a KF family that lives on the Chibelo campus (our student’s father is a teacher at the school). The Mwenes are a n unbelievably warm and generous family, and we sat with Mrs. Mwene and her two daughters for a while, Jess telling them about her life in the States and in Guatemela, and them teaching her bits and pieces of Nyanja and Tonga (Jess is a language guru, so she learned rather quickly.) After an hour or so Constance, a special education teacher at the Chibelo who worked with Oliver to lay the groundwork for KF, arrived. She took us around the school and told us the story of KF’s inception when our president was here as a Princeton in Africa Fellow, and then we headed to Kalikiliki, the compound in which most of Chibelo’s students live. Constance is an amazingly bright and powerful woman, and she spoke passionately about the struggling children and families that live in Kalikliki (meaning busy, in Nyanja), the many social problems that afflict Lusaka’s poorest communities, and the fundamental flaws in Zambia’s educational system. After that we took Constance to lunch, where she told us about her life, her husband who went to America and left her to fend for herself and her daughter alone, her goal to return to university and complete a degree, and her faith in the resiliency of her family and of her fellow community members.

After that I put Jess to work…we went to the office, printed out materials for the essential meeting I had planned with our ALA finalists, and headed out to pick some of them up. The point of the meeting was on the applications and on the Interview preparation process. Jess was incredibly helpful, and it was so nice to see her automatically being welcomed into the KF family. Our students absolutely loved her, and felt comfortable around her right away. These students have defined my experience here. They have impacted my life in a profound and permanent way, and seeing the ease with which my friend connected with them meant more to me than I can express. After the meeting, Jess and I drove some of our students back home, taking an eerie shortcut through the Lusaka night over dusty, pot-hole laden dirt roads that wind through the compounds. One would think that would be enough for someone’s first day in Africa, but to top it all off, we went to a Passover Seder at the Grassroot Soccer House (which was a great way for her to meet many of my closest friends).

The next day we went to the Tuesday vegetable market, bartered like crazy, and acquired all manner of fruits and vegetables for dinner. After stopping by Kamwala (a busier market near town) for some chitenge (Jess wanted to make a dress, I wanted to make a bag for my bongo). We grabbed lunch with some friends at my favorite local nshima restaurant (which serves all sorts of local vegetables, game meats, and more). Then we headed back home and prepared for dinner with Steve and Alla (fried pumpkin with brown sugar, fresh salad with tomatoes and avocados, mango chutney pork). There’s something inherently refreshing about shopping and making dinner with fresh ingredients from the market, something I will greatly when I leave Africa.
Wednesday was full of errands…dropping off chitenge at the tailor (a toothless man with an ancient sewing machine and an umbrella parked outside a shopping complex near my house), getting a goodbye present for my roommate who was leaving, and packing my things so I could move out the next day (they really did come at the busiest possible time!). I also brought Jess to two of our schools, introduced her to some of the teachers and staff. Everyone took to her right away, and Mrs. Lungu, who was about to embark on a trip to Spain, was eager to get Jess’s advice (she had spent a full year there studying abroad). Again, I remember feeling so relieved at how easy all of this was…somehow, it was beginning to feel completely and totally natural, as if Jess had been living in Zambia for months.

That night we went to a goodbye dinner for Oliver at Mahak (our favorite rundown Indian restaurant with famous for its all you can eat, who was leaving Zambia the next day. It was unfortunate that he was leaving in the middle of all this craziness…Oliver had been such an important part of my life here; we came in at the same time and went through much the adjustment process together. I was fortunate to have him here. I know he will be a close friend for the rest of my life, but it was still strange and difficult to accept that the first of my core sources of support here was leaving. I had to leave soon after we arrived to pick up Zack, who was getting in that night. I have known Zack since the third grade, and he has been my best friend ever since. For me Zack is one of the people who, no matter how long we go without speaking, somehow things never change. And the randomness with which he decided to come was strangely fitting…one day I got a message saying…”when would be the best time to come see you?” A week later he forwarded me his flight itinerary. That simple. Zack is currently on an epic trip across the world before he starts medical school at Cincinnati, and a first trip to Africa (and any developing region) was first on his list. On the way there I got a call from him saying that he had cleared customs and was all set (which was weirder than I had expected…to hear Zack’s voice on a phone in Zambia). I rushed to the airport and picked up my best friend. Again, I felt this wave of gratitude and disbelief. I felt like things were coming together, that pieces of my very disconnected life were being fused together in an unexpectedly intentional way.

We launched into conversation, driving down the pitch black road toward town. Again, I didn’t give my friend much (or any time) to adjust, driving straight back to dinner, where Zack met all of my friends and listened, exhausted, to silly yet heartfelt goodbye speeches.

The next morning I woke up early to bring Oliver to the airport. The sun was rising, and we had one last epic car ride to Springsteen’s live version of Atlantic City in New York. It was hard to say goodbye, but I was lucky enough to have my best friends there waiting for me at home.

Zack was jetlagged, and unsurprisingly, awake at 7 am, so we went for a run down my favorite tree-lined path down Independence Avenue past the State House. I told him everything, about my life, about Zambia, about my kids, about the frustrations and joys I had experienced over the past 10 months. When we got back to the house Jess was awake, so we took a walk to the only café in Zambia that sells bagels, enjoying the bright sunlight easy lull of the late Lusaka morning. I still had work to do, so I enlisted Zack to help. We met Edna, Bwalya, and Gaella in Garden Compound to collect applicants and visit some of my students families at their homes. Zack and Jess got along with my students so easily, and it was wonderful introducing them to the families and communities that had come to define my life here. There was a moment I remember when Zack and Jess were crammed into the back of my SUV with two of my students as we navigated the bumpy and treacherous dirt road (perhaps moving a little too quickly, considering we were bobbing up and down uncomfortably). Everyone was laughing and joking (mostly at my expense), and I suddenly couldn’t help but feel like this unpredictable yet steady logic that had come to define my post-college life was somehow there, in that car, with two of my best friends in the entire world, and three of KF’s most unique students. Somehow it all made sense, my life and all of its contradictions, its bumps and unexpected turns.

We spent the rest of the night moving out of my house into my new place, making copies of the students’ applications to hand out to a Zambian volunteer for review, and packing for Livingstone and Kariba. The week had been absolutely packed, and it would only get busier.

More to come…

Three Months Left...Time to Reflect

If the first nine months of my fellowship were centered on getting to know Kucetekela as an organization, the last two have focused on examining the implications of the foundation within the Zambian educational system. One of my primary responsibilities in Lusaka has been to conduct a long-term impact analysis that seeks to assess the actual effect our sponsorship has had on the financially disadvantaged students and families that we support. After meeting with 31 families at their homes, I began to notice some interesting trends—parents were somehow able to put food on the table, siblings were back in school and working extra hard to emulate their older brother or sister, students from these communities were being inspired to believe that they too could someday earn a sponsorship. My student survey showed me that our students at our three partner private boarding schools were improving their IT, public speaking, and leadership skills, getting actively engaged in their studies and in student life at their schools, and growing more and more confident about their futures. After dozens of visits to ministries and government basic and secondary schools and interviews with previous unsuccessful applicants, I began to observe some different, more disheartening trends. Students at these schools were struggling—lack of text books and often desks to study from, classrooms packed full with 60+ students, teachers that were underpaid and overworked and uninspired. And at the end of the day, if one was lucky enough to pass their grade 12 exams with the marks needed for college, they were faced with the pressing reality that tertiary scholarship opportunities for low-income students, due to a monumental failure on the part of the government to invest in the future higher education, were exceedingly difficult to acquire. It was at this point that I believe I fully understood the implications of KF and the opportunity it offers to its students. We are investing in a small group of potential leaders, providing them with the support and guidance that they need to flourish, and supplying them with the tools needed to perform well enough to earn those elusive scholarships that many Zambian students struggle to attain. And it is our hope that these students, having worked their way through countless obstacles, will remember that there are thousands of students like them that need their leadership in paving the way forward.

Among many, many things, my fellowship with Kucetekela Foundation has reaffirmed my belief that education is the foundation, the lifeblood of a healthy society, and if it is not effectively distributed to all members of society than it can’t perform its most vital functions. And the essential power of education does not stop at basic or secondary level. Access to quality higher education is just as important in developing the sorts of leaders who can instigate the changes that countries like Zambia so desperately need. My work in Zambia has put a personal face to this incredible power—the amazing students, their tenacious, resilient families, the mentors who care so deeply about their students and their successes, and the hope that scholarship aid can bring—and a policy face—that developing countries must invest in access to education in order to foster successful development. It may be truly impossible to accurately portray the level of influence this year has had upon my life—the relationships which I will always treasure, the friends I have met, the challenges I have struggled through, the discoveries, both discouraging and enlightening, that I have made. My fellowship has carved for me a new, exciting, and fundamentally real path, one that has been molded by my unique experiences in this tragic yet beautiful country. It has proven to me that changing lives and changing policy can actually be intimately connected and has inspired me to continuing learning about and advocating on behalf of equal access to education, both across Africa and at home, into the future.

Zambia can do this to you. Lift you up and slam you down within the period of a day and a half. It’s an exhausting yet inevitable reality of working in one of the poorest countries in the world, one that is plagued by dilapidated educational and desperate health care systems. And it’s bound to hit you harder when you work with the people who are impacted most by these failures.

This weekend we received the news that the father of one of our grade 8 students, a fiery, resilient girl who we just selected in December, passed away. He was in his low 40s. The cause of death, as usual, seems to be shrouded in mystery. I understand that death, even at young ages, is not a novel concept in the West. But there is just something inherently wrong about the way death seems to creep into people’s lives here. It moves slowly, stealthily, so much so that you might have no idea it’s coming before it’s too late. Or, it strikes randomly, unforgiving, on a Sunday when your family is at church. Either way, it’s rarely expected, and there is often no way to counteract it. Nobody ever seems to see it coming. And yet, there is this general acceptance, a resigning to it. People work so hard. They struggle for everything they have…the Zambians I have met here, particularly in the compounds, are some of the most tenacious people I have ever encountered. Yet, death in many ways is let in and it invades their personal lives and the many things they have worked so hard to build. Death, for many Zambians, is as much part of everyday life as eating breakfast, or going to work from nine to six.

This of course if not to say that people don’t mourn. That is not the case at all. I spent an entire morning and afternoon with my coworker Mwila as part of the funeral procession, and it was clear to me that this man would be greatly missed by his entire community. Funerals usually begin at the house of the deceased, or a close relative’s house. The men usually sit outside while the women are let into the house to be with the widow. From there, cars and trucks process from the house to the burial site (much like what we do in the States). As part of many Zambian processions, friends and relatives will sit or stand in the back up a large pickup truck (sometimes 50-60 people will fit onto one truck) and sing traditional songs as the row of cars makes its way through the city. I see these processions every single day as I drive throughout Lusaka, but being part of it, knowing the person whom these people were mourning, gave me a deeper appreciation for the tradition. It made something that is often commonplace, part of the sights and sounds of the city, inherently unique. Personal. We arrived at the cemetery—a massive, sprawling field of, muddy, puddle-dotted roads, overgrown grass, and occasional graves (some expensive-looking, others makeshift signs with personal notes scrawled across them). We parked, and I suddenly realized how many people were actually present. There must have been four or five hundred people there, men, children, and women whose vibrant chitenge dresses formed a sharp contrast with the bleak scene. We streamed to the grave site, and women broke into song as the coffin was carried to the ground. Men gave speeches in Nyanja, women wailed, and my heart broke for our student, so young and bright, now a single orphan at thirteen years old. I tried to think back to our interview, when I met her parents, her father so calm and proud and humble, a rare university graduate, her mother excited and hopeful, their daughter so confident and eloquent. I remembered their faces when we delivered the good news, that she had been picked for a scholarship—the disbelief, then the glowing smiles and tears of joy. And suddenly everything had changed. In the period of two days. Death poisoned the momentary optimism the family had enjoyed.

I felt deflated for the rest of the day. I gave our student a hug, told her to hang in there and take her time, knew that whatever I said would not do a thing to ease this pain or solve the pressing reality of the situation—that the family’s sole breadwinner was now gone. It’s foolish and arrogant to assume that what is the same for many Zambians was the same for this man. He got sick and passed away, and I have no indication that he died of anything other than natural causes. But the sudden death of a member of our small family was a harsh reminder of the ever-present threat of death and disease that permeates Zambian society. Yes, it is true that part of why people are always attending funerals is because the Zambian extended family goes on and on and on, so that your odds of being invited to a funeral are greatly improved. Still, what I have found most exhausting and disheartening is this sense of mystery around death and its causes, this unwillingness that I’ve observed in many people to confront its root causes, or this lack of information that many, particularly those in the compounds, have about disease and ways to prevent it, about how and where to seek treatment.

And this is precisely why education is so important, why I believe so fully in it as a tool for national and social development. It’s not just that proper schooling keeps children off the street, teaches individuals about national issues, and empowers families to better their lives. Even more so, it’s that Zambia needs committed leaders dedicated to transforming a monumentally deficient health care system, individuals who have experienced the hardships that afflict three quarters of the population and can thus begin to understand how to fight back against them. It needs people who can understand how policy, behavior, and culture are intertwined, people who can earn the trust of their fellow citizens and finds ways to prevent what is preventable.

Policy makers have always neglected education. Funds are poured into health, or business development, yet the system that has the most direct influence over the lives of children and families receives next to nothing in support. Education is the foundation, the lifeblood of a healthy society, and if it is not effectively distributed to all members of society than it can’t perform its most vital functions. And the essential power of education does not stop at basic or secondary level. Access to quality higher education is just as important in developing the sorts of leaders who can instigate the changes that countries like Zambia so desperately need. It is a natural extension, an invaluable next step for those who take educational development seriously.

To my knowledge, the last time scholars convened about higher education development, it was in 2000. This article, in my opinion, hits the nail on the head, but it needs an update, and needs to be taken more seriously (up to now it has not).

http://siteresources.worldbank.org/EDUCATION/Resources/278200-1099079877269/547664-1099079956815/peril_promise_en.pdf

Despite the many frustrations of living here, the times when I have felt my beliefs being shaken, what has remained constant is my faith in the power of education, particularly for those who are most vulnerable.

Today I was reminded of the darkness that rests beyond the vibrancy and energy of life in Zambia. I was reminded of all that I have and all that I should be grateful, for a family that I can always rely on for love and support, for friends who have always been there, for the opportunities I have been blessed with. And, I was reminded of why I chose to dedicate a year of my life to this cause.

Locked In

In many ways I think going home for the holidays was one of the best decisions I’ve made since coming to Zambia. I saw family and friends, visited familiar sites, and after a couple weeks found myself craving my life and work in Lusaka. I got back on the plane eager to return to my new home, and found the country stifling hot, greener than I had ever seen it (due to heavy rainfall), lush and bustling and just as I had left it. At that moment I was surer than ever that this is where I belonged, that my next six months were going to be different, that I was refreshed and reenergized and ready to take hold of the rest of my short time here and make it into something truly great. An enormous shift has taken place in my mind…when I left in December I NEEDED to get a taste of home. It was a half-way point, a chance for me to regroup and refocus, a much needed break. But now, five months seems like five weeks. When I got back to my house, I got a call from Edna Lungu, one of our dynamic young leaders…”Mr. James, just wanted to check to see that you were back in the country.” At that moment, as I unpacked, things just clicked. Yeah, this is where I belong right now. Right here.

Much has changed since I’ve returned…we oriented five bright new students and their families to the program. We hired a new programs officer, Mwila, a young social worker from the University of Zambia who has already shown that he is going to do amazing things for KF and its kids. Mwila and I were forced to get to know each other very quickly…a week after my return we took all 36 kids on a community service and leadership retreat to a lodge about five hours north. It was another experience that ended up reminding me that I was exactly where I wanted to be…the Zambian staff leading the retreat connected so well with the students, and we spent days doing sessions on leadership, life skills, and community service project planning, mixed in with rock climbing, canoeing, problem solving, and telling stories around the campfire. I grew closer to KF during those three days. I was even given a Zambian named around the campfire…Chikumbuso, meaning “remembrance.” I think it was very fortunate that I came back to Lusaka and was immediately reminded of what I was doing there. After getting back to the city, I could already feel my mindset shifting, my nostalgia for home fading away, and my consciousness focusing almost fully on the places and people in front of me.

Things have certainly been busy…we have a new fundraising consultant who already has big plans for finding donors and expanding and improving our programs. Our grade 12s are in full swing preparing for the most important exams of their lives, and I‘ve been teaching entire history classes at one of our schools (our students tend to bring friends…many of them). Our new students seem to be adjusting well, and it always makes my day when I see them walking toward me with smiles on their faces. I can’t help but remember each of them sitting with their families several months ago, nervous and excited, hoping and praying that they would be picked.

I feel locked in. Zambia is my home right now, yet, I can’t seem to defeat this nagging realization that I am leaving in July. There are things that I have been thinking about that are new and exciting, possibilities I’ve been pondering that I never would have guessed six months ago. Yes, in six months, I have experienced a fundamental change. I am me, yet it’s a different me. Perhaps it’s more me than ever before.

A Potential Turning Point

Please forgive me for taking such a long time to update this…I suppose I could blame it on a combination of incredible busyness and stress, preparing for a very important trip home, and/or a concern that once I started writing I wouldn’t be able to stop. The last couple weeks of November were a whirlwind of constant work, confusion, and excitement—partly due to the fact that I was beginning to understand the true weight behind my experience in Lusaka so far, partly because I knew come mid December I would be home, and partly because I was beginning to think that no matter how hard I tried I would be leaving this country knowing that I could not accomplish everything I had hoped I could.

I spent Thanksgiving with my roommate, Brandon, and my landlords, and was amazed that I felt right at home (despite the fact that this was my first Thanksgiving away from Massachusetts…ever). I was lucky enough to see the famous bat migration at the end of November (one of the most spectacular things I have ever witnessed), along with the mysterious and eerie “Africa House,” a colonial mansion that was constructed in northern Zambia by an eccentric (and probably arrogant) Englishman with the hopes of putting into place his version of a British-African empire, and the hot springs that lie twenty minutes north of the grounds.



I was graced by an amazing visit by my friend Keki, my first Zambian friend that I met at the University of Cape Town, and I had a wonderful time showing her my life in the city, introducing her to students and families (Keki is, in a way, the perfect model of a successful Zambian student, on the PhD track), and talking with her about the problems I have seen so far in her country, my frustrations and disappointments, successes and goals.



It was certainly an emotionally exhausting couple of weeks…I finished 31 family interviews over about two and a half weeks, finally completed a pile of vital administrative work for KF, and participated in the final states of our student selection for January. During December, our students are supposed to be beginning/continuing their community service projects, and I am excited to see what they have accomplished when I come back. We are also hoping to have a service leadership retreat with all of the students sometime in January in order to help the students solidify their plans, reflect on the challenges they have faced, and make plans for the future. I was able to accompany Harrison in telling the students whom we picked that they were selected…this came at a very busy and stressful time, and when the first family we told erupted in a sea of joy and emotion, I was once again reminded of what makes this position so unbelievably special. After interviewing all of our families (including those of the five newly selected kids), I feel as if I am at a place where I can finally begin to understand where these students are coming from. I had some unbelievably enlightening conversations with parents and siblings about problems with access to higher education in Zambia, the challenges that kids face in the compounds, the struggles each family is confronting, still, and the hopes and dreams that they had for their child. I think it was during the month of November that I finally realized that whatever it is I do in my life, I need to be around people, interacting with families, sharing information, and learning from others on a daily basis. I think I have really had a chance to take my communication skills to a different level in Zambia, and I was very proud when my students told me that their parents and siblings found it incredibly (and surprisingly) easy to trust me right away, even though I was just a random foreigner appearing in their houses, often for the first time.

KF had to say goodbye to Harrison (who is moving on to another job), and that was difficult. He has developed and fostered such amazing relationships with these students, and I am sure it’s very hard for them to have to keep adjusting to new programs officers and new interns coming in all of the time. It’s a very tough situation. He will be missed very much by all of us. Luckily the new PO coming in, Mwila, seems like an exceptionally smart and hardworking guy. He’s just out of the University of Zambia, and I think he’ll be a fine addition to the team.
On the last day before I began my long journey to South Africa and Boston, KF had it’s annual mentor luncheon. It was wonderful to see all of the inspiring professionals that have had such a monumental impact on our kids and the program. The students all did songs and dances, and one of the minister’s wives came as our guest of honor. I had a wonderful time hanging out with all of the kids after, taking pictures and just goofing around. It was a hectic, stressful day, but in the end, like it all came back to the time I was able to spend with our students. It always does.



My director and I left the following day for Johannesburg, where I was reunited with a fellow Princeton in Africa Fellow, Veda. Veda is doing some amazing work at African Leadership Academy, a two year A-level (pre-college) and leadership/entrepreneurial development program that brings together the best students from across the continent. Florence and I spent the day at ALA, and we were absolutely blown away by the brilliance and diversity of these kids, the amazing successes the academy has already had (getting three quarters of their recent graduates into top schools with full financial need met, for instance), and the inspiring enthusiasm of the teachers and administrators who we met. Our mission was to advocate on behalf of our students, and we are hoping to get at least one student into the program. It would be an unbelievable achievement if we did. I could really feel the uniqueness of this place as I walked around, sat in classes, sat in on an end of the year assembly, and even played ultimate Frisbee in an impromptu faculty-staff match. People really support each other. They are a family of young, hypermotivated, innovative students who will change their countries and their continent. ALA has a requirement that graduates must return to their home countries for five years upon graduation from college, otherwise the student is required to pay back any scholarship aid they received to attend ALA.



The academy has an ambitious fifty year vision, and the backbone behind its success is the philosophy that quality education is a key to development, that young, African leaders are the ones who have the best chance to implement change—not outsiders. It is often during college and university that students begin to solidify their goals and values, and it is hear that the sort of social consciousness necessary for social change can be fostered. I left feeling invigorated. And perhaps more important, I left feeling fairly certain that improving access to quality higher education for young leaders is a cause that I could see myself pursuing in the future.

It is impossible to describe the wave of emotions that coming home has been. I recognize that it has only been five months, but surprising my parents in my basement with a Santa hat, seeing the look of sustained shock, then joy, on their faces was something I will remember for the rest of my life. Thank you, to you who made it possible. It is true, I do feel different at home. And I think I have started to realize the extent of this difference over the past week or so. I am trying to sort out these feelings, and possibly use them to refocus and refuel upon return. But it’s comforting to have been able to see my friends, to see that despite the changes everyone has inevitably experienced, everyone is moving on and moving forward together, albeit differently. I am expecting that upon return, I will be able to use this burst of energy to make some important improvements to my life and work in Zambia. There is a tutoring system that needs more work, a long research project to continue, service projects to help develop, and 10 separate futures to think about. I am eternally grateful for this trip home, and I think it will eventually be a key element to some great successes over the next six months. Happy holidays, everyone.

Hanging out with Politicians...sort of

It’s been a very unpredictable couple of weeks…I began my assessment project several weeks ago, the long term program review that I will complete by the end of my fellowship. What I am doing is attempting to gauge the impact the program has had on families, communities, and students, using students who were not selected as a control group. The first step is interviewing the parents of our students…it has already been rather difficult to schedule these interviews, considering the fact that most of our parents work during the day, usually late into the evening. I’ve done four so far (which is not good, considering we have 31 families in total and I wanted to finish this by the end of the month). It has been really interesting to hear what people have said about how KF has affected their lives, how they have watched their child grow and mature throughout the years. Several of the parents I interviewed told me that they have been able to make significant improvements to their lives with the money that they would have spent on the education and care of their child. People have been able to put other siblings through school, improve their living situation, buy more food and water, and more. One set of parents even told me that they have been able to go back to school themselves in order to advance their education. I spent a lot of time at this one house; this is a warm, hardworking family that always makes me feel welcome when I come around. My student’s sister showed me her artwork, and when I left I was handed an enormous bag of fresh onions. They told me on the way out that the most important thing KF has done for them is to push them to continue improving their lives, to not sit still and accept their condition. Interestingly, every single parent noticed significant changes in his or her child…confidence, cleanliness, behavior, and more. I began to notice some trends, even throughout just four interviews. KF students were exposing their families to new experiences and ideas (university, the internet, etc), pushing their siblings and cousins to work hard, and even inspiring children in the community to focus on their schoolwork so that they might someday earn a similar scholarship.

My birthday was on November 7th, and I had a pretty awesome weekend. Five people decided to combine their birthdays together, so everyone decided rent out a club/restaurant. It was an incredibly fun night. The next day I got a call from young girl who had been recruited by the Leopards Hill students to deliver me a cake and card. It took a while, but my friend Jen and I finally tracked her down near my house. It was a vanilla frosted heart-shape cake with my name on it from a local grocery store. Wooo! It ended up being an awesome birthday weekend. My first birthday outside of the States…and that didn’t even strike me until later on in the night.

Last week was interesting…we have been assisting two of our students with a research project about TB that is suppose to culminate in an article posted to the UN website. Two of our students are supposed to be working in conjunction with two from a local international school. On Monday we were invited by CIDRZ to watch a performance by a local dance/theater group. They go into communities, begin drumming and dancing until a huge crowd gathers around, and then put on a skit that is meant to education people about HIV and TB. It was all spoken in Nyanja, but I still got the point for the most part. The performance was very interesting…a lot of people in these communities simply lack information—they might have the symptoms of TB but will not be able to recognize what they mean. So creative approaches like this to spreading information could play a huge role in combating disease in the future. Obviously, behavior change is not something that will happen overnight, but these small, grassroots efforts are an important step on the way.

On Wednesday I attended a library opening for the Lubutu Library Project, an organization that has been contracted by the government to build hundreds of libraries across the country. The rains put a bit of a damper on the event, but I did get to shake Kenneth Kaunda’s hand and get a glimpse of the American Ambassador to Zambia. On Thursday we continued with the research project, taking the students to a clinic and a home-based care center for TB. The woman who was guiding us took the students to interview a current TB patient, who was in the middle of treatment. The students learned that TB is an opportunistic infection, which explains why 70% of people that are diagnosed with TB in Lusaka are also HIV positive. The two are a deadly combination.

On Saturday I went to an award ceremony at Leopards Hill. I had tried to make sure all of our parents and mentors were aware of the event, and I think that KF had a pretty good turnout. The guest of honor was the U.S Ambassador, and he gave an incredible speech about education and leadership in Zambia, and about the partnership he hoped to form with the Zambian people. The new U.S embassy (it looks more like a fortress) is right nearby, so the two will be neighbors for decades. I don’t think I was quite prepared for the award ceremony…most Zambian schools have a prize-giving day that is usually coupled with a grade 12 graduation, and students win awards for subjects, athletics, and more. KF literally took over the ceremony. Three of our students (one in grade 8, one in 9, and one in 10) won probably 90% of their grade’s prizes for best in various subjects. The emcee would read off the award, and then say “guess who?” and call the same name again and again. It was just amazing. I was so proud of them. Our students took the first position in grade 8, 9, 10, and 11, and also won awards in sports and behavior. KF is clearly having an impact on these schools. I hope that days like this can be a wake up call to all high quality schools in the area to consider bringing in students from different backgrounds.

It’s been a strange week so far…my car is in the shop for some major repairs, so I haven’t been able to continue with my interviews. I also had a little tough of the flu in the middle of the week, so I’ve missed a bit of work. This just means that the next several weeks are going to be unbelievably busy. And I can’t believe it’s almost December already…

Lake of Stars and Final Interviews

What an incredible couple weeks….every October a lodge on Lake Malawi hosts the epic Lake of Stars Music Festival, which brings together bands from all over southern Africa and the U.K. for a weekend of pure awesomeness right on the beach. This was the only big trip I had planned before the holidays, so obviously I was especially excited. And seeing a new country is always interesting. On Wednesday of last week I went over to the Grassroot soccer house for the night…we were leaving at 5:00 am on a bus to Chipata, a small town in the eastern part of the country. There I met Doug, another GRS intern working in Losotho who would be joining us. Our entire group was about 12-13 people and included most of the Lusaka GRS interns and one of my Zambian friends, Chileshe. We decided to stay up Wednesday night, assuming it was pointless to try and sleep when we had to be up at 3:30. We got to the station relatively early, and packed onto a crowded, slightly smelly bus, and most of us immediately feel asleep. I woke up with a stiff neck a couple hours later, realizing that the bus was pulled over on the side of the road. It had broken down…more or less right outside of Lusaka. It wasn’t the best start to the trip. We had been warned about the buses breaking down, but I somehow thought we would be exempt from this misfortune. No dice. We sat for about two hours (which seemed like 5 on that hot, crowded bus). Luckily, the bus company dispatched mechanics and found a way to fix the bus. So we continued on our way. I tried my best to sleep, but the bus was just so darned hot and the seats were absurdly uncomfortable. Not to mention I was packed in like a sardine with my heavy backpack in my lap.

We drove for about 8 hours through rural Zambia, and finally arrived in Chipata at about midday. As soon as we got off the bus we were accosted by guys trying to sell us Malawian Kwacha. We traded in some money assuming it was legitimate, later finding out that most of it was counterfeit. Oh well…then it was on to the border. We hired two taxis which drove us to the border of Zambia and Malawi, where we met some of our other friends that were traveling separately. We had some complications at the border because one of our friends accidently brought with him his old, expired passport. Luckily we got over in about an hour, and took another taxi to the town nearby, where we would hopefully catch a minibus to Lilongwe, the capital of Malawi. Since there were about 15 of us at this point, we more or less hired our own minibus. The drive through Malawi was very interesting. The country’s terrain is very similar to Zambia’s…dry, open grasslands, low-lying vegetation and occasional collections of trees. However, as we drove deeper into the country I began to notice some very visible differences. There were rolling hills, rough, jagged mountains, browinish-red mud and brick huts. I later learned that Malawi (the “warm heart of Africa”) and Zambia consider themselves to be sister countries. Both share similar colonial histories, speak similar languages, and rely on similar means of subsistence. Malawi is arguably poorer than Zambia, but both seem to have similarly warm, peaceful, and welcoming people. The driver was on a mission….going an average of about 130 km/hr the entire way, and refusing to break for children or animals in the road. Every time we heard the shrill beep of the horn we knew there was something in the road ahead. It was only a matter of time before we hit someone or something. About an hour from Lilongwe we heard the by now familiar beep, and suddenly there was a soft bump underneath us. Shocked and terrified that we had killed someone, we turned around that saw a goat spinning in the middle of the road. The driver didn’t even think about slowing down (we later learned that villagers can get violent when this happens, since goats are a symbol of wealth in the rural areas….even though legally speaking the owners of the goat would be responsible). Somehow we made it to Lilongwe in one piece and met up with Wes and Bryan (a native Malawian), two Grassroot Soccer interns working in Malawi. Lilongwe is a sleepy city that actually reminded me of some of the residential areas of Lusaka. We were to crash at his place for the night before setting out for the lake the next day. Everyone decided to go out that night, but I was struggling to stay awake and crashed at about 8 pm.

We woke up pretty early on Friday and drove out to the bus station to catch a minibus to the Mangochi, the town on the lake that was hosting the concert. We were very, very lucky to have Bryan and Wes there…they arranged the tickets for us, coordinated transportation, and just made everything so much easier. The drive out to the lake took about three hours, and as soon as I saw the enormous body of water with mountains and hills surrounding it, I felt a overwhelming wave of relief. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen the ocean, and viewing Lake Malawi felt like a touch of home.

We got out of the van, paid the drivers, and checked in with the Sunbird Lodge, the host of the concert. We had decided to camp, and we saw dozens and dozens of tents scattered about the park and beach. We chose a nice spot right on the sand and began setting up our tents, right next to an enormous chitenge and bamboo structure that we later learned was the temporary home of a group of Engineers without Borders. The lake really is a touch of paradise…white sands, clear water, mountains in the distance, and palm trees dotting the shores. Lake Malawi is the most prominent landmark in the country…it runs more or less the entire length of the country, and has one of the most diverse populations of tropical fish in the world. For some reason crocs and hippos are rare, at least in the area we were in. The weather was absurdly hot, so most of us decided to take a swim, gambling with bilharzias, a parasite that lives in many large bodies of water in Africa. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking about this. It was just nice to be swimming in a large body of water again. When the sun began to set, painting the sky in a soft blue-orange glow, I had my first moment of disbelief at how lucky I was to be there.

We walked over to the concert, which was literally right on the beach, and began to explore the area. Outside of the gates there were rows of craft stalls and many local children asking for (or demanding) money of the streams of tourists making their way to the shows. This was a sad reminder that most of the country’s poor citizens were cut off from the spectacular concert that brings so many people to their country every year. There was one huge stage—the main stage--, rows of food stands, and a smaller stage down the beach where lesser-know artists and djs were scheduled to play. Lake of Stars seemed to be the one time when every traveler and expat living in southern Africa comes together. I met people from France, South Africa, and Ireland, peace corps volunteers, backpackers, musicians, and on and on. It was almost overwhelming how many amazingly interesting people were at this concert. I even ran into some of Mary Reid’s friends who were working on a health project in Zimbabwe, including one girl who is good friends with one of my friends from Bowdoin. Crazy.

On Friday we saw Oliver Mtukudzi, the legendary artist from Zimbabwe, who absolutely rocked it. We also saw other more traditional African bands, and my favorite artist form the festival, Tinache---a Zimbabwe born guitar player (sort of like the Jason Mraz of Africa) who was touring with his goofy British drummer. It was an awesome introduction to the festival.

On Saturday everyone woke up at about 8:00 am (by that time the sun was too oppressively hot to sleep). We spent the day relaxing by the beach and the pool, swimming, and meeting new people. I saw some cool local acts on the smaller stage. What’s great about Lake of Stars is that the organizers of the festival try to involve the local community as much as possible, so there were some bands playing from local schools. A lot of the artists also spent time in local communities at orphanages and schools. I suppose it would have been better to let native Malawians into the show for free or at a discounted rate, bit I guess this was asking too much. Saturday was an epic day and night…the Noisettes, an Indie/rock/jazz band from England with an unbelievably talented singer from Zimbabwe were playing, and they put on an incredible show. The singer was sort of a spectacle….apparently she has been doing her thing long before Lady Gaga was popular. I even tried to crowd surf (and failed miserably). Later in the night the dj on the smaller stage came on, and I ended up staying up until sunrise.

Sunday was another relaxing day by the beach and the pool. We met this really interesting girl from England who was getting paid by Trident to go to 30 music festivals in 30 weeks. She told us that out of the 20 or so she had been to so far that this was her favorite one. She even interviewed me and two of my friends for a video (check it out on my facebook wall!). Later in the afternoon Tinache was playing an acoustic set. We sat there as the sun was beginning to set, listening to some awesome music, and I again couldn’t believe how lucky I was. After the show Tinache’s drummer even let me play his bizarre plug in acoustic box drum thingy, and we had the chance to meet Tinache himself. Later in the night the Noisettes were playing an acoustic show on the smaller stage, which was just unbelievably awesome. They brought up a group of local kids onto the stage, and you could see the shock and joy in their faces. Sunday night was another fun night…we danced to artist after artist on the main stage, and I also somehow convinced the security guards to let in some Malawian teenagers who had been coming every year but had never seen the concert before.

We left on Monday. I was exhausted and drained, but so happy and grateful for the weekend. Definitely one of the most memorable of my life. Two University of Cape Town grad students (Caps, from France, and Darla, from Rwanda) joined us for the ride back to Lilongwe. We took a different route back to the capital, snaking around rolling hills, traveling down in and out of valleys, and seeing some stunning views of this very beautiful country. Unfortunately I got a bit sick on the way home (took a malaria pill on an empty stomach), but luckily the driver pulled over for me. We got back to Lilongwe by late afternoon, went out for Indian food, and then passed out early.

We took the 6:00 am direct bus from Lilongwe to Lusaka, which actually ended up being relatively easy. I sat next to a Malawian woman with a baby (who somehow only cried twice the entire ten hour trip). Toward the end of the trip we were talking about Malawi and Zambia, and she told me all about her family in Lusaka, about how similar the two countries were, and about the kinship citizens felt for each other. We finally arrived back in Lusaka at 7 pm.

Again, it was just an all around spectacular trip. I traveled with an amazing group of people, met some great people along the way, listened to some incredible music on one of the most beautiful lakes in the world. I have to admit that it was a bit tough getting back to work, especially after missing four days of it.

Work has been exceptionally busy since being back (hence why I have been behind with my blog). We are right in the middle of the final round of our application process, which means we have been interviewing 14 student finalists with their families. The survey that I helped develop is pretty extensive…it asks a lot of the student, including comments on leadership, problems in their communities, challenges they have faced, and more. It also demands a lot from the parents/guardians. Over last weekend and week I completed a total of 11 interviews, three with my director, five with our finance officer, and three with our programs officer. The interviews are often exhausting….they usually last about an hour, and they require us to pry a bit into the lives of each applicant.

It was very interesting for me to see which questions students understood and which ones they didn’t. The one that I figured would be the simplest (and most important) was the most difficult for almost every applicant. The last question we asked of the students was, more or less: “Why should we pick you?” And almost every student interpreted it as: “What reasons should KF have for picking you?” So they would answer by saying: “so I can go to school,” or “because it would really help my parents.” Sometimes it took 20 minutes of rephrasing the question to get at what we were really looking for.

It would be impossible to describe every detail of these interviews, but I think it’s worth giving some highlights. Some candidates were not ideal for the program…they didn’t give us thorough answers, and some did not seem as vulnerable as the others. But then there were some students who seemed to possess an unbelievable level of confidence and maturity for their age. One girl, who blew me and our finance officer away, gave us a detailed description of how corruption is bringing Zambia down. This same girl later told us that she thought that she had the courage to believe that she could become something great in her life. She was living with her uncle, who is no longer working and is supporting 12 people on money made on side jobs. This includes 5 orphaned children. He claimed that his biggest worry is that if he doesn’t find help with her school fees he may have to send his niece back to live with her parents, who are very poor and might marry her off. At 12 years old.

Then there was a boy who lives with his family in a tiny house in one of the compounds in the city…his father sells scrap metal for a living, and income is, obviously, unpredictable. The boy’s father seemed so genuine and hardworking. He told us how he felt like he failed his kids because he has been unable to provide them with certain things. He used to want to be an engineer, and has a passion for tinkering with gadgets. We figured that our pretty quickly when we walked in and noticed the used car battery the family was using to produce electricity for the household. That same father later told us that if his son was picked, he would always remind him to remember where he came from and to give back to your family and community whenever he had the chance to do so.

Every family seemed to have a similar story…they were working too hard, for not enough money, and trying to support too many people. And every student we interviewed was intelligent, hardworking, and a great source of pride to their parents and guardians. Most of them had no idea how they would send their kids to secondary school. We interviewed 14 students and families in total, and we can only pick 5. Any one of them would be a real asset to the program. But we are limited in what we can do, and that’s really difficult to come to terms with. Lake of Stars was phenomenal, but jumping right back into the heart of KF’s application process, and meeting these promising kids and their resilient families,, brought me back down to earth almost immediately.

October News

It’s been an awesome couple weeks. Last Friday our president/ co-founder arrived with his fiance from Ghana. They are currently living in Ghana because our president is on a medical fellowship there. They also brought along one of our sponsors, a man from California who has been sponsoring three of our students from the beginning. I picked them up from the hotel and we went to Ibex Hill, one of our schools, for a big ceremony and presentation in front of the entire school. A local bank, Stanbick, donated a ton of money to KF for grade 11 tuition and book costs, so there was a celebration to honor the donation and the arrival of our president. The kids did a traditional dance and a play that they had been practicing all week, and even included dozens of other Ibex students. Everyone was clapping and hooting, and Oliver (yes, my roommate and president have the same name), the head of Stanbick in Zambia, and one of our grade 11 students all gave speeches. It was an awesome day, and everyone was happy to see the Oliver again.

Later on I went to play soccer with a Zambian guy Bob I had met at a cafe. The way he described it to me was vastly different than what it ended up being (he invited me along to play some “amateur soccer with his friends"). So we pulled up to this new Olympic stadium that was built in order to train athletes in Southern Africa, where there were two professional-looking teams in uniforms warming up. He threw me a jersey, ran out, and told me to sub in later in the game. I was definitely the only mzungu there, and everyone was laughing and giving me the thumbs up. I finally got into the game at the end and they threw me on defense guarding the one fat guy on the field (who also happened to be a former Zambian national team coach). I actually didn't play all that poorly, mostly trying to stay out of the way (these guys were GOOD). After the game we went to the park social club, where people gather after sporting events. Both teams were hang out and relaxing, having drinks. I was introduced to the group as the "house mzungu, imported all the way from America.” Everyone there was so friendly and welcoming, and even my soccer skills have been steadily declining since high school, they invited me to come along again whenever I want.

On Saturday I had a very productive meeting with Oliver. It was great to discuss the job and some of the challenges I have faced here in person. Later in the day we had a lunch at the Mexican restaurant with all of the grade 11 students. It's a really cool place because the owner uses it to fund a nonprofit on the side (Teach to Fish, which trains young Zambians in entrepreneurial and business skills). They gave us a tour and a pep talk, and we spent the afternoon explaining to the kids what Mexican food is and just talking and having a good time. After that I drove one of the grade 11 students to visit his sister. This student is amazing. He's very religious, unbelievably mature and intelligent. He has had a horrific upbringing (his dad used to abuse his mom and sister), but he has grown through it all somehow. He’s a deep thinker and also writes poetry and draws. We had an awesome conversation about life and love and all sorts of things. Each one of these students is so unique and each has a story, and I have really loved learning about them over time.

Last week I spent a lot of time bringing our president and his crew to see the kids and the different schools, including one of the basic schools we partner with. One of our high schools is considering adopting a scholarship program, inspired by KF, to bring needy kids to their school. Of course, the ultimate goal of this program would be to have the schools be doing this without our help, or at least with a minimal amount of our assistance. I think that it’s very encouraging, and I am excited to see how these partnerships continue to develop. I wonder if it would be easier to get local support if scholarship efforts were spearheaded by Zambian schools instead of NGOs. We then went to visit two of our mentors, one American and one Zambian, which everyone seemed to enjoy. Once Oliver left for Ghana, I took our sponsor to visit the three students he funds…he seemed to have great conversations with them about school and their career plans. We also went to visit one of the student’s homes. It was a busy, busy week!

Another important event of last week was delivering the letters to partner basic schools about who we selected for interviews. Many of the administrators were unbelievably happy and proud that their students made it to the final round. One school in particular, however, stood out. N’gombe Presbyterian School is a community school, one of two that we drew from during this application process. We only very recently started accepting applications from these schools, which is already a big step for us. Community schools are the most poorly-founded schools in the city. They often get support from churches or international donors, and are also often for the poorest of the poor. They are different from government schools, which on the whole still have poor quality, but still are quite different from community schools. As far as I know, government schools do charge a small yearly fee, and the a lot of the time the poorest individuals cannot afford even this. So community schools fill that gap…often, they are staffed with volunteer teachers, have one or two classrooms, and have students from very troubled backgrounds (many are orphans). The facilities are often crumbling. It sometimes takes students 3-4 years to pass from grade 7 to 8 due to poor teaching.

One student from N’gombe scored exceptionally well on our test, which means he was selected for an interview. This is the first time someone from a community school made it to the final round, so delivering this letter was particularly special. The school was dirty, the buildings were bare, and all of the students seemed to be lumped into big classrooms. We got plenty of stares, Harrison in his suit, me with my skin color, walking into the office, and the head teacher was truly shocked to see us there. We even had the chance to meet the young man who we will soon be interviewing, a shy, polite, scrawny young man with a huge cross necklace around his neck. This seems to prove already that students with natural intelligence and/or an exceptionally strong work ethic can do well at these schools, despite the desperate conditions they often find themselves in. It’s very exciting.

It’s been a fun week and weekend as well. On Wednesday I joined my friend Chileya (she offered me a free ticket, so it was hard to pass up) for a concert at the Alliance Francaise, a local French cultural center. Aly Keita is from the Ivory Coast, and he plays this enormous xylophone instrument that he constructed himself. He put on quite a show, all by himself. Some of the sounds that came out of that instrument were stunning. The perfect example of someone who has long ago mastered an instrument. I even had the chance to meet him afterward and utlilize my long outdated French skills. I somehow got across to him that I play the drums, and his face lit up as he started playing the air drums, saying “you better keep playing!” in French. It was an awesome night. This weekend I played some ultimate Frisbee at the American School, went to a traditional and prize-giving day at one of our schools (three of our students won academic awards, and all of them were involved in the songs and dances), and on Sunday went to the Reptile Park for a huge birthday celebration for Maxime where we went swimming, looked at some crocs, and grilled crocodile burgers and impala. The weather is starting to get unbelievably hot…definitely not what I’m used to in October. Luckily the heat is all dry, but still, midday is brutal here.

This week I have been working on a community service manual for our students service projects, putting finishing touches on a parent survey for my long-term research project, and scheduling application interviews for next week. Then it’s off to Malawi this weekend for the Lake of Stars concert (20+ artists are performing from all over Africa, and I’m going with a group of about 20 people). So exciting.

A=A

Last weekend KF tested 31 students (English, math, science, and verbal reasoning) who are applying to the program. It was incredible to see this enormous group of kids, some nervous, some enthusiastic, but all very proud to have been selected to this round of the application process. It’s funny to think that all of our current students started out here…they all seemed so young! When I walked into Leopards Hill School, two of our grade 11 students, Gaella and Abram, were standing in front of a class of students asking them questions, giving them advice, and trying to inspire them to work hard. “If you work hard, you can be here with me, with all of us,” she said. The students were also blown away by the cleanliness of the school, the athletic fields out back, and the free chicken and chips (French fries) lunch that we gave them. It is true that we can’t pick every one of these students, but it seems as if just getting this opportunity was very meaningful for a lot of them.

The director and I were sitting around with a group of teachers from our partner basic schools while the students were testing, discussing ways to make the application process smoother. One of the teachers brought up the fact that some of the other teachers in the school were complaining about not getting paid for helping with the application process. Then our director began talking about how important a service this is for KF, for these students, how sometimes people have be willing to sacrifice on behalf of others without anything concrete in return, and most importantly, how deeply we as an organization appreciate and value their help and input. One of the other teachers began speaking about how this was just not something that Zambians often think about and how discussing it is important. She acknowledged that, in her opinion, most of the people she knows are self-centered, and only focused on their own concerns and those of their families. The idea of a social consciousness, she was saying, was not something that people accept or subscribe too. We all began discussing ways to get the schools more involved in the program, and more importantly, ways for us to acknowledge and show our appreciation for their work. These teachers were not doing this for anyone other than the students sitting in the next classroom. They refused to let their own children apply to the program, and they showed immense appreciation for what the Foundation has done for their pupils. I hope they can inspire others to view KF in the same way.

The other day I went out for a couple drinks with one of my Zambian friends, a girl who studied in the UK and came back to Lusaka to work for a local publisher. I’m not sure how it came up, but we got into a huge debate about climate change (I was adamant that there is concrete evidence to prove it exists, and she was firmly of the opinion that it was completely over exaggerated or possibly not real at all). Then, some other people in the bar joined into the conversation…some people on my side, some on my friend’s. I found myself getting utterly frustrated to the point of exasperation, and kept my mouth shut when they all started talking about evolution (nobody at the bar believed in it, which is not surprising considering the fact Zambia is an ultra-Christian nation). At first I sort of brushed it off as a cultural difference, but then I sat back and realized that these same debates occur all over the States and the West. But It was so interesting to hear people discussing these issues in a super Christian environment, in a region that arguably would be one of the most affected, environmentally and socially, by climate change.

Later in the week I had lunch with a young man who had returned to Zambia after spending most of his life studying abroad (South Africa, India, the UK). He was a pharmacology major and did his masters researching the link between cancer medications and the treatment of malaria. I have been trying to set him up with some local contacts in public health (there are a TON of them here), because Kay is committed to putting his degree to work in an area that needs it most, his home country. I was asking him what it was that made him come back after so many years away, especially when he could probably be making a lot more money in the West. “People here believe that A=A,” he said. “They never question things, they never push things further. They accept the conditions here for what they are.” He went on to talk about disease and death. “There is so much death here. People choose to live with it instead of making small changes to their lives that could counteract it.” He is committed to changing that in every way that he can. And I have am confident that people like him will be the ones to actually implement change here. NGOs can only go so far. At a certain point, it is the local populations, the younger, well-education generations that will have to take control of the politics and social problems in this country if poverty and disease are to be effectively combated.

This weekend I returned to Victoria Falls (I had been there on a trip a couple years back when I was studying abroad in Cape Town). It was a short five hour drive through the bush from Lusaka to Livingstone, and the four of us took turns driving. I have to admit that I never expected to be back in Livingstone, and it was so bizarre to drive down the same roads I had been on before, this time with a completely different mindset. Everything looked so much smaller than I remember, I guess because my previous trip to Livingstone was such a blur (bungee jumping and getting attacked by a baboon were the highlights of the trip). We stayed at a cheap backpacker, and after dropping off our stuff we drove down the lone road to the entrance of the national park. On the way we spotted a big herd of elephants on the side of the road (which could have been more terrifying if we had known at the time that a Congolese woman was trampled to death by an angry elephant on that very same road). Ahhhhhh! Since we had Zambian work permits, we got to pay the local rate ($1 as opposed to $20 for foreign tourists). Seeing the falls this time was vastly different. It is the dry season now, so while you don’t have the roaring, rushing streams of water and mist blocking your view and soaking you, you do have the chance to actually see the canyon that the river has carved out. It was spectacular in a different way, and just as awe-inspiring as last time. We spend the afternoon viewing the falls…the only semi frightening moment came on this narrow bridge which crosses over the canyon. There was an enormous baboon sitting in the ledge cross-legged staring at everyone that walked by. We asked a Zambian guy what his name was, and he said “Josepher” (I guess a combination of Joseph and Christopher?). Why not? Somehow we made it by him without forcing us to answer an impossible riddle or straight up attacking us.

Afterwards we drove out to the Royal Livingstone Hotel (and absurdly and unnecessarily excessive hotel on the river) for some drinks on the veranda (a rare, one-time treat), listened to some flute playing, and watched the sunset over the river with hippos snorting in the distance. We had met a British girl named Jess at the falls, and she and her friend Nathaniel joined us at the hotel. Nathaniel was a fascinating guy—he was spending a year traveling around Africa doing research for his PhD from Yale, which is centered on the reasons why African leaders choose to and not to stay in power. He had met the presidents of Mali, Ghana, and Guinea Bissau, and seemed to be traveling only with a cowboy hat and white t-shirt. He was also sporting an impressive moustache. After that we met up with Mary Reid at a braii (awesome to see her again!) and then hung out at the backpacker with a huge group of Norwegian nursing/physical therapy students. How ridiculous the backpacker life is…

The next day we went back to the falls and hiked down to the boiling pot, the rocky area down at the bottom of the canyon at the edge of the river. The hike down was unbelievable…lush, tropical vegetation, crystal clear streams, and baboons screaming and running around us (luckily no attacks this time, haha). We spent the morning taking dips in the small area of the river that wasn’t dangerous (the Zambezi river has some pretty terrifying rapids) and basking in the sun at the bottom of the canyon underneath the bridge I had leapt from a year and a half ago. Then we hiked back up to the top of the canyon and walked across the relatively dry riverbed, through steams and over slippery rocks, to Devil’s Pool, a pool of standing water right at the edge of the falls. We spent the afternoon jumping from the rocks into the cool blue water and sitting at the edge of the pool looking down into the canyon. After that Jess joined us for a ride back to Lusaka, and we got back late Sunday night with no problems at all. A cheap, awesome trip!

Now we are all preparing for a visit from the president of KF. It’s going to be a busy weekend, but I am really looking forward to having the entire staff together to talk about the Foundation and make plans for the future. Almost three months in. I’m a quarter of the way through my fellowship, which is just unbelievable to me. The time is flying by here, and there is so much more to do.

Anything but Familiar

I think that in many ways I was prepared for the beginning of September being a strange/difficult time. It is true that being here has removed me from the ebb and flow of life that I am used to. Here, September doesn’t mean changing leaves and the beginning of a new year. It means that the weather is heating up, that the students are in full swing in term three, that the rains will be coming in only two short months. Being separated from people back home can be easier when there is very little in your immediate vicinity to remind you of them, and life in Zambia really is a completely different world, a different reality almost. Still, the fact remains that back in New England, life is going on, people are starting school and jobs. The fall is here, which to me has always represented a new year, opportunities, excitement, family and friends. It’s so surprise to me then that my first bit of true disorientation has come. I knew there would be times when it felt like things were moving along back home without me. This is an inherent part of up and leaving everything you know for a year to live and work in a foreign country. Life goes on as usual without you, and it’s something that anybody doing this type of work must come to terms with. Still, I am trying to remember that it would be wholly unnatural to not feel this way from time to time, to not miss everything and everyone that I know and love when they are so very far away. I suppose the key is accepting these feelings, acknowledging them, and moving forward regardless. This is something I am learning to do, and it inevitably has made me stronger.

Work has slowed down a bit the last couple weeks. I’ve been attempting to develop a tutoring plan for all of our 31 students, focusing on the grade 11s (and on English and history) to help prepare them for the vital exams at the end of next year. There has been a lot of trial and error (I am not a teacher, obviously), and I think it will take some time to really fall into a groove with this element of my job, to feel like I am actually helping the students improve in their weaker subjects. It has been frustratingly difficult trying to arrange schedules with the schools (there are new programs starting at each of them, so it won’t be as easy to just show up for three hours and give extra help on a set schedule). I have also tried to be careful not to make it seem to the administration like I am giving KF students special treatment, so I have invited any other students along for extra help as well. Again, I am trying to be patient and realistic about what I can really do in this respect. Lately I have noticed a bit of a change in my relationship to KF’s students. It’s difficult to explain, but I really do feel that they are beginning to trust me. Opening up is one thing, but trust is vastly different. Students have confided in me on numerous occasions, and it’s these moments more than any other that snap me away from feeling homesick or nostalgic and back to reality.

Last weekend I felt the need to get away, so my friend Brandon and I hopped on a trip to the Lower Zambezi (a river valley about two and a half hours from the city). My friend Chileya who works at the magazine I mentioned earlier has a friend who owns a yet-to-be-opened lodge right on the river, which means we were literally the only tourists there. The drive out to the river was stunning…the road snaked around hills and mountains and eventually down into a valley, past tiny villages, random monkeys and baboons, and endless expanses of dry, dry vegetation. The road to the lodges leads up to the river to the north, and to cross it you have to drive your car onto a pontoon (a small, rickety ferry). As we are about to drive onto the dock the pontoon driver approached us, seemingly telling us that Brandon would not be able to cross with me. We looked around trying to figure out how he was supposed to cross (there were no other boats or bridges in sight), and began arguing with the man, all in vain. After about ten minutes we finally understood that they didn’t allow passengers in the cars (I later found out that this was to avoid unnecessary deaths in case the pontoon sinks…comforting, haha). When we finally crossed the river we drove down a dirt road for about a half hour, past enormous baobab trees and a massive banana plantation, and finally found the turn for Kwalata Lodge (the sign was painted on a tiny wooden post). After driving into the bush for twenty minutes, we arrived at Kwalata. The site was beautiful…right on the mighty Zambezi River (which forms the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe and leads all the way down to Victoria Falls), with plenty of grass and trees, a few chalets and tents scattered about, and a very small amount of people. The owner of the lodge, a guy named Regi, spent time in the States studying at Kansas. He is a pretty prominent businessman in Lusaka and is making an attempt to bring the sort of lodge/safari vacations that usually only target tourists to regular Zambians.

We spent the day sitting on the river, fishing, reading, and relaxing, which was unbelievably nice and exactly what I needed. When dinner time rolled around the owners of the lodge drove back with two goats for dinner. I decided to watch the slaughtering process out of curiosity (I rationalized it by thinking that if you can’t watch your food get killed then you probably shouldn’t be eating it). Sadly, the knife the lodge workers used was exceptionally dull, which clearly made the process more painful for the poor goats. Even more difficult to watch was the first step (before killing goats, the common practice is to cut off their testicles to avoid getting urine on the meat). Somehow I was able to stomach the whole thing (including the skinning process), and the goat ended up being delicious. As dinner was being prepared I sat by myself at the edge of the river watching the blood red African sun set over the Zambezi, reflecting on where I was, and eventually just letting my mind clear and take in the scene before me.

That night we sat around the fire with the lodge owner and his family, eating, talking, and playing music. Brandon and I started a random drum circle with some Zambian students that were at the lodge for a retreat (complete with bongos, guitar, and whatever pots and pans we could find). On Sunday we all slept in, made breakfast, and then went for a boat ride on the river. We spotted plenty of crocodiles and a huge group of hippos that seemed to be protecting a baby nearby (which meant they were staring at us with angry eyes until we passed by). The drive back to the city was quiet and peaceful, the sun setting slowly over the hills and mountains, the roads virtually empty. It was a much needed break, especially since the next couple weeks are going to be crazy busy. This weekend we are administering a test to 38 students who are applying for a scholarship starting next year, and after that we will be short listing students and conducting interviews at the homes.

It’s September, and my life is anything but familiar. It’s disorienting and perplexing, but in many ways terribly exciting. I knew the time would come when I things wouldn’t quite line up like I’m used to, and I am working through it. I am looking forward to getting back on track next week.