A Look at Village Life... Part 3

May 2

One week done. I’m not dying to leave, but definitely look forward to getting home… not sharing a single bed; not going out in the dark to use the bathroom; not worried about rats eating my bread… not having to eat bread every morning; washing my hair well and plucking my eyebrows. I’m so American it’s pathetic.

This morning Mrs. Yanjisha said something about how it would be great if we stayed six months. At least we’re not a burden, but I feel bad and ungrateful wanting to be back to the creature comforts most of the people here have never seen or tasted. The fresh air, the simplicity, the time to read and listen and learn… Most of all, the humility here is humbling – almost embarrassing because I know we don’t know how to give like people here do. We don’t know how to show our gratitude and appreciation. We don’t know the sacrifice others are making for us, and selfishly we’re talking of what we will do/eat/etc when we get home. We’ve had three different people bring us chickens! And we’ve hardly lifted a finger. It’s humbling. We’ve also learned so much.

This morning we watched people make bricks from the soil. I’ve learned to de-string and cut pumpkin leaves without a cutting board (and learned to like them). I’ve learned about milling and harvest and washing. I’ve made Avanti’s style bread three times now despite the rats chewing through the flour bag. I’ve taught my methods for cooking okra and rape and learned how to cook in an “oven” that is really a metal bucket in which you put charcoal and then cover with a metal slab with more charcoal on top of it. I’ve practiced the art of visiting and helped others with their English as they’ve helped us with our Kikaonde.

What it most interesting is watching (and hearing about) the interaction with kids. Yesterday, some people came from Mukinge looking to pick up an extremely bright young lady (about 12 years old) and put her back in school and give her a future. Apparently she was married off – secretly – in the past week or so, so they couldn’t take her back to the school. The “husband” is only 14 or 15. Apparently, the laws here say a girl must be 16 and a guy 18, but in the village, sometimes anything goes. I can’t fathom being married at 12. I was so scared of my own changing body – to share that with a man at that age is unimaginable, and to think of setting up a home and caring for a family is just crazy to me! Really, it’s sad, because there were other Zambians who wanted to invest in her future and see her escape the grasps of poverty and oppression that traps so many.