Airport Again

Let the  days of airplane food  and recycled air begin. 

First flight of a long journey leaves today.

See you later, Zambia.  It's been fun.

So happy to be back "home" to Ndola.  Today-- proof positive I am (un)officially Zambian: hitch hiked in the back of a lorry to town, walked down the dirt road barefoot (new plastic slippers are not conducive to happy feet) and showed up 2 1/2 hours late.  All with a smile on my face, because it was n.b.d.  Also, coke-a-cola in an ice cold glass bottle.  Just in time to feel completely at home... and I'm leaving.  Crazy how that works.

Proof that I'm still NOT Zambian: a taxi driver asked me if I could go back to the States and ask "Uncle Obama for money to buy a  chain saw.  You don't understand how rich I can be, baby, if I had two chain saws here in Zambia."  (In case your wondering, my response had something to do with not supporting obtuse environmental degradation and also to stop calling me 'baby'.)

Saturday morning:

1. Awake to the blissful "Compound with no electricity morning sounds" 

2. Brush your teeth outside by the chicken run

3. Huddle around a burning pile of leaves with girls singing songs and laughing to stay warm.

4. Sit and wait for the kettle to boil, greeting "Mwashabukeni" to everyone who passes by on their way to the market

5. Negotiate the price of greens with Lillian, who straps her Priscilla to her back and walks through the neighborhood selling what little she can every morning

6. Cuddle with little ones and enjoy unfolding ministry as the Zam Tan CSS ladies lead a group of 34 orphans in songs, games, and crafts.

Morning well spent.

Blessed Potential

for those of you who will never read flow yoga.com

“The sun hears the fields talking about effort

and the sun smiles,

and whispers to me,

‘Why don’t the fields just rest, for I am willing to everything to help them grow?’

Rest my dears, in prayer.”

--St. Catherine of Siena

It’s easy to feel brittle working in these communities in Zambia.  Sub-Saharan Africa’s magnitude of poverty, of pain, and of injustice simply dry up my spirit’s well-springs.  A draining happens gradually-- almost without my notice.  Discouragement is stealthy that way.   It happens without effort: a plant quietly withering in the noon-day heat.  I may barely notice brittle brown sneaking around the edges of the leaf as its water is drained from the root source.  The next day, it is completely dry -- almost lifeless.  It feels like it takes more effort to grow strong and healthy; it takes more effort to drink life-bearing waters than it does to succumb to dryness and heat. 

Here in Zambia, it is literally difficult to find safe, clean, life-giving water.  Every day dozens of young women walk to the water pump outside our classrooms in Chipulukusu, a compound of Ndola, Zambia, waiting with buckets in hand to gather water for their families.  The lines are long: girls as young as seven years old linger for hours as container after dirty yellow container are filled one pump at a time.  These girls should be in school.  They should be within the dirt-streaked walls of our classrooms jumping up and down to the tune of “My God is So Big!” instead of leveraging their skinny frames on the borehole’s handle in concentrated effort to obtain what little clean water they will conserve all day.  But water is the most precious commodity— it is the first thing women think about in the morning upon waking to the sound of rooster crowing and the last thing they think about as their head meets the warmth of their shared bed.  One family home that I stay in has two sinks and one tap for showering: none of them produce water.  So we wait.  We wait and we pray for the city council water to be turned on.  When it comes unexpectedly one day, all other activities stop.  Our only focus is to hook up the old hose-pipe and work in concert to fill containers, buckets, jugs, bowls, cups—anything that may safely capture the element most essential to our survival.  When the water supply is filled, life becomes easier.  When our containers are full, we can rest. 

The scarcity of water is a living reality for too many children, women, men, and communities across the globe.  So is the scarcity of spiritual fullness, wellness, and ease.  As I live in and among these communities entrenched in brokenness, my daily yoga practice is often the only time I’m offered to rest in the Spirit of Oneness that sustains and rehydrates.   My yoga practice of prayer through movement revitalizes a dehydrated body and soul.  It is the time when the Spirit embodies a ray of sunshine and says to me: “Rest without effort. Rest in prayer.”   But finding these moments of ease when daily life is nothing but easy sometimes takes effort.   This is where a dedication to my yoga practice becomes all the more necessary.  I have to make time for a drink of respite during the heat of the day’s discouragement to nourish what little energy for hope and joy may be hiding inside, waiting for a drop of restoration.  And in this time of rest, the sun—as intense at it is here in Zambia-- murmurs to me a promise of healing through this prayer. 

I’m learning more every day about deepening faith in prayer; I’m learning to trust the Still Small Voice that asks me to abandon effort on and off the mat, and to trust that the sun will help me grow.  I’m learning to trust that even in my most fragile, dehydrated moments, the sun whispers promises.  And I’m learning that a yoga practice is so much more than asana that keeps my bones and muscles strong—it keeps my soul and spirit hydrated so that I can continue to flourish.       

The sun hears the fields talking about effort

and the sun smiles,

and whispers to me,

‘Why don’t the fields just rest, for I am willing to everything to help them grow?’

Rest my dears, in prayer.”

--St. Catherine of Siena

SPOONS!

SPOONS!

In addition to the expansion of the school nutrition program from three days a week to five days a week, the budget also included buying spoons for the kids to use when they eat porridge.  No more shards of glass as makeshift utensils.  There aren’t enough spoons for every child, but they are good at sharing and taking turns.  It's pretty fun to watch the nursery kids learn how to use spoons while they eat-- their nimble little fingers are used to nshima! :)

Dream Team

My Dream Team.

Finding these friends has been my saving grace.  Being with them brings a sense of balance to my life.  Without a bit of Mzungu time, work is life and life is work.  Matt, Peter, and Hannah: our delicious dinner parties, quiet evenings, insane car rides, sincere prayers,  generous book lendings, loving program supports, laugher and conversations have inspired, encouraged, and renewed my spirit.  Hannah, I can’t thank you enough for opening your home to me and offering me  quiet reprieve from the hustle and bustle of Zambia life.  I love you!