I have been thinking about writing this blog for a few
months now. What would my last blog in Zambia look like? How could I sum up
everything I have experienced, learned, witnessed in one entry? How could I
make it as powerful and emotional as I am feeling right now, with one week left
in the country which has become my home over the past 27 months? How could I
explain the bittersweet feelings of leaving my Zambian home and going back to
my American home? I realize I can’t, I will never be able to because a large
part of myself doesn’t even understand it. Instead, I am just going to write
and see what the finished product is. Apologies in advanced if it’s jumbled,
confusing and not well written, but if nothing else hopefully it is a view of
what one Peace Corps Volunteer out of 9,000 throughout the world is going
through.
It’s over. I made it. I finished. One chapter ends, another
one begins. For the past two years I have been through so many ups and downs,
good days, horrible days. Hours where I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else or
doing anything else. Minutes that I wish would go faster and watch each second
go by hoping the pain of boredom would pass by. Sometimes I forget that there
was life before Zambia, before Peace Corps. It seems like this is and will
always be my life. Biking on the dusty pot holed road to my beautiful village
of Kalaba. Being greeted by bundles of the cutest (and dirtiest) children in
the world, all begging for the ball to play with, but first asking to fetch my
water, as they know that you must work before you play. Coming to the
provincial house in Mansa, drinking a cold beer and exchanging stories with my
“fellow volunteers” or as I refer to them as, my family, about our villages.
“It’s so hot” “When will the rain end” “Let’s fill up the kiddy pool to get
away from that hot African sun” “Casey, you want to lay out”, “Bob, where are
you biking to today?” “Tiff let’s go on an adventure”. These people are my
family. We have shared experiences that I could never have imagined or
anticipated. In the worst situations, they always seem to make me laugh, see
the light at the end of the tunnel, and encourage me to start fresh the next
day. We have gone through deaths in America and Zambia, fires in our
communities, near-death transport experiences, frustrations in our work and
celebrations when things worked out the right way. I would not have been able
to get through these two years without them. They have been my support and will
continue to be as we all transition into this next part of our lives. We call
it the “real world” a lot of times but I have never experienced more “Reality”
than living in rural Zambia.
Then there was the goodbye to my village. Crying in my hut
with my counterpart, so that his wife and children didn’t see him show this
emotion that is usually reserved for death. Having my kids linger until the sun
was gone and they couldn’t see anymore (or they could but I couldn’t). Having
my favorite three-year-old keep repeating “Chabipa sana ba Kel, Chabipa” (Too
bad Kelsey, its very bad). Crying in my bed, which after two years on a foam
mattress has a dip in the middle and allowed me to wake up with a sore back for
the last year. Giving clothes from America, pencils, socks, anything I could
find in my hut they would take. The rope that held my hammock, like gold to a
10 year old who only has one change of clothes and whose idea of “toys” consist
of a leftover alcohol packet that her alcoholic father drinks every day, all
day. It wasn’t all sad however; there were times when I felt peace. Peace that
I had survived these two years in a crazy beautiful environment. Peace that I
attempted and tried to make a difference, even if only in my counterpart’s
life.
My goal was to
have an impact in one life, and I think with Shaderick Mwansa I can walk away
feeling accomplished in that goal. However what I didn’t anticipate was the
impact and changes he would have on my life. He is one of the best men I have
met in my life, “my older brother” he would refer to himself as when talking to
others. He biked 24k at least 3 days a week for 2 years. He never complained,
He never even mentioned he lived 12 k away until I first went to his house
after I had been in my village for a month. He is someone that will always be
in my heart and that I will think of constantly. He was a sponge of information
during my two years. We would talk about saving money, and then he opened a
small shop to save money for his 6 children to go to school. We would talk
about the importance of nutrition for children and he would build a garden. We
talked about issues of Malaria, he made sure every one of his children slept
under a net. It is people like him who will change this world.
Development. Oy. I kind of hate the word while
simultaneously looking at graduate programs with the exact word in the title.
It can be so backwards. Giving, giving, money from America, Europe, South
America. It’s not money what the people in my village need. It’s the confidence
to know that they don’t need outside money. They are the most creative,
innovative and intelligent people I have ever met. However they have been told
they are “poor, stupid Africans” for way too long that a majority of them
believe it. “We can’t do it without America, we are African”. If they only knew
there own potential. If only people would give them a chance. It is something I
struggle with daily and whose solution I have yet to come up with. At the same
time I see Peace Corps as just the beginning of my journey.
Peace Corps. Two years. Wow, that’s a long time, “Don’t you
miss America, don’t you miss being clean, Internet, TV, good food, dairy, good
roads, a car. You hitchhike? Isn’t
that dangerous?” Yes Peace Corps is two years. However if there is anything I have
taken at the end of my service it is that two years is not a long time. It
barely scratches the surface. There have been people working in development, in
Zambia, in countries around the world for 40, 50 years. I only have two under
my belt. It’s a good start but I have a long way to go, so much more to learn.
I don’t know what the future will bring, school, jobs, more travel. Who knows?
Living in Zambia has allowed me to not know and still have the confidence to
move forward. Zambia, it has been more than I could have ever imagined and an
experience I will carry with me every minute of every day. Natasha Natasha Sana
Mukwai (thank you so much).
Thank you to everyone who has read and commented on my
blogs. Like I said they have never been made to be a reflection of Peace Corps
as a whole or anything other than what is in my mind when I put the pen to the
paper, or my hands to the keyboard. I will finish my Peace Corps Service this
Thursday September 20, 2012 by ringing a tire ring and become a RPCV (Returned
Peace Corps Volunteer). Then it’s off to Tanzania, Zanzibar for a week on the
beach with some fellow PCVs and then to Vietnam to visit dear friends Natalie
and Alex who I haven’t seen since starting my service. Will try and keep
everyone updated with pictures along the way but this will be my last Zambia
blog. Thanks again for everything, hope if nothing else you have gotten a
glimpse into my life for the past two years.
Mushaile Bwino. Stay well. Kelsey, Bupe, Simmons.
