Soccer to Zambia

The pictures of the little boy tell a great story. Neesa lives in Lusaka, is 8-years-old, and had surgery just over a year ago on both legs to correct club feet. He loves soccer and had been playing with plastic bags that were taped together to form a ball. (Note to our kiddos: No more excuses).When he was given the ball by our teammates, he held it  reverently and stroked it - and then bolted out of the house at the first chance he had. He couldn't wait to bounce it (plastic bags don't bounce!). Although he's not smiling (Zambians don't always smile for pictures), he was overjoyed with the treasure he had.

We almost didn't pack the soccer uniforms given to us as they were adult sizes, but since we had room, we threw them in. God had His plan, always better than ours. Little did we know that the hospital has their own soccer team made up of employees. Even though the hospital sits in the shadow of the Zambian national team's stadium, the hospital's team has not had uniforms in over 3 years. The guys donned them happily for a team picture and had a great time running around a grassy area showing us their skills, just like kids. We left some balls with them also as well as with the children's ward for their enjoyment. Two more balls were given away on home visits. 

Soccer balls = treasures. And a universal language.

Special thanks to Share the Wealth and the PA Soccer Coaches Assocation for providing the balls and uniforms. http://www.pasoccercoaches.org/sharethewealth.html

My first published thoughts...

Welcome to Zambia - Kenneth Kahdu International Airport

Since we came home on March 9^th, I have struggled with how to tell friends, family and co-workers about our trip. How to put what I saw, what I felt, the experiences, the people, the emotions – how to encapsulate it all in a five minute conversation. How to answer the questions: “Was your trip nice?” "How was your vacation?" 

Some of what I type or try to convey about my feelings, my emotions, the outcome of our trip may seem dramatic. Or that I'm exaggerating. Please know that’s so not my intention. I came home broken. My worldview was shattered. I no longer am the person who stepped on a plane at JFK airport on February 27, 2015. And it has taken and continues to take time to reconcile everything going through my heart and brain.

My hope with this blog is to share with you both through words and photos what I experienced and learned through my trip with seven others from LCBC-Ephrata to Lusaka, Zambia, an amazing city of 1.7 million where we served at the Beit-CURE hospital (check them out at Cure-Zambia).  Hopefully you will see growth and change as I journal (because honestly, who knows how long it will take for me to get everything up – we’ve already been home almost two weeks!).

A beautiful mother and her son Stephen waiting for treatment

Let me start with a conversation that was had two nights after we returned to US soil when Calvin and I were at our small group (who had prayed and supported us through this journey) and the question was asked,“What are your biggest three takeaways or surprises from your trip?” Although I will take away so much and hopefully incorporate each piece and thought of it into my life on this side of the Atlantic, I surprisingly was able to come up with just three answers as asked. I will expand on them  hopefully later through this blog but here’s a quick overview:

1. The Poverty: Whoa. Zambia is a “developing country,” what many Americans would call third world. To be honest, part of the poverty looked different than I expected. People were clothed. There were vehicles. There was electricity in parts of the city (although not in all villages especially as you got further out). But the water wasn't safe to drink. Homes were built out of cinder blocks with tin roofs and usually only two rooms (a living area and sleeping area, rooms being the size of most master bathrooms in our suburbia) and did not have doors or windows (during cold season is does get down in the 50’s at night so brrr). The majority of the population does not have running water in their homes (meaning a village outhouse, dishes washed in tubs on stoops, cooking over fires outside the front door). The unemployment rate in Zambia is 85%. Yes, you read that right – only 1.5 out of every 10 persons is gainfully employed. People are hungry. Families are large. And communal. BUT, and this is a big BUT, people are happy. Which leads me to #2 . . .
   
   

   

   A typical village from the "highway"

   
   
2. The sense of Community: What a stark contrast to what I’m used to – Zambians were open and loving. Although we did get a looks because of our skin color, we always felt accepted. Zambians helped each other. They were open and caring. And they were patient. Thursday morning I volunteered in the ENT clinic and had to register patients. It took a while until I understood the process and I had mistakenly told a woman she didn't need a number because she had an appointment. When I explained to her what happened, she didn't get upset or yell or demand to be seen – she simply went to the main registration area in another building, got her number, and came back to wait for her turn (which had to have been delayed at least an hour). Do you see that happening on our first world? And they are generous. They will give you the food on their plate, the clothing on their back, the money under their mattress. They take care of each other. If their neighbor's rent is due today, they give them their money even if their own rent is due tomorrow. And they are so very gracious. You honestly won't know if you have ever offended a Zambian.
   
   

   

   Church members from the village

   
   
3. My third take-away is that we are all the same. People are people. For whatever reason, I was chosen to be born in Silver Spring, MD while my friend from the hospital, Charity, was born in Zambia. We say we don’t believe in stereotypes or see the color of skin or the income bracket. We say we aren't racist. *gasp - yes I went there.* But when you sit in another human’s space which is in a different country than yours where the median life expectancy is only 57, the skin color is obviously darker and the average monthly family income is under $200 a month, it’s incredibly humbling to know that the thoughts and dreams and hopes and fears are all the same. I sat beside one of the Pharmacy Technicians, Oleepia, at lunch on Monday. We began talking about our families – she is a mother of three children, ages 11, 8, and four months. She works full-time. As we spoke about the challenges with life as a mom and our roles she said, “You try to make room for it all – God, family, husband, kids, job – and then you need to find time for YOU.” Boom. I have spoken the except same sentiment. We are ALL. THE. SAME. And try worshiping in a church with dirt floors but a choir that would put ours to shame without tears pouring down your face. I dare you. WE ARE ALL THE SAME.
   
   

   

   The village church we attended Sunday morning

Wow, this first post has been therapeutic. I am looking forward to the exercise of writing more, of sharing my journal and sharing my heart. I will add pictures and links to albums for you to see what we saw. And I pray that you will hear my heart as I am convicted to make changes in my values, my treasures and my world. I hope you don't mind if I take you along as I recreate for my memory the trip that hopefully changed my life!