My
morning starts at 6AM when my phone alarm goes off. The sun has been up for a half hour and the
roosters have been crowing for 2 hours.
Dusty, my cat, is snuggled next to me in bed. She refuses to get up and I
often feel the exact same way. (Not a
morning person!) I give her a nudge, she purrs and rolls over. Envying her
laziness, I stumble out of bed and hope for electricity and water to take a
shower, hope there is hot water, hope there is water pressure… hopefully all
these things last long enough for me to get out of the shower clean. Get dressed into my below-the-knee skirt. Eat
breakfast, make coffee, drink coffee, read Bible. Listen to the sounds floating across campus of
the men praying in the dormitory. Take a
deep breath in the moment of peace and ask the Lord for grace, wisdom and
energy for my day.
7AM and someone is inevitably knocking at my
door handing in a paper, asking to use my stapler, or the occasional emergency
need for money to travel to a hospital or funeral… Between 7 and 7:30 I hope the power is on so
I can use the photo copier to make copies for my classes, the copier will
inevitably jam at least 3 times depending on how much moisture is in the air
and how temperamental it wants to be.
Around
this time students begin descending on the campus and I’m greeted with chipper,
bright “Good morning, madam. How are you?” I greet every person within 10-15
feet of me, or whoever makes eye contact… if there is anything you can do in
the African culture to create a relationship it is to simply and genuinely say “Hi,
how are you?” It is even better if I can
fumble through some Tonga “Mwabuka Buti?” or for the few Bemba students “Muli
Bwanji?” My student’s cheerful smiles so
early in the morning infuse life and joy into my spirit. The clear blue sky and African sun sink into
my bones and wake up my body.
7:20
and its almost time for
devotions. Paul, the student time
keeper, rings the new siren. The siren
was graciously donated by a former student who is now serving as a pastor. It
is always a blessing when local churches support the Bible College out of their
poverty. He even came with his own electrician
to install the siren. It's purpose is to signal when classes are starting and
ending, but I’m certain one of these days it is going to summon the fire brigade.
7:30. Time
for devotions. A small student cohort has already gathered and
started singing a worship chorus in English or Tonga which echoes across campus
calling us all to worship. We gather in the chapel. Dusty has emerged from her slumber and she
roams among the students saying her own morning ‘hello’. One of the second or third year students
manages to preach an entire three point sermon in 10 minutes, followed by Rev.
Habbaba the Dean of Students giving the announcements for the day. “So and so is sick, so and so’s child has
gone to the clinic. We will have prayer meeting on Thursday. So and so has traveled to a funeral. Please come to devotions on time…” Followed
by prayer. Followed by, “We may greet
each other.” Every morning of every day
of the week I shake hands and greet the same 32 people. Each one greets me a different way. Each one trying to elicit a smile or laugh
from their ‘madam’. Each one is
successful in starting my day knowing I am loved.
7:45 go
to my apartment to wash the fellowship off my hands, grab my teaching
materials, lock my apartment, go to the first year’s classroom. Ask Luka to pray for the class. In his prayer
he includes kind and genuine words for the lecturer that she would “teach with
wisdom from above, and be protected in body and spirit.” The lesson
proceeds. This period I am teaching
English where we have been learning how to write a research paper. For the 176th time I explain what
a bibliography is, the purpose of writing citations, how to write a proper
introduction… Dusty hops through the window happily bringing a half-dead lizard
to my feet and distracting the whole class. 8:20 and the siren warns that class
is almost over. (Or that a tornado is coming… I’m still not sure) More
questions are raised and I fumble through defining words like “centralization”
and “deified.”
8:30 Escape
to my apartment where I have a ten minute break which is interrupted by more
knocking at my door with “can I have…” and “can you help me…” questions. 8:40, time to teach the wives English where
we navigate through understanding each other. This class is full of laughter. It is especially
funny when Mrs. Hamilila chooses the verb ‘to swim’ in her sentence and I look
at her shocked and ask her “where are you swimming around here!?” 9:07 and a 4 foot Green Mamba (that’s a
snake, not a dance) has been found on campus and all the men are gathered
throwing bricks and stones and jumping and yelling (that’s the part that looks
like a dance). Everyone is excited to
see the snake and Mr. Lweendo brings it hanging limply on a stick into our
class room, ladies shriek and run to corners giggling and spurting out Tonga
phrases of excitement. Only Mrs. Maulu
is brave enough to touch it. The dead
snake leaves and we settle back to our lesson, however the babies are getting unsettled
and hungry. Breasts are pulled out for nursing.
Baby Melody is crawling around the room pulling everyone’s notebooks off
their laps and desks. Junior plays
peek-a-boo with me from under the table, his little mischievous grin melts my heart. Baby ‘Love’ looks at my white face in
terror. Siren rings.
10:30
and another 10 minute break. More knocks
at my door with “can I have…” and “can you help me…” 10:40 siren blares and I
head to the second and third year students class room to teach Discipleship. Our discussion rabbit trails to intense
debates about predestination or the difference between salvation and
sanctification. (The students are certain they can solve these problems in our
50 minutes of class) I am once again astounded at my student’s memorization of
scripture and apt application of it to our discussion. They navigate the Bible in a way that puts my
use of it to shame, indicating the many hours they spend indulging their hearts
and minds in the wee- hours of the night reading. The siren rings and I do my best to pull my
little rampant rabbit brains back onto the main path for our last few minutes
of class.
11:30 ten
more minutes to breathe. Quick run to
the bathroom, wash the chalk off my hands, answer the “can I have…” and “can you
help me…”s. Back to the first year class
room for New Testament survey where I am teaching a course that I have never
taken myself. I pass along information
which I have only learned the night before in my research and attempt to answer
questions as we are all discovering together the fascinating history of the New
Testament era. This is the hardest time
of the day to teach. The temperature has
jumped about 20 degrees since the morning began and we are all hot and tired
from four hours of class. The students
are drifting to sleep and their minds are wandering to their lunches. Most of
them don’t have enough food to eat a breakfast meal. I sympathize with their exhaustion and hunger and let the class end early. Another morning
of teaching complete.
12:30
and I finally get a break. I make up
some simple meal for lunch and sit down to eat.
As I sit down I watch Obby, one of the single students, walk slowly by
my apartment carrying his Bible. He is
headed to “The mountain” to spend the lunch hour praying. He is one of several of the single students
who do this. It is partially a forced
fast due to minimal food, though I also know his heart is one passionate for
prayer. I eat my lunch, evermore thankful
for food, in front of my computer.
Battling the slow internet, I check Facebook to have my 15
minute connection with a world that is becoming more and more distant. Another friend has had a baby, someone else
is engaged. I read about things
happening in the political world of a land called "America", check up on someone who has been sick, try to
write little notes to reconnect with friends.
Then I turn to my email where I’ve received at least one or two notes
from my mom. She writes to me about the happenings of her day, what is
happening in the extended family, or what new trouble or trick our dog Rosie
has learned… mostly she writes me words of encouragement and lends a supporting
ear to my venting. She prays for me all
day and all night long. I am so thankful for her walking each step of every day
of this journey with me. I give myself a
moment to feel the heartache of missing my family and closest friends, but only
a moment because if I linger too long I know I’ll get lost in a sea of
emotions. Respond to her email with a
quick note of reassurance that I’m alive, tell her the excitement about the
snake in the morning, and then move on to any other emails that call for my
attention.
1:30
and I decide I better clean up the apartment a bit. Mrs. Munsanje and Mrs. Tilimboyi will be here
shortly to do their bi-weekly cleaning job, and I better have the place tidied
before they come. Electronics, money,
extra clothing, and food all get tucked away.
1:45 and they’re knocking on my door 15 minutes early, ready to start
cleaning. Melody is Mrs. Munsanje’s 22
month old baby and I have been blessed to watch her grow for 15 of those months. I take her from her mom and get to work at
preparing some instant oatmeal, mixed with some peanut butter for protein. Though a doctor has not diagnosed her, we suspect
Melody has cerebral palsy. One of the
problems this presents is her lack of ability to feed herself. I expect someday she’ll be able to, but for
now she manages to get more food on her body than in her mouth. So I spoon feed her the oatmeal while she
claps and shakes her head and squawks out Melodyisms that I have learned are
all expressing sheer delight.
The
ladies have eyed my browning banana’s and make a request that we bake some
banana cake to share at the end of their work period. I eagerly agree since it will give me someone to share the banana muffins that I had already wanted make, and set to
work at measuring sugar, flour, melting butter on the stove, and mixing the
batter with my hand-beater.
I hear
the ladies giggling in the other room and they call “Laureen! Laureen!!” I go
in to see them looking at a small advertisement on their bottle of wood
polish. There is a photo of a white lady
in a wedding dress and they are pointing at the picture of my friend Melissa on
her wedding day and saying, “It’s the same person!” I burst out laughing with
them. A knock on my door draws me away
from the excitement.
Mr. and
Mrs. Kabayame are asking to meet with me in my office. They follow me over and I manage to unlock
the door on the third try, and we are all relieved by the cooler air of the
enclosed cement box that is my office.
Mr. Kabayame, following the formality of his culture, begins our ‘meeting’
with prayer, and then very politely presents their concerns regarding their
daughter Chipo’s school fees for grade 10.
My heart is humbled that this couple, in their 40s who I have grown to
respect and admire, feel they have to come to ME with such a level of humility
and respect. I yearn to be able to meet all of their needs. Chipo is one of a small handful of students
who has passed her grade 9 exams and is awaiting placement at a boarding school
somewhere in the country. Her faithful
and loving parents want to do everything they can to support her education but
are incapable of paying the $150-$250 per term school fees. I reassure them that I have contacted a
sponsor and ask them to write a letter expressing their requests and pride for
their daughter.
Back in
my apartment Mrs. Munsanje has removed the muffins from the oven since she
could smell they were about to burn.
Melody, who is becoming ever more mobile, is dumping Dusty’s cat food
all over the floor and putting pieces of kibble into her mouth. My bedroom is a mess of beds and boxes and
desks since the ladies decided it was a good day for a deep clean and are
getting the dust and bugs out of every nook and cranny. I ‘babboo’ Melody to my back with a Chitenge to
get her out of trouble and she is entertained by watching me wash dishes and
giggles when I touch the wet sponge to her bare feet that are hanging at my
sides.
I then
remember the students who are down the hall practicing computer skills on the 3
laptop and 1 netbook computers that have been donated to the school. I head down to check up on them and they
express their frustrations of this new venture but smile the whole time at the privilege
they have to learn. I encourage Brian,
who is already skilled in computers and is ‘supervising’ the learning of his
peers. This is a program I am proud to
have initiated, I leave the room with a smile on my face to see it in action.
On my
way to the apartment I pass the ladies who are now carrying my garbage out to
the garbage pit to burn. This is my cue that
they are done cleaning and it is time to start cooking. I put
the electric kettle on to heat water for their tea, and begin the process of
making eggs the way they like them. I’ve
decided it is essentially a milk-less omelet.
Two eggs each, two pieces of
bread, one of the banana muffins, butter, jam, milk and sugar for tea. They arrive and sit down and eagerly dig into
their food. I think on the days they
clean they don’t eat lunch because they know I will feed them. They express their gratefulness, and we chat
about campus happenings with their limited English and my much more limited Tonga. Mrs. Munsanje writes their work time in their
log book and says, “Let’s go baby!”
Melody lifts her arms to momma, momma pulls her onto her back and ties
her up into her babboo. I send them home with some very ripe tomatoes that I know I wont eat in time and my empty recyclables that their children will play with. I grab my broom
and sweep up the crumbs from their meal, of which there are many since they are
unused to eating with utensils. Dusty
slinks her way into the once again quiet apartment.
It is
around 4:15 and I now have some time to grade a few papers and do lesson
planning for class tomorrow. Thankfully
my schedule tomorrow has less hours in the classroom so I only have two classes
to plan for. I do enough planning and
grading to ‘get by’ but am drawn outside by the distant sounds of “my” kids
playing. The student compound is full of
life this time of day and I walk up to find little bare bums of children running
around escaping baths, yells of “Ba Auntie!! Ba Auntie!!” put a huge grin on my
face. Little feet and little legs
scamper from every direction and little arms wrap around my legs. I lift up 2 year old Joanne who grins and giggles as I
wrap her into a bear hug, and soon Ji, Joseph, Junior, and Love are all
reaching for ‘up’. More little people
emerge from different corners and we begin some silly games. The older children are eager to practice their
English with me, while the younger children become bashful when I ask “how are
you?” The older children scold the younger children for getting Auntie dirty,
and the younger children carefully wipe the dirt off my skirt. Bibbi, the campus dog, comes running from
some unknown place, prances into the mob of children who scatter with shrieks
and giggles. The sun is setting and I
better get home before it is too dark, so I pull myself away from the children
who mimic my “bye bye!” with a little wave.
I am half way home before they stop yelling “Bye Auntie!”
On my
walk home I walk past the library which is adjacent to my apartment. There are several students inside and I can
see that they are hard at work. The time
of day, now around 7, indicates that most of them have skipped dinner to get
some studying in. With a sudden idea I
go inside my home and set to work at making a big pot of popcorn on the
stove. Thankful that most of it didn’t burn, I march into the library with the hot popcorn and declare “Study break!” They all look up surprised but someone
exclaims, “Praise be to God!” And they
mean it. 7:30 and my pots and bowls are
returned, time to wash dishes. 7:55 and
Brian is returning the school laptop, with 5 minutes to spare before my 8:00 deadline. I step outside and call Dusty who comes
trotting up to me with a sweet little meow and we head inside. One more check of email, pajamas on, lights out.
A few candles next to my bed are lit so I can
read a bit before sleeping. The peaceful night coming through my window is mixed with sounds of frogs croaking, bugs buzzing, and
students “studying” next door in the library.
A baby is crying in the distance and cow bells are ringing as their
shepherd boy leads the meandering beasts back home. Dusty and I settle underneath the mosquito
net. The candlelight flickers and sizzles.
I am reading the autobiography of Claudie Peyton, one of the first
missionaries in Zambia in the 1930's. She
writes tales of lions and loincloths, her near-death illness, the many orphaned children who became her own. She writes of places and villages that I frequently visit. Her tales of struggle and hardship are inspiring and I thank the Lord for her faithfulness to bring the Gospel
here. She has laid the foundation for
what I did today.
Next I
turn to my Bible and I’m drawn to the following verse, “Therefore, my dear
brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let
nothing move you. Always give yourselves
fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is
not in vain.” 1 Corinthians 15:58
As I
blow out the candles I also breathe out a sigh of relief. Another day done. Another day full of interruptions and
decisions and tasks that are far beyond my ability. Another day full of smiles and laughter,
desperation and pain. Another day of
life in Zambia. Another day of JOY.
