I made my way to the kitchen this morning a bit bleary-eyed and half-asleep, but the shock I received woke me up instantaneously. There was a dead rat in the corner of our laundry room, right next to the kitchen. I gasped and called for Peter. Although logically I knew that the rat must be dead because otherwise it wouldn’t be there, I kept having this feeling that it was just pretending and that at any moment it would make a break for the door. Perhaps the wide open eyes gave me that feeling. Or maybe because Jason was praying that God would raise it back to life and I was worried that God would take this opportunity to show his resurrection power. I woke Brendan up so he could see it before Peter disposed of it, knowing he would find it fascinating. Jason thought we should leave it there in case it was raised back to life again. I thought the trash pit would feel more homey if he came back to life, rather than my kitchen. We really have got to stop reading the Bible to Jason. He loves the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. I would like to think that God would not work against my efforts to kill the rodents by resurrecting them again.
I was a bit jumpy the rest of the morning. When Jason tapped me on the back, I jumped. When he dropped his spoon on the ground, I screamed. It was one thing to think I was battling little mice but to have it actually be a rat gives me the willies.
I made the mistake of making ratatouille for dinner. My boys only know this word from the movie about the rat and therefore made the logical leap to wondering if I had cooked the rat found this morning. The chunks are eggplant, not rat, I explained. I think rat was more familiar than the eggplant. The biggest surprise of the meal came when Jason liked the fish I cooked. Jason, the fussiest eater in the world, loved the Nile perch I bought from a South African who sells meat and fish at Lechwe School on Tuesdays. I think he is a closet vegetarian, in that he doesn’t like most meat. He would make a better vegetarian if he actually ate vegetables. But eating fish is a good start! Next thing you know, we will be on a vacation and Jason will say, “What I’d really like is a nice fish dinner!”
Friday, February 15, 2008
It was Wacky Hair Day at Lechwe School today. Seeing as how our boys have very little hair, we did what we could. Both boys got Mohawks and then I wrote slogans on the side of their heads with my eyeliner pencil. This picture was taken before Jason got the slogans written on his head and he was not very happy.
Brendan returned home with a book he received for winning an award for the best book report in Grade 2. He was very proud of himself and we are as well!
The boys have spent the last few days hard at work on a fort in the backyard. They discovered a slab of concrete (the septic tank) and have built a fort over it. It has kept them all occupied for hours.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Sometimes I get discouraged about how long it takes to make good friends, and to especially connect with Zambians. Zambians are very warm and friendly, but I find it difficult to get past the greetings to being friends. But this week I have had a few interactions that give me hope. First, on Tuesday I was able to talk with Mrs. M’hango, a nursery teacher at Lechwe and also the mother of one of Brendan’s classmates. Brendan and Taonga seem to really connect and appear to be of similar temperament. They have been asking for a playdate but I just figured out who Taonga’s mother was. We had a very pleasant conversation and a few days later we set up a playdate for her boys to come over. Tabo, her second son, is Jason’s age. Secondly, I sent a text to Mrs. Daka, wife of MEF’s director, to see if we could get together to visit, intending to host her. In a twisted phone conversation, I finally realized she was inviting our family over for dinner. We gladly accepted and I was grateful for the chance to connect with their family. I really only saw Mrs. Daka for about five minutes as she was always in the kitchen, even during the meal when she quickly wanted to make a custard for dessert yet. So that was a bit disappointing but it was still a start. And then today, after several weeks of asking around about the women’s meeting on Sunday afternoons, I finally found someone who could give me information and actually invited me to it! I was looking for another way to get to know the women at St. Andrews.
So I took my compulsory Sunday afternoon nap a bit early then headed back to church to meet with the ladies of the church. I now know the names of three more women at the church which is huge. Although I only know their first names, which is how they introduced themselves to me but everyone refers to everyone else by Mrs. So and So and then I am completely lost again. The program called for praise and worship and intercessory prayer this Sunday. I finally figured out the words to one of the Bemba songs we often sing. There are a few things about the meeting that were different for me.
1. I was surprised by the formal structure of the Presbyterians. I don’t know if it is a Mennonite thing or a California thing, but this was very foreign to me. There is a president, vice-president, treasurer and secretary for the women’s meeting. Along with dues that are paid, the secretary takes minutes. Definitely didn’t have this in the Pink Pirahnas!
2. You never know when you will spontaneously be asked to pray publicly. You have got to be ready at all times to be able to hold forth in intercessory prayer, confessional prayer, and definitely prayers of praise and thanksgiving. No time to prepare or gather your thoughts, your name is called and you have to stand and pray! My public prayer muscles are a bit weak but I’m sure they will get a lot of exercise here.
3. Generally speaking, Zambians cannot say my name. Because “r” and “l” are interchangeable, it would appear, my name comes out something like “Shelloll.” Most of the time they just call me Sharon. But today when I introduced myself and spelled my name for the minutes, the ladies all said it perfectly. I couldn’t understand why until they exclaimed, “It’s from Charlie’s Angels!” I didn’t explain that Charlie’s Angels was banned in my household, mostly because I was way too young for those sexy ladies, but I am deeply indebted to that television show because now there are several Zambians who can get my name to just roll off their tongues!
4. Since the secretary was late to arrive, and it was imperative that someone took minutes, the ladies began scrambling for paper and pen. One lady pulled a paper out of her purse and there was a smallish cockroach on the back side. I was in a quandary as to whether I should point it out or not and was still debating when another paper was found to be sufficient for the note-taking and the paper in question was stuffed back into the purse.
5. In our small group of seven women, there were several languages being spoken at different times: English, Bemba, Nyanja, Chewa, and Tonga. I was glad that one of the other ladies revealed that she had no idea what the others were talking about. Several of the ladies only know a bit of Bemba so English is really the common language. Good to know that I am not the only one that doesn’t understand but it also doesn’t help my motivation to learn Bemba when there are so many languages in Zambia.
Monday, February 18, 2008
The boys have the week off from school as it is mid-term break. We took the opportunity to drive to Ndola, about an hour away. Last time we were in Lusaka, we tried to pick up Brendan’s school permit but found out that they had sent it on to Ndola. So today we went to the Immigration department to retrieve it. After much shuffling through papers and not being able to locate Brendan’s name in a logbook, we were afraid we would be sent back to Lusaka. But then the officer looked through the permits and was able to find Brendan’s! Brendan signed it and we were able to check another off our list of projects that take several months!
While in Ndola, we had lunch at a fabulous pizzeria, perused a few shops, and then headed back home. We decided to make a stop at the Dag Hammerskjold crash site. You’d think Dag was practically a member of our family the way our boys refer to him. The Peace Center at Mindolo, where Peter works, is named after this former United Nations Secretary General whose plane was shot down in the 1960s by people who didn’t like the peace he was trying to advocate for in Congo. There is a small museum at the crash site and the curator was able to provide us with interesting facts and speculation as to what actually happened. Jason didn’t find it so interesting. He was just disappointed he didn’t get to see any bones or pictures of the pilots. Those were the only things he wanted to see and we couldn’t come through for him. Climbing up and down the anthill where they found the body of Dag was the next best thing.
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