A series of unfortunate events . . . and a few good ones too

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Another two weeks has flown by but they were not completely enjoyable. There were a few really good things that happened which helped greatly but there were a series of unfortunate events that left me feeling quite down.

SUNDAY SCHOOL FRUSTRATIONS: Knowing I would be gone to Lusaka for my first trauma workshop and feeling like I needed a break last Sunday, I had prepared two Sunday School lessons and handed them off to the Sunday School Coordinator so that she could teach or give them to the other teacher. When I showed up at church the second Sunday, she said she didn’t get anyone to teach and gave the materials to me so I could teach. I had to choose whether to make my point or serve the children. All the children in our pew during the service helped me choose to teach Sunday School because it was so chaotic I wasn’t engaged in worship anyway. The combination of distracting kids, feeling spiritually dead myself, and a service that seemed to be limping along despite the liturgist’s encouragement to get the congregation engaged, left me in a sour mood. I thought the only thing that would make it worse is if they called on me to pray at the end of praise and worship. So there I was trying to keep all the kids quiet, fuming that I’m stuck with Sunday School again, gathering my things so we can go, and then the Sunday School Coordinator, the very one I am frustrated with, calls on me to pray. Prayer and worship were the farthest things from my mind at that moment but I managed to get something out. To make matters worse, during Sunday School I discovered that no one taught last Sunday either. And all the little toys and stickers that I had bought for the little ones to play with after the lesson have mysteriously disappeared. I’m pretty discouraged. All the things the Coordinator promised last October have not happened: having the Sunday School room swept (it is always filthy), finding additional teachers, finding helpers for the teachers (I finally asked one for myself), and getting a bigger room fixed up to accommodate the 25 kids. I agreed to plan all the lessons but only teach two or three Sundays a month because I can’t teach every Sunday all year long. I gave the prepared lessons to the others so that it would be easy for them to teach. For some reason, things aren’t working out. Time to have another meeting with the Coordinator but it is hard for me to trust that she will do what she promises.

DEATH OF A FRIEND: Sunday evening we received word that Mr. Tubi died. He is the kind older man that built our water tower and was in the middle of fixing all the screens in our house. Peter and Mr. Tubi had a good relationship and there was a lot of trust and respect between them. Mr. Tubi took the time to explain how things worked in Zambia, both culturally and in terms of plumbing, electricity, and in our house generally. The same day that Jason got malaria, so did Mr. Tubi. He lamented the fact that the clinics only give out Fancidar, a drug that is not effective. Then we didn’t see or hear from him for a month. Peter tried to contact him, went to his workshed, but nothing. We finally learned that he was in hospital with malaria and a bit later, got a call saying he had died. So senseless. So sad.

We really depended on Mr. Tubi and his expertise. When our water tower and geyser malfunctioned (more often than we wanted), he was able to come over and troubleshoot the problem. He was hard at work putting new screens on our windows that were slashed by the robbers in early January. But he only got so far as to build big ugly frames and to rip out the old screening material. We still had his tools sitting in our back porch waiting for him to return. But now he is not returning and the work he was doing will remain unfinished. A few days after the funeral, Mr. Tubi’s son came to our door to fetch the tools. We were trying to get out the door to drive to Lusaka. But Peter had to go to the workshop to try to claim the materials that Mr. Tubi had bought for the project and that we had paid for. People had already descended on the workshop and taken whatever they wanted so most everything was gone already. But since Peter had a receipt from Mr. Tubi, the son is going to try to find the materials that were taken. We’re not too hopeful we will get them back.

HEALTH WORRIES: I first noticed a suspicious looking mole on Peter’s back in early January. It was raised unlike the rest of his moles. In mid-March, I saw that it was turning a darker color. Then on Saturday I noticed that it had dark spots and was peeling a little. I was feeling quite anxious about it but since Peter was in the middle of teaching a two week module it was hard to find a time to get it checked out. Wednesday morning he gave his class a group assignment to work on and we went to the clinic for a consultation. The doctor took us to the surgeon right away who said it was best to cut it out and he could do it right then. No need to wait, we thought, so we had him do the procedure. I actually had to run home and get more money (fact of life in a cash society) because we weren't anticipating them acting on it right away. So the mole is now gone, Peter has three stitches where it was, and the mole was sent to pathology to have it looked at. We should get a report back in two weeks time as to whether there was anything more suspicious about the mole or not. We weren’t sure initially what to do or where to go for it to be looked at here in Zambia so my anxiety skyrocketed. It turned out OK but it was hard on me in the meantime.

While in Lusaka, Brendan came down with malaria again. We did a malaria self-test which came back negative but we know by now what Brendan looks like with malaria. We got him on Coartem right away and within two days he was looking and feeling much better.

Jason didn’t want to be excluded so he thought he would give ringworm a try. He’s got the classic ring on the back of his arm and we are smearing it with medicine every night.

THEIVES STRIKE AGAIN: Last time we returned from Lusaka, we found our screens slashed and a few things taken. So this time we took extra precautions. Our neighbors walked around our house each day and watched it. We had another friend come over in the evenings and hang out a bit so it looked like someone was home. But it wasn’t enough. We came home from Lusaka to find that we were robbed again. Our neighbor saw some kids in our yard on Wednesday that were not from MEF and the maid chased them away. But we think they came back that night, because it had to be someone small who could fit through the same security bars that Jason fit through when we were locked out last year. At first it didn’t seem like they took much but it began to add up. They took our two good backpacks and must have stuffed them full. They rifled through our drawers and took the boys’ allowance money, all our headlamps and torches, knives (thankfully we had taken our good knives to Lusaka to be sharpened), chocolate bars and other goodies from care packages, granola bars, canned goods, eggs from the fridge, DVDs (all the ones with half hour shows taped from PBS so at least they can learn something if they watch them), and a few tools. But they also took our second small digital camera and our battery recharger for our good digital camera. That is rotten because we can’t take pictures if we can’t recharge our batteries. I continue to discover additional things that were taken, like all the salt in the kitchen. Unfortunately I came to this realization AFTER I had done my grocery shopping and stores were closed for Easter. Adrian came to my rescue and shared his salt. All in all, we think about $650 worth of things were stolen. That’s a bear. I guess this summer we will do our part to stimulate the US economy by replacing some of the things that are now gone.

Peter went to the local police station to file a report. He had to drive an officer back to our house and showed him how they got in. Then Peter had to drive him back to the police station. The police don’t have many vehicles so they rely on the victim for transport. A detective is going to be assigned to our case and Peter will have to fetch him another day. We aren’t too hopeful that we will get our goods returned to us but if they can somehow stop these kids from looting us every time we are gone, we would appreciate that.

So these things have made it tough going. Each on their own isn’t so bad but the cumulative worry, anxiety, frustration and loss make it more difficult. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t also report some of the good things that happened.

MCC TEAM MEETINGS: Our team has expanded and incorporated two new families. Instead of our boys being the only children on the team, there are now seven children between the ages of 5 and 10. They had a marvelous time together, catching toads and making habitats for them, playing soccer, and generally getting to know each other. On Saturday, we all met together and two Zambians who have also spent time in North America joined us. We were able to ask questions about Zambian culture and hear their views on it. I found the time interesting and informative. Sunday afternoon was spent at Adventure City with some of the group braving the cold water and the water slides, and others chatting and playing bocce ball.

We were delighted that a work trip for John Wieler coincided with our time in Lusaka. It was fun to see him again and catch up on his family. He took us out to dinner at a great Indian restaurant around the corner from the guesthouse and I think it is the best I’ve ever had. Even better was getting to laugh with John and sharing stories and experiences together.


SECOND TRAUMA WORKSHOP: While in Lusaka, I conducted the second half of the trauma workshop I began two weeks ago. It was good to see all the participants again and hear about how they had shared what they had learned with others. In this workshop we covered the lighthearted subjects of grief and loss, trauma in children, forgiveness, and rape. Despite the seriousness of the subject matter, we still were able to laugh with each other and enjoy it. The picture shows a human sculpture used to look at social injustice. We discussed who was the victim and what reconciliation would like for these three (the white woman is Chloe who translated for us). Over lunch, I talked with the same woman from last workshop who wasn’t able to participate in telling her life story because it was too horrible. She told me that she had gone home and shared with her husband about what she had learned. And she informed him that she was no longer going to sit around the house and cry because she was ready to move on. Her husband, who knows her story and is very supportive, was overjoyed at this news and is committed to helping her do this. It is always a gift when you see someone who was stuck able to make some movement forward. Over the second lunch hour, I talked with a woman who works with children. She had just found out that several of them were tested HIV+ and she had to tell them. She was dreading this and saying that she was afraid she would cry. When I asked her why she couldn’t cry, she said she had to be strong. I suggested that sometimes tears can communicate compassion while being “strong” can sometimes convey the message that you don’t care. She was relieved to have been given “permission” to be real and honest with the kids. I don’t envy what she has to do but know that God can use her to love these children especially when they receive bad news.

All in all, the workshop seemed to go well. The participants complained that it wasn’t long enough and several wanted to have time to talk with me, essentially have me counsel them. That is hard to do when I live five hours away. I have to figure out some way of doing follow-up with them even if I can’t personally counsel them. Esperance, the Rwandan refugee I talked about last time, will be coming to Africa Peacebuilding Institute (API) in May here at MEF. After the first workshop, she told me she had been looking for sponsorship to do the Peacebuilding program at MEF for several years. In talking to our Reps, I found out that there was still one slot open to send someone to API from Zambia, but it was way past the deadline. I have a very close relationship with the coordinator of API (that is Peter), and he was able to work it out for her to come. She was overjoyed when I saw her at the second workshop. She is eager to teach the refugees she oversees but doesn’t have material or information to share so this will be wonderful for her. Carmen told me that in Spanish, Esperance’s name would mean both “hope” and “to wait.” While she remains separated from her husband and children, at least her hoping and waiting to receive training in peacebuilding is over.

KITCHEN PARTY: My friend, Esther from Needs Care Community School in Lusaka, invited me to attend the kitchen party of her niece, here in Kitwe. Esther is a wonderful woman and I enjoy being with her. I had spent the morning trying to account for all the things stolen, grocery shopping, and feeling guilty that Peter has spent the week parenting because of my workshops and neglecting his dissertation revisions. And now I was going to be gone all afternoon again and I was on the verge of tears. But with Peter’s encouragement, I went determined to have a good time with Esther. I left around noon and met her at the house of her sister-in-law whose daughter was the bride. I was greeted with hugs and kisses and ululations (high pitched, tongue wagging, celebratory noises – how is that for a description?). I was delighted to see the mother and daughter with huge smiles because those would disappear for the duration of the kitchen party. I sat in the shade of a tree in the courtyard and attempted to eat all the food they brought to Esther and I: a huge lump of nshima, two pieces of chicken, macaroni and meat and rice, all eaten with one hand. The lady in front of me was cooking a whole chicken over the fire. The bride has to present this whole chicken to the groom, to represent that she is giving her whole self to him. A little before 3:00, we made our way to the assembly hall of a local secondary school. A mini-bus transported most of the family but I still had four big women, an infant and a child in the back seat of my Corolla. Around 3:30, the event started (scheduled to start at 1:30). The bride crawled into the hall on her hands and knees with one woman in front and another behind. They were covered with a chitenge cloth. Every few paces, they had to fall on their side and lightly clap three times, then flop on their other side and do the same thing. Then they would resume crawling to the front. The hall was filled with ladies, over 250 I would think, with those who know the groom on one side and friends and family of the bride on the other. I was the only white person there and sat between the mother of the bride and Esther in the family section. The mother of the bride is in the green dress and the pregnant daughter near me will be having her own kitchen party in December.

All the gifts are piled in front of the bride and two friends open all the gifts and call out the names of the givers who then have to come up and explain to the bride what the gifts is and how it should be used. Then they have to pay the drummers and dance. I lucked out and my gift was put with the family gifts so I was spared this ordeal. The bride, meanwhile, has to sit with her legs straight out, not leaning against anything, eyes downcast, and no smile whatsoever. This is to show respect. I could barely stand sitting in a cramped school desk for three and a half hours, I don’t know how she managed, but they are used to sitting that way so maybe it wasn’t so bad for her. Near the end, I had to go stand next to the bride so that people could take “clips” which I quickly figured out meant pictures. I leaned close to the bride and whispered something to her and she smiled very briefly before catching herself and putting on her solemn face again. But then they made me dance so someone wrapped a chitenge around my waist and I shook my hips as best as I could. One woman grabbed my hips to try to make them do what they were supposed to but then it was impossible to do anything. At the end I did a little raised leg kick like they do when they end their dance and people whooped and hollered. Only the drummers were not happy because I only gave them a couple thousand kwacha. Others were giving 500 kwacha so I thought it was sufficient but my white skin dictated that I should have paid a lot more. Too bad for them. But overall, it was pretty fun, especially getting to hang out with Esther and ask all sorts of cultural questions. I returned home at 7:00, seven hours after I left, and I was exhausted. I’m glad I don’t go to kitchen parties every day!

EASTER MORNING HOME CHURCH: I was in desperate need of some spiritual refreshment, especially on Easter, so we decided to have home church today. We did a short dramatization of the women encountering the angel at the tomb and then seeing Jesus. Since neither of the boys wanted to play a woman, Peter put a chitenge over his head and very convincingly became one of the Marys. Peter talked about how Jesus could have come back to life angry and bitter after being murdered. But revenge was not on his agenda, but rather peace to calm fears, and a mission of telling others the good news. This led to a discussion on our attitudes toward the robbers who stole from us this week. Jason is very angry that they stole his allowance. Brendan suggested that the police set up a torture chamber for when they catch the robbers, so I’m gathering that he is a bit angry as well. What does it mean for us to love our enemies? How do we choose forgiveness instead of revenge? We still would love for our goods to be returned to us and for these thieves to stop making bad choices. But whether or not that happens we have to find a way not to bitter or hateful. It was good for us to think about this in the context of Easter. Both boys wanted to play piano to contribute to our time of worship. Jason’s piece was an “impromptu” piece that cascaded up and down the keyboard. Brendan learned to play “Down by the Riverside” yesterday so he played and we sang that. The words “Laying down our sword and shield” fit perfectly with our theme of relinquishing our desire for revenge. I spent the rest of the morning playing Easter songs on our critically out of tune piano but it was wonderful nonetheless. Tonight a few people are coming over for a light dinner of soup and sourdough bread.

A few days ago, I felt overwhelmed by the series of negative things coming our way in a short time. Slowly but surely, I feel like I am getting a bit of perspective and crawling out of the hole I found myself in. It’s been a rough patch but I am hopeful. Easter hope comes in many shapes and forms so maybe this is an Easter gift for me this year.