SUNDAY
No longer being quarantined by the mumps, it was my turn to teach with Issa at Meheba Refugee Resettlement Camp. Our travels to the camp went smoothly, especially compared to Issa’s travel to Kitwe the day before. (He boarded a bus in Lusaka at 9:00 because we had invited him to join us for dinner in the evening. The bus didn’t actually fill and leave Lusaka until 17:00. We gave up on waiting for him for dinner since it is a five hour journey, but we expected him to come by 22:00. He didn’t walk in our front door until 12:45! By that time, I was in bed and Peter had to be the one to greet him and give him something to eat before bed. Yikes!) We were at the bus terminal by 10:00 and boarded the bus at 12:00. We reached Solwezi by 15:00 and were met by local staff of FORGE, the NGO we were partnering with for these workshops. We spent the next two hours killing time while food shopping was completed, petrol purchased, and the vehicle washed. We traveled another hour and a half in a much used Land Rover to Meheba. Along the way, I had good conversations with Issa regarding gender issues in Africa, as well as with John and Odila, the local staff working for FORGE. They grilled me on agricultural issues in America and I struggled to answer, not knowing too much about this topic they were so interested in. After dropping off our luggage at the FORGE compound, we drove on to the center of the camp to greet the Refugee Officer (RO) who is in charge of the whole camp. Back at the FORGE compound, we enjoyed a simple of meal of rice and cooked cabbage that I quite enjoyed, provided by Sirisha and Shannon, two American young ladies, working with FORGE for the year. Issa and I settled into our rooms using our headlamps, as there is no electricity at the camp. FORGE has a solar panel that keeps their cell phones and computers charged but it is dependent on the weather. There is no running water but a pump in the middle of the courtyard. It was a bit tricky brushing my teeth that first night, not being an experienced camper. With one hand, I pumped the handle up and down, holding my toothbrush in the other hand. The water ended up spraying my feet as it came gushing out on the third pump. I ran into problems when I tried to wash my mouth, because one hand was pumping, and the other holding my toothbrush. I worked it out but decided in the future, I would fill a water bottle and use that to pour on my toothbrush instead of using the pump.
MONDAY
Our workshop was held in one of the empty buildings at the basic school across the road from the FORGE compound. When Issa walked me to our classroom, there was a group of adults and school children standing near a tree and looking up. Apparently there was a huge snake that was poking its head out of the tree. I didn’t see it and I must confess that I didn’t try too hard, not being a huge fan of snakes. We went the long way around, avoiding that area altogether.
Meheba Refugee Resettlement Camp is very large, 720 sq.km. to be precise. The RO kindly gave us the use of his vehicle to transport the participants to the workshop. This meant three trips to the various blocks, each of which took an hour round trip. The first group arrived around 7:00 for our 9:00 start time. While we were waiting for the last group to arrive, I started to get to know the names of the 25 participants. In this group, there are eight people who fled countries of war leaving everything behind. Some participants were actually born in the camp, but were still affected by the traumatic stories their parents have told them about how they came to this camp. In the morning session, we began by defining stress and trauma as well as the causes of trauma. I divided them into groups to brainstorm traumatic symptoms that are emotional, relational, spiritual, behavioral, etc. As I checked in with the group discussing emotional symptoms, there was a word on their poster that I didn’t understand: Hash. I wracked my brain trying to think of a feeling word called “hash” but came up empty handed. When they were presenting to the group, it finally clicked. They were saying: Harsh. Oh! The behavioral group had a symptom called “table bunking” that left me clueless so I had to ask. That is the term used when banging the top of a table. So much to learn, and I’m talking about me, not them!
When the workshop concluded for the day at 16:00, one of the students asked to talk with me. So I spent the next hour with Tafa, a Zimbabwean who came to the camp a year ago. He and his wife were being pursued by Mugabe’s government because Tafa resigned from his government job to farm instead. But if you refuse a government job, that must mean you are anti-government and so your life is at risk. He and his wife fled to Zambia but were not allowed to return to Zimbabwe to get their two primary age children who were at school, living with extended family. He related how difficult it was when they were separated and how joyous when they were reunited again. He enlightened me on the struggles they face in the camp and the politics involved and the constant stress of providing for his family under these circumstances. The biggest issue was that they were to receive food from UNHCR for the first two years but their names mysteriously went off the list after one year. It has been a difficult battle to get provisions again, especially since it is rainy season and a few months before their crops can be harvested. Being powerless to change the situation, I told him that I would pray that it would get straightened out.
After teaching all day, and talking with Tafa for another hour, I was tired. As we ate by candlelight later that night, Issa encouraged me with what one of the participants had told him after class. One symptom of trauma can be disconnection or isolation from others. One participant told Issa that he thought being lonely and isolated was just part of his personality until he learned that it might be associated with trauma. He realized that he had only been that way after the war, not before. It was freeing for him to make this connection.
TUESDAY
Because I am teaching in a workshop format, and because adult learners do better with interaction, I try not to lecture too much. In the morning, I had the participants working in groups, looking at grief and loss rituals in their cultures. One participant has six month old twins and another has a baby about the same age. Throughout the lessons, these babies are passed around and handed back to the mother when they needed to nurse. During the group work, I took one of the twins and enjoyed holding him and playing with him while his mother contributed to the group work. His toothless grin and drool made me smile too.
I learned many interesting things during the group presentations. In Burundi, the bereaved don’t eat meat before burial because it is seen as eating the dead body. In Rwanda and Burundi, family members of the deceased all wear the same chitenge so that it is easy to identify the grieving family. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, where there are over 450 different tribes, I learned that their cultures don’t grieve if it is the first baby that dies. I wouldn’t have made it in that culture, having grieved plenty for our first baby who died. We discovered together that many of the mourning rituals in African countries have to do with fear; fear of reprisals from the angry spirit of the deceased. Many of the rituals are there to separate and release the spirit of the deceased so that it will not haunt you or trouble you. The sorrow that comes with the loss is secondary and there aren’t really rituals to deal with that emotion.
Lunch was not my favorite that day. I don’t mind nshima, though the cook laughed that I only wanted about a quarter of what she was giving to everyone else. It is the “relish” that makes or breaks the meal and today the relish consisted of dried fish that was cooked in a tomato/oil sauce and bitter white eggplant cooked with onions, tomatoes, and lots of oil. I managed to get some of it down but it wasn’t easy. They were also serving rice but I knew that many of the participants prefer rice, either being from a country like Somalia where that is their main staple, or because they can’t usually afford it. So I was content to eat the nshima and make sure there was enough rice for those who desired it.
Fish, anyone?
Over lunch, I got to know Hamso, a young Somalian Muslim woman. Her mother had first been selected to attend the workshops but had fallen ill so Hamso was sent instead. Her family had fled Somalia during the war and lived in many refugee camps along the way. They finally settled in Lusaka illegally, living with people from the same tribe. Her father had returned to Somalia a few years back but after one or two messages, they never heard from him again. They knew he had received a wound to his leg and are worried that he is dead but not knowing is far worse. When her father didn’t return, they could no longer support themselves and they were forced to take refuge at Meheba. Her older sister ran away due to a forced marriage and Hamso was faced with the same situation until they moved to the camp. She is a sweet young lady and it is apparent that she is taking in everything that is being taught and shared.
Because transport was late in coming to pick up participants, we agreed to extend our lessons by an hour, finishing at 17:00 instead of 16:00, with the understanding that we would end earlier on Wednesday. It was a good idea in theory but difficult to carry out as the group was tired from a heavy nshima lunch, and emotionally drained from talking about grief and loss all day. But I was encouraged hearing the stories people shared of how they found the courage to carry on even though they suffered so many losses. After we talked about all the trauma symptoms the day before, many worried that they were going mad. Issa and I tried to emphasize that they may have unfinished trauma and grief that needs to be addressed, but they also have strengths and resources that helped them cope because here they were, invited to this workshop as leaders of their communities.
WEDNESDAY
Much of the day was spent discussing forgiveness and reconciliation. This is such a difficult subject given the horrors that many have experienced. When we choose not to forgive but to hold onto our anger and bitterness, we are more likely to seek revenge and perpetuate the cycle of violence. But we talked about the journey toward healing and the many “villages” one has to go through on this path such as: acknowledging the pain, mourning, accepting loss, understanding the enemy, choosing forgiveness, etc. Hamso later shared how she recognized that she has been caught up in the cycle of violence. Her Somalian tribe is looked down on by other Somalian tribes and she has carried this anger from the stories and history passed down to her. Her mother has constantly encouraged her to choose kindness instead of revenge but she has held onto her pain. She said she didn’t understand what her mother had been trying to teach her all along until today.
At lunch, Tafa found me with a big smile on his face. His wife had gone yesterday to the food distribution and their names were being put back on the list. She was able to receive a bit of food, although not the whole amount this time, and he was greatly encouraged. What a huge answer to prayer!
At the end of the day, Issa gave an announcement that the mother of the twins had lost one of the baby’s hats. He gave a strong admonishment to the group and asked that it be returned to the mother. Her husband was very angry that it had gone missing and insisted that the mother come home with it today or she may not be allowed to return to the workshop. No one in the class had seen it or taken it, arguing that they had no use for the hat and no reason to steal it. The class agreed together that it would be best to have Dekou, a Somalian in the class and a respected leader, accompany her home and explain to the husband that no one took the hat. Later, the wife said it would be better if she handled her husband on her own, worried that he would be shamed by the presence of another leader taking the wife’s side. I was puzzled by this whole exchange and later when Issa asked me if I knew what was going on, I admitted my confusion. I wondered if it was a poverty issue, but the hat couldn’t have been that expensive. Issa explained that the father was worried that someone in our class had purposely taken the hat which would be used by witchcraft to kill his baby boy. It is a rare thing for so many nationalities to come together in one class, and while there is much trust between participants in the group after their week with Peter, this same trust is often not shared by family members.
THURSDAY
We started the day with a report that the baby’s hat situation had been resolved. In private, Issa revealed to me that the mother had simply gone to the market and bought a similar hat and presented it to her husband, saying that the hat had been found. I guess all that mattered was that the husband was now at peace and that Philomene could continue attending the workshop.
As we were reviewing the previous day and discussing traditional justice, an example was raised regarding a woman having an affair. Everyone kept talking about the “owner of the wife” which irked me to no end. Later I told Issa about how that phrase was really horrible from my perspective especially in light of our conversations about gender issues. He had never considered how that phrase could bother someone but one of the things I love about Issa is that he is constantly open to learning and understanding. He wondered why I didn’t challenge the class on this but I told him I had to choose my battles and that wasn’t one of them this week. It is hard enough trying to convince the class that “forgive and forget” is not only impossible but not helpful in terms of healing. I think they are finally understanding this concept and so I didn’t want to muddy the waters with a discussion about “wife ownership”!
The Angolans working together on an assignment The rest of the morning was spent on an exercise called “The River of Life.” In this exercise, participants are given a large paper and crayons and asked to tell their story using the metaphor of a river. Difficulties could be drawn as a waterfall or rapids or crocodiles; good times as peaceful waters, etc. Most participants were eager to start drawing, though some were a bit worried. Again, having Issa there, as someone who can relate to their stories, as well as one who knows 13 languages and can communicate with the different participants in their local language, was invaluable. One woman had divided up the good things and the hard things in her life but had trouble figuring out how to put it down on paper. Issa was helping her think this through and noticed that she had put “marriage” in the category of bad things. When asked why, the participant told how she had just graduated from secondary school when she was forced to flee Rwanda into the forests of Congo. She found herself alone with a group of men. They fought each other and the physically strongest “took” her as his wife. She remains with him still today and one can deduce from her demeanor that she is not happy.
I noticed that while others were busy drawing, Hamso had her head on her desk. I approached her and asked if she was feeling OK. She replied that she was feeling nauseous and had a headache and needed to go outside for a bit of fresh air. Before we divided into small groups to share our stories with each other, I checked back in with her to see if she wanted to join a group even though she hadn’t completed the exercise. She chose to remain outside while the rest of us shared our joys and pains with each other. It was a powerful time as people from different nationalities realized that, while they were different in so many ways, they had suffered similarly. They listened to each other attentively, their trust and respect for each other apparent. Following lunch, Hamso appeared to have recovered and was actively participating once again. At the end of the day, I asked her if she would like to share her story with me, seeing as how she had missed that opportunity earlier. I was wondering if her sudden illness was her way of avoiding her pain, but she was very eager to tell me her life story. When she was through relating her story, she commented on what had happened earlier that morning. “I was trying to think how to draw all my pain and I started to feel like I was going to vomit. I think now I got sick because of remembering the pain.” It was the first time that I had someone in one of my workshops tell me they had physical trauma symptoms while trying to do this exercise. I had been wondering if that was what was happening but was so glad that she was able to make that connection herself and to still have the courage to tell her story later.
While Hamso’s group was being taken home with the RO’s vehicle, I went home and rested for a short bit. When the last group was being taken to their block, Issa and I went along so that we could see where they stay. The vehicle took us to Road 18 where three of the participants live. As we drove down the road, which was really no more than a footpath, I saw tents given by UNHCR to new arrivals, stick houses that are basically the frames and ready for mud to fill in the walls, and completed mud houses.
So imagine my surprise when we arrived at Tafa’s house, a beautiful brick structure that he made completely on his own. It looked so sturdy compared to the other homes I saw along the path. Frankly, it brought the story of “The Three Little Pigs” to mind!
Tafa is in the middle with his wife and daughter next to him.
(Our driver, Mr. Phiri is standing on the left.)
I also visited Andrew’s homestead consisting of a tent and a house completely framed but needing mud. He and his family had arrived only two months ago, at the start of the rainy season. He chose to focus his energies on planting his crops: maize, soybeans, and groundnuts. He received permission from UNHCR to keep his tent longer than the two months that are generally allowed, because of the timing of their arrival with the rains. He proudly showed me the inside of his tent and where they all sleep. Both Andrew and Issa had no problem standing upright in the tent but I had to constantly bend over so that I fit! Andrew is Congolese and fled after taking part in a student demonstration that ended in a huge massacre. He was living in Lusaka for awhile, owning a business with two other Congolese. When he learned that his business partners were involved in shady dealings, he was planning on pulling out. They learned of this and put some poisoned meat in his office but his wife happened to stop by and eat the meat first and died. They continued to try to kill Andrew and so he fled to a different refugee camp in Zambia. When that camp was recently closed, he and his new wife and two children moved to Meheba.
Andrew and his young son outside his tent
Our last stop was at the home of Thomas, an Angolan who has lived at Meheba for twenty years and resided at a different refugee camp for the twenty years prior. When most of the Angolans were repatriated recently, he was left on Road 18 with very few friends. Nationalities tend to stick together and so he was encouraged to move to a different area to be closer to other Angolans. He chose to stay put and did his best to welcome newcomers from many different nationalities. The other Angolans gave him problems but he continued to reach out to the new arrivals and help them settle. Now Road 18 is doing well and “popular” despite the mix of nationalities and it is a model for others in cooperation and bridging differences. I met his wife and his children and saw their mud house. Apparently the house used to be larger but several rainy seasons ago, the roof of one room collapsed, trapping his children inside. They got out unharmed but now the house is smaller. He too will need to return to Angola soon but he was hoping to stay as long as possible in the camp for the sake of his children’s education. It would be difficult for them to switch to learning in Portuguese after their entire education so far has been in English.
These three participants were so grateful that I saw their homes and met their families. The children along the road kept calling out for me to take a “snap,” so I obliged and showed them the picture I took which got lots of laughs. I am totally amazed at the resourcefulness of these dear people, overcoming so many hardships and learning new skills and adapting to a very different way of life. Andrew said that he was always living in a city previously so building his own hut and cultivating the land took a bit of learning. I admire and respect them all greatly.
FRIDAY
It was a long and painful night with my stomach reacting to something I had eaten the day before. I was determined to continue teaching since it was our last day together, but it was also necessary to keep close to a toilet for my unwelcome guest, ED (Explosive Diarrhea, thankfully TED didn’t come – Totally Explosive Diarrhea). Hamso gave me permission to share her experience the day before when trauma symptoms surfaced during the River of Life exercise. Dyness, an Angolan woman, chimed in that she had started to sweat when we had talked about forgiveness a few days back. Another admitted that he was more irritable in the evenings and had difficulty sleeping. These participants are not only trying to grasp the content, in English which is most often their third or fourth language, but they are struggling to process it personally. Their courage is great.
The morning’s topic was looking at indigenous or cultural resources for healing, turning them back to their own cultures to find helpful rituals or proverbs that promote healing. They were divided into their separate nationality groups to work on recovering the wisdom that is already present in their cultures. With them involved in their group work, I could make strategic trips back to the toilet at the FORGE compound, a five minute walk away. The necessity of going to FORGE was not just because there was a big black bull grazing by the squatty potty at the school, but because my legs weren’t strong enough for the amount of squatting that I needed to do! In between these trips, I tried to help the groups remember proverbs, stories, and rituals that could be used even now, in the context in which they find themselves. The two Somalians were scratching their heads, saying that they don’t remember their culture or traditions anymore. Some participants were connected to their traditions than others. Once again, Issa’s contribution was stellar, with his wealth of wisdom and ability to cross many cultures. He moved from group to group, stimulating ideas and encouraging them in their work, while I traipsed back and forth to the bathroom. After break, another bathroom trip was necessary, and I chose to lay down and rest for about 30 minutes. I had informed Issa and he more than competently took over facilitating. When I got up from my rest, Shannon found some anti-ED pills and those helped.
Presentations went long as once the participants began, they got on a roll. When I returned, I was able to hear the last three presentations. A proverb from Zimbabwe says, “A baby who doesn’t cry will die on her mother’s back,” emphasizing the importance of crying. Another one that I liked was also from Zimbabwe: “Men are men, they help each other to put out the fire caught on the beard.” This highlights the need for us to come to the assistance of others who are in trouble, but I had to wonder, how often do men’s beards catch on fire? I also appreciated one of the Angolan proverbs which says, “Pain is like the dew, there is much in the morning but it fades away by evening.” Over lunch, which for me was just a bit of rice, members of the groups that I had missed filled me on their cultural resources for healing.
Soon it was time for our graduation ceremony. The Refugee Officer arrived as our guest of honor and sat at a special table that had been prepared for him. Issa and I both had a chance to say a few words to the participants, encouraging them to use what they had been given to help others. Issa was very wise and told a story of someone who had an itch in the middle of the back. Since the friend didn’t know exactly where it itched, he gave the first person a stick so that he could scratch himself precisely where it itched. What we have tried to do is give these fine people a stick so that they can scratch the itch. We don’t know firsthand where the problems are in the camp that require conflict resolution, or the pain that is in need of healing. But we have tried to give them tools and understanding so that they can meet the needs that they face. A group from Rwanda and Burundi shared a song and dance that is sung to help bring healing, and a Congolese man sang a lovely song that could also be used in trauma healing. They all seemed very pleased with their certificates and identification badges that they received. After they received their certificates from the RO, I placed their ID badges around their necks. I felt like it was the Olympics and I was giving them each a medal! At the very end of the graduation ceremony, there was one last thing to be done. Dekou, the Somalian who Peter wrote about earlier, wanted to share chapattis (like a tortilla for those unfamiliar with this) with the rest of the group. In his culture, eating together is a sign of reconciliation. He never imagined that he would learn to trust this diverse group of people but it has happened and he wanted to celebrate that together. So Dekou and Hamso passed around pieces of chapatti that we all ate together. It was really a wonderful moment.
Dekou, Issa, and Hamso with the chapattis
After the group photo, Issa and I were whisked away to the FORGE compound to have a special meal with the guest of honor, separate from the other participants. We learned later that during this time, the participants had met together and decided that they would continue to meet together to plan seminars in their communities and to encourage each other. They are planning to gather for two hours on the 15th of every month. We were delighted to hear that they are taking the initiative to build on what they learned in the two weeks of training and that they would continue to strengthen the bonds between them.
SATURDAY
Our transport to Solwezi was supposed to pick us up at 6:00 so I was awake at 5:30 to finish packing with the help of my headlamp and get ready to go. The driver didn’t actually show up until 7:15 and we were starting to get a bit worried because it takes an hour and a half to get to Solwezi and the timed bus (as opposed to the one that waits until it fills) was scheduled to depart at 9:00. We arrived in the nick of time and there were only three seats left after we purchased the two for Issa and myself. Instead of immediately boarding, Issa wanted to purchase pineapples and beans to take home to his wife and daughter. Since I had the money, I needed to stay with him. By the time we tried to find seats on the bus, they were all taken. So then we stood around for another fifteen minutes or so until it was all sorted. By that time, I was feeling weak (ED was still an undesirable guest) so was very relieved when I took my seat. There was a mother next to me with her five month old daughter. It killed me to watch her give her baby Orange Fanta and something similar to cheese puffs. When the soda was finished, the mother just chucked it out the window. I was feeling hot and nausous which was only compounded when Issa bought a sausage and chips at one of our stops. Bless his heart, he kept leaning over to talk to me but his sausage breath was overpowering and I had to work hard at not being sick.
I was so relieved to finally arrive home, spend some time in my own bathroom, and then greet Peter and the boys. There was no power for some reason so it felt a bit like the refugee camp, especially when the power cut continued into the evening and I had to rely on my headlamp yet again. There was enough hot water yet to take a bath, but no pressure for a shower. At least it was better than the bucket baths I took all week at the camp. It was so good to see Peter again and to hear about his week with the boys. They managed to stay well and had a good week together. Brendan gave me a big hug as soon as I got out of the car. Jason hugged me a bit later and when I told him that I had missed him, he said that he missed me too. But then, compelled to be completely honest, he added, “But it was kind of nice not having you here and only being with Dad.” He knows just what to say to warm my heart . . . NOT! Peter reported that a mouse/rat has taken up residence in my kitchen linen drawer, unfortunately, but plans are in progress to put an end to that.
It was a really incredible week, full of interesting interactions and experiences. The feedback from the participants was overwhelmingly positive and I am so thankful that Issa and I could work together to help them in their journey toward healing. The participants were really delightful and it was a gift to hear their stories and get to know them a bit. I know they were touched by our time together and the learning that took place, and I am grateful to have had that opportunity.
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