Shalenipo Mukwai Zam

Can you believe it? I'm in Lusaka preparing to depart Zam. I didn't expect saying shalenipo mukwai (Bemba for "goodbye") to the many people who've been so warm, kind, gracious, and generous to me-I never expected this to be easy, but I didn't think it would as difficult as it has been. In fact, many of these people have become friends. Gasp! These people, this place, has captured a piece of my heart, and, come to think of it, my mind. Zambia is a place of colorful people. The muzungus I've met and befriended here are among the most colorful people I've been privileged to meet. Here's yet another story of a friendly encounter with a Zambian. On the way to the internet cafe to write this entry, a Zambian army sergeant pulled his vehicle over to the side of the road along which I was walking. He asked how I was doing and, I think, if I was safe. I was walking to Kabulonga, from Ibex Hill, both very nice sections of the capital city. It was about 1 p.m. on this hot, sunny Sunday afternoon. I told him I was fine. He asked me where I was going and the told me to jump in, that he'd give me a lift. Once at the internet cafe the service was down. I asked a man at the counter where I could find another nearby internet cafe. Then I asked how long to get there by foot. About twenty minutes he said, but I'll take you there. Complete stranger, Panjani was his name, which means "Search."
Last night at about dusk, en route to a farewell/welcome reception with my friends Cheryl and Adrian, I made one last stop by Chisokone market in town. We were in search of a particular memento. An eager, studdering Zambian man seized the opportunity to escort us to find this item. After about ten minutes or more of walking ever more deeply into the dirt path maze of the market as it was shutting down for the day, we heard the man talking to the marketers about chitenges--the single two-meter swatches of material women wrap aroound their waists! I said, "No!, not chitenges, we're looking for "xyz"! The onlookers roared with laughter. It occurred to me that what I thought was a natural studder may have been induced by chibuku, the millet-based beer Zam men drink for a cheap buzz!

I'll surely miss the people. The smiles, the perfect white teeth, the friendly greetings as I run in the mornings. Some people, usually men, would greet me with apparently hard stares-- until hearing my greeting in their tongue-- at which time the scowl would morph into an ear-to-ear grin. The giggles and bursts of laughter at the shock of being greeted in Bemba or Lozi or Nyanja by some clueless muzungu. I'll miss the laughter, the joking and seeing the love my colleagues in the office have for each other. The impromptu Bemba lessons. The deep discussions about the culture, and about how to make sense of it all theologically. I'll miss the spontaneity of Zam life. I'll pray for the hard-working women. I'll miss the curious children. I remember the people who give me hope for Zambia, their faith, hope, and love. Their drive to do better, serving God and others. I'll miss the zigzagging with my friends Richard and Kangwa. I hope to return to a Zambia that achieves its dreams. Shalenipo mukwai Zam. Time to zigzag to points beyond. West Africa and Asia, here I come!