8/7/11 - Chongwe Village

I still haven’t gotten he chance to find any internet access, but I did get some beautiful pictures of Chongwe Village. Chongwe is a very poor village and it’s where we’ll be holding camp. The ride from Lusaka into Chongwe is quite an aesthetic experience, because one moment you are in a suburban town with stores, cars, and gas stations—and the next, you’re driving into a barren, dry, flat area with bumping roads and huts to the left and right every few seconds. I kid you not; they are man-made huts with straw roofs and everything. There are wells and hut-like outhouses, and outdoor kitchens.  Once you get to Chongwe, you get out of the bus and if you stop talking to your neighbor long enough, you’ll notice how quiet, peaceful, and still everything is. The only noise is the occasional rooster or stray animal and a neighbor calling out to his or her friend in their own tribal native tongues. These languages are similar in general, but the dialects differ from tribe to tribe, yet everyone seems to understand some variation of both English and their native tongue. We were divided up into our camp/construction teams then split up again into smaller groups (5-6 people) and given a translator who would take us around the village and introduce us to different families. Chongwe, if you get past the poverty aspect, is a lot like a normal town. They have houses and a school, water, food, stores, rich vs. the poor, depending on how well off you live, and even a local bar! Granted, most of it is huts and little furniture, but the huts were made by their owners and the people take such great pride in their homes. To us, it may seem like next to nothing, but if you let go of your westernized thinking and put your mindset into Zambia, they have been blessed. Another odd thing is that there is somewhat of a “lost generation” in the village. You will see many little children and many elders, maybe a few twenty or so year olds, but thirty, forty, and fifty? Nowhere to be found. Most died from sicknesses. It is so strange to see and, now that I think about it, so sad. And the air is so dry. By the end of the village tour, my chest was hurting from breathing in all the dust and dry air. I drank three and a half bottles of water over the course of a few hours. But we were walking a long way. And I mean a long way! We must have gone miles until the first house and then a couple more to the next and then took a roundabout the village too. I will end this post here since it’s really late and I have to get up at 5:30 to get ready for the day. Oh and I’m teaching tomorrow, most likely on my own, and I’ve never done anything like that. I’m not usually good with kids. So, please, even though I’ll end up posting this after tomorrow, pray for me. Pray that god gives me the right words to say and that the children really connect and that my translator and I can understand and work well with each other, too. Thank you so much! Good night!