Mayen'u

I sit here in a dimly lit room, the rain tapping lightly on the window panes, candles flickering, Gaither's playing softly in the background, my kittens nestled on my lap purring away and the moment is perfect.
I am home

But bright and precious memories flit through my mind, dimming with the realities of home and work and life. I try desperately to snatch at them but they dart away like tunzanza, butterflies.

Contact-I am dropped off in the village of Sarah and Patrick Chiwaya, I'm to stay with them for the week and visit some of the other ladies around the village of Mayen'u and learn about the language and the culture of the Lunda. I am so excited and so terrified. But the excitement wins out. I am here!

We go to the villages of the other ladies, Mama Betty and Gladys, Mama Pauline, Mama Hilda and Shalom and we greet them. I am introduced and told what day I will be going to visit with them. I still can't believe I'm here. Houses rise out of the dirt like small brick hills, The trees provide a canopy protecting the houses from the intense heat of the sun. Kabaka fields (maize) encircle the villages providing a ready source of food. The smells of nshima and dirt and the beautiful great out doors is all around me. Wow!

The sun shines beautifully the first morning. I spend time in the field behind the Muyombo's house kudima nyoli- cultivating sweet potatoes. Gladys takes me to another part of the field to kufuka nyimu,- dig ground nuts, the maize reaches high above us as she digs them up and I remove them from the plants. Later we work around the house- pounding cassava and corn in the iyanda (mortar).  I try my hand at sifting cassava and maize flour first in a sift and then in a lwalu - a flat basket. It looks easy but it certainly is not. Getting caught in the chota during a massive storm while cooking wakaka - pumpkin leaves and trying to stay dry as the wind drives the rain almost horizontally.  We find out later in the day, the wind and the rain knocked a wall down in the house of Sarah's sister in law.

Another day, Gladys and Mama Betty take me to chop nchawa for their fire (big logs that burn slowly). After a few tries (and misses) Gladys laughingly takes the axe away from me "I don't want to be here all day" she says.

She helps me then settle the smaller of the two logs on my head. Mama Betty carries a load of several big sticks that are used to feed the fire, while Gladys takes the bigger log (about 5 feet long and about 6 inches in diameter) on their heads. I manage two baby steps without the log slipping and decide I better keep a tight hold. Mama Betty's load is a bit unbalanced with so many sticks but she manages quite well fixing it only a handful of times during the 10 minute walk,. But Gladys follows up the rear walking easily, the log on her head and the axe on her shoulder, no hesitations at all from her end. They chat and laugh easily but it takes all my concentration not to drop this log!

Resting in the shade on kastools (bit of Zambish- a small stool), chatting and getting to know each other. Our lives have been so different....  The love of God that has brought us together- Blessed!

Bright blue skies, brilliant orange and yellow flowers, delicate pink fluff of fern like plants, warm red dirt under my feet. Light embracing, enveloping, penetrating, life giving. Greens of so many different shades. The yellow brown of the dying kabaka (corn), the soft green of the still living kabaka,the grass growing up, up, up taller than I. The acacia tree with its bright yellow flowers.

Blessed

Mama Pauline. We met as equals, as friends. Our cultures are different not better. "I thank God for His love. It is His love that has brought us together." And I am blessed. We are blessed to learn from each other. We spend the day working around the house. She tells me about her last baby, her eighth child who died at 8 months, wadin'i nakutachika kwenda. My understanding of the language is still sketchy but I get her full meaning instantly and my heart breaks for her- her baby girl was just beginning to walk. I cannot begin to grasp the love of a parent for their child, nor can I understand the deep sorrow of sitting at the child's bedside watching him slowly slip away. Than she tells me about her son - The doctor named him she says. Emmanuel. They told me he had died and if the body was born by 930 they would force labour. At 21 baby Emmanuel was born healthy and beautiful. Namesake of God.

She tells me how glad she is for the girls' dorm that is almost complete. It means her girl can stay there instead of walking an hour to get to school. When she finds out later in the day that the cost of the dorm is outside her ability to pay, her face falls, and I hear her whisper "oh mwan'ami" (my child). How is it that I have been so blessed with so much, that I have been glutted on the goods of the world. School was free, transport was provided freely, textbooks and so many other things free or manageable... Open my heart and my hands as I have been given so let me freely give.

So blessed to sit on the chisalu (grass mat) with Mama Pauline and Gladys and chat and learn and laugh. Emmanuel is taking their goats from their pen at the back of the house to the grassy bit between their village and the road. The baby goat is crying 'maaa! maaa!" being left behind when mom and dad were taken. We share a laugh, Mama Pauline and I and she tells me "the baby is crying "Mama! Mama!" and the mama goat is replying "Twaya! Twaya!" (come, come). Her mban'ala (guinea fowl) in their pen of wooden stakes in the shade under the banana tree. Wrapped in this woman's love: love for God, love for life, and now love for me her new friend.

Loved



 

The house is by far the most sparse I have been in yet. 3 rooms. One for Mama Hildah, one for her mother: Nkaka Phoebe, a tiny woman about as big as a small stick; and one in the middle that stores some food, buckets of water, flour, the yisalu (grass mats) and other items they might have. Most of the time they sit out in the chinsambu (outside kitchen) or on the grass mats outside under the shade of the big mango tree.

 

Mama Hildah and the daughter of her brother, Shalom tell me they have fields in Katembo but they won't take me out there because we will have to wade thru the river and they know we can't do that [because of bilharzia]. "Kukala kwos" (not a problem) but I don't convince them. They take me instead to their near fields about 20 minutes walk away. We gather cassava leaves for nshima, then go to the corn fields only to discover that ants have crawled into the husks. Just the nzeneni, the small black ones but still they crawl all over and my skin creeps with the thought of them climbing up on me.. I do my best tho to peal the husk back quickly and pull the cob free before they ants are very disturbed and creep up my arms, half laughing and half dying. I am relieved when Shalom complains to her tata amumbanda (father that's a woman: aunt) "Kutwesha wanyi (not able) I am feeling fear. O! Me too!

 

We gather the fresh produce to take back to the village for our lunch nshima. Mama Hildah takes the big bucket of corn, still crawling with ants. Shalom takes the pumpkin (more like a huge squash). They give me the bag of cassava leaves because they aren't heavy. I laugh, they must think we are so weak! But I'm not complaining. Since I'm here learning about the Lunda culture, I heft the bag and settle it with some struggle on my head. While I did have to steady it many times, I made it back all the way to the village without holding onto it or dropping it. Even past the nsalafu- the big red fire ants that crawl up your legs and then all bite together; how they can bite! I'm not sure what they think- probably that I'm ridiculous- but I am so impressed that I was able to successfully do this!

 

Back in the village, they laugh as I show them how I've learned to pound cassava but that I make a mess and don't have the strength to do it as quickly as they can. I am so thankful for their patience and the advice that they give- I may get this after all.

After nshima and between bouts of rain showers they show me how to make their local bread. It looks quite straight forward. Equal parts pounded roast cassava and pounded ground nuts, a bit of salt, a bit of water and pounded together until it sticks together. I'll let you know how it goes when I try to make it :) . It tastes kinda like peanut butter but a bit dryer. So fabulous!

The houses look like they have just grown up out of the ground, red brown brick most with thatched roofs. I didn't realize, but some of the tushinakaji (old folks) still live in grass thatched houses. But the houses are merely a place to sleep and maybe store things. The sitting rooms are out around the fire in the chinsambu or on the chisalu in the great, beautiful outdoors, out in the presence of God, out at His feet- "in the rustling grass I hear Him pass": in the blue of the sky, the glint of the sun through fluffy white clouds, the golden green grass and the flitting tunzanza (butterflies) they all seem to shout "He is here! He is all around you!" I am nothing but this so great God so loved me, so loved us, poured out Himself, poured out His love, poured out His blood, poured out His life just to show me how great and how wild and how unchanging His love is toward me.  ... Blessed ....

We went the last evening, Mama Sarah and I and her three oldest grandkids: Groria (Gloria), Ireen, and Wana, in the ox cart to her fields in Katembo about 30 minutes and through that mucky river. Her youngest son Kapi drove the cart, while Tata Patrick followed on his bike. Wonderful to be so included, and a little bit scary to be so close to oxen with their large horns :S . I learned to look for cracks in the dirt under the leaves of the ntamba (sweet potatoes) that's how they know the ntamba is ready to be picked. We gather ntamba and machimpa (like a small squash), and pumpkin and nyimu (ground nuts like peanuts). I saw parrots, from a distance; beautiful birds but rather a nuisance to the fields. On the way back, Sarah and Patrick and Kapi all disappeared off at one point into the maize fields leaving me alone with the three small children (6 and 8) and the ox cart. Wana (6) was instructed to keep the oxen away from the maize. But he's so small and he only had a corn stalk to hit the oxen with; I tried to help by hitting at them but then I was scared to anger them and be gored so I kept jumping back away from them. I was so glad to see those other three show up not more than 5 minutes and two corn stalks later!

The kids for me were one of the best parts.Antanisha ami asatu- my three teachers. I learned so much from them and they were always so patient and helpful. As soon as I had a knew word they'd whisper knowingly to each other "mukanda" and I'd reach for my little note book and begin to sound out the word I had just learned their heads peering over the page repeating it to me over and over sound by sound until I had it recorded. They also loved trying to write (or draw) in my notebook, so my paper is littered with their darling scribbles. Fascinated with my hair Groria would run her fingers through it any time it was down pronouncing it jinawahi - it is nice, or taking my hair ties out just to tie it back again into a 'puf' (not quite the same pronunciation as puff). I forgot sunscreen one day and both girls had to rub their fingers over my skin chattering to themselves about ikowa dachinana (red skin).

There are few things in the world as perfect as cradling a sleeping child in your lap, knowing this child has trusted you and come to rest in your arms, and coming home from the fields that last night with a good friend beside me to chat with, God's beauty all around us and three darling children one of whom had curled up in my lap to sleep my week was complete. I have learned so much and been part of so much. I have been so blessed! My Father has brought me to this place, the greatest lesson  I have learned: although I thought I was coming to share His love really His love is being shared with me.

A moment in time

I'd like to invite you to join me in Zambia!

I wish there were some way to capture my days and some how telepathically communicate not just the events but the meaning of them to you all. They are so many priceless moments. Some are beautiful and encouraging, some heartbreaking. Its these stories that are so hard to capture, the sentiment of the moment is destroyed by words, but bear with me as I try to describe to you the wonder of the little moments that make up my days...



Today was a surgery day, Thursdays always are. JR is a trained scrubbed nurse, she gets to hang out in the air conditioned theatre. Not that I mind, I like doing the ward rounds and watching patient progress and just generally being responsible for the day to day things. Today JR and I were the only ex pat nurses, no visiting nurses, no visiting doctors. That means lots of running back and forth between the wards and theatre- I have lots of questions! Around 1030, JR and Dr. McAdam started a complicated eye surgery that lasted for 5 hours. Around 1100 AM I started an induction of one of our high risk deliveries who was possibly expecting triplets (I have never done an induction before, I'm not even really a trained midwife).  At 1300 hours, they were still in surgery and my lady had only progressed to  7-8 cms. Two of the theatre staff had left for lunch, one of them being the only trained nurse in theatre and therefore the only one able to start IV's and draw up medications, leaving that role dependent on myself. Shift change also happened at 13hrs and my expert maternity nurse was replaced by a 3 month new grad. I was maybe a little bit stressed; definitely doing a lot of running back and forth between theatre at one end of the hospital and maternity at the other end- just about every 1/2 hr or maybe slightly less. But in that theatre corridor there was a wee bright spot that not only made my day, but convicted and challenged and encouraged me also. Three of our patients sat in that corridor, all three in wheel chairs, all three had travelled far, far, far to come to Zambia to Chitokoloki Hospital because there's a good doctor here. These three men sat in a circle in this corridor that I must have stampeded up and down about 100 times today and each had a Bible open on his lap and were engaged in an intense and deep discussion regarding some portion of scripture. It was so totally cool! These are men who are struggling with health conditions, some long term, far away from their families, definitely with worries about food and survival and money, but to see them sit there and discuss the scripture was such a beautiful, wonderful thing. I have no idea what they were discussing, Angolans speak Portuguese, but it brought so much joy just watching them and knowing where two or three are gathered God is right there. In the business of my day, in the stress and the worry and the confusion, God is right here. Emmanuel, the God who has taken up residence with us.



We have this family in the kids' ward, I'm not really sure what to say about them, they are so dirty and unkempt; last time they were in it was a daily fight to get mom to wash her babies. They just look unhappy and miserable all the time and mom doesn't look much better.  But one day I decided to pick up Kelvin. Mom had her hands full with baby Womba who's about a year and Kelvin was standing by the bed crying, crying, crying. I was maybe a little bit annoyed at such a whiny boy. But, he's pretty little himself, mom thinks maybe 2 years old. I guess maybe it's hard being so little and finding mom's lap full with another baby. So I picked him up, grime and all. And I fell in love! He's a sombre little boy, I think maybe a little shy. But as we've gotten to know each other, I've seen that he's a sensitive boy; he's very caring, he loves to share with his baby sister - maybe not always good things for her. He had a beautiful smile but he tries to hid it. He definitely has a mind of his own, and sometimes pretends to refuse being picked up, but if I keep coming back after the second or third time he usually greets me with open arms. And he gives the best hugs! He was made to cuddle. Mom came to us about a week and a half ago asking for a BTL, apparently she has 5 children and they are basically born one right after the other. She is here right now with Kazia who's about 4 and Kelvin and baby Womba. Her mom came with her, but gran refused to care for the younger two children. When we told her she needed a care giver, she started to cry, we could tell how much she wanted this, so JR and I worked it out between us and the blue ladies and mom was able to get her surgery done so she won't have more kids. But I had the privilege of taking these two sweet babies home and giving them a good scrub and feeding them and just getting to spend time with them and play with them! Any time mom sees me coming now she has a huge smile for me and even laughs as I spit out in my broken Lunda "mwan'etu" ~ "our child". Its been such a privilege to watch these three children start to fatten up and lose their miserable, waifish looks and begin to smile and laugh and play with the other children. I can't imagine going back now and not picking that little boy up. He's made my work experience and my life all the richer- love is the more excellent way!


This was another surgery day where it was just JR and I. Ward rounds were quick this day, I had finished all four wards and ICU by 10AM. The first case that had been planned for the day was a small girl, about 9 years old, from Angola. She was stick thin except for a HUGE abdomen. Dr. was pretty sure there was an obstruction, which requires emergency surgery, but was also thinking there might be a Burkett's lymphoma so decided to start with a round of chemotherapy. Because I was finished with the ward rounds I set to do this wee girl's chemo. There were a few things that really stand out in my mind. This girl is so tiny and so scrawny I can literally count every bone in her body; she is merely a skeleton with skin stretched over her. Except her abdomen which is huge, proportionately about the size of a 7 or 8 month pregnancy. Usually mom takes a frontline role when it comes to kids. But this little girl clung to her daddy, and daddy clung right back, while mom sat in the chair at the head of the bed. I gave dad some tracts to read while the chemo was going on. Offered them to mom also, but mom couldn't read. I listened as dad read the tracts in a mumbling sort of way to himself then would turn every few lines and explain to mom what he was reading. Such a sweet gesture. A little later on after girlie had settled, I could hear dad whispering over and over "mwan'ami" "mwan'ami" : "my child" "my child". Not only did this tug at my heart, I was reminded how our heavenly Father sits beside us at every moment of our lives whispering to us "my child" "my child". Do we cling to him like this little girler did? It was sad moment, several hours later, to receive a txt from JR- Our little chemo girl has just died...


The baby was with us about 2 1/2 weeks before I really began to pay attention. By that time the 1.9 kg birthweight baby was 1.730 and jaundiced! From that time on, Baby Gracious became my baby. I made sure the feeding tube was replaced when they mysteriously fell out day after day. I fought with mom to sit and feed her baby, to take her baby outside to get the sunlight. There were a lot of people involved in this little baby's short life- There were awesome ward nurses and blue ladies who pulled mom into the labour room to feed her baby, and encouraged her to sit outside, and called for help when the tube fell out. Every day it became a big thing to bring the little baby to the scale to see if she had gained any weight. Some days the scale had encouraging results, too many with no change or worse, a decrease in weight. All 44 days of baby Gracious' life were a struggle. Only one day did she make it to 2.0 kg- a moment of excitement for sure, tho she was still so jaundiced and frail and lethargic. Last week, I was called from dressing changes maybe only 10 minutes after seeing baby Gracious on ward rounds. The nurse on the ward needed help with a baby. I came into the room to see the nurse bagging our little baby. We started into a real recus'; bagging, oxygen, suction, the doctor was called, we gave adrenaline, once directly into the baby  heart's. But we were unable to bring back the spark of life to the cold staring eyes. Its hard to let go after putting so much effort in, but this little baby has been freed now from a sickly and sin filled body, a body and maybe even a mind that would likely never function 'normally'. She has been freed from that and was taken into the arms of her heavenly Father.



I didn't really pay too much attention to the little old lady at first. We have so many of them at hospital. It was when I helped the doctor cut into the rotting wound on her foot that I recognized who she was. This is Chizungu. The little old lady who has only been known as 'old', as far back as any of the present day missionaries to NorthWest province know. She was about the size of a 10 year old when the first missionaries came to the area, so someone a number of years back kindly put her birth date as about 1905. Let me tell you about this lady. She knew HIM. Her life was spent walking village to village to tell people about HIM; about freedom from sin and fear and rituals and traditions; about life and peace and love; about a home in Heaven and about a God who gave not just a bunch of rules, not a list to check off to get in to heaven but gave Himself, poured Himself out to make a way, a free way for us to who were separated by sin to come to Him. Ye who were once afar off have been brought nigh by the blood of Christ." She walked the wards and corridors of the hospital countless times bringing this message to the sick and dying patients there. I remember her giving a message in the ladies in the colony sewing club when I first visited Chit. If she had a dollar for every step she took to take her message to the people around, she would be a very rich lady indeed. But she was rich for all she had little possessions, lived in a house given to her by one of the missionaries, had no fields to plant food in, lived off what she was given and supplied 'relatives' with these gifts also. She had next to no family, most people who she cared for in her home were people she had met on her travels. But the most outstanding thing about this lady was not her nomadic lifestyle, or her freedom from possessions, or her care of strangers - she knew HIM- to know Him whom to know is life eternal, she loved HIM- whom having not seen we love, she walked with Him- who walked this path long before any of us ever did. She died, but the last words on her lips were the promises of our Saviour "In my Father's house are many mansions, I go to prepare a place for you.' When she died, a bright light went out here. But what a moment that would have been in heaven: this tiny crooked- back, sightless little old lady with all the indignity of old age, standing straight and healed and gazing in wonder and love on her Saviour and her Friend. I'm sorry for not having the opportunity to get to know her better, but I'm so thankful for the example she left me, as an evangelist and as a woman- keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us.


Laughter is the simplest form of communication; I am always sure to provoke even the grumpiest of patients to a smile when I tell them "yami kashinakaji" "myself, I am old". Some days I may feel it, but the laugh and the resulting "kanda" "not yet" helps to focus on what I am doing here - building relationships and showing love and most importantly - showing God's love.

Meeting the kids in the corridor can sometimes be a bit daunting, but mostly, I think they just want to be noticed. High fives and hugs and tickles require slowing down and some times actually stopping when I'd rather hurry on to my next task, but its so worth it to see the smiles and not just of the kids :) And isn't that what God tries to tell us so many times 'slow down, I'm right here, the kid you just noticed that was Me, the kashinakaji you just greeted, that was Me, the crying mom you just held, that was Me. In as much as you have done it unto the least of these my children, you have done it unto Me. I'm learning and its a lesson I've been learning for so long now :S its not getting the task done that matters, contrary to my task orientated mind, it's the relationships that you build along the way, that's how God's so great love is shown still today.

I am greeted every morning by the crowing of roosters and every night I go to sleep to the howling of dogs and the chirping of crickets. Out the church window during services, I see goats grazing and the roosters' crowing joins our hymns of praise and worship.

The announcement in church today "phones are giving us trouble. Al phones must be closed before starting." The doctor's phone rings and he gets up to leave " The only phone that can remain open is Dr. McAdam's." The whole assembly erupts in laughter.


The bare foot, gray haired and wrinkled but beaming faces of the tushinakaji (old folks) coming in to church from the "bus" run, and hearing them sing along the way

Yesu hoho diyi natweshi

Kuwundisha muchima

Wukweti n'ovu niluwi

Wukukuwahisha

 

Jesus only is able

To cause peace in the heart

He has strength and mercy

He will cause you to be made good

 

The mud, sometimes three inches deep, on the way up to hospital- I sink in deep mire where there is no standing... rescue me from the mire... out of the goodness of Your love.

 

The beautiful acacia tree with its brilliant yellow blossoms outside my door reminds me of the streets paved with gold that I will walk one day.

 

The view of the beautiful Zambezi river on the pathway... Like a river glorious is God's perfect peace

 

The promise and the reminder, that in the good times and in the hard places God is with us. And in Jesus all God's promises are "yes" they all find their fulfillment in Him. Him, who is God with us



 

 

What precious moments, precious memories, little gifts given by my great and loving Father, reminders that He has walked this way already and is now walking it with me...