LYNN
Elementary Education Undergraduate |
LYNN
Elementary Education Undergraduate |
My heart isn’t big enough to contain all the emotions I felt at Chikumbuso. A non-profit women’s collective, K-7 school, and safe community for single moms, students, widows, and grandmothers. Chikumbuso offers skills training, meals, shelter, education, and support for this community, and is supported by donations, and the beautiful bags, purses, beaded jewelry, and household items made by the ladies and youth in the skills training program. That’s the short summary of Chikumbuso. Now I want to tell you about the heart of Chikumbuso. We arrived early in the morning, eager to visit this marvelous place we’d read about on their website. We were so inspired by what Chikumbuso was and what it stood for, we’d used a great deal of our fundraising to donate to three of their programs: the Daily Feeding Program, the Safe Haven Program, and the Adopt a Grandmother Program. As our bus pulled into the courtyard, we were greeted by over a dozen women singing beneath a covered porch. Benson (Dr. Mkandwire) and Mwanssa, both our liasons from UNZA accompanied us. “This is for you,” Benson said to us, smiling widely. “They are welcoming you!” We stepped off the bus in wonder, moved by the beautiful singing and smiling faces. As each one of us took the final step off the bus we were welcomed warmly. There were introductions all around and then we were asked to turn our attention to the group of young school-age children, standing in neat rows with their teachers behind them. They were smiling or tentatively waving at us. Once we’d all turned, they broke into the sweetest song of welcome. That was only the beginning of me losing my heart to this community. We split into two groups and were lead on tours. Each time we entered a classroom (which was a separate cement stucco-like building with open windows and dessert-like colors of the South-West) the children stood at attention, chanting in their lyrical sing-song, “Good moR-ning, vee-si-toRs!” Many of the classrooms, including the Kindergarten, Grade 1, and the Computer Lab (housing a dozen outdated desk-top computers) were donated by The Rotary Club. The Grade 7 Class was studying for their Grade 7 exams, which would decide if they qualified for university, or would learn a trade in college. Imagine having your life path decided at twelve years of age. Along the tour we got to see the thatched roof, outdoor kitchen, where all the food was cooked. Several women sat on a bench against a wall, snapping the ends of beans. In the background two women washed laundry in a metal tub, pinning children’s garments to a clothesline. The air filled with the biting, smokey odor of charcoal burning beneath giant vats of nshima and beans in their respective pots, being patiently stirred by 2 women wielding huge wooden paddle-like spoons. This food would soon be dished into brightly colored, 30-gallon Rubbermaid totes, from which some of us would serve the school children lunch. They lined up, holding out their metal plates or plastic trays for their portions of beans, cooked greens, and nshima (a maize-based staple of Zambian diets made from a mealy-meal with a consistency thicker than mashed potatoes, but not as dense as a dumpling. Nshima is served with most meals, presumably because it sticks to the ribs and fills the belly). I was astounded this is how they prepared the food that served Chikumbuso, three times a day. It was primitive, but effective. Once again, this country demonstrates how much they can do with so very little. Later, I got the opportunity to dish out the nshima to at least 100 children, I delighted in greeting each child and talking with them, much as I used to do as an aide on “bus duty”, greeting each child as they arrived at school. It was always my favorite way to start the day. There was definitely a learning curve to scooping the nshima into the large gnocchi-like rolls. The bin of white nshima was hot. Every time I dipped the scooper into the bin, hot steam reddened my knuckles. Roll, roll, scoop, plop. I tried to get it right. Most of the children seemed happy. Some responded to my greetings and chatter and smiles. In the courtyard,dozens of children formed a giant circle, dancing, clapping, chanting, and singing. I eventually joined the joyful circle. We laughed and danced, clapped, played ball, learned the chants, echoed the songs, and tossed the ball. We were elated to be included. My heart was jubilant. There was so much hope and mirth. So much joy! I was so light in spirit, feeling as though I were sailing on sunshine and smiles. Earlier we’d had the opportunity to learn a bit about what Chikumbuso does for their skills training programs. At the end of our tour, we were in the Sewing Center which housed pedal sewing machines. Some of the women and youth were taught to sew. One of the young men spoke to us, telling us that thanks to his training he’d be able to follow his dream of becoming a designer and a tailor. A woman, Beauty, shared her story. Her husband had died in 2012 and she didn’t know how she would support her 10-year-old son. She had nothing and no place to go. She learned to salvage plastic bags, cut them into strips, weave the strips into a kind of yarn-like material, then crochet the plastic “yarn” into bags and purses. I was taken by Beauty’s story. She said something very important. “I love plastic,” she said, her rich, burnished wood-brown eyes shining, “plastic saved my life. Everything I have is because of plastic.” This was striking for me. Over the years I’d become preoccupied with reducing and eliminating as much plastic as possible from my daily life, trying preserve the world for my grandchildren and their great grandchildren. I’m highly concerned about the over-production, consumption of plastic, and throw-away attitude of the United States. Now, listening to Beauty’s story and how plastic had saved her life, I was overwhelmed. She had literally taken trash and turned it into treasure. Perspective is imperative. Beauty’s story was completed by the director of Chikumbuso, who shared that Beauty’s son had just graduated with his law degree! While Beauty shared her story with us, 8 or 9 women were sitting companionably on an elevated platform covered with a vast red, crushed chenille type of fabric. They were each in some stage of turning the plastic bags into purses and bags. They were quietly humming and singing. This scene reminded me of the book, The Red Tent, by Anita Diamant, in which the women in biblical times came together in “the red tent” when they had their period. In the book they loved this time as it would bring them closer together, talking, weaving baskets and rugs, doing needlework, and sewing. These women at Chikumbuso were doing a similar thing, coming together to make beautiful products to earn money for this community. They had such pride in their work! After Beauty shared with us, we were invited to learn how to make the bags. As each of us was offered a hand to join them up on the platform, that woman would ask us to share our story with her. It hadn’t occurred to me they might want to know about us. I loved that we were genuinely sharing. The women broke into louder song, always thanking God, always singing praise Finally, later in the day, after we’d learned, served, and played, we gathered again where the women worked. They began singing and dancing and had us join them on the platform again. They took each of us by the hand, inviting us to learn their songs and showing us what their dance movements were and why they did them. This part of the day was so raw and emotional. It was the one part of the day nobody took photos or videos of. It was too important. At one point I managed to pull my attention from Joyce, who was showing me her dancing. I was singing and dancing, my cohorts and the professors were singing and dancing. I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I wasn’t sad but I was overwhelmingly emotional. Joyce had tears streaming down her face as well. So did Beauty. And Esther, Rhoida, and Agness. So did every one of us dancing and singing on that platform. This seemed a rite of passage. It was primal. Somehow it changed each of us. We would never be the same after this moment and after this day. The people of Chikumbuso had transmuted our hearts, supplanted our view of the world, and altered our fingerprints. We would never be the same, in the best possible way. For more information and/or the opportunity to support Chikumbuso: https://www.chikumbuso.com/
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AuthorHi! I’m a mom to 3 boys (all in their 20s now) and graduated this May 2023 with my Childhood Education degree. I’m thrilled to be going to Lusaka, Zambia to teach at Libala Primary. As a life-long learner, I’m eager to learn about the culture and education system in Zambia, where I’m certain I’ll be learning far more than I can possibly teach. I can’t wait to bring a little Buffalo, NY to Lusaka, and then take a little Lusaka back to my future classroom in Buffalo, NY! ArchivesCategories |