moments to capture

I wish that I could capture moments here and put them in my mind forever and in your minds, the people who are reading this…

Like, the other day as Prince, a friend of mine here, and I walked down the hill at my house to one of my little itty bitty neighbors standing at the top with his little head tilted against his arm that was, for some reason, raised up in the air saying “Bye ba Anna! Bye! Bye!”

Or, one of the kids who a wildlife officer and I took out into the bush to learn about caterpillars (a HUGE delicacy here) asking “Ba Moses, you said that insects have 6 legs when you were talking about butterflies, but if insects only have 6 legs, is a spider not an insect?” Oh, I love the inquiry, I love the honesty of the question, I love the creativity and I LOVED watching these kids, who never get to go on field trips or do hands on learning, running through the bush and finding caterpillars and then asking questions, being curious, and having a teacher responding so positively and constructively to that curiosity.

Or, the kids diving and chasing after the bubbles my mom sent. Or asking for the marshmallows that I taught them to roast by saying “Ba Anna, give me a marsh, a marsh?”

Or, a friend of mine and I standing, laughing, wearing raincoats, and eating egg salad sandwiches in my house in the one dry spot, because everywhere else the rain is pouring through the thatch. Or, the next day, when I’m in the house by myself and the rain starts to drip through the rain tarp, the reed mat, AND the plastic sheet I have above my bed to keep it dry I think “Why, oh why, did I think moving to a thatch hut in the middle of an African village was a good idea?” (luckily, I think the roof is pretty much fixed. A couple issues still to go, but I’m much drier!)

Or, the random bamaayo (mom) on my path home who notices I’m not on my bicycle today and says “but, ba Anna, where is your bicycle?!” How does she know? Why does she know? Why does she care? Sometimes the response to that is an utter frustration that I’m always watched, but increasingly it’s a realization that people notice other people and ask them about their lives. When something’s different you greet, you ask, you comment. You interact in a way that we’ve distanced ourselves from in our fast-paced American craziness.

Or, the minibus driver in Lusaka who gave us a price of one pin (25 cents), then switched with his friend who tried to charge us two, and when we starting fighting and yelling at the guy about ripping us off and that we wouldn’t pay more than it was supposed to be, the other Zambians who were squished in the bus with us said “but it’s supposed to be one and half, why will you only pay one?” Oh, the constant struggle to not be taken advantage of. We paid one because that’s what we agreed to when we got in, but I got off feeling both taken advantage of and, as always, the recipient of somewhat bizarrely preferential treatment simply for the color of my skin. We paid less than we should have because that’s what he told us first but only after yelling, being yelled at, AND realizing that Zambians DO pay more than that…

Or, my little neighbor kid, who doesn’t even really speak, but when he sees my bicycle in town (not necessarily with me even ON it!) says “ba Anna! Ba Anna!” in a slight crescendo.

Or, the kids who are my house running around with the dog yelling “Lala! Lala! Lala!” Which quickly becomes “Lalalalalalalala!” ah.

Maybe I’ll stop there today. I think I’m ABOUT to figure out a way to ship books here and I’ll keep people updated in the next couple weeks about where to send books so that you can get them into FIVE peace corps volunteer libraries in Northern Province. I miss you all, and as always I would LOVE to hear from you… letters, texts, e-mails, phone calls… any or all of the above are truly a gift.