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Emma
is at St. John's Seminary Zambia, teaching theology to students |
Dear Friends
Mwa le leni? (How are you, have you eaten well etc!). I have just enjoyed
three weeks of, well, not exactly 'holiday', but three weeks of no lessons
to teach! One week was spent in Livingstone and gazing upon the amazing
Victoria Falls, and the other two were full of lesson preparation, staff
meetings and helping to write course outlines for the new degree programme
validated by Canterbury that will be starting here next year. Here's a few
bits and pieces from the last few weeks!
'You're a real Zambian now!'
'You're looking a bit pokey', said my Zambian friend, gesturing with her
hands around her hips, and puffing out her cheeks. I think she meant
podgy. Completely oblivious to the horror and desolation that she had
caused me, she continued, 'Yes! You look like a real Zambian now,
beautiful!'. Oh dear. I tired to explain it was actually my skirt that was
the offender, that it was actually a bit 'roomy' and so looked like a tent
on me… I trailed off as she waved her finger at me smiling and said
'You've been eating nshima, I can tell!!! You are a real Zambian now!' She
walked off laughing still making wide sweeps next to her hips. I think I'd
made her day. I think she'd done something else to mine. Hum. On coming
here I had wanted to try and fit into the 'culture', learning a bit of the
language, cooking local food (not caterpillar though), wearing skirts not
jeans etc. However, gaining the African style hips that are so desired
here, were not on my agenda. Nor were they ever going to be. I walked home
– no, I ran home before anyone else saw my 'pokey' hips and made a firm
resolution to never wear that skirt again… and to eat less chocolate…
Bride Price
Staying overnight in the Anglican guesthouse in Lusaka (on my way to
Livingstone, hoorah!), I was chatting to the Rev'd Rogers Banda who told
me, 'When you find your man, show him to me, and I can negotiate the bride
price on behalf of your parents! You see, you're half Zambian now, so
you'll have to tell him that he will have to pay a bride price for you –
and I can get 10% commission! Ha ha!!' I laughed and cried out, 'But I
don't want to be anyone's possession! I'm not going to be bought like tea
or coffee!' 'Ah, no!' Rogers exclaimed. 'It's not like that at all. You've
got it all wrong. You see, no one can get you for free. You're precious
and your man has to show how precious you are by giving money or cattle or
whatever to your parents. No man should get a woman for free.'
Steam time
This rationale was a good antidote to a depressing community meeting I had
been to the week before, where we were discussing the issue of 'wife
battering'. The general consensus was that it is okay for a husband to nip
or slap his wife, but not okay to violently beat her (the fact that both
men share the same attitude that women are like children and need to be
disciplined for something small or imaginary, is completely irrelevant),
and that sometimes it is not the man's fault because he doesn't get any
marriage preparation classes unlike the women. The most memorable bit was
when a woman stood up and pronounced that it was 'all these human rights
things that are causing the problem. I mean, what do you do if the woman
is more educated and intelligent than her husband? How is he supposed to
tell her what to do?' I sat steaming in the corner, having given up trying
to contribute to the discussion as the chairman conveniently ignored my
raised hand and bounces from my chair…
'My Sister!'
Stepping into the curios market in Livingstone, we were immediately
surrounded by a swarm of men, tugging at our elbows to come and see their
stall. 'Ah, Muzungus!' you could hear them say. And then you could see
them totting up how much money they thought we had in our big fat white
western purses. Fortunately we were staying with the Anglican priest and
his family, so I had asked them to teach me a bit of Nyanja; this was a
life line – 'Mwachoma bwanji!' I said to the men. They stopped. The
hustling stopped. The tugging stopped. The shouting and pleading stopped.
Then their faces broke into wide smiles and they slapped their hands into
mine and said 'My sister!'. I still had a crowd around me, but they were
no longer interested in me because of my money or because I was white, but
because I was speaking their language and had therefore shown an interest
in them - and we were now sharing lives and stories.
I could never imagine before how much it means to people to make an effort
to say 'good evening' in their language, to show that you're not here to
look at them, but to be with them and work with them and move with them. I
was no longer a rich white prospective wife or tourist. I was now
someone's sister. In fact, I had made about ten new brothers all in about
30minutes! All barriers of skin colour, class, gender, race and age were
broken down by sharing a few words in the same language – not English, but
Nyanja. You see, it may be only a few words, but it shows a kaleidoscope
of things – that you value the other person, that you want to know them,
that you are interested in them, that you are on the same level as they.
And for people living in a land which is still in the shadow of the
horrors of discrimination, a land which bears scars and has fresh wounds
of political corruption, violence and poverty, that means more than you or
I could imagine.
Argh!
Sitting on the coach waiting for it to leave Lusaka and suffering from NBS
(numb bum syndrome), a preacher climbed aboard. He looked very swank in
his suit and sunglasses. However, it was probably the most repelling
experience I have had here! He shouted at us for about 40 minutes, not
looking at anyone, ignoring the noise around him, the people squeezing
past him trying to find a free seat, the baby crying beside him, the bags
being thrown above him, hiding behind the dark glasses but showering us
with many Hallelujahs and saliva. He was very animated. I watched his
light blue shirt slowly turn to dark blue. My complaint is that it was
just so impersonal. He didn't know anyone, and clearly didn't want to get
to know anyone hiding behind his sun glasses. He was there to do a job.
His mission was to shout as loudly as he could and to say Amen 120 times
per minute. This sounds a bit harsh of me, but, I object to God's Word
becoming something that is thrown at people without love or grace or
mercy. My experience in the craft market and in the seminary has shown me
that loving people and knowing people come alongside any kind of
proclamation of God in words or action. Jesus didn't just arrive in a
space ship, stand on a chariot and shout loudly. He lived with people, ate
and talked with people, and got to know people. He loved people and opened
their eyes so they could see that love. God's promise does not mean
anything if it is delivered detached from love and companionship.
Rainbow Heaven
I have talked on and on without actually mentioning Victoria Falls! But
words can't really do justice to the beauty or to the sheer majesty of the
Falls. I gazed upon them and realised how I small I was and how amazing
God is. And there were so many rainbows; we even stayed on late to see the
lunar rainbow (which only appears when there is a full moon). There is so
much about nature that is breathtaking and beyond understanding, so much
that we will never even see or know about, until maybe one day…
Prayer Points
The students arrive back this weekend from their holiday. Please pray that
parting with families and loved ones wasn't/isn't too painful, and that
they have safe journeys. Pray that this term will help to, in the words of
one of the students, make them not into 'informed informers, but
transformed transformers'.
Thank God for my to visit Livingstone with one of my work colleagues, and
for the wonderful time we had there and the friends that we made.
Please continue to pray for the situation in Zimbabwe. The media there are
under tight political control, and the Roman Catholic Church has been
warned about its stance against the government and injustices in society.
A letter by a sixteen-year old Zimbabwean gives us a glimpse of what life
is like: 'Our once-proud nation is on its knees. We flee or die. This
beautiful, bountiful once-rich land has become a living hell… We're too
tired, too broken, too bankrupt... We cannot afford to eat, we cannot
afford to drink, and we cannot afford to make mistakes, because if we do
we die. We're waiting desperately for a great hand to pick us up out of
the dirt because… our spirit has gone; we are defeated. There is no will
left, no spirit... The thought of picking ourselves up again is sickening;
one can only take so many blows before oblivion is reached, and we are
teetering on the rim of the bottomless void. One more push will be the end
of us all...' The writer then pleads that people will use the power of
prayer to pray and pray and pray.
I am teaching three new modules this term. Please pray that God gives me
the ability to both teach passionately in a relevant and culturally
appropriate way, and to learn new things everyday.
Thank you again for reading this and for your prayers!
Over these past few weeks I have seen how important friendship and
companionship are in all communities, within cultures and between
cultures, in climbing walls and opening doors. I have seen how valuable
friendship is in making small steps together and in 'rocking the world'. I
have seen how vital friendship is in loving and in feeling loved, in
seeing God and in being seen. My prayer is that we will always be touched
by the precious gift of friendship, and that in the lonely moments we can
gaze upwards and forwards in hope to a time when we will know ultimate
companionship standing in the fullness of God's love.
With love, laughter and prayers,
Em xxx
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