Mr. Banda

Lexon Banda. A name we won't forget. More importantly a spirit that we won't forget. Who is Lexon Banda? Mr.Banda?

I bet you would never guess. Mr.Banda was our faithful taxi driver. We had no idea how much we would need to take taxi's for transportation. Angela gave us Mr.Banda's phone number when we arrived. "If you need a ride. If you have to be somewhere at a certain time. You call him. He's reliable. He's honest. And he'll give you a fair price." All true.

Now Mr.Banda was more than just our taxi driver. He "saved" us one night. Well I exaggerated a little bit but lets just say that one of the few times we were nervous about our safety Lexon was there.

We were on the long bus ride back from Livingstone. Normally a 6 hr drive. Mr.Banda was going to meet us at the bus station he dropped us off at 3 days earlier (just like a friend would pick you up on your return) until we changed our plans. We decided to take a different bus because it left earlier in the day and it wouldn't be so hot. We knew that this bus would take us downtown to the city center in the late afternoon. But no worries Banda would meet us.

Well lets just say the bus ride went a little longer than expected. We couldn't get a hold of Banda & we weren't sure if he got our text messages. So we just crossed our fingers. Our bus arrived about 2.5 hrs later and it was getting dark. As we rounded the corner to the bus station we realized that we probably weren't in the best part of town. With our backpacks and white skin we we stood out just a little bit. We definitely looked like we had money. And we weren't really sure of where to go to catch a taxi. We were starting to panic a little bit. I remember looking outside the windows trying to assess the scene. The best route to take to get away from the crowds but not to isolate ourselves. The options looked slim. My heart started to race. Maybe we should have baked in the sun and taken the bus that left later. Oops. Did we make a poor decision based on comfort?

The next thing I know....I see the happiest, jolliest, smiling man waving to me. It's Banda. Lexon Banda to the rescue! We couldn't believe it. As we walked off the bus into the crowd he reached up and grabbed a hold of our arms and pulled us to his taxi & gave us a warm welcome "home." I assumed he got my text so he knew to catch us later. Thank goodness!

Silly me. He didn't get our message. "What message" he checks his phone,"No? No message from you." We couldn't believe it...he waited. He had no idea when our bus would be in. But he would wait. He waited for 2.5 hrs for the two crazy American girls. He WAITED!

Angela was right. Banda is reliable. And he is our friend. We asked ourselves over and over if that would EVER happen here. In our country. Has a taxi driver ever waited 2.5 hrs for you?

So if you find yourself traveling to Zambia...we have a taxi connection for you...Mr.Banda.

This picture was taken at the airport on our way back home. Goodbye Mr.Banda we'll see you next time! Too bad the photo doesn't capture his warm smile...you'll have to trust me on that one.

-gia

Noah...loved this little guy...

Hillary & I spent a lot of time painting and playing with the children outside while we were at the Kondwa center. So we didn't get a lot of time to "bond" with the kids that were in school. Which was probobly a good thing for me. We spent more time with the Kondwa graduates and some curious wanders that wanted to check out the "white girls" painting.

BUT there was this one little guy. His name is Noah. And for some reason I loved this little one. Something about him drew me to him. He wasn't overly outgoing or smiley. He didn't follow me around or fight to hold my hand but he was always there. We would meet eyes and I felt a connection to him. He seemed a bit sad. He seemed like he had survived a lot. Again....none of this I know for sure...it's just what I felt. When we would meet eyes he would smile. That one of a kind amazing and authentic smile. And I felt his warmth.

I wanted a picture with him before I left. I decided to take a self portrait of us and only caught his eyes. Which say a lot. I love this picture. Because it will forever remind me of how I felt when I saw Noah. Ironically right before we took the picture he got smacked around a bit. I think Hillary mentioned early that the kids are pretty aggressive. Survival of the fittest, as they say. So poor little Noah got beat up a bit but still took the picture with me. So you can see some fresh tears in his eyes. He's the boy to my right.

I love you little guy. Thank you for touching my heart.

-gia

Words are symbols twice removed...

I went to Africa with the idea of experiencing the people, the culture, the children and for observation. All of which we did. I just had no idea that when I came home I would become and observer as well. Of our people & our culture. I am still in shock. But it's ok. It's not bad or good, it just is.

When a good friend of mine asked me if I had more adventures to share. I wrote him back and told him that I have been struggling with sharing the stories & writing my thoughts all down. This friend of mine has an incredible way with words and when he wrote me back I felt like he read my heart. So I'm going to steal some of his words and share them with you, in hopes that you will understand how I feel.

"Trips that change a person that much cannot be described. There is a new appreciation of silence and what that communicates. Our wisdom reveals itself when we are reluctant to describe the indescribable. We are happy to let it be. Words are symbols twice removed from the event. Words never really get to the core. This leaves us frustrated in two ways. First, we are unable to relate our experience in a meaningful way to the people we care about. We want them to "get" what we got. But, this can never be and we have to leave it alone. It was for us and our growth. Our loved ones must seek their own experiences and grow from those, not ours. Second, in our effort to explain, we cheapen our experience, we "dumb" it down so as to make it explainable. Again, frustrating. Our experience was HUGE, but describing it makes it small, as if it were relatable and easily passed on. It cannot be passed on. It is yours. Keep it, own it. Let it grow within you for the rest of your life. "

I hope this helps all of you to understand a little bit more of how we feel. With this said....we do want to share stories and pictures because our trip was life changing. And we want to share it with you. It's just hard. And it's especially hard for me. I'm a talker not a writer. So I will do my best to keep the stories coming. Thank you for waiting.

- gia

Thank you and Goodbye - story of a girl off to an orphanage

The past weeks have been a blur of emotion, daily tasks and more. I did not expect such a huge time to need for processing my experiences in Africa, yet it has all been worth it! I have so many pieces of Africa floating inside me, it is hard to choose where to start when I share with others. I usually begin with little nibbles of info because I don't know what is wanted from me. And even sometimes I feel that if I depart from the information, it won't return to me. What a silly notion, yet it is the only way I can describe how I cherish my experience so!

One story that I will and must share with you started a while back. And I had typed it all up intending to send it off and the computer I was using froze! Yikes! So here goes....

We were at Kondwa having a late lunch with Angela and her friend Marianne. An older man was there talking with her when we arrived. He was tall and thin, with white hair and a long white, yellowing beard. He wore a simple white tunic, brown slacks, sandals & a thin white "beanie" on his head. It was a very traditional Muslim way to dress. There was also a younger man with him who I found later to be the one driving. When the older man left the room, Angela explained that he was of the Muslim faith. It is a very popular belief in Lusaka because the Muslim Church will pay you to receive their religion. Monthly stipends, help with food & board.

When he returned to the room, a lovely young girl was with him. She looked to be 8-10 years old. Angela commented how pretty she looked in her dress. "Your best dress on, eh?" It reminded me of a traditional hispanic dress. White cotton with colorful striped, broad collar with lace, fitted waist. Her hair in braids, worn sandals. She waited by the door quietly, almost shyly, happily as the older man discussed something with Angela. He then turned, took the girl's hand and they both left. Angela then told us about them.

The older man was the young girl's grandfather and they had come to say thank you & goodbye. He was taking her to an orphanage today where she will live. The grandfather can no longer afford to take care of her. Angela helped them find the orphanage and the family sees this as a wonderful opportunity for the young girl. “It is a privilege,” Angela says.

Imagine being this girl. Imagine being the adult that takes the child away to a better place. I followed them out and by the time I got to the school yard they were in the car with the younger man, driving away. I wanted to talk with them, say goodbye too. I went back to Angela who helped me understand this situation.

Orphans in Africa (the number is exceeding 2 million today) are children that have lost one or both parents. Orphanages are not just bare-bone shelters. They are home to these children. Single or “half” or Double orphans are usually taken in by other relatives or people in the villages. And most of these families have hardships of their own. So this is why going to an orphanage is seen as a privilege. There is a selection process they must go through and it helps if you know someone familiar with the system. That is why so many people go to Angela for help. Orphanages or homes make sure the children go to school. They work at the homes – gardening, laundry, cooking, crafts to sell, etc. They have friends, adult support, a place to sleep, food, running water, clothes, shoes, a toilet.

Poverty is the number one reason why people die of AIDS, Malaria, dysentery. Poverty is what makes an orphanage a wonderful place for a child. I am moved by this story because it shows what little I knew. So many may see this as a sad scenario and I initially reacted this way as well. And I now understand poverty in Africa. Who am I to say that they don’t have enough? I saw many happy families, children thriving in the compound. Have I compared these people to our own standards of living here in the US? What would you do without the luxuries of tv, ipods, Playstation?. Fuel is cheap here compared to Lusaka. Could you go without drinking water every time you were thirsty? What do you consider bare necessities? Poverty is only what happens to you. For many it is not the way they love, think and act. It is not who they are, it is only what they live in and what they call it is life. And I see them being so much richer than me.

- Hillary

We're Home....culture shock!

We're home!

I can't believe we've been home almost 2 weeks now...so sorry for the delay with the updates on our blog site. We had a LONG journey home and we're greeted by our families smiling faces. It was hard to say goodbye to Africa...but we know we'll be back!!

We have both been adjusting back to life in our worlds....we're definitely experiencing more culture shock coming home than going to Africa. We have so much here....it's a little overwhelming to take it all in....at the same time we are grateful.

We promise to update the site with stories this week...and PHOTOS!! We can't wait to share more of our journey with you.....thanks to all of you that have been following us along the way....please leave comments and let us know your thoughts!! We never know who even reads this....sometimes it feels like we're writing to ourselves!! Let us know you're out there!!

Much Love....gia