When we arrived at the bus station in Lusaka, Zambia, we could hardly exit the bus before locals surrounded the doorway, anxious to sell inexperienced foreigners their services. They tapped our shoulders and got in our faces, as if we were hard of hearing, offering everything from taxi rides to assistance carrying our bags.
When 37 wide-eyed, Americans unload the bus in Zambia, you quickly become like a rare animal at the zoo- you are examined from head to toe and your every move is watched.
We were united with our new host, Pastor Brian, who drove there to greet us. He and his family are providing our accommodation for the month, on the outskirts of town, in “the bush.”
We piled our bags and bodies into his van and drove down dirt roads with massive pot-holes. It felt like we were driving down neglected farm roads in rural Alabama. Honestly, an ATV would be more effective on these roads, than a car.
All the windows were rolled down in an attempt to cool off, as the parched African heat was a drastic change from the European winter. I found myself closing my eyes and holding my breath to shield myself from the waves of dry dirt and exhaust fumes that rushed towards my face.
The make-shift buildings and structures which house businesses, line the dirt roads. Most are built from a mixture of concrete blocks, pallets, tarp, cardboard and metal roofing materials. The floors are usually left as dirt and most don’t have electricity or running water. They resemble the endeavors of young American kids attempting to make summer cash through Lemonade Stands. Business licenses, sales tax and health codes probably don’t exist.
There are many shops, whose hand-painted advertising signs, offer one-stop services, such as: barbering, phone charging, drinks and cell phone minutes.
Music blares from the shops and other vehicles. It sounds like driving down “The Strip” at the University of Alabama, on a Saturday night. People, young and old, fill these dusty streets and the foreign, zoo-like glares ensue.
As we drive by crowds of people, the words, “Azungu, azungu!” (meaning, “White people, white people!” in the native language) can be heard every few blocks.
My team and I have adjusted surprisingly well to Zambian living. Electricity is only available for a few hours at night, air conditioning is nonexistent and there is no running water.
No running water and scarce electricity also means a lot of household chores and hygiene practices have to be done outside.
Need to brush your teeth? Do it outside in the field. Need to wash your hands? Get a bucket of water and wash them outside. Need to wash a dish? Put some soap in it, get a bucket of water and wash it outside. Need to shower? Bucket shower, it is!
I think you get the point.
One of the hardest adjustments for me personally, are the bugs and critters. With 100 degree weather and no air conditioning, this means that the windows stay open 24-7. Since there are no screens on the windows and there are many cracks, holes and unprotected vents in the house, this means “bug home invasion” is occurring at all hours of the day.
I’ve seen a plethora of flies and mosquitos in our room, in addition to lizards, mice, roaches, spiders, beetles, ants, moths, worms, ticks and many other creatures, unbeknownst to me.
Locals sleep with their mosquito nets gently grazing over the edges of their mattress. Not me though. I tuck mine into the mattress, so that NOTHING can get in. In order to make sure no inch is left untucked, I have my teammates tuck me in, as well.
Despite the difference in living conditions compared to those at home in America, I love it here. There is a simplicity that is refreshing. Living is hard, but easy, because it is less complicated.
Don’t you just love less complication and confusion?
There is less comparison. There is less materialism. There is less self-conscienceness.
