One Last Week

Dearest Friends and Family,

At long last I return to you and with regret to have not written sooner. In the extended meantime my weeks were overstuffed like a lumpy pillow, padded with clinic visits, project trainings, over four days in Ndola, (two of which kept me until well after dark, and found me dozing along my taxi journeys home), two visits to Kitwe’s ramshackle “curio” market, sleepovers with the Ndola intern, one movie and homemade popcorn night and a “last supper” feast of creamy Dhal Mazharani with buttery, garlic Naan. Consistent with most of this trip, if perhaps even competing to exceed an already chaotic precedent, these last two weeks were marked by ever-present tragedy (two more maternal mortalities and a stillbirth I personally witnessed), new and extraordinary companionship (the friendships I’ve forged with both the Copperbelt coordinator and the new Ndola intern have honestly fed my soul), utter exhaustion and the looming reality of a bittersweet farewell.  It is therefore with genuine and possibly unanticipated sadness that I prepare to leave this place. These are some of the recent moments I will forever cherish:

·      About one week ago, at a local clinic, I witnessed my first stillbirth. The newborn was delivered to a woman who, in her fourth pregnancy, did not even realize she was with child until it was tragically too late. The infant died before ever leaving the womb and was therefore born in true stillness. In the wake of its birth the woman began to bleed and soon all attention turned from the quiet, lifeless child to its restless, hemorrhaging mother. Together with the nurse and coordinator I helped to hang a line of normal saline, attempt delivery of the woman’s retained placenta (which was done to no avail and ultimately gave cause to call an ambulance for hospital transfer), take a blood sample for a hemoglobin reading and eventually place the study’s anti-shock garment. Remarkably the woman showed almost immediate signs of resuscitation when we fitted her into this garment and I realized, if rather late in the process, the sincerely life-saving quality of this resource and research. Over the next few days I tried to digest this event. In reflection I have experienced unexpected peace and revelation. While the devastation of this story is not lost on me, I must also admit and account the unique calm permeating every fragile tuck and curve of that baby’s relaxed body. Despite its presence in our cold, external air, I couldn’t help but feel I was looking at the expression of a child still cradled in the protection of the womb. I have come to treasure this experience as a sort of secret insight into the perfect shelter afforded a baby swaddled in the warmth of its mother’s phenomenally formed body. This is one of many beautiful instances I have realized through pain.

·      On a diametrically different note, I also developed rich and dear relationships in recent weeks. Despite limited time together my common experience with the two women who finally joined me on this journey has formed a meaningful bond between us. Often I’ve contemplated the overarching reason for this trip, and I have at least learned there is more than one single greater purpose. All of those terrifically terrible first days served to create in me an authentic empathy for feelings of isolation, disorientation, cultural fatigue and misinterpretation. As these women have given me the gift of company and community, so have I offered heartfelt understanding.

·      One last moment was my happy opportunity to host a movie night in my humble bedroom. The three of us girls became giddy over stovetop popcorn tossed with sea salt, brewer’s yeast and the local classic, garlic chili sauce. We also licked butter-crumbed fingers while munching toasted cheese sandwiches, sipped ginger ale and indulged in the darkest chocolate we could find. On this very night I could taste home. And it was delicious!

Without further ado I complete this post. Today marks the beginning of my last week (or rather, my last three days) in Zambia and also the near end of this blog. It is my goal to send a quick account of return travels sometime shortly after my homecoming. For Stig and my parental welcoming committee will surely elicit a few tears at the international arrivals terminal, and I know you all need to hear the details of this story’s blissful end. So stick with me for one more week…

Until we are together again,

Jess

Zambian Skies in Color

Stig in the foreground; a compliment to the "Asian Invasion" accompanying us on our cruise.

The sunset cruise

A contemplative fellow

The Mama

See Youtube - Double Rainbow

Vic Falls in the shadow of, "The Fog that Thunders."

We crossed this bridge in the midst of raining river spray.

...sopping wet after crossing that bridge

Our humble "Hippo"A-frame bathed in sunlight.

Zambian skies...didn't I tell you?

Zambian Skies in Black & White

Hi,

Have I told you about Zambian skies? I was trying to describe them to a cab driver, but he couldn’t grasp the concept that skies in Zambia could be different from those in America. It’s the same moon; the same sun. So, different skies? I insisted, “Yes.” Here your heavenward gaze is met with an unparalleled clarity of royal blue, which fades into robin’s egg in ombré diffused by spun cotton clouds hovering at the horizon. Perhaps the skies are distinct because their function is a miraculous, if incongruent freedom from the dust and brokenness of the landscape. Nonetheless there is certain unexpected seamlessness between an unkempt, rural reality as it meets a ceiling of majestic grandeur. The skies in Livingstone did not fail us. Rather, they ushered us into the dreamlike state of our idyllic holiday. We arose each morning into thick beams of streaming sunlight, marveled at picturesque perfection over raging falls, romanced in the fuchsia twilight of streaked, shadowy sunsets and rested beneath a chitenge of starry indigo. This past week afforded the greatest blessing of calm. Livingstone offered truly pleasant touristy charm, with foreign-inspired eateries from the anti-Atkins delight of Olga’s Italian Corner to “Taco Tuesdays” at Fezbar, all the while maintaining balance in the characteristic Zambian flare of colorful curios and a contented community. We spent our days lounging on patterned pillows piled together and inset in the floor of the common area of our hostel. In the company of many happy hippy travelers, we slurped “funky monkey” smoothies (fresh banana, chocolate, peanut butter and coconut milk), shuttled to Victoria Falls and boarded a sunset cruise along the bush banks of the Zambezi River. One afternoon, while walking through the grounds of the affluent Royal Livingstone Hotel, we happened upon a family of giraffes, including one very pregnant mother, a “toddler” giraffe and their zebra entourage. Another path along the falls shared the resting place of a forlorn monkey who remained seated even as we approached, photographed and eventually passed him. He was clearly lost in deep thought. Needless to say, the time was extremely well spent. Together we swallowed three books in as many breaths, we watched six movies (one for every night of our trip), we emerged sopping and victorious from the trail of one of the world’s roaring wonders and we realized the gift our partnership, relishing the glories of each moment made all the better for their shared recognition.

Hopefully there is enough sap dripping from this account to last all of us through the next two weeks and three days. It was a harsh reality to re-enter Kitwe yesterday afternoon without my husband. It was as sad to fall asleep last night, unable to find a snug fit into my larger “spoon.” But clearly I am still reeling, and the recollection of this past week through these words to you has been an exquisite indulgence. As there has always been, surely there will be some yet discovered purpose for my final days here. We will all learn in time as these next days unfold and with them that plan.

Until next week and with love,

Jess