in the Hands of the Potter: Ba lesa ba chindi kwe

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Ba lesa ba chindi kwe

I have been missing Zambia today. When I got home in July, I wasn't planning on writing in this blog again - for the simple reason that people would not likely be reading it anymore. So I have ignored it and figured that there is no point in writing in something if no one will read it.

But today I had the urge to write. I'm not an eloquent writer, and the things I think aren't usually very insightful. But I've been missing Zambia today, and since this is my blog about Zambia, I thought that this would be the appropriate place to write.

Today I listened to a message that Kevin preached at their church, probably a year ago. It doesn't matter how or why I was listening to it - but he talked about missions and Acts chapter 20. He showed a slideshow of pictures from Zambia (which obviously I couldn't see, since I was only listening to it) and told a variety of stories from his first year there. I had heard most of the stories before, actually, but something in my heart twinged again as I heard them. I realized that part of my heart is still there, even though I only got to be there for six short weeks.

Six weeks! The other day someone said to me, "wow, six weeks! That's a long time!"
"Not long enough," was my response. And while it sounds cliche, I mean it. If I could do anything I wanted, I would go there long enough to learn the language, become familiar with the customs, become comfortable living with the Zambian people.

Kevin told a story of one occasion when he went back into the bush and lived with the people as they lived - bathed as they did, slept where they did, ate how they did. And they gained a respect for him, this muzungu, who was willing to give up his western ways and identify with them. To me, one of those things is the language. It would mean so much to me to be able to go there long enough to learn the language - whatever tribal dialect that I happened to be with. I think back to a day at the clinic where I was asking Maureen to teach me some words in Lamba. She taught me "come here" and some other various phrases, most of which I have forgotten. But I will never forget the joy in her voice and her face as she tried to bring some of her culture to me. I will never forget the sound of the children sitting around, listening to me try and pronounce their words, and laughing. They loved it! I will never forget the first time I actually said "isa kuno" (come here) to a child, and she knew what I meant!

These people need to be proud of who they are. Proud of where they come from, proud of their life. If they had people around them to give significance to their culture, perhaps they wouldn't wish for westernization. Perhaps the children would not look to America for culture and significance. Perhaps they would not simply go to college and move to other, more developed countries. Perhaps they would start living their lives with pride and determination -- to make their nation a great place to be.

I miss it. I don't know why I miss it, but I do. And I'm praying that the Lord would allow me to go, regardless of the things that want to hold me back.

posted by emily @ 12:27 AM

2 Comments:

At 4:14 PM, Anonymous said…

It's not true that no one reads it. Someone has it bookmarked and checks it every now and then because he loves you and is interested in your every thought.
:)
At 7:49 PM, Anonymous said…

you actually are a pretty decent writer! just don't let it go to your head :)
Hope your heart never loses the flame that was started in Africa. It was not Africa that moved in your heard, but the Lord working in you while in Africa - seek His face, and He will be found of you!

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