text from friday, when my internet connection did not work

Wednesday, at work, it was suddenly 17.10 and I had promised to attend a mass for a friends late uncle at 17.30. Kabwata parish. I know where Kabwata is (at least the direction), but the parish? On the way to Kabwata, I was not so sure anymore, if I wanted to go to church. It would be nice also, to have just a drink and to do nothing for once. Going to Kabwata parish was kind of work to. I don’t know that person very well, but she works at one of our Partner Organisations, and its good to meet (new) people. So far my social network is a little bit to much limited to one circle of friends. I stopped the car, called my boyfriend, who had already plans. So I decided to go for a drink somewhere, by myself, just to have a nice moment with myself. Can’t remember when I had that. Oh, maybe 9 weeks ago, longtimebeforeIwenttoswitzerland. I remember that I went for a drink after Cecilia’s kitchen party. Had a martini and recovered from dancing in front of 200 Zambian women.

Took the street to one of the places where I can go alone without feeling unsecure. But than, I though that going for yoga might be nicer. So I decided to go home to get yoga stuff. As in a dress yoga might be a little bit uncomfortable. So I drove another 300m, when realising that going to yoga means that I have to drive through all the evening traffic, that goes exactly from where we stay in the direction where the yoga classes are. So should I go home? Hm, I have been working all day, and I can’t remember when I did something just for me. Must be some when in Switzerland. Last week, I went home everyday straight after work, cooked, family stuff and than sleeping. By the end of the week I was frustrated, especially when my Friday evening plans were cancelled. How to prevent myself from being frustrated again? While I was thinking all this, I was driving. So what now. Well, I was not that far anymore from the part of town that is called Kabwata. At the next red light I had a look in my road-map-book. Got an idea on the direction, and took the second street after the red light to the right. For a few meters the street looked fine. But quickly it turned in a mud road and I drove through some “compound”. Zambia!? I suddenly realised that I was in Zambia. I also realised that I always take the same roads and that most of the time I am not aware that I am in Africa.

The road got worse, the house poorer. And I was in a closed. Turned around and found a way out. Took a small bridge (not made for cars) and back I was on a busy road. Had a look on the road map. Where I am, and how far from St. Patricks Parish? Well, I was not there yet. Driving in evening traffic until I found a street going to the right. Driving through a market. Busy place that I don’t know. The first place I went in, was a Primary school. The security guard was unfriendly but somebody else came by and explained to me that the Parish was further and behind somewhere. I followed the directions, and found a sign saying St. Patricks Parish. This must it be! Well, nearly, I had to walk through some houses and than I was there. Late. Very late, just 10minutes left. But I had made it. And the way was (for me) this time really more important. I had discovered that I am (like most of the expats) also living the comfortable Zambia, despite my family, despite my intentions. Why? If feels safe. It doesn’t confront you with the poverty, the misery, the Zambian reality. Well, the everyday reality of at least 60% people here in Zambia.

After the ceremony we had a drink at the Father’s house. Coke or beer. It was nice. Lusaka is small, most of the people that had came, I knew. It was good to meet them outside of work. Above others there was also Fr Bernard. A German white father, who is already for quite a while here in Zambia (got even adopted by a tribe!). And he for sure loves Zambia. One of the few people who is not surprised that I decided to stay here, but on the contrary it made him happy. He was one of the facilitators at the workshop in April (or was it March?). “Introduction to the Zambian culture”. He had organised for us the initiation that is normally done for couples that get married. It was nice to sit in a group of people that are not working for the UN or any other international organisation. Not that I have something against them, but it is refreshing to see that something else is also possible. I haven’t yet found a group of people where I am really comfortable. Maybe this is a start, even though I am not catholic at all. Haha, I don’t even know wheater it is “mass” or “mess” or something else ;)

The first two paragraphs I wrote while I cooked Nshima. Came out quite good actually, the Nshima. Not burned, not bitter,… despite using Roller!!

The second part, I am writing now, 3 days later. It is Friday evening, I am sitting in a hair salon. Discovered a “dreadlock” yesterday evening. Sign that my hair for sure needs some care. Good time to come down from the busy week and its is also a typical Zambian lady thing (they change their hairstyle on weekly basis!). Again back in the “comfort zone”, not in a cheap hairsalon, somewhere in a creepy house, nono, I am at the Mole “Arcades”

It was a short moment of “being lost”, but it left a deep impression. The red sun over the small houses. The girl walking home from school in her blue uniform and the some books under her arm. The kids playing in the dusty roads, the woman with the babies on the back. Zambia is in some places exactly how you (you guys in Europe) imagine Africa. And that Africa surprises me from time to time, when I realise that it has become my home, my reality, my “normality”.

Outside its getting dark (18.22). Half of my hair is straight and dry.

I wish you a nice Friday evening. Lots of kisses
mir