-1 hour headlamp dance parties
-crossing river deltas whilst being told there is a crocodile in the area
-buying all the loaves of bread
-who has not washed their hair in the longest time conversations
-balancing Chai tea while also avoiding mud baths
-“no thank you” to the black lettered taxi’s
-buying 3+ cartons of juice for a one day fast
-squats in the bedroom, in the living room, on the soccer field, and wherever else we happen upon to do our workout
-both toilets clogged but no running water
-meals without dishes, because again, no running water
-ham sandwiches, pb&j, ham sandwiches, pb&j, ham sandwiches, pb&j
-not realizing the innumerable times you heard ‘muzungu,’ that it meant ‘white people.’
-“is that man taking a picture with Beth?” “Yeah, it’s because we’re white.”
-waking up on multiple occasions to the lizard hunters
-resuming conversations with home days later because of African wifi.
-Madi woke up at 1am to a ceiling leak over her bed. “The rains down in Africa” was not written without inspiration.
-Snaking clothing lines between the beds
-Crawling under them
-Many conversations about “can you please take your laundry down”
-*sees a mirror while out and about*
-perfuming yourself in mosquito repellent
-very awkward encounters in which strange men would love to shake your hand, but you have been instructed not to shake their hands
-“Because Africa.” -Kayleigh
The first week in Zambia a lot of tears were shed. I was crying, and I am not a cryer. On Thursday, Lydia and I were talking of how we do not want to leave. Bookends has became the art supply store. Huge gelato’s are in a walks distance from town. We have prayed over so much of this community and so many taxi drivers. Zambia quickly became home. Zambia will be missed, yet I lift my eyes ahead and can not wait for the “just Botswana things” post.
