My Food Trek met Zambia


Hehehe … so I came across a video circulating on the Zambian web that left me needing to punch something before I even finished watching it. It was one of those things that leave you feeling like someone has come into your home, urinated on everything, and walked away without taking anything but your dignity.

Okay maybe not so serious, but you get the point. I went on youtube looking for this video, where a young American man did little research about the country Zambia, our home and claimed to be cooking our food and called whatever mess he cooked Nshima and Ndiwo … then he went on to make very disrespectful and ignorant comments. I found no videos on the My food trek channel and after googling, understood why … 😂He had met Zed Twitter. Even after he had posted an apology and taken down all related videos, Zambians were still commenting and sharing the video so other Zambians could see … and oh my ribs at the comments. Reminded me of the #lintonlies Twitter war that was sparked by Louise Linton when she more than embellished her experiences during a 1999 Gap year she spent in Zambia.

On a serious note, though, Americans need to learn that you do not invite yourself into someone’s home and insult them like the my food trek video guy; or get welcomed into someone’s home, like Ms Linton, and then insult them and that is why we as Zambians felt so passionate about making it known that this was not okay

Living despite our falls


I was reading a post by Doctor Ben Carson about Tiger Woods on Facebook this week; it was a motivational post, reminding us that whatever happens in our lives, we can still rise. I couldn’t help but remember my mother saying, “the media couldn’t rest until they destroyed him.” This she had said when Tiger’s life unravelled and he was not winning any golf tournaments. He has worked at getting back on top, and this September, he has achieved a win once more. If the quote I have shared is any indication, you can see that my mother doesn’t like it when the media splatters people’s lives out for the world to consume. She prefers hearing about the highs of their lives, like when Tiger wins tournaments, or when Celine Dion had her babies, though she only glances at these happenings.

This week, the fact that we people are quick to judge and move on has been highlighted for me. There’s a video that has been circulating on the net about the keep Zambia clean campaign, where a man asks a woman carrying a baby and water for sale on her head, to pick up discarded empty sachets. I was initially upset, but I’ve heard and watched things that have added some context to the conversation and that calmed me down. But reading the comments online, you find that even people who once supported this man, are now up in arms and boycotting the Facebook page, not to mention the name calling that falls in the category of things we as Zambians don’t do.

But in these interactions it is clear that people only like you when you do things that fit their mould of acceptable behaviour; I guess we all pick and choose, however, I like to think of myself as a person who decides who to associate with based on a track record, and not on individual moments or a few events in a space of time; but we all do it, form ideas about who people are and refuse to give grace. Sometimes though, we are as harsh as we are because we recognise a part of ourselves in them, and that sparks a defensive response on our part, and in an attempt to feel better about ourselves, try to make “the other” worse than us. It is clear that as we walk through life, we must make choices with the best intentions but not with the aim of pleasing people, otherwise we live our lives dancing to whichever piper plays, like puppets pulled in all directions, forgetting what we stand for.

Live your life, fighting for whatever it is you stand for, applying wisdom, but not swaying whenever people leave you or question your value. Live based on your convictions, hopefully stooped in truth and not just some shadowy candyfloss philosophy. Tiger rose and conquered again despite the media’s assertions that he was a “had been.” So always  remember those who cheer you on when you have nothing for them to gain, and if you should ever fall, pray that there are people around you who can tell you how far you fell but are still willing to stay with you and walk it out. If you should fall, don’t stay down, fight! Fight for the life you want.

Freedoms


I have found myself thinking about how important it is to preserve individual freedoms. This, probably because of a few things that Ive heard happen recently that challenge the idea that everyone has the right to self determination.

If you live in the western world, you have no doubt heard of the debates that rage about hijabs. If you havent, you can read about it here; in Australia’s case you can read just one of many stories here. There are more stories from Canada and the United states, however Americans tend to believe heavily in the ideal that everyone has the right to choose the course of their lives, at least in theory, and for that reason, a ban on head coverings seems unlikely.

Recently I’ve heard it said that some employers allow Muslims and not the Africans in their employment to have head coverings. In Australia, some people take it further, holding the belief that African employees are bad for business, and a investigative report a few years back showed that people with African names were more likely to be passed up for a job than people with names indicative of another ethnicity. The fact that Job prospects improve if you have an Anglo-Saxon name has caused some people to acquire a more “Western” sounding name in order to land a job and there are parents who even choose to give their children English names, to make their lives better.

Now, in the event that you hear someone in the workplace express views that indicate they feel one ethnic group to be inferior and that opportunities for furthering themselves should be limited, do you report that person or do you ignore it with the aim of protecting the person’s freedom of expression? Where does the balance lie? Are such views a threat to the individual freedoms of the ethinicity in question? And is reporting such veiws a threat to freedom of expression?

In today’s world, you see conformity becoming the new aim. People’s right to pursue a livlihood seems constantly under threat and government policy seems hell bent on making people conform to what some consider the norm. Take for instance the vaccination debate; I am a partial vaccinator, and a lot of people look at me funny when I indicate that I dont get the flu vaccine. I recently had a workmate stare at me blankly when I told her that.

You see, I work in the health sector and the health department recommends that health workers get the flu vaccine yearly. Currently, people are allowed to refuse but I wonder how long for. Previously, in Australia, parents could conscientiously object to children being vaccinated and while they still can, in recent years the government has moved to cut entitled payments for non-vaccinators. I believe that in order to maintain the health and wellbeing of families, the role that parents have always had in deciding what is best for their children must be protected. Rather than heavy handed tactics, and threats, and in this case, withdrawal of money that could put children at a disadvantage, goverment needs to create opportunities for discourse, where concerns on both sides are heard. In a democracy, we convince with ideas and not coerce through legislative power.

And yes, I do understand that parents don’t always get it right but to assume that governments are better able to decide the welfare of children is a misplaced idea. For instance, a few years back, there was something wrong with the flu vaccine and had severe reactions, with one child in particular experiencing life-long disability. Personaly, I would be better able to come to terms with something going wrong if I had made the decision on my own, rather than through coercion, and ultimately, it is the family that has to pick up the pieces of any adverse outcome of any choice they make.

That aside through, we also need to remember that the power that government has, needs to always remain in check and that if we give up to many freedoms, we give rise to tyranny. The idea that humans today, are better than those of old, is something we might need to view with a lot of scepticism. The assumption that the rights we take from ourselves and give to government are going to be used to the benefit of society seems to me, a dream far removed from reality and what we have seen happen time and time again suggests that “power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

The little I have seen of the show.


When you have watched too many western shows and decide it’s time to create something similar but for Zambians, what you get is a misrepresentation of your country and its ideals and can’t even get speech norms right. This I say about the misnomer that is “Zuba.” definitely not authentically Zambian and makes me wonder if it was written with the worlds acceptance in mind or to portray our very valid stories. Now, if we the Zambians can not get our own stories out with ourselves in mind, who then will tell these beautiful stories? Or do we just want to seem like zee world and Disney channel, or whatever it is people watch these days?

I have to admit that I have only seen trailers of the episodes and the Character that is Zuba seems to portray some good traits and I would probably like her. I do however look forward to the day when authentic accents and authentic norms are celebrated as vital parts of our story telling process. How many Zambians can relate to the characters? They seem to lack depth and dimension and seem to exist merely for the dramatic; to act as a superficial pastime, a place to let your mind roam, stagnant, with no value to gain.

I have my whole life planned out


I like to think of myself as a master planner when it comes to my life but if you know me, and know me well, you know that I really am not that great at planning. I used to be one of those people who just went with the flow, but I now find that in order to maintain my sanity, I need to have some set plan; and by that, I mean one of those unchanging fixed step by step guides for my day.

Life however is not like that. My parents, I am sure always had plans for each of their kids, and I am sure me having a child at a really young age was not part of it. Still, when it happened they rose to the challenge and walked out the days ahead.

I hadn’t planned on my daughter being as attached as she is to my mother, and I definitely had my mind set on becoming a vet. I had never intended to fall for any man; that to me, was an unnecessary distraction.

Our plans are not to be seen as set in stone, fixed paths on a road, but more like sign posts on an unknown road. Think about it in this way, someone with a good, kind heart wakes you up and says, I want you to get to a place called Destination, but I want you to get there with only a few clues that I will keep giving you as you make the journey. You don’t know what deviations exist on this journey, but you start off. At different points you may find road closures for whatever reason with signs saying detour. Sometimes the earth quakes and leaves you shaken. Sometimes you get magged on the way to Destination and you are left wondering why this good person has led you to this place.

We plan, sort of as attempt to get to what we think the destination is, and then we realise we have not arrived and have to forge ahead towards another pitstop. There are times we allow winds and tides to take us along and sometimes even take us backward. Sometimes we fall and break and lose hope, but rather than feel like failures, we need to trust the One who set us on the journey and walk it out, with plans that we intend to fulfill; plans we are truly working to achieve, but all that in line with the view that Christ is above all, and ultimately, His will is above it all, and that our plans might be changed by the true master planner.

How my mother saved me from one incident of molestation


so today I read a sad story about a 13-year-old who was molested by a vice principal at a her school and the sad events that followed. I couldn’t help but think of my own daughter who is 14 and whether she would be comfortable enough to talk to me about any such experiences. I sometimes wonder, like many parents if we have done enough to protect her or if ever it is possible to protect her.

I was reminded of my own experience from about 20 years ago. I am a Trust school kid, and at the time was in Grade three. I was one of those students who didn’t do her homework and didn’t finish her work in class but still managed to come 12th out of 24 students on the grade ladder. Eventually I think my teacher and my headmistress tired of my attitude and notified my parents. Mum straightened me out on the homework front, but my speed when carrying out tasks was none-existen … still isn’t great. One afternoon, another student and I didn’t finish taking down notes and we were asked by our teacher to go back and finish them (we could go home and eat lunch and then go back  to school). I went  home and because I lived 30 minutes out-of-town, by the time dad dropped me off at the school my classmate had already left.

I went into the class and started taking down notes and a janitor came in to clean the class. At some point he was  standing close to me, and though I can’t remember the conversation, I felt uncomfortable. He reached to touch my face and I pulled away. He kept reaching and I was going to fall off the chair when I blurted out “I’m going to tell my mum”. He left me alone and I stayed clear of him every time I saw him in school. Of course I didn’t tell anyone about it but the reason I have blurted out that I would tell my mum was that I had remembered my mum saying that if anyone touched us in a way we didn’t like (not her exact words) that we should tell her.

I moved to the upper trust school the following year and sometime later, the same Janitor was with another janitor (one who was nice to students) and he tried to join a conversation that the nice janitor was having with me and my sister. I pointed out that I didn’t like him and that I hadn’t forgotten what he had done. He said he didn’t know what I was talking about and I insisted he did and he walked away. His collegue looked puzzled and hezitated before continuing the conversation.

Just that one experience has informed my parenting in an attempt to protect my daughter, but I don’t know if it is effective or not. I started telling her about inappropriate touch from about 2 and a half and tried to make it  clear that if anyone touched her in a way that made her feel bad, she should tell me. Why those words? because most sexual abuse victims will tell you that they felt something was wrong or they felt bad or ashamed and the language needs to make sense to the child. As she’s grown older, my language has also changed and sometimes I simply give her scenarios and ask for her responses. By no means do I think it’s fool-proof, but our options are  limited. We can’t go everywhere with our children but we can give them tools to protect themselves. Even with those tools, their courage may fail, or things might still happen for whatever reason. In such cases, remember to not place blame on the child, and to show them they are loved. And always remember to pray, because where we don’t go, God still goes, and in the end, His ways are higher and His healing hands always able to bind what the enemy destroys.

As for this child, I pray that she  finds peace and that she remembers her worth and beauty and the courage to live life to it’s fullest.

 

hanging on


The semester is coming to an end, a hard semester that left me feeling hopeless and fearful. sometimes, it almost paralysed me. I guess if it taught me anything, it’s that there’s always a little more to give. Even at the point when it looks like you are going to break, there’s still more to give. Sometimes things just go horribly wrong and we are left wondering just how we are going to get through this phase, but we must soldier on-just go with the flow and keep going. At the end of it, God walks with us. There have been times when I have wanted to just give up, today is one of those days, but instead of doing that, I thought I would write instead … get some perspective. If my friend can keep walking after witnessing her baby sister’s death, I can keep going despite my pains. If my loved ones can keep walking, then so can I, one day at a time, living in the moment, taking life as it comes. Some days are full of tears, some full of joy, but still a day at a go. Before you know it, half a year has gone by. Right now, there’s an assessment that I had started but forgot to save, no point crying about it, just have to get on with it. Haven’t slept well in a few days and have been unwell. Today, even with deadlines looming, I will sleep, allow my body some reset time and get back to one day at a time in the morning, knowing that no matter what happens, I will get to where I need to be, even as stale as I feel right now.

Clean slate


Clean slate, we come into this world,

Nothing written on the pages of our lives

Like trees even before they’re pressed between our palms,

We are soft, angels they say,

 

But in our veins flood the messages from those before

Like branding irons, our parents passed on

Beyond our comprehension, traits, their choices,

They say genes remember…

 

Curses! Like Cain! Like Adam! Like me!

Shot by my life giver before my life began

Cursed by love, out of fear of her past

My genes do remember …

 

My sin calls curses out, stronger!

Truth is less audible in this noise

Of who’s right or wrong,

And whether I’m possessed or just maimed by fate.

 

My sin drowns Love’s calls;

Truth is less audible in this vision

Noosed round my neck by your loving hands

My genes do remember…

 

If not because of fate or makeup

Then by mere words spoken

Like knives, they draw out your blood in me

My genes will remember…

 

Seen only as a product of your choices

Cursed beyond even Christs’ blood

Whatever sins were hers to bear

I’m branded with, for life, to bear…

 

Oh yes, my genes will remember

If you let them, might remember

Christ’s blood louder calls

Louder than these curses and visions of me.

Domestic violence, a confession.


This is it, this is my confession. Hi, I am Blessings on a hill, I am 26 and I was a victim of domestic violence.

what is love


What is love? I’ve been pondering this question a lot lately. Sometimes I say it without considering its meaning or implications; it becomes mundane and ordinary. But in a world of hurting people, love is glue that mends even shattered souls, and yet, love, as it’s so widely portrayed has become less and less about service or making more of others than ourselves. It has become a currency with us using people’s desire to be loved as a way to get our wants met. We’re all guilty of reducing it to something it’s not.

If God is love, then we can draw from His character to determine what love truly is. Because God loves, he does not watch people living in their errors, nor does he endorse them; he instead draws us out, always at a cost to himself. He disciplines, he shields, he provides, and no matter how far we fall, he picks us up and never forsakes us. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills but is willing to give it up for our sake. 1st Corinthians, talks of love, and in all it says, you see Godlike-ness.

Love is long suffering, is kind, has no envy, does not boast, is not proud, does not dishonour others, doesn’t seek its own way, is slow to anger, doesn’t keep a record of wrongs, nor does it delight in evil, but rejoices in truth, bears, believes hopes and endures ALL things.

That is love! Not the temporary commitment that walks out when irreconcilable differences arise, or the kind that walks out on family when it comes to terms with its sexual orientation, or the love that raises children to be “mini-me”s. Loves meets the needs of others and is not selfish and self-centred. I realise that I have not reached my full potential for love; I am selfish, self-centred and proud, and forgiveness is not my strongest trait. In our humanity we are flawed, but there is always hope for us, and even as we have failed in our expression of love, God gives us grace to do better, but also makes provisions for where we fail, picks us up and always walks things out with us.