I am dancing the Electric Slide at a Zambian wedding. At this moment, I'm embraced by fate itself. What other explanation could suffice?
Twenty hours on a plane, across the world and over the equator, scared me to death. I would be left to my own devices for a stationary journey of anticipation and the unexpected. Jackpot! My economy seat on South African Airways offered over 40 films at my fingertips. The journey passed quickly, and I even had a Sudoku partner during the last leg. Elizabeth works for the Finland Consulate in Zambia, and she was just returning from a family visit in Johannesburg. I taught her the crazed numbers puzzle, and she told me a bit about her life in Lusaka. We met again at baggage claim. I was surprisingly calm, as fewer and fewer bags came down the trolley. And then the same bags continued to track around. "It could have been worse," honestly consoling myself. Bagless, she offered me a ride to my hotel and her business card if I had any problems. I was so lucky to meet such a generous woman, and our encounter was just the beginning of many fortuitous meetings.
Kwacha-less, I tried to buy a beer at the hotel bar, but they would not accept American currency. "Don't worry about it. It's on me." I turned to see the only white man at the hotel: short, sixty, balding white hair, with a miniature raspberry protruding from the tip of his nose. He approached, "I'm not picking you up, if that's what you're thinking. I'm happy to buy it. You'll see. It's the Zambian way." He introduced himself as Viv, a Zambian-born security businessman, and his black girlfriend Carol. We drank beers and spoke about politics and cultural attitudes. Again a business card was offered, insisting that I call with any problem.
The following day, I checked out of the Ndeke Hotel and headed into town. I caught the public bus downtown. The mission of my trip to Zambia is to find a participating school for a global peer program, FilmPals, which aims to connect US and Zambian students through a video-journal exchange. I had been in contact with a few organizations in Zambia; in particular, I planned to visit Children's Town that is sponsored by DAPP (Development Aid for People to People). Being Sunday, the DAPP store was closed and I was clueless on how I would manage getting to Chlonga. I walked into a nearby store to ask. An athletic girl in her late 20s, Tubula was busy stuffing a live chicken into a plastic bag, a gift and dinner for her aunt. Bent over, she raised her head to say hello and offer her prized smile of large pearly whites. Since I still needed to check back at the airports for my missing bag and I didn't know how to get to Children's Town, she offered to be my guide for the day. It's the Zambian way.
Tubula took me and the chicken under her wing: we went to the Katawa Cultural Village where I saw local crafts being sculpted, woven, and painted. We ate lunch at her aunt's house, and I met all her cousins and family. She taught me how to mold mozi, a thick white cornmeal, into my hands and dip into cabbage and chicken dishes. She even arranged for her boyfriend to take us to the airport for my recovered bag and to the Arcade for a Castle lager and light shopping. At night, she invited me to her cousin's wedding. The wedding party was displayed at a large table, all dressed to the nines in violet gowns and matching men's neck ties. The bride and groom could have been on the cover of a 1980's Bride magazine, shoulder puffs and sequins. We danced to Zambian reggae beats, American rap, and yes - even the Electric Slide. Boogie woogie woogie woogie.
Tubula offered me her house for the night and told me her life story: the passing of her parents from AIDS and her husband's fatal car accident. She divulged, "It's not easy you know. We don't have much here. The HIV virus is a big problem, and it is not easy to find a job. But, it many have it worse. At least our country is very peaceful, and we don't have bombing in our cities or major flooding like America." Tubula is a force of faith. She prays before every meal and before she envelops her 3-year-old daughter Wathia to sleep. Her smile and generosity has been such a blessing to me. In just 24 hours, I feel like I've made a true friend. I admire her faith and her openness to embrace whatever events that God places before her. Slowly, I am also learning to take my own fate a little more gracefully. If it weren't for my missing backpack, I would have never met this remarkable woman. I'm off to Children's Town to fulfill the mission of my trip, and I hope our paths will cross again.