tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29332728695449445292024-03-19T03:27:30.945-07:00Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by HopeRachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-63728393880388634552017-01-05T14:45:00.000-08:002017-01-05T15:06:04.644-08:00My Freedom Manifesto<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This summer I got a tattoo.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-d4087b47-70cd-2ee7-5532-20b05a8d0b62" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="235" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/bsnAYPu8gQHaXfdJMyeWMtp0SuYON2rx245GTZeT5TlVlB9ixUYF3f0ldzrnSMAhXqbOLKFiMUTl4l0UG9eVhsRPRu0whqEvo2DDAaMibp2k79jcjGQo5YVmX1kGulyqDQXz-ZMg" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="214" /></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had been reflecting on this phrase for years, but as I sat there on my yoga mat thinking about Asia’s question: “what moment in your life have you felt truly free,” I knew that this was it. This was the line that would encapsulate my manifesto. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.38; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">It comes from a child’s book called “Give Her the River: A Father’s Wish for his Daughter.” I </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">received</span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> it after my dad passed away 4 years ago. It was something he had wanted to give me for a while but hadn't. It was beautiful, and as I flipped through the illustrated pages of a father and daughter adventuring through rivers and forests It felt like a perfect description of my relationship with my dad, and how we used to spend our time together. It felt divine and bigger than myself. It came when I needed it most,and when we were situated by one of the biggest rivers in the world- Victoria Falls.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">“if I could give her anything,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">anything at all,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in all of the world</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to show how I love her,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d give her the river”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">These words seem to constantly be ringing through my head, as if to re-assure me in moments of self-doubt, in moments that feel like his presence is far gone. These words reform and reshape as I myself reform and reshape. A few months ago I hiked through a forest that me and my dad used to frequent, and rewrote my own version of these lines: </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Give Her The River</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He said matter o’ factly,</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As if everyone should already know that she deserved the world</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or at least the flowing streams of abundance that washed over her</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every single day since he left earth</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Give Her The River</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So if she ever has any doubts</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That he still loves her</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She will sit beside the gentle waters </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And feel his presence wash over her</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Giver Her The river</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And she will promise to give it back</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In gratitude to those around her</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(or at least try her very best)</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A piece of the love that she has known</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Give Her The River</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And she will be free from the old habits of grief, sorrow, and suffering</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She will own her pain, but not run from it</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She will live by her own scripts, and her own passions</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.38; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These have been moments of freedom for me. </span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Being able to grieve and feel hurt or confused but also feel deeply loved in those moments. And then after all that is done, being able to stand up and let it go. Sometimes </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 20.24px; white-space: pre-wrap;">literally</span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> dropping pages of writing into rivers and just walking away. After being in the depths of grief I now get to choose what feelings I would attach to, and that is incredibly freeing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So my manifesto is rooted that book, and my tattoo. It is a dedication to capturing that moment, and committing myself to the pursuit of freedom. It acknowledges and honors the process of letting go, while feeling my emotions deeply and not running from them. It allows me to choose every day what feeling I ascribe to.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because this explanation and description of my tattoo is long and rambly, also I created an infographic that has further stemmed out this idea of freedom. My manifesto is not singular or selfish. It acknowledges my connectedness to others and expects the responsibility to give back what has been given to you… I almost always do this through food and community. It has more tangible life practices that I try my best to live by. Along with my tattoo that I walk with everyday, this Manifesto is a constant reminder of the values I hold.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-d4087b47-70ce-520b-59e0-63817254a821"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline;"><img height="494" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/v_Re5PUttKEsyDhAijGp5qRU9OLUjSetcAtPFZjdhZMNb31gHLXwO6ufsUyL2lUnvNIQ33AyEX2lM-6LCjKePc44ZgbJO9Va-r_qVqRH8wtNX5vh5CYDHN0VBi3rrq9VkGYw63Jp" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="348" /></span></span></span></div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-29350272725111536272015-05-30T05:23:00.001-07:002015-05-30T05:40:56.773-07:00The 10 meter diet<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0976563); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(191, 107, 82, 0.496094); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: '.Helvetica NeueUI'; font-size: 18px; line-height: 24px;">I like organic farming because it forces me to be in touch with myself and the things I eat. At Camiliano- the vineyard I've been working in for the past few weeks- it was only me and three other guys pruning 7 hectares of land with no machinery to short cut the process. I just sat there in the soil spending time with each plant and I never felt rushed. My hair would get all messy from the dust flying around me and my hands were rough from scraping the sides of the branches so many times, but it still felt good. Sometimes I would imagine these tiny green specks becoming grapes, then squished and turned into wine. And I'd think about who might be drinking it- maybe a boy ordering it at a restaurant to impress a girl on a first date, maybe a group of girlfriends coming back together from college on the holidays. Or maybe if you're Italian then it's what you have at every meal. Either way, I like that when I'm sitting here in the soil I am doing a piece in the stage of producing something that could help to bring people together.</span><br />
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Here they really stressed the whole cycle of life thing and embracing diversity and unpredictablity in every plant. So that means every bottle of wine might be be a little different because they are not trying to standardize anything. There white wine is cloudy which have never seen before, but it tastes like it isn't trying to pretend to be anything. Most of food in this region the same... I was shocked to find that we could eat meat raw here because the cow was butchered that day and I could see the farm across the road. They laughed a lot when I told them that was illegal to sell in Canada. Tommasso kept explaining that cooking in Italy is simple and incredible because the ingredients are so fresh- you don't need to add a ton of spices and extra toppings because you actually want to be able to taste what's underneath it. I want to be able to cook like that, but it's hard when so much of what we see and buy is imported. Bananas are picked before they are ripe because they need to be shipped in time to get to the grocery store thousands if miles away. It makes me miss Zambia, when we lived by a "10 meter diet" I walked out my front door and I had mangos, avocados, maiz and fresh tomato at my fingertips.<br />
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I am off to learn new organic farm in Reiti, just outside of Rome. I think they have some veggies gardens, some goats, and a pretty cool vegetarian restaurant for Agro tourists. No more raw meat and homemade wine for me, but I'm still excited to see another way of producing food the right and more sustainable way!<br />
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Also, if you are interested in learning about some cool things happening in Toronto related to this stuff, you should check out and follow a site that my friend had started here: <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969); font-family: '.HelveticaNeueUI'; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; white-space: nowrap;">http://www.foodexplore.ca/</span></div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-60520172108187355502013-11-27T13:45:00.001-08:002013-11-27T13:57:58.173-08:00A Story about Oreos, Walmart, and Culture Shock<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a
historical day when “The Oreo” came to Zambia. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me and the other
SALTer Tiffany had managed to get a day off work, which usually meant
(admittedly) some form of escapism to find American culture within Zambia. We
chose going to the movies, which meant an obvious venture down at the “Pick
n' Pay” grocery store nearby to pick up some snacks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Snack foods
options usually included crisips (Zambian chips) or spinners biscuits (Zambian
cookies), and the selection ended there. But this time, we were in for a
surprise. We turned the corner, and there it was- a big life size cut out of a
giant oreo advertisement and the oreos themselves to purchase in small packages
of three. Strange things happen when you’ve spent enough time without certain
cultural comforts. Its not like I was even that wild about oreos in Canada, but
for some reason having it here was the best thing since sliced bread. Tiffany
and me started jumping around in our excitement, and tried to take a picture
next to the cut out until a security guard came and told us we could not take
pictures with oreos… who knew. I don’t know what’s more strange, being scolded
for taking a picture of an oreo, or feeling the need to take a picture next to
the oreo as if it were some sort of celebrity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So you might
assume that when I finally arrive to the land of abundance, I would be that
much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">more</i> ecstatic about having these
things at my finger tips. Oh, on the contrary. The first time I walked into Walmart,
I felt like I was having an allergic reaction to the place. I kind of wanted to
vomit, and run away, and explore the ongoing aisles of food all at the same
time. I wanted to yell at people for buying into consumerism, but I also wanted
to get my favorite shampoo that was just so dang cheap here. I wanted to get
the things I had gone so long without, but I didn’t know where to start. I
think I left the store with some yogurt that I didn’t end up eating because my
body was doing weird things while adjusting back to American food.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Call me strange,
but I just think there is something beautiful about being able to walk down an
aisle in the grocery store and get excited about simple things like an oreo
cookie. I think I valued things like that more in Zambia. When you break apart
from society’s entitlement to “stuff”, the stuff you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do</i> receive becomes these precious gifts that you begin to cherish
with a sense of gratitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can’t help but
think that our culture makes life unnecessarily complicated. In Walmart there
was an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">entire</i> aisle dedicated to
every kind and variation of oreo you could possibly imagine…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You could get
oreos in Strawberry Milkshake, Green tea, Birthday Cake, banana split, or
gingerbread flavours. They came in mini or triple stuffed sizes. You could get
them football shaped or in brownie form. For the “health conscious” they came
in sugar free, reduced fat and in 100 calorie packages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5_CSsCyt_4QVKI_i4qLrgudbhKbtfkwwjyUNGrnMjqlYj4Bj5X-YhHxzF8qnJQA7r-jXF_wa5p8lRUs7AQbtYek_m6xIxrc3ctV0Lu35YscpDdkvGk4_pMJyOWaGwHGtD4aWUmRdmkI/s1600/okQgtcTgQkjoLDn-556x313-noPad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5_CSsCyt_4QVKI_i4qLrgudbhKbtfkwwjyUNGrnMjqlYj4Bj5X-YhHxzF8qnJQA7r-jXF_wa5p8lRUs7AQbtYek_m6xIxrc3ctV0Lu35YscpDdkvGk4_pMJyOWaGwHGtD4aWUmRdmkI/s320/okQgtcTgQkjoLDn-556x313-noPad.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now 50 options
of cookie flavours may seem like a luxury, until I spend 20 minutes in the
grocery store trying to decide between double stuffed or regular, mint or
vanilla, family pack or regular size. I just think that in all the things of
this world that should stress me out, picking out oreos should not be one of
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But living in
simplicity is not so simple as it sounds. I am navigating my way through a
culture that has mastered the art of alluring me into the consumerist lifestyle
that I am trying so hard to run from. I literally cannot escape it, nor do I
think I should spend my life demonizing every packaged item as ‘the enemy’. But
it’s finding that balance between need and want, necessity and excess. It’s
finding out how to use my money to glorify God and other people, rather than
placing my worth on the material things I have. It deconstructing words that
are associated with money such as “power” “success” and “happiness.” It’s
remembering that the “poorest” Zambians I met during my term had a wealthy
spirit, and valued things we often take for granted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After being home
for over 4 months now, the excitement of oreos has lost some of
its appeal. But now, and especially around Christmas time, I want to remember those who were rich in spirit, and use them as a guidepost for how I live my life and where I place my worth.</span></div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-15807999475020725332013-08-06T11:03:00.001-07:002019-02-13T08:27:17.134-08:00Changing the Face of Corporal Punishment<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mpungu Primary school is located among one of the poorest and most densely populated
neighborhoods of Lusaka. Violence is rampant, and the school
is known to have one of the highest rates of Corporal Punishment in Zambia.
Although the practice was abolished in 2003 when the 1996 Education Act Cap 137
was amended, this has not translated well into the reality on the ground in
most schools in Zambia. As facilitators for an after school program called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Peace Clubs</i>, our team chose Mpungu as a simple starting place to dig a little deeper into the issue of Corporal Punishment. Could change be possible?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5Ck-1IxhnUouJz8LipJ1c2v9mpn59mOlsg7K7TmVK48eBWgupjvN4dPF9m6x1MYu1QsM_YgmLLzVDfd9fywDKHMWdwseMBfx9OSuxeGnrczbvlaO3Lx-xhWenhUBM8Aev6c_ayKfuG0/s1600/IMG_3722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5Ck-1IxhnUouJz8LipJ1c2v9mpn59mOlsg7K7TmVK48eBWgupjvN4dPF9m6x1MYu1QsM_YgmLLzVDfd9fywDKHMWdwseMBfx9OSuxeGnrczbvlaO3Lx-xhWenhUBM8Aev6c_ayKfuG0/s320/IMG_3722.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />
In our first workshop,
I sat on a wobbly plastic chair in a dark classroom among the 35 pupils we had called into discuss physical abuse. When we asked them to tell us stories of the physical violence they receive as punishments, they were practically jumping over each other with an endless supply of personal anecdotes. My stomach turned as I wrote
down statistics like “35 out of 35 pupils have been beaten with a whip” or
“28/35 pupils have experienced ‘stick handsy’ – a painful punishment that
involved placing sticks between each finger and squeezing the fingers together
until they practically break .” To my dismay, it didn’t stop at physical
violence. I filled the entire chalkboard at the front of the classroom with
names that they have been called by their teachers, such as rat, cockroach, head like a pumpkin and useless. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pupils also named several cases of violence within the home. They reported<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">being accused of
stealing, being forced to sweep and clean for long hours, while others claimed to be
beaten with a stick of a guava tree or a cooking stick when they committed
offenses.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A 10 year old girl was in charge of drawing water every morning in a 10 Liter
container. One boy who was living with his step parent and was in charge of all the
household chores, while the girls took care of the babies. One child was
responsible for going across town to buy foods for his mother to sell at the market before school
at 5 am</span>. The stories seemed endless. There also seemed to be an evident connection to home and school life, as most children who reported coming late to school were the ones subjected
to corporal punishment from the teachers. Though the pupils laughed as they
told me these stories, I couldn’t help but question where the justice was in
this, or what was unconsciously happening to each child’s development. South
African researchers at the Centre for Justice and Crime Prevention Jesse
Mconnell, Tarrio Mutongwizo, and Kristen Anderson state, “As corporal
punishment is itself the infliction of physical violence on a child by usually
an adult or authoritative figure, it bears within itself a legitimization
of violence which is passed on to its victim. It signals the acceptability of
dealing with conflict or expressing one’s feelings of anger by hitting others
in realization or in offence. Children are natural imitators- they learn the <span style="font-size: small;">language and social </span>behaviour<span style="font-size: small;"> by imitating their parents. Children assume
that their parents and teachers conduct themselves appropriately, and children
replicate accordingly.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In our next meeting with only the teachers of Mpungu, I
struggled to hide my anger towards the people who had inflicted pain to the
pupils I had just met. But surprisingly, Issa Embolo - the founder of Peace
Clubs - handled the situation with more grace than I could have. He began the workshop simply by asking the
teachers to come up with a list of challenges they face with pupils in the
classroom such as noise making, late coming, and fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doing this activity helped to create a
mutual understanding of how challenging children can be at an early age, which
created a gateway for more honest dialogue as we continued. Issa added that the
purpose of our workshop was not to encourage or justify a child’s misbehavior, but
stressed that the way we punish them needs to fundamentally change. </span></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "cambria"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While the teachers all agreed with us that beating should be eliminated
in the home and classroom, they admitted that they honestly did not know what
other method to take when it came to disciplining a child. The act to eliminate
corporal punishment is a fairly new concept to Zambians, considering that
physical violence as a form of punishment has been a deeply embedded philosophy
that was taught to them by their parents, grandparents, and far down the family
line. I struggled with their heartfelt questions about what is considered “good
punishments” and “bad punishments”, because I knew that the answer wasn’t that
simple. However, one suggestion we made was that the length and severity of the
punishment should be equivalent to a child’s age and circumstance. For example,
though picking up papers is not technically considered physical violence,
making a child pick trash around the </span>school yard for the entire day under the boiling sun begins to deprive
children of their basic human needs and right for education. A further look needs to be taken at how
punishments can affect a child’s association with going to school. For many children in Zambia, school has become a place where they fear getting
beaten, not an environment that fosters growth and learning. Beating a child becomes a simple solution to a complex problem. It take less than 5 seconds to slap a
child across the face, but it takes much longer to sit down with them to
understand why the child is acting out in the first place. And often times,
teachers only see one half of the equation. Though it may look like a child is
deliberately coming late to school, without more dialogue or connection to the
home they may not know that the child is being forced by the parents to run to
the market across town each morning to buy food.<!--EndFragment--></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The teachers seemed open to new methods, but were stilled
overwhelmed by how to change this system of punishment. So, we decided to give
them three months. We challenged the teachers to take what we discussed to
heart, and to experiment with new forms of discipline and use it as an
opportunity for creativity and discovery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When we returned 3 months later, we met separately with the teachers
and students just like we had in our first meeting. Against my skepticism, the
children explained to us that during the time we were absent, there were almost
no cases of corporal punishment in their home or school. The statistics I wrote
down were no more than “1/25 or 0/25” on punishments like being slapped,
kicked, or punched. We asked the students what types of punishments they were
given when they misbehaved, and they reported that most of the time they were
told to pick up papers around the school. However, this time they were allowed
to work in groups of 2 or 3 and it was always after school hours. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Upon meeting with the teachers, we were surprised to find
how active they were in experimenting with new approaches to discipline. They
came to the conclusion that if change in physical violence is to occur, there
must be more dialogue between both the teachers and parents, and teachers and pupils.
The teachers are now placing more of a priority on developing personal
relationships with pupils in order to discover the root causes of why they may
be acting out in class, rather than just resorting to violence. Through this,
they have found a direct tie from the issue of late coming to parents forcing
children to work for them in the morning. They are now addressing this issue with
parents when they come in to pay school fees for their child at the beginning
of each term. Since this dialogue started, there have been hardly any issues
with pupils coming late to school.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The teachers were also getting more creative about how they
handle misbehaviour. When a child was acting out in class one day, one teacher
decided to do a “role swap” with the child, where the teacher acted out as the
pupil disturbing the class, and the pupil was given the role as the teacher to
try and figure out how to manage the behaviour. Putting the pupil into the
teachers shoes will be a lasting example of difficult it can be to control a
classroom. Mr. Tempo, a teacher at Mpungu reflects on the experience by saying,
“We have achieved a lot of things through this experiment. We are happy because
we are not experiencing the same misbehaviour in the classroom that we were
before.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I left the classroom of Mpungu Primary school that day with
a changed attitude towards tackling the issue of corporal punishment. The
teachers I once bitterly resented transformed into powerful symbols of positive
development, and tore down my pre-conceived notions about how effective small
attempts can be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Change will not
happen overnight, but running away from an issue that demands our attention
will do greater harm to the pupils as they grow and develop. Teachers at Mpungu
have proved how this cycle can be broken if we allow creativity and openness to
replace old imbedded philosophies on the effectiveness of violence.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-q5c8mMn4aLbRIGzygVBAJwm5Hyt9hSiJzYKfYUvRLFsSHRio6RXWrWp-ZGvP7PYS7wvHMOz87Y0qPCmyXxE-P4yVRrbaF31GVV05cbmklShfFZGW7MOX-MuJHulZqvGN7y5Le3VioM/s1600/IMG_4003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-q5c8mMn4aLbRIGzygVBAJwm5Hyt9hSiJzYKfYUvRLFsSHRio6RXWrWp-ZGvP7PYS7wvHMOz87Y0qPCmyXxE-P4yVRrbaF31GVV05cbmklShfFZGW7MOX-MuJHulZqvGN7y5Le3VioM/s320/IMG_4003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--StartFragment--><!--EndFragment--><!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-13132705739371337772013-06-02T08:35:00.002-07:002013-06-02T12:50:46.395-07:006 weeks, 6 things. <div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was riding in the backseat of the van on the way home from
a wonderful combined birthday lunch for me and the other SALTer Tiffany. Our
MCC rep turns and asks us, “so there’s 6 weeks left until you leave Zambia, what
are 6 things you want to do before you leave?”, and this actually turned into a
fun sort of game. And I have to say, it was also a little encouraging that we
had a hard time coming up with things we still wanted to do, and that some of
our answers were kinda lame. That means all the exciting adventurous things
have already been done, right? Anyways, here is the list!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Go to the elephant orphanage during feeding
time<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How did I live 9 months in Lusaka and NOT know that there
was an elephant orphanage close by?! Apparently there’s a place that has little
baby elephants and they let the public come visit at 11am everyday during
feeding time. Yup, that’s happening</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Get my Chitenge suit made<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Zambia is known for these wonderful fabrics called
chitenges, and they are literally used for everything- wraps, table cloths,
curtains, baby carriers, and chitenge suits, which are like a formal tailored
top and skirt for formal occasions. I just bought my fabric a few weeks ago,
but now I just need to go to the tailors to find the cut and style that I want!
I gotta leave Zambia looking in style ;)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWQvUBeINen_fqUmbW2vtEeWcaC7iv4zGFjmeiZkxsAGfjhRvB1jcMic2PdQ2H0QFbh2BZZsDQZDeUpja0bEs7bUD6s7Vx97ioQcd5l8umCxaTGzSvq410Ej9VAMyoL_0m0MLorESQG0s/s1600/IMG_3220.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWQvUBeINen_fqUmbW2vtEeWcaC7iv4zGFjmeiZkxsAGfjhRvB1jcMic2PdQ2H0QFbh2BZZsDQZDeUpja0bEs7bUD6s7Vx97ioQcd5l8umCxaTGzSvq410Ej9VAMyoL_0m0MLorESQG0s/s320/IMG_3220.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Eat Crocodile meat<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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A few weeks ago the MCCers went to a crocodile farm (oh the
things you find in Zambia…) and they had lots of croc meat for sale. I think I
may have tried some before, but I want a real croc meat meal before I go, so
Kathy promised to do a croc stirfry or something for our last meal. Hey, I’ve
eaten so many strange things this year, might as well end it with some cool
meat!</div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Learn how to make nshima all on my own<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Nshima is the staple food here which I eat everyday. I have
had countless occasions where Zambians have asked me to help cook it, but its
usuaaally just so that they can have a good laugh because I clearly do not know
what im doing (in my defense, it takes a strong arm to stir it to get the right
consistency!!). But I want to learn how to make nshima from start to finish, so
that I can bring some mealie meal home with me and make it for my friends.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZS8qRoGtbfQp6H07eAeMwUTLAAu29mwXPvOp0gFOMbAD1DEh6zQZ3j-mz8dSDIwm9r94rHlXSDZ5fed1HJPIixRayTGJ3-1gRxN9HrzBiGNkLrrTsZ00shvrNStDivVrBH5Pp9wqhvQs/s1600/IMG_2246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZS8qRoGtbfQp6H07eAeMwUTLAAu29mwXPvOp0gFOMbAD1DEh6zQZ3j-mz8dSDIwm9r94rHlXSDZ5fed1HJPIixRayTGJ3-1gRxN9HrzBiGNkLrrTsZ00shvrNStDivVrBH5Pp9wqhvQs/s320/IMG_2246.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Go to Maahak Indian restaurant<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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This ones a little lame, but there is an Indian restaurant
that I pass everytime I go to the MCC guesthouse. Apparently its amazing, and
ive made a “mental note” of going there almost everytime I pass by it. Ive
eaten more “cultural dishes” than I ever did back at home, and when I was on
vacation I was exposed to this wonderful thing called curry, and Indian food
(yes, in Africa of all places). I need to go to Maahak and see how Zambian
Indian food compares to Tanzanian Indian food!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBgHcFdoiNEeaK5bpfe_5zXlm9sY91vCR52LLjJtLDaEtv1ha4tmUoZie4bzYKGqVcBTy3wF8P4Xh73wmnmOIMmLfmAXRnyx6BZAgWQztpCR6lFOs8WHDIklQ-ki0vc9-AwB7PdxX3EE/s1600/IMG_4312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTBgHcFdoiNEeaK5bpfe_5zXlm9sY91vCR52LLjJtLDaEtv1ha4tmUoZie4bzYKGqVcBTy3wF8P4Xh73wmnmOIMmLfmAXRnyx6BZAgWQztpCR6lFOs8WHDIklQ-ki0vc9-AwB7PdxX3EE/s320/IMG_4312.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></b><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Have a Peace Festival<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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Last year, Peace Clubs had a “peace festival” where every
Peace Club in Lusaka (there’s over 18) got together for a big party to showcase
what they’ve been doing this year through songs, testimonies, debates, skits,
ect. We’ve scheduled it to be for June 29<sup>th</sup>, but a lot of work and
planning has to be done before hand if its going to happen! I think this would
be an amazing finale to an amazing year of working with these schools.</div>
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So there’s my list. But then that got me thinking… what are
6 things that I want to do when I am HOME? Here we go…</div>
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<b>1) Quality time with my friends and family</b></div>
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Well this one is obvious. I am excited beyond belief to just
be in the presence of my friends and family. I have spent a year maintaining
important relationships though emails, letters, and the occasional skype call.
While I admit getting letters across continents is pretty magical, I can do
without ever having to email Blaine long messages on my tiny phone keyboard and
replace that with actual hangouts. I have some exciting plans lined up like a
road trip with my mom to Montréal, but I am equally excited just to BE with the
people I love.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioY9zDk_2qgPBCvQLncfINxVuljNB49S8Bl2Dux9bhTfX2d66pO-HCsQPBrfsnzTKBDuOUZi7_PE1xoSlROZvoKJEnpQeW9sn8MjKH00HTj_vtwKYfKj-J_ajTbHXdLhacGvRGJiQ12wU/s1600/IMG_1415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioY9zDk_2qgPBCvQLncfINxVuljNB49S8Bl2Dux9bhTfX2d66pO-HCsQPBrfsnzTKBDuOUZi7_PE1xoSlROZvoKJEnpQeW9sn8MjKH00HTj_vtwKYfKj-J_ajTbHXdLhacGvRGJiQ12wU/s320/IMG_1415.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOHGLBP_ARu-uJKJzY1ENt_mjStGaX86sSiZJcFL_qHEvleSUsCy0dIJqBZWl-EJBevQjlcbmPlVSWrcQIVT60V4xc5ZSk6MhR2rOy3Qh46gxYvKE6AczJ2bocfI5pvA4Ig-QoEP84FA/s1600/IMG_1267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKOHGLBP_ARu-uJKJzY1ENt_mjStGaX86sSiZJcFL_qHEvleSUsCy0dIJqBZWl-EJBevQjlcbmPlVSWrcQIVT60V4xc5ZSk6MhR2rOy3Qh46gxYvKE6AczJ2bocfI5pvA4Ig-QoEP84FA/s320/IMG_1267.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvSF5MVoQ1tQalmgDNph6G2RVRZOaPB1b6XDu-6GQB6jZGr00QFG8nE41Nhfd98IpoEglNq1XlP5bi7jRjiBWjeq3GS0EC-UlsBgGkXSWRLzQCRbu2i6BIsImAEdZqjPU6efJSUhoDvI/s1600/IMG_1528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLvSF5MVoQ1tQalmgDNph6G2RVRZOaPB1b6XDu-6GQB6jZGr00QFG8nE41Nhfd98IpoEglNq1XlP5bi7jRjiBWjeq3GS0EC-UlsBgGkXSWRLzQCRbu2i6BIsImAEdZqjPU6efJSUhoDvI/s320/IMG_1528.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGogfkma-vxu-fqvsypnPh2oP7Ou9kYfdSxjew0G94OsRwAclC5wlPZ_Xq7Rn1oDCciTyhcbGbWJbKWkRelR9yTMHJK9ou0VoZBwGGRstWMpx_5TMRxFkXnJYhFqqrqp7-sBbRIA9n1B8/s1600/DSCN5798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGogfkma-vxu-fqvsypnPh2oP7Ou9kYfdSxjew0G94OsRwAclC5wlPZ_Xq7Rn1oDCciTyhcbGbWJbKWkRelR9yTMHJK9ou0VoZBwGGRstWMpx_5TMRxFkXnJYhFqqrqp7-sBbRIA9n1B8/s320/DSCN5798.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>2) Stay out past 10pm</b></div>
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Kind of sad… I know… but its true. I cant even remember the
last time I stayed out past dark. Its partially because there is nothing to do
past dark in Lusaka, partially because I live with a host family and partially
because we have killer watch dogs if I come in after my family goes to sleep.
Just one of the things I’ve given up this year, but I am ready to be a normal
student again who has a social life!!!</div>
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<b>3) Get CLEAN!</b></div>
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Ok, that makes it sound like I don’t bath here or anything
(I do, promise). But some things about the environment where I live make the simplest things impossible to maintain. Like walking through dirt roads everyday
in sandals during cold season?! My feet… are a mess. When I was in Zanzibar me
and tiffany decided to splurge and get pedicures, and if its even possible, our
feet actually got worse afterwards. The pedicure ladies are going to have there
work cut out for them. As well, hand washing and wearing the same clothes for
an entire year (and remember Zambia is pretty much always hot, so my clothes
never get “seasonal breaks”)? My clothes are done. Who wants to go shopping for
a new wardrobe with me?!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZm3UnwEDBvDCg18FQeXhET8ZoaK9fxS3hvP1W-vtqcrh2h-IRyfUw1VRjzRurI1GhCtQZcaqJ_ji1HvpS-9YVyc67wakFU42Ry-GyUW7X_EPs-n-rbFJcniOdsMo8_2yJmfoDzW4zy8/s1600/IMG_1354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZm3UnwEDBvDCg18FQeXhET8ZoaK9fxS3hvP1W-vtqcrh2h-IRyfUw1VRjzRurI1GhCtQZcaqJ_ji1HvpS-9YVyc67wakFU42Ry-GyUW7X_EPs-n-rbFJcniOdsMo8_2yJmfoDzW4zy8/s320/IMG_1354.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I cant believe my feet used to look like this once....</div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Drive</b></div>
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I have spent a year, and a good portion of my day using the
“mini bus” as my main mode of transportation to work. Its basically a small
cramped van that would defy hundreds of laws back in Canada. I has been
adventurous to say the least, but I am more than ready to not have to pray for
my safty everytime I step into a vehicle ;) And to have the freedom to go where
I want, when I want!</div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Spend one night completely alone in my room, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>guilt free</b></div>
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I know, I know, im an introvert at heart. I love my host family, I absolutely NEVER get the
house to myself. On top of that, living in a collectivist culture makes it
unacceptable to spend a lot of time in your room because they think im either
sleeping, sick, or depressed. I miss my bed room. I spent so much time in the
summer decorating it and adding in little touches to make it a relaxing and a
place of comfort for me. I actually day dream about tucking into my big duvet
covers, enveloped in all sorts of pillows, turn on my twinkly lights and
candles and just spend the night with some popcorn and a good movie.</div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Cook exciting dishes</b></div>
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Like I said before, I eat Nshima Every. Single. Day.
Variety, flavor (oil does not count as a flavor!!) in dishes is something that
I truly miss. I am excited to not only have control over my diet again, but get
free reigns to experiment with good foods again.</div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-16891764068398474062013-05-31T09:20:00.001-07:002013-05-31T14:34:50.917-07:00A pilgrim heart, and my continual search for “home”<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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For those who have not read my previous blog posts, I work
with over 30 peace clubs in Zambia, and that has required me to do a lot of
travelling to monitor and meet with teachers in Lusaka where I am based, but
also to the surrounding villages in Southern Province. I feel like my job
description should have included something along the lines of<i>“SALTer will be
expected to be adapt to nomadic way of living, becoming “pilgrim-like” and comfortable
with living out of a backpack”</i>… Though I live with a host family, I seem to be
continually on the move. The past few months have usually been divided up
between a few weeks at my home in Lusaka, dispersed with trips to Southern
Province to monitor Peace Clubs or help facilitate teacher trainings in rural
schools. Oh, and a pretty sweet vacation to Zanzibar mixed in there too.</div>
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But as a result of that, this year I have lived through a
constant internal battle to find a home where I can truly belong. In Zambia
what I consider to be my home is Lusaka, a developing city of over 30 million
people. I work in the city center- the hub of congestion, with an inescapable
amount of poverty, noise and harassment. It is far from picture perfect, but
after living there for almost 9 months, it is the one place aside from my home
in Canada that I know like the back of my hand. It is my home in the sense
that I have grown comfortable with the culture. I can take the mini bus to most
places in town by my self with ease, I know how to handle drunkards who shout
offensive things at me, I catch myself thinking response in the local language
first before I use English, and I know where I can get the best and cheapest
shwarma in town. But do I find
peace and rest in that home? Sometimes, yes. But the peace comes in shorter glimpses... waves of fleeting moments that help me through and remind me of the
reason I am here when I lack the sense of belonging even in my comfortability. I have found profound moments of joy here even admits a harsh environment, and that is not to be denied.</div>
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Contrastingly, when I come to Southern Province for work, my
soul <i>immediately</i> finds rest. My mood
shift is so predictable that you could almost chart it on a map. I have space
to breath, the people I meet are warm and welcoming and I do not deal with the
stresses of harsh city life. But, I am also very aware that it is also not my
home. When I take these trips I come in as a visitor, living at the mercy of
other people’s kindness and hospitality. I trust that though I never fully know
what I can expect, there will always be someone to show me the way. I am in a
constant state of learning, trying my best to adapt to a whole new culture that
is completely different from Lusaka though they are only 5 hours away. This is
not a bad thing, but the short snippets can feel like teasers- they show me the
best parts of each place without giving me enough time to dig my roots into the
nitty gritty aspects that might drive me up the wall like Lusaka. On one of my
trips, I was staying with a teacher who called me while I was out for a walk to
come back to her place for lunch. When I answered the phone she said, <i>“Rachel, you can come home now!”</i> And I smiled
at the simplicity of that statement, and the thought of Sikalongo being my home
after only being there for one day. Since my time in Zambia, home has become an
ever expanding definition that has stretched into so many different contexts
and situations…I hardly know what to make of the word anymore. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcJmz96PVqJE94ocbLgUO2mrxFvxmKN3bOQpQDr_JqwNzncvO5ALikWuhK6p1-GeXeoa5roPp5D-OFNhev4wOKnfD48Y3pfEus1IbTlFW_ARI7G7kTC9dlffWGM_WJL1M-fdH_iLfj2I/s1600/DSCN2721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcJmz96PVqJE94ocbLgUO2mrxFvxmKN3bOQpQDr_JqwNzncvO5ALikWuhK6p1-GeXeoa5roPp5D-OFNhev4wOKnfD48Y3pfEus1IbTlFW_ARI7G7kTC9dlffWGM_WJL1M-fdH_iLfj2I/s320/DSCN2721.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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And that is when I realized that I might be longing for
something that I cannot find on this earth. The existential ache for home is
something that we as humans have to live with, and my year seems to be a
continual search for a sense of “home” that does not exist here in its fullest
form. Its not so depressing as it sounds though. I believe that coming to terms
with the truth that life can never stay as it is, is a natural part of the
human journey, and brings us closer to God and our eternal home. It puts less
pressure on each place I travel to as becoming the end all and be all
destination of perfect peace, but fosters a sense of discovery to find the
little sign posts and teasers along the way.</div>
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An author I love named Joyce Rupp says, <i>“Because we are pilgrims whose homeland is not here, we search, travel,
discover, live with mystery, doubt and wonder. We must give ourselves to the
human journey and not try to by-pass it because it is in and through our humanness
that we discover the beauty of the inner terrain. It is though this that we are
transformed into who we are meant to be.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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As I am only two short months away from coming back to my
home in Canada, this theme has pervaded my thoughts entirely. An ache for a
home, belonging, roots, family, understanding and stability has grown deep
within me. I am admittedly growing weary of nomadic life, though I know and
have seen the value of the journey time and time again. Though it may not be my
“eternal home”, it is a home that my little nomad self has grown a deeper
appreciation for, and I cannot wait for the day when I can sit down with my
mom, my boyfriend, and my friends again and sink into a the home that gives me
a great joy, as temporary as it may be ;)</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-47751758629948453632013-04-15T13:58:00.001-07:002013-04-15T13:58:50.527-07:00From Student to Storyteller
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<o:p> </o:p>Sitting in my seat among the 17 other girls at the Macha
Girls Secondary School Peace Club, I began the session by asking the class a
simple question. “Have you ever bullied or been a bully at this school?” Perhaps
in fear of judgment, they all quickly shook their heads; no. However, as a
female myself who has endured through those formative, yet painful years of
high school, I have come to the conclusion that no place can be void of the
malicious behavior girls can so easily inflict on each other. The student’s
anxious faces were not doing much to convince me either, but I bit my tongue as
we dug into the Peace Club curriculum lesson called “Bullying.”</div>
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We began by
breaking down the term bullying into 4 types: physical, relational, cyber and
verbal. As we delved into each of these, the simple and over arching word bullying
became increasingly more specific and relatable. Although, it’s easier to stand
from the sidelines and categorize others as “the big bad bully” since you’ve
never actually thrown a punch at a fellow classmate, it takes a lot more
courage to admit the subtle things we all do on a daily basis that hurt others.
So I prodded them with simple questions, and I shared some experiences of my
own. And all of a sudden, the room
quickly transformed into an open forum on bullying. It seemed as if every
person had a story to share about the mistakes they have made as an offender,
or the pain that they have endured as a victim. I marveled at the way a once quiet classroom could be so
willing to share and indulge in the supportive community around them.
Especially, on a topic which is makes each person so vulnerable.<o:p></o:p></div>
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More
and more, I am seeing the ways that Peace Clubs acts as an outlet for people to
not only share their story, but to feel like that story matters. By creating an
atmosphere for students that encourages freedom of speech, we allow the opportunity
for students to see the change needed on their own terms. When each student can
look around the classroom to see others nodding their heads in agreemen,t or
sharing similar stories of their own, they can’t help but feel like their life
and experience has the power to change others. Each student becomes their own storyteller, and through that,
they can begin to see the change that is needed in themselves, rather than through
fear inflicting lectures and punishments by authority figures. After telling
her story from years of being a bully, Mapuwo Chip, a member of Peace Clubs comes
to the realization, “Peace clubs teaches us not to find the bully, but to find
the root cause of the bullying and then find the solution. It also teaches us
not to remain the same, but to change.” Similarly, Daphne Chimmkaam, the president of Peace Clubs at
Macha Girls says, “Before I joined the Peace Club I always thought I could
bully people who are younger than me; because, I thought I was big, but all I got was hatred from all my
mates”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Peace Clubs feeds the innate
desire every person has to express themselves. Whether it be through the story telling and dramas we had in
that Peace Club session, or the testimonies each student wrote to us; we are
placing value to their thoughts and opinions. This will be invaluable to each
of them as they grow and develop as members of their community. Daphne
concludes, “Peace club has taught me a lot. It has taught me how to live with my
friends and family (sic), it has taught me the right way to express my
feelings. I believe that we are going to promote peace in our families and
communities and at large the nation”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-88802554384192647352013-04-15T13:33:00.000-07:002013-05-31T08:50:32.812-07:00Small Footsteps, Radical Movements<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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It started small. An advert in the local newspaper promoting
a Masters program in Peace studies was all it took for Pamela Hanchobezyi- a
teacher at Sikalongo Secondary school in Zambia to spark an interest in
pursuing further education. Having just completed her bachelors degree in Kenya
where she was exposed to some courses in Peace issues, Pamela began
entertaining the idea of the things she could do in her own community with a
specialized degree. However, in taking this opportunity, she was aware of two
things: Firstly, she knew that she would be ostracized and categorized as “too
educated” by both men and women in her community. She also knew that because of
this, her chances of getting married were almost impossible. But despite the
negative cloud of judgment and misunderstanding that followed her, Pamela kept
walking.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2933272869544944529" name="_GoBack"></a></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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As someone who comes from a western country where education
is seen as the key to success, I had trouble understanding how one can be
considered <i>too</i> educated. She
explained, “Men are intimidated by women who are more educated then them. Women
who are uneducated don’t understand why I would want to pursue education, when
marriage guarantee’s security.”<br />
<br />
She explains further that many Zambian women feel as though their roles should only include things like cooking and cleaning, though Pamela is working to change these sterotypes. She says, “Men think marriage is having a child.
It is not about love or commitment; it is about using the women to produce
children.” When I asked Pamela whether she would rather be educated or married,
she quickly voted for education. “If this is marriage, I don’t want any part of
it.” I couldn’t help but nod in agreement.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
Pamela describes the harm in a culture dominated by
patriarchy by sharing countless stories where battering and adultery is a
common occurrence. But with a lack of employment opportunities, women rely on
their husbands for income, which creates a continual dependency on the male to
support their family. So, inflicted with fear they remain trapped and unaware
of all the opportunities waiting before them.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I see a different sense of wonder in Pamela. Though I
was fooled by her sweet demeanor when we first met, her intolerance to
accepting inequality is evident through her determined nature. Pamela sees life
as a playground. She uses each environment she is in to engage with the
community and challenge a male dominated mind-set. After the idea was planted by a fellow MCCer to hold her own workshop on gender, it only took her one week to organize and gather women in the community to come out to this event. She has also used her experience from her
Peace Studies Master’s program, and from various Gender workshops to actively
lead an afterschool program called “Peace Clubs.” With her passion for these
issues, her pupils have gained a deeper understanding of peace within the
school and home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her footprints are different then the others in her
community. But with each step she makes, people can’t help but notice the
counter-cultural markings of a woman who is fighting for justice. Some people
see the trail she leaves behind and join in, eager to explore what it means to
be defined by their own achievements. Some watch timidly from the sidelines,
wanting to join, but are trapped by duties and expectations. And some look down
on her, waiting to criticize every wrong turn she makes. But despite all of
this, she is moving. She is moving further away from a society where male
patriarchy is deep rooted, and into a place where freedom reigns and
opportunities are endless.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_53MiFytDdjV0fhwU3h9V4ci_RE0WxQTvd7SEs0qLL_xjLhWN1Tl05qJDe89Fp83Jp2uDpLeYHfTmaR6kVkjHCHPFBOcGfu3sXqwI1PJOfqIoeYk2R30Z-ULDuHIJmneWv4DeuRiOyg/s1600/IMG_4415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_53MiFytDdjV0fhwU3h9V4ci_RE0WxQTvd7SEs0qLL_xjLhWN1Tl05qJDe89Fp83Jp2uDpLeYHfTmaR6kVkjHCHPFBOcGfu3sXqwI1PJOfqIoeYk2R30Z-ULDuHIJmneWv4DeuRiOyg/s320/IMG_4415.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-26670439499805764522013-03-25T02:43:00.002-07:002013-04-15T14:00:14.786-07:00Disenchanted<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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The first time I came to Macha (a small village in Zambia),
I came away feeling enchanted. It was the first place I had travelled to outside
of my placement location in Lusaka, and by that point my built up perception of Africa was plummeting. You know how the grass always looks
greener on the other side? Well Lusaka doesn’t even have grass, and Macha was
abundant with it… even in the dry season. I walked along the red dirt roads
with the sun on my face and flowers blooming around me and I felt instantly at
peace. I belonged here, and it seemed torturous to have to leave it to return
to the congested, noisy, walled in city of Lusaka.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZeseuMNXe1DzMX748H0pzs-dsdRPbXhxMjnMjAsKbCXYm0RkWC2nV5RrVHwl1rnjktqzzCDpHP2Ep7Lmglqo4E8SIddLYfg4DprlLcWZi2ehF127GP-TgLWEkEjcg0Qk4f9TheoPcbk/s1600/IMG_2262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZeseuMNXe1DzMX748H0pzs-dsdRPbXhxMjnMjAsKbCXYm0RkWC2nV5RrVHwl1rnjktqzzCDpHP2Ep7Lmglqo4E8SIddLYfg4DprlLcWZi2ehF127GP-TgLWEkEjcg0Qk4f9TheoPcbk/s320/IMG_2262.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLUEfuwTgq5OwLUfE2T7lDXDfYEYVvLsWLZrs98UQvgJ1RaSkoiRbP8hsfMZar46PohlKTmxhelnvYOn1xGET9urhn5p3q6jl-lz6mPUQNwQQ0rOAju-RQI2rbuwfXYlSZH5-rS61aco/s1600/P1100156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLUEfuwTgq5OwLUfE2T7lDXDfYEYVvLsWLZrs98UQvgJ1RaSkoiRbP8hsfMZar46PohlKTmxhelnvYOn1xGET9urhn5p3q6jl-lz6mPUQNwQQ0rOAju-RQI2rbuwfXYlSZH5-rS61aco/s320/P1100156.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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So how is it that fast forward 5 months, I’m speeding down
that same dirt road in Macha trying not to yell a profanity as I’m clutching my
skirt in one hand and sweating profusely, trying to navigate along the winding
paths to find the Peace Club that I was an hour late for? Was it just me, or
did things look much bleaker this time?</div>
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During my first visit back in October, I came down to attend
the opening of Francis Davidson School’s girls hostel opening. As I sat in on
the celebrating and speeches, it felt like the epitome of development work done
right. This project came from a great need voiced by local families, the funds
were appropriated to the right people, and the building of the hostel was done
through community effort. The girls who were in most need of a place to safe
place to stay were getting their chance at a proper education by being taken
out of broken homes and putting them in a conducive learning environment. It truly
was a beautiful story.</div>
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The problem was that I only came for the end result of all
this. I didn’t get to see the behind the scenes work of what it took to build
the dormitory brick by brick. I didn’t see the people who were responsible for
deciding which girls were most in need of a place to stay. The blueprints, the
stress, the anxious moments of “will this actually pull through?” were left
from my sight. To me, change looked so attainable, and I was excited to
celebrate the end result without having to dig my feet in further. </div>
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But my task during my second trip was a little bit less
inspirational. As a Coordinator for Peace Clubs in Southern Province, my job
also requires me to check in on the peace clubs that we don’t get to observe
very frequently living a 5 hours drive away. But still drenched in that
enchantment of my first visit, I rode into Macha with an undeniable eagerness.
Ready to see peace work in action, I called up the schools to set up
appointments.</div>
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To my discovery, not only were none of the Peace Clubs
running, but the teachers weren’t even willing to meet with me to discuss why.
On top of that, the weekend training session I had organized was cancelled on
account of an important “sporting event” that every teacher forgot to mention
to me when me and my boss had arranged it with them weeks prior. With each
excuse given, my heart sank a little more. “Do they even know how much work and
stress and money went into planning this trip? What’s the point of even being
here if they don’t even care?” I felt useless. And in with my anger came one of
the most stressful weeks of my term to date. </div>
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Although I try my best to live in that laid back “African
time” “things-just-didn’t-go-according-to-plan” mindset, I can’t deny that I am
first and foremost a result- oriented Westerner. I couldn’t let this slide, so
I quickly became the determined little Mazungu biking around the windy back
paths of Macha, hunting teachers down in their homes and desperately trying to
find answers. I pulled out all the inspirational messages of encouragement as I
sat down with them, and bit my tongue as I heard non-convincing responses to
why their peace clubs weren’t active. I walked away many times feeling defeated
and tired, but picked myself up the next day to do it all over again. </div>
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From my experience in Macha, I am beginning to think that the
problem with development work is that it too often skims the surface of issues
and gives off the impression that everything is fixable. We hand pick the stories
that donors would find heart warming, and in doing so we give a distorted
picture of the work it takes for things to be successful. It leaves out the
story of me running around Macha, meeting unwilling teachers in their homes and
coming away feeling discouraged. Maybe things will change after my week, or
maybe they wont, but something tells me that telling a potential donor that no
peace club is running in Macha would not make them want to jump in and fund our
organization. </div>
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I don’t want it to sound like my year in SALT has turned me
into one giant pessimist, because that is far from true. For every story I have
of disappointing development work, I have a handful of other stories from students and teachers who have been deeply impacted by the work of Peace Clubs. But while I hold onto
those stories, I take off my rose tinted glasses... understanding that those
success stories don’t always happen over night. Though it would be easier to
sit up in the Lusaka Peace Clubs office all day and mindlessly believe that all peace clubs are well on their way, we are doing a greater injustice to the organization in the long run by not
getting the full story. The optimistic side of me will never fade in believing that exposing failure becomes an opportunity to get messy and grapple with issues on the ground. Though it is much less glamourous, they become a part of the stepping stones required for those success stories to take place. In ten
years I hope to come back to Zambia and see Peace Clubs in Southern province alive and kicking, knowing that it came from all those "what am I doing here moments" :)</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-23906538561787364372013-03-03T06:43:00.001-08:002013-03-03T06:44:11.899-08:00On being a "Flaneur"<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>995</o:Words> <o:Characters>5674</o:Characters> <o:Company>McMaster University</o:Company> <o:Lines>47</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>11</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>6968</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Although I have been in Zambia for over 6 months now, I still marvel at how often I start each day looking into my pair of western lenses. Even though I have had more occasions when things do not go according to plan in comparison to when they do, I still have this belief that things may actually turn out the way I hope they would. Oh, how much I still have to learn.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last week I was on my own for my first week of monitoring Peace Clubs in Southern Province. I was excited to begin this new part of my job, and was feeling hopeful that everything would go just according to plan. On Tuesday I was told to be at a school in a village called Batoka at 12 hrs. How wrong I was. I leave home at 9am since I will know it will take me at least an hour to walk into town to catch my bus, and also accounting for time that I may get lost trying to take a bus out of Choma. I get into town at 10:30, and call the teacher at Batoka to confirm the meeting time. He responds: </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh, im not even at the school yet. You could come for 13:30, 14, or even 15hrs… that would be good”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">I respond hesitantly, “..so.. which one is it? Should I be there by 14 or 15 hrs?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Whichever one.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So… 14hrs?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sure sure. I’ll see you then”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I stall in town for a few hours, taking in the oh-so glamorous museum in Choma for a total of 25 cents, and finally try to look for a bus to Batoka. <i>“Where might I find a bus to Batoka?”</i> I ask one of the buss conductors. <i>“Uh, right here… get on this bus.”</i> I’m skeptical, but hop on the bus anyways, just praying that I will arrive safety, someday. So we start off, going double the speed limit for a few km, then suddenly make a sharp U-turn and go back quickly to the bus station where we came from. And then, the yelling starts. Now I’ve gotten pretty used to being the center of attention here (weather asked to be or not) and although they are speaking in their local language, it only takes me a few seconds to figure out that they are infact, yelling about me<i>. “blah blah blah 5,000! Blah blah 10,000! Bicker bicker Mazungu!!”</i> Yup, they are definitely talking about me. As they lean in and rip the receipt out of my hand, I begin to piece together that I had paid double for the bus fare, and the conductor wanted to prove to the driver that he had scored a deal with the white girl. Oh well, I hope they enjoyed their huge monthly bonus of a whole dollar. Don’t spend it all in one place guys.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I sink into my seat and just as I begin to tune out and get into my book, I realize that I have absolutely no idea where Batoka is. I pass a few markets, and I turn to the person next to me and say: </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“uh, excuse me, do you know if Batoka is near?” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh no, madam, its very far from here. Very very far.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Perfect. Definitely going to be late for this Peace Club even by African standards. However, 2 minutes pass, and I see a storefront sign that says Batoka. Wait, is this the place that is suppose to be very far? I confirm with the person beside me that this is the same “very far” Batoka he was mentioning, and I get off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I look around me and take in the sights of the Batoka market. 50+ women holding identical bundles of tomatoes up to bus passengers, fish and meat sellers, and crowds of people hanging around local stores on a Tuesday afternoon. Clearly there is not much entertainment in Batoka, because I am pretty sure that this is their hot spot hangout. I quickly come to the realization that once again, I had not thought this whole thing through. I am suppose to meet a teacher here, but I have absolutely no idea what he looks like. But then again, I am the only white person, so I don’t think he will have too much trouble finding me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I hear my name. “<i>Rachel! Over here Rachel!”</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I turn around and smile. Finally the teacher has arrived and I can stop looking out of place in this crowded Zambian market and get going to this peace club. I gesture to start off towards the school, and I realize that he is not following me. </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sorry, you are the teacher from Batoka, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What? No no, I am not a teacher, but I know your friend that stays with you in Lusaka. Tiffany is it? How is she these days?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What?! That awkward moment when you know you should know who a person is but don’t, and absolutely do not want to ask them. I ask more subtle questions and try to figure out who this man is, but like a true Zambian would, he finds a way to completely divert the conversation by being as vague as possible. I still to this day, have no idea who that man from Batoka is, or why he knows my name. But he did become a friendly conversationalist as I waited patiently for the real Peace club teacher to show up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is stories like this. At the time they make me feel so vulnerable, but they also fill me with this crazy joy because I know that someday, they will make great stories. Someday I’ll be sitting around with my kids saying, “this one time in Zambia…” reminiscing about the time when I gave myself over to the world and experienced the richness of life in return.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was reading a chapter in a book called “The Practice of Getting Lost” by Barbra Brown Taylor and there is a French word she describes in it called “flaneur”. It basically means to walk with no particular direction in mind. To saunter aimlessly, open to <i>experiencing</i> the world around you instead of passing through it on your way from point A to point B. In my week in Choma, I learned the art of “flaneur”. I would walked in the direction of town, trusting that I would get there eventually, but mostly relying on the warmth of local people to point me in the right direction when I began to lose my way. There is something blessed about being lost. Though our default is to hate the insecurity that comes with a felt “lostness”, we also can’t help but feel freed when we come to end of the road. Suddenly you are not expected to be anywhere but where you are, and you discover a relief in the giving up of control. Barbra writes, ”At this level, the advanced practice of getting lost consists of consenting to be lost, since you have no other choice. The consenting itself becomes a choice, as you explore the possibility that life is for you and not against you, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. The point is to admit that you are lost, and maybe even to allow that you are in no hurry to be found.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12pt;">Although there are days that I ache to be home, a part of me has a growing sense that I will crave the unpredictability that each day in Zambia grants me. I will miss the total surrender to each day. The “hopping-on-a-bus-and-hoping-it-takes-me-there-eventually” mindset. Though I can’t help but see through my Western lens sometimes, I also foresee a great struggle to fit neatly back into structure and routines. Back to deadlines and schedules, to productivity as measures of success. If only I could live in a land where a flaneur is embraced!</span><br />
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</span></span> Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-89496965048673999772013-02-05T11:49:00.003-08:002013-02-05T11:58:02.560-08:00Rainy Season<style>
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For a city of over 2 million people, there is an interesting
sense of community in Lusaka when it rains. Zambians experience rainy season
every year, but its like they are surprised to see the amount of rain that
fills the streets, as if someone is trying to wipe out the human race. I mean I
work in the most populated part of town in the city center, but somehow this is
notseen as a marketable enough investment to put money into proper roads, a drainage
system or even bridge to cross over the lakes that have taken the place of our streets
(though people take their own initiative to build trash stacks over puddles and
charge 1pin!)</div>
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So instead, I curse the sky at dumping its entire contents
onto this city the one day I forgot to bring rain boots (or gum boots as we
call them here). I wade through the dirty water that goes up to my knees, all
the while fending off men who use this season as the opportunity to try and
transport the Mazungu from point A to point B on their backs for a small fee. I try to put on
my serious “don’t mess with me” face, all the while try not to laugh at the
women around me who are taking them up on their offer. God forbid that their shoes get
wet!</div>
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I pride myself a little on the skill I’ve developed to pick
up out the faces in the crowd that are somewhat genuine, and instinctively find
a man that leads me to my bus stop, who doesn’t ask for money or about my
marital status (a major feat of my day) I arrive to my place of “shelter”, a
half broken minibus stuffed to the brim with passengers who quickly become a
small community of its own.</div>
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As we start off, the older woman beside me gently wraps her
arm around my shoulder pointing out the sights and sounds of our city, as if
she was my tour guide. Half way home our make-shift window made from a plastic
Shoprite bag blows away from the heavy wind, and the rains pour in again… so
much for shelter. But I’ll give credit to Zambians for their creativity. Almost
instinctively a man pulls out his umbrella and holds it up against the window
like a shield to the rain. His grin widens as if he just heroically saved our
mini bus community from the dangerous monster that is rainy season.</div>
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Although I feel like someone could wring me out right now, I
put my guard down towards the defensive persona I often put on in this city,
indulging in the hope that maybe not all Zambian men have the worst intentions.
Or maybe they do, but I’ll “soak” in ignorance for one day at least and find
the humor of it instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-64054546698414747592013-02-04T05:44:00.000-08:002013-02-04T05:44:27.520-08:00A Day in Lusaka (through the eyes of Martha Krueger)<i>Rachel: The nature of being in any environment for long enough is that the shocking, exciting, and "high-sensory" experiences actually become normal as they are incorporated into one's daily routine. Its hard to believe that 6 months ago, I was in my mother's shoes... overloaded with so much new, with a deep awareness of the differences between home and here. I asked my mom to reflect on her experience of her tour in Lusaka. </i><i>Coming in with her fresh pair of eyes, I think she can better describe this place in a better way that I can at this point in my journey. Enjoy!</i><br />
<br />
It is December 26<sup>th</sup>, and after a heavy rain
during the night our journey to the Lusaka Peace Club office began
with a long walk down the red dirt road near Rachel's host-family
home. The pond-like puddles of rainy season made us more intentional
about our steps toward the bus stop. Entering the van-bus we
two-tall Krueger women bent over (in half!)and made our way to the
back. It left the roadside when it was 'fully loaded' with 16
passengers. (Thankfully no chickens on board that day) Feeling every
bump in the unpaved road the image of riding an antiquated wooden
roller coaster came to mind. Throughout our ride we could hear
Zambians outside the bus - “Muzungu!” (commenting on us the
'<i>white people'</i>). The frequent bus-honking had a range of
messages - “Get out of my way!”, “Hello!”, “Get on <i>my</i>
bus!” I notice that most buildings don't look finished and homes
we pass are very small with little property around them. There is no
evidence of the Christmas season, and definitely no lights hanging
from corrugated roofs. I am struck by the number of things being
sold along the side of the road .... furniture, fences, hub caps,
lemons, bed frames, bricks, chickens. Clothes hang over apartment
balconies to dry, dogs wander aimlessly, and there is a constant
parade of people walking – clothed in either very traditional or western
styles. All passengers exit at the City Market in the heart of
Lusaka where connections are made for other buses. The rest of our
journey is a full sensory
experience! After leaving the bus, I am aware of a din of
noise – constant honking, sellers and bus drivers shouting to get
customers' attention, and men calling out to us, the 'muzungus',
beckoning our interest. My eyes are struck by the sheer volume of
people (none of which have white skin), cars, buses, and chaos.
Street crossing is a test to one's reflexes and peripheral vision -
where cars come from every direction, traffic lights are absent, and
vehicles - not pedestrians - rule. A gust of wind blows a cloud of
red dirt in our faces and I'm wishing I had worn sunglasses like
Rachel. We try to stay together, moving quickly through the crowds
and around the brown 'lakes' from recent rainfalls on the unpaved
roads. It is heartbreaking to see the squalor, the numbers of
homeless, and so many selling used items on the street. Living on
the brink looks normative. This is a city of 3.5 million people ...
imagine Calcutta. I am told these are typical sights of a large city
in a developing country. I can tell from my body-tension that I am
feeling self-protective as well as speechless. I can now appreciate
the milestone this has been for Rachel to 'get used to' as part of
the start to her day.<br />
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<br />
We
walk into a stark cement courtyard and climb steps to the second
floor. At the end of the hall Rachel leads us into a small, humble
room with 2 desks, walled with posters and Peace Club schedules.
Rachel's mentor-boss, Issa Ebombolo greets me with a warmth and focus
that makes me feel immediately at ease and welcome. The abrasive
sights and sounds cease and I am in a new climate. I sense Issa's
eagerness to engage in conversation, to encourage me as Rachel's
mother, and his passion to learn - “What did you do as parents to
make her turn out like this? You 'cooked' her well!” he exclaims.
His unique parent-complement makes me laugh. I had come with my own
questions, curious to know him better and understand his passion for
promoting peace, but came away very moved by his compassion and
humility and grateful that my daughter can be mentored by him. I was
also inspired by what he shared about Rachel.<br />
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<br />
In a
2011 article about Peace Clubs in the Mennonite Central Committee's
magazine, <i>Commonplace</i>, I read these words of Issa's: “My
hope is that I should live for the sake of others, ready to sacrifice
my little time, my little energy, my little knowledge to help others
who are in need, who are oppressed and who are abused.” <span style="color: black;">
Issa is the founder of the work of Peace Clubs in Zambia – a
popular and growing movement in their schools where students are
given an opportunity to discuss and learn about conflict resolution
in a number of contexts. It is a curriculum which is helping make
non-violence an accessible goal for students of all ages. After
visiting a Peace Club at an Islamic Centre in Lusaka with he and
Rachel, I understood better the breadth of its application and the
reason for its appeal.</span><br />
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<br />
<br />
During
my Zambia visit the words of a song kept going through my mind:<br />
<i>Let
the flame burn brighter, in the heart of the darkness</i><br />
<i>Turning
night to glorious day,</i><br />
<i>Let
our song grow louder, as our love grows stronger,</i><br />
<i>Let
it shine.</i><br />
<br />
Although
'lighting one candle to make a difference' is not an original idea,
it is a metaphor which I saw in action while in Lusaka, and I am
grateful for that inspiration.Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-66300366154639763152012-11-27T02:18:00.003-08:002012-11-27T02:18:15.669-08:00"Getting Used"<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mornings here have often been sacred times for me in Zambia. In the stillness of the early hours I have chosen not taint it with movement, busy schedules or appointments. Instead I take time to appreciate the light of the morning sun that has come from darkness, and anticipating the blessings that are waiting for me throughout this new day. My aunt sent me this poem, and it has become my mantra every morning that I thought I would share:<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">O SOURCE OF MORNING'S BRIGHTNESS,</span></b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">As new light streams out of the darkness, we open wide our hearts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">to the healing light of your <b>Encircling Presence.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Open our eyes to the opportunities this day has to offer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Surprise us with small joys and pieces of beauty <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">scattered through the hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">O Beautiful Presence,</span></b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> help us this day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">to taste the joy of being awake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">May this simple prayer come true in our lives today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">--taken from my book, <i>Seven Sacred Pauses</i></span></b><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Tahoma','sans-serif'; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So here I sit, on the porch of my new home, drinking coffee and eating the mangos like it was my last (seriously, I need a separate blog post to fully express my love for mangos here). And becoming more in tune with my own thoughts, and my reflections over the month of November.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />The rains have come, and although I can’t say I am a fan of the mud and trash that surfaces across these streets, there is something symbolic for me about the anticipation of rain and the celebratory effect it has on the local people here. The rains symbolize new life, growth of crops and cooling the heat wave we have experienced for the last 4 months. We have waited since October, wondering when God will provide rain once again. And now they have come. <br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />It reminds me of the time before I left for Zambia. The anticipation was torturous, waiting and counting down the days until I left. I knew that the next steps ahead of me would present challenges, but I was excited to welcome the potential for newness of life that came with stepping into a new environment. Similarly as the rains come and grant us "newness", they also come with new obstacles.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />After four months of being here, I feel a turn over of new blessings and challenges from the time I first stepped foot on this new soil. Although I may not have admitted it at the time, I was so uncomfortable with my surroundings, so out of my element being around poverty. I believe as a tourist you become almost child like, vulnerable to potential dangers and eager to find any connection or advice you can get from those who have more knowledge than you. You cling to things that remind you of home, and resist adapting to this strange new world around you.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />But like the rains are welcomed here, I welcome this new stage where I am getting used to my surroundings, and finding more and more that I am no longer a tourist. I am building a life for myself here in this once foreign city. All of a sudden I found myself becoming sort of "westernized version of Zambia", bringing my own background, but getting used to a new culture as well. I am beginning to say common phrases and adopting new antics that I wouldn’t have done back at home. I have started to notice my weekend filling up with plans with new friends I’ve made, and I am now able to navigate my way around a crazy congested city with ease. I run into people I know on the bus and at the market, I know where the best stands are to get mangos in my area. The convenience store owners across the street know me and how much talk- time I usually buy. I can predict that I will pass the same two ladies on my way to work and that they will exchange greetings with me in the local language Chinyanja. I have the same daily routines with my morning coffee, bible study and writing out on the porch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way this strange city became a home, and that’s not so scary to me anymore.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />But in the midst of new routines and growing comfortable to my surroundings, I believe that at this stage I am also called to a new responsibility to start dealing with injustices that I see. For the past few months I’ve focused my energy on getting used to being in a crowded, poverty stricken city. Maybe that sounds obnoxiously western, but it is simply an adjustment to feel comfortable interacting with teachers in a crowded school that where the entire space is a staff room, storage room and classroom all in one. But now that I am in this place of “getting used”( as Zambians love to say), now that I have built relationships with <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>people here and seen injustice on a first hand level, I cant help but ask myself "now what am I going to do about it?". <br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />Because of the long term nature of this service work, I believe it is a SALTers responsibility to establish relationships in order to carry on the burdens of others on a deep and personal level. Last week I attended a peace club graduation ceremony of a group of grade 12's. The president of peace clubs gave her testimony, telling us about how she found peace clubs after becoming double orphaned, losing her father in grade 9. Despite all this, she completed her grade 9 exams without a home or a family. It was only through the support of peace clubs, and teachers who pushed her to finish. As she cried through her story, I cried too, physically carrying a piece of her pain, and internalizing it deep within my soul. It was empathy on a level I had never experienced before. I was overwhelmed by the feeling of God's presence in that room, whispering into my ear to say "and this is why I brought you here." <br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />As I hear stories like this, I grow more and more angry at the obvious injustices that seem to slip under the radar in this society. We are in the middle of carrying out research and marking progress of a school that is known for its high levels of abuse in one of the most poverty stricken areas of Lusaka. I sat there in a classroom full of lively students, as my boss issa asked them questions about abuse in the home and school, and wrote down statistics like "35/35 students beaten by their teachers on a daily basis". As each student came up to Issa and whispered their own story of abuse into his ear, I couldnt help but feel angry at the normality of abuse here.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />I realize more now then ever that I come from a place of such privilege, where attention would be given to these issues immediately, and voices of those crying out would not go unanswered. Although we face our own set of problems, the difference between educational systems is undeniable. Last year my boss came to Canada for a learning tour, and his comment upon returning was "it was only when I stepped out of my home country and saw the differences that I realized how much poverty actually exists here" Similarly to me, it was only after I stepped out of Canada that I realized how lucky our country is.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />In conclusion, although I am growing comfortable with my surroundings and poverty, and I think I am growing more uncomfortable with letting it pass me by. As the rains fall, a new stage of this journey begins- filled with new blessings and challenges along the way. </span>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-38739805394149607292012-11-17T22:58:00.001-08:002012-11-18T06:35:00.306-08:00Meheba<!--[if !mso]>
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I wrote this article for MCC donor, but I thought I would post it here too becuase I think it paints a clear picture of my experience there. Enjoy!</div>
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<b>My Day at Meheba Refugee
Settlement</b></div>
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By Rachel Krueger</div>
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Although my time was short and my journey was long, it was
well worth the effort to have the opportunity to part-take in the last leg of
the blanket and school kit’s arrival to the Meheba Refugee Settlement. I took
with me a lasting memory of the people, their stories, and Meheba’s outstanding
beauty, but a piece of my heart has remained in underneath the glimmering
canopy trees forever.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihT8zgacrtY2U3L1IMG3Citr-7OFxmZozA_A99ib4EwAwg_WaGJnraj8I414rOW6i-ACYsp39-Q-AZDv7TQGWfNr3U3iArtYqMkJ_NwIli53Pfly3LtuzauVMp_yqcfDkDRz-LBz1JFVw/s1600/IMG_2627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihT8zgacrtY2U3L1IMG3Citr-7OFxmZozA_A99ib4EwAwg_WaGJnraj8I414rOW6i-ACYsp39-Q-AZDv7TQGWfNr3U3iArtYqMkJ_NwIli53Pfly3LtuzauVMp_yqcfDkDRz-LBz1JFVw/s320/IMG_2627.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I drove into the camp with many preconceived notions about
what a Refugee Settlement might look like, but all of these were quickly
shattered upon arrival. One being that Meheba is actually the largest refugee
settlement’s in the continent of Africa with thousands of refugees settling
from Angola, Rwanda, Burundi, Congo, Somali and Sudan, covering more than 72
km2. I learned that incoming refugees
are given plots of land to develop their lives, find jobs and raise a family under
the provision of United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Unlike many
temporary refugee camps, this settlement offers a safe solution for people to
seek permanent asylum and learn skills of self-sustainability.</div>
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However, this is not to say that the place is glamorous by
any means. From the comments made by my colleagues and from my own
observations, there is still a striking amount of poverty despite the
settlement’s attempts to provide aid. Varied options for employment are scarce,
and opportunities for leaving the camp are limited. Although these refugees are
safe from war, political upheaval and other forms of violence, within its walls
lies people with many unmet needs.</div>
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With more than 15,000 inhabitants and only 100 blankets to
distribute, I quickly realized that my job here would become a lot more difficult
than I had originally imagined. The goal of this trip was to target the most
vulnerable, so we were thankful for the on-the-ground NGO <i>Refugee Alliance</i>, with whom we worked in collaboration with
throughout the day. From their counsel, we were sent to section 44: Center of
the Aged and Disabled, who we were told to be most deserving of our support. We
met with Antoni Kasoma, the chairperson and supervisor of this plot of land who
looks after the elderly. He emphasized that these residents have been branded as
the “rejects” of society due to associations with witchcraft or have become
burdens to family members in their sickness. My heart went out to a woman named
Litwayi Likumbu, who had been categorized as evil in her old age and had been left
to care for herself after being abandoned by her children. She was unable to
walk, but met us at the door of her small home to collect her blanket. Although
she could not say much, her silent beauty and eyes filled with stories were
staggering.</div>
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However painful it was to drive away without more to give, I
was assured that these blankets were given to those in desperate need. We were
told that every piece of this delivery – the plastic packaging, the cardboard
and the blanket itself - will be used to create a more comfortable place to
sleep for those who do not have anything but a hard cement floor. With this, I
am reminded of how resourceful people can be in the midst of poverty, and the
ways we take for granted the most basic materials.</div>
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In our stop at the UNHCR orphanage within the camp, we
talked with a caregiver about the ways her children can benefit from
our resources. She explained that most children who arrive at the orphanage
have fled from violence within the home. However, the school kits and blankets
that were being provided for them offered a first step to the building of peace
and stability, and an opportunity to break this cycle of violence with tools
for education. One girl named Patricia Mukendi arrived at the
orphanage after her father had been put in jail for beating his wife with an
axe. As her mom rests and recovers in the hospital, she seeks refuge and does
not forget to smile in the process, proudly displaying her new school kit.</div>
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At Meheba Basic
School, I sat among the orphaned students who briefly went around the circle to
explain to me what the need is for these school kits. I was surprised to find
that every student had parents that had either passed away, or have been too
sick to provide financial support for their education. One boy mentioned to me
that for the past year he had been completing all of his subjects in one
notebook. With more books to write in, he will now able to complete his
homework while his teachers mark other subjects over night. It is in these
stories that the boxes of school kits placed in the center of our circle sprang
to life. They were no longer just flimsy notepads or meaningless pencils, but
tools to help motivate children to discover their own potential. I thought back
to my time in Akron, Pennsylvania when the MCC SALTers spent a night packaging
school kits together. At the time I was skeptical of the ways a simple bag of
supplies could be life changing for someone half way across the world. Luckily,
these boxes of school kits followed me to Zambia and proved me wrong. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> If there was one thing I have learned about development on
this trip is that every individual effort we make contributes to a larger whole.
Like the different fabrics integrated into each MCC quilt, we all have a
valuable piece in order to produce that final product. Without the blanket makers
we would not have a blanket to give, without a truck driver we would not make
it to this settlement, and without Refugee Alliance’s on-the-ground knowledge
we would not have been able to distribute to those in need. Development relies
on a global community working across borders towards a common goal. In our
journey, we delivered blankets that were made by one Zambian on her own initiative.
Although she did not have a team behind her like the MCC volunteers, she became
a symbol for me as a marking of successful development. When we take advantage of
our own skills, however small, I believe that it can create lasting fruits that
will be reflected upon the grateful faces I saw throughout the entire day. In
this, we begin to see our efforts pay off in a way we could never have imagined</span><!--EndFragment-->
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDDS9p0Cvo3-e-fG5l5MRTSmmQI3yqX71Z8jS1Tli4luhzYvOlLPI3AqNI-LnhJEdIgrvFs0Sbd33tV_8RGNaFRXGULtA1tM7o4bNZwrWE-SfDLHGGHPqnlZIKbBsgEb8y79vdWxXbBM/s1600/IMG_2380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoDDS9p0Cvo3-e-fG5l5MRTSmmQI3yqX71Z8jS1Tli4luhzYvOlLPI3AqNI-LnhJEdIgrvFs0Sbd33tV_8RGNaFRXGULtA1tM7o4bNZwrWE-SfDLHGGHPqnlZIKbBsgEb8y79vdWxXbBM/s320/IMG_2380.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-21800863440492427032012-11-17T22:49:00.001-08:002012-11-17T22:49:38.159-08:00Long over due
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You know those things that you put off for so long that its
almost embarrassing to come back to? As time goes on and more things happen,
the guiltier I begin to feel for not updating my friends, but the more I find
yourself justifying why everyone can wait a little bit longer. And then
November hits, I think its time I put a stop to this downward spiral of communication.
In my defense, I DID write something at the end of October, I just never had
the internet to post it. Can we have a little pity party for Rachel’s internet
access out here? Anyways, here is what I wrote:</div>
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This month alone I have clocked almost 70 hours spent in
cramped buses, cars and rickety pick-up trucks travelling what seems like all
over the country. I have had the chance to learn from other people, see new
things and develop new skills that will carry through the rest of my term here.</div>
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Its hard to sum up these experiences with general statements
like “good” or “inspiring” because they have all changed me in vastly different
ways. But I’ll try and explain some of the more memorable lessons ive had from
this month. </div>
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To give you some background information, my job is unique in
that it allows me to always be moving. We are in the process of expanding peace
clubs into different provinces of Zambia, and because of that there is a high
demand to be monitoring of peace clubs and training teachers, particulaily in the
Southern Province. I am beginning to learn though that there is no structured
formula to do peace work. Teaching peace happens in many forms… in
conversations with strangers on the bus some idle Tuesday, in a formal setting
in schools clubs, and with my friends and family back at home. We become
messengers of peace only when we let it consume our lives. </div>
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Last month I had the opportunity to spread some peace during
a visit to Meheba refugee camp in Northern Province...the largest refugee
settlement in all of Africa. Unless you are some whiz on Zambian geography,
Meheba is about a 15 hour drive from Lusaka, and we only spent ONE full day
there. So a total of 30 hours were spent squished between my boss and our
driver and although my long legs did not thank me for that, I would do it all
again in a heart beat. We spent
the day distributing blankets to a section of the camp called the “aged and
disabled” and handed out school kids to several orphans within the camp. I will
hold up Meheba in my mind as an invaluable memory, with rich experiences and
people that have shaped my perspectives on life and sharpened the reality of injustice.
I came in as a journalist for MCC, listening to stories of those I met and documenting it for
the blanket makers and school kit providers to read about it at home. So
instead of going into more detail, I think it would be better for me to post my
article on this blog if you’d like to read about it more in depth.</div>
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To be honest, being back in Lusaka before I was ready lead
to probably one of the worst days I’ve had since I’ve been here. I was so
emotionally vulnerable from that trip because I had felt such a deep connection
to that place. I desperately wanted more time to spend there. This, combined with the knowledge that
I was missing my first significant holiday of Thanksgiving highlighted a deep
longing to be home. I was thankful I had the day off, although being at the
house alone made me unable to hide or busy myself from sadness. Both me and my
mom have become comfortable with the idea of “feeling emotions as they come”,
and in that day I just needed to be feel homesickness, longing for family
traditions, empathy for the stories I had heard in meheba, and bitterness
towards being back in the city. As I uncover these emotions, it helps me to
move forward and take these feelings to use them for good in the future. I
realize now how hard special occasions and memorable events are going to be
this year weather that be Christmas, birthdays, or the anniversary of my dads
passing … but I’m learning how to accept that and move forward. I know that my
bad days here do not define my entire term. Although I had a bad day, this
month has still been the most memorable and joyfilled month I have had in a
long time.</div>
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Because of slowly uncovering those emotions, I felt much
more open and aware to my dads presence than ever before in the following week
in Choma. Its hard to describe it without sounding like a total nut case, but
in this grief came this intense longing to honor my dad in everything I am
doing here. I felt more open to hearing his voice, and willing to remember the
lessons he had taught me while growing up and finding ways to apply that to my
work here. </div>
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I had a new energy to my day, and I suddenly felt so
passionate about taking more risks. Issa told me that he finally saw me come
alive in peace clubs that weekend, and I think I can agree with this statement
too. Its funny how death can sometimes make you feel more alive, eh? I believe
that there is never a right time to step out of your comfort zone, so I took this
Choma teacher training as a time to explore what boundaries I could push for
myself. I told Issa I wanted to cover a few lessons on my own, starting with
our first one-on-one lesson with a man named Mr. Chindolo. I picked two lessons
at random, and after some time to look over what I would be teaching I realized
I had picked a lesson my dad had taught me from an early age and had taught in
his students of a picture of an old man/young lady depending on how you look at
it . I was blessed to have the chance to carry on his lesson in a completely
different setting, and was blown away that I would get to teach on a picture
that I had grown up with.</div>
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So that was the first half of my month…kind of intense I
suppose. I was thankful for those memories, but by that point I was also so
ready to just put work and family issues aside for a little and have mindless,
reckless fun again. I think myself and the other SALTers really began to
understand the need for “worker renewal”, and we really took advantage of that
during camping, in the village, and our final weekend together in Livingstone. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5gOXDAmRIW-eHkw24T8Hn5fqDmK2QnzpdeqqmOWH2uWjSQ_P7YdeZCk3cuwwu_1-jkZAZqt0fnGjfgeQRCXfAir7EPis3liA6831vrMJXA3cFlJRIbTGzMfQQYztw7rrGSVLu_hc7hEE/s1600/IMG_2800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5gOXDAmRIW-eHkw24T8Hn5fqDmK2QnzpdeqqmOWH2uWjSQ_P7YdeZCk3cuwwu_1-jkZAZqt0fnGjfgeQRCXfAir7EPis3liA6831vrMJXA3cFlJRIbTGzMfQQYztw7rrGSVLu_hc7hEE/s320/IMG_2800.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Learning to be a real African woman!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8h8GB-MYC4ZCq9D-OTkdUYWtC9nxMq4rdYcQGEmRW5eb8PIXOAmWbtCDyjPT3kEnsm5gd7c-P0-3S83mOJ8Q15Rbkm8OiTR6rqgDqp3ktMPVR9nm6KWi8Jef5W5s3hK7bdJ-lS8R1Ts/s1600/Elephant+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn8h8GB-MYC4ZCq9D-OTkdUYWtC9nxMq4rdYcQGEmRW5eb8PIXOAmWbtCDyjPT3kEnsm5gd7c-P0-3S83mOJ8Q15Rbkm8OiTR6rqgDqp3ktMPVR9nm6KWi8Jef5W5s3hK7bdJ-lS8R1Ts/s320/Elephant+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Wildlife at Kafue Game Park!</div>
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I found that I didn’t even have that much to write about in
my journal in those weeks, because I started to just grow tired of reflecting
and analyzing my life at all times. Instead I just appreciated having the
opportunity to just be a normal, Canadian teenager again. It was only in our
getaway weekend in Livingstone that I think all of us SALTers realized how much
we’ve actually changed. These past 3 months you almost need to put aside your
past life in order to fully invest yourself in a new one, but it gets tiring to
be almost walking on egg shells all the time, so aware that every move you make
is being watched and categorized as culturally appropriate or not. Things like
getting ready with friends to go out to a nice dinner or just lounging by a
pool became like these luxurious gifts. Its crazy that just 3 months ago that
used to be my everyday life! I love my job and my host family, but I think we
all realized how important it is to let ourselves be “us”. I had the chance to
bond with these girls on a whole different level this weekend, and we all
agreed to make more of an effort to be a strong support for eachother as the
year continues, and to create more opportunities to have fun. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSAl9aN7kE5ljWdxSpYkCjMi4uIOrkqk1gwSkGJCXW3l8Ow6kSUKGdI3oOe8PU9WS8QNj4wmJwNwcVF85xJ3ZVTMekiH7g3J8nlmDmRafJ137kCMGdlZ9qF7FotDY80sO5XXShehSQN8/s1600/IMG_2835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSAl9aN7kE5ljWdxSpYkCjMi4uIOrkqk1gwSkGJCXW3l8Ow6kSUKGdI3oOe8PU9WS8QNj4wmJwNwcVF85xJ3ZVTMekiH7g3J8nlmDmRafJ137kCMGdlZ9qF7FotDY80sO5XXShehSQN8/s320/IMG_2835.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJGHijc240W9Fsi8U61WwV0ufBgRFdaxTvdUaDE-9SU9SZNBUzPjglUWkmH2GRomJsZW5i7OU6XGHMphoEj4kHva7oA253dkA5GoUbobg0Pl1wd5B4b4OjRlEA5FRUIJBNzcgCJlufK0/s1600/IMG_2923.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJGHijc240W9Fsi8U61WwV0ufBgRFdaxTvdUaDE-9SU9SZNBUzPjglUWkmH2GRomJsZW5i7OU6XGHMphoEj4kHva7oA253dkA5GoUbobg0Pl1wd5B4b4OjRlEA5FRUIJBNzcgCJlufK0/s320/IMG_2923.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Alright that is my recap of October. Im looking forward
slowing things down a bit in November before our Christmas retreat in December!</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-91699117876185220392012-09-28T15:23:00.001-07:002012-09-28T15:32:54.188-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz1712ePPjbXtrkd97vZdU6Hk2UTOXAbnWwIXqyGXKSKDdExtC6E7yUQ3xHyybMtF-asmURXeNsVFIVyHw3Ew' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Hello friends :)<br />
<br />
Many of you have complained that because I can't really video chat in Zambia, no one ever gets to see my face! So, I thought i'd give a quick shout out and introduce my new sisters to you all. Haha favorite quote? "Rachel, you look funny with your eye" Thanks Munsaka.<br />
<br />
<br />
I promise more in depth blogging will take place soon, but hope you can forgive me and enjoy this for now!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-89544622603466230942012-09-06T07:41:00.002-07:002012-09-06T07:41:14.501-07:00Thoughts on my first week of work...
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Hello to all you faithful readers! </div>
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Looking for another update on my first week of work? <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">:)</span></div>
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Before I do that, I think its about time that I explain to
you what exactly I’ll be doing as an assistant project coordinator for peace
clubs here Zambia. I often have people tell me they don’t know how explain my
position to other people, and to be honest I didn’t either! Hopefully this can give you a more
comprehensive idea:</div>
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Issa, my boss, has created a curriculum for primary and
secondary schools to implement an after school program for students called
“peace clubs”. The curriculum has 4 different sections that the teachers will
overview throughout the year: conflict, violence, reconciliation, and gender
based conflict. For each section there’s about 15 different lessons that may
range from anger management, sexual abuse, stereotypes, communication skills
ect… all of these include
discussion topics, interactive games, and drama in order to address issues of
peace in a fun an approachable way. In Lusaka alone there’s 18 different schools
who have begun peace clubs and 6 more in southern province.</div>
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Because these programs are growing so rapidly across Zambia
me and Issa’s job is to: </div>
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1) Train teachers during a 5-day training session so that
they are equipped to teach each lesson to their students. During that week we
replicate how a typical peace club session would run, and the teachers that
have come the training sessions to observe how it works as “students”. </div>
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2) Do school visits three times a week to different schools
in the area to monitor how things are going. Eventually I’ll be doing these
trips on my own, especially in the Southern Province (in Choma and in Macha) as
they are just starting up. The cool part is I actually get to facilitate a lot
of small group discussions. Issa said that students especially will want my
“western” perspective, and he’s found that people more easily open up to people
who don’t have any connection to their community or family (so I wont go around
telling their secrets haha) like a neutral party I guess.</div>
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3) Doing more practical administrative work like answering
teachers questions, organizing events, or evaluating proposals we get from
schools who want us to help them start up peace clubs.</div>
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I know I’ve just started, but I really do love it. Its
pretty much my dream job… I get to interact with so many beautiful people on a
daily basis from all ages, and get to talk about issues of peace and justice
for an entire day in so many different contexts! People have so much to say
about issues here, and they genuinely get so excited about having the space and
opportunity to discuss topics that would be considered taboo in the west. </div>
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And example of that: Me and Issa went to a secondary school to
meet with the instructors of peace clubs, and talk with a few students who are
peace club members. On our way back, a crowd of teenage boys were standing
outside and Issa called them over. As Issa starts asking them questions about
the issues they face at school, all I could think of was: “What is Issa dooiiing,
these guys have more important things than to be talking with us right now!!” But
as the conversation developed, I was shocked to see how quickly they opened up
to us and how personal they got without even knowing who we were. People
started over hearing what me and Issa were discussing with them, and the crowd
of boys grew larger and larger. Suddenly 25 high school boys were huddled
around us, eager to put their 2 cents about how they perceive women who wear skirts
“above their knees”, their own struggle with sexual temptation, and discussing ways
to break female and male gender roles in the classroom and household. </div>
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I realized that this job is about taking time to listen to
stories. I think it is so common in the west to quickly shut out topics that
feel awkward, even though people have so much to say about them. But peace
clubs is about giving opportunity to name issues as well as providing students
with the tools to deal with them. In the beginning, the boys in that group were
adamant that women who dress provocatively actually deserve negative male
attention. But as we took time to unpack this and ask some provoking questions,
they agreed that men must also take responsibility for acting on temptations. I
saw mindsets transform so quickly that day, and it was a true example of how
younger generations can be a positive source of peace.</div>
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A boy about my age came up to us after and told me that the
group of boys had told him what we were talking about, and asked me if I was coming
back soon to talk about those same things again. It’s this energy that I love
about peace clubs. Conversation sparks so fast that dialogue and discussion
become contagious. Suddenly topics that are off-limits become normalized, and
we can challenge the way things are always done by offering fresh perspective.</div>
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I have a lot to learn about how to approach these topics
with students like my boss does, its so inspiring to watch how he engages with
students.</div>
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<b>Coming up this week:</b></div>
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-Me and my host mom are going to a kitchen party this
weekend! This is a Zambian style bachelorette party with traditional dancing,
music and outfits. I got a chitenge fitting the other day so I can semi-fit in.
Should be quite the cultural experience!</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-90387174883073675642012-08-29T07:30:00.003-07:002012-08-29T07:48:48.282-07:00Muli Bwanji!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Well, after a long three days of travel, Me and my fellow
Zambian SALTers- Malinda, Chrissy and Tiffany FINALLY set foot on Zambian soil.
Praise the Lord for no complications in travelling, luggage or immigration! We
were welcomed by our host reps, Eric and Kathy as they took us back to the
Lusaka guest house as we transitioned through jet lag and a bit of cultural
adjustments before meeting our host families. This was a blessing in disguise,
because I had no idea how much in country prep that still needing to be done. I
learned so much about Zambia -good and bad- in the first week that would have
been to over whelming to just jump into right away. Plus, how can you pass up
one last week of Canadian food, having passion fruit, mangoes and pineapple
right at your fingertips, and the amazing company of three girls and two
amazing country reps?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
One of my favorite parts to this week was the cultural
orientation, when we gathered the SALTers host families, bosses, and some of
Eric and Kathy’s friends to openly talk about North American/African
differences in regards to food, etiquette, personal space and so on. Its
amazing to see how similar two cultures can be, but at the same time
incomprehensibly different. It was here that the acronym of “SALT” or “serving
and learning together” really made sense to me. In the past 2 ½ weeks I learned
so much about cross cultural living. Learning how to live in a culture where
you don’t exactly belong in, learning how to set aside pride and try new things
(food language, ect) learning how to let go of things I can’t change about
Zambian lifestyle, learning how to be open with people…. The list goes on and
on. I can’t even imagine the things I will learn by the end of my term here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
Thursday was my “move into my new home day,” where I was
welcomed by my three host sisters: Mweembe, Munsanje, and Munsaka (don’t worry,
it took some time to get the pronunciations right on these ones too!) with big
hugs and smiles. There was a lot of anticipation leading up to this day, but I
was surprised to feel at ease in such a new setting. I pulled out a puzzle of a
map of Canada, which they went wild for. Every day I am learning a little more
about their country, and in return they frequently ask me about my country too.
Today Mweeme was plating (or braiding) my hair, and when I told her Canadians
don’t usually have this hairstyle (trust me, it did not suite me). She
exclaimed “well you should go and talk to the president of Canada about that!!”
Important issues for a 12 year old Zambian.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I am sure there will be days when I will be frustrated not
having my home in Dundas, but there is something truly healing about having
three girls here that openly and quickly decided to welcome me in as their big
sister. I am passionate about women’s issues, and it is so important to me that
these girls feel loved this year. However it’s a two way street… they have done
an amazing job at showing me love with the joy they bring in. After having a
“girls craft day” with watercolors and coloring books in my room, we all had an
epic house wide dance party (and sadly, they are all much better dancers then
me… but you know I still try). How can I feel sad when I have this? Still, I
know I have only been here for a very short time and I am still trying to find
out my role as a “sister” and not a “babysitter”. This means carving out time
to be alone, getting enough sleep, or learning to say no to games when I am too
burnt out. I will learn how to do this better as time goes on, because right
now they are just so dang cute.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
I will admit, homesickness has become a daily part of my day
since I left Canada. This moment flushes over me when I can’t help but think
“why did I do this again?” or “11 months is way to long to be away from home!!”
But as I settle in, I’m getting more of a sense of my place here. I am (slowly)
learning how to close one chapter of my life, and move on to the next with no
regrets. I need to remember that my home, my family, my boyfriend, and my best
friends will all be waiting for me when I come home. But for now I need to be
here, and that purpose will be revealed to me in time as I learn more about the
culture. I could go in circles wondering if I chose the right placement or
program or path in life, or I can just accept where I am and invest fully. And
when I do that, I am seeing each passing day and opportunity as “hopeful” not
“one less day until I come back to Canada.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>Prayer points:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
-Sickness: I think the mixture of getting over jet lag, new
food and a high energy couple of weeks has made me sick. Pray that I can get
over this soon!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
-Sleep: For those of you who don’t know I do have insomnia.
While im trying not to be dependant on sleeping pills, its very hard to get to
bed at a reasonable hour with a new bed, and many many sounds (dogs, cars,
people ect) that keep me awake at night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
-Safety: While I am safe in my new neighborhood and home,
travelling to and from work on “mini buses” is going to be very testing for me
as a white woman in a black male dominated area. Of the few times I have gotten
out into the city, being called out as “Mazungu (white person)” over and over
again is draining, and very disempowering. I am asking for strength to handle
this as it comes, and to use this anger towards men here to ripen my sense of
calling during my time here. Women power, yea?!?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<b>Whats happening this
week….<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
- I have come back to the guest house in Roma, Lusaka and
have begun a week long intensive language training course in Cinyanja, the
local language people speak here. Although most Zambians can speak English, it
will be nice to have this as a connector as I visit local schools and meet with
teachers in my role as peace club coordinator. I have used the few phrases I
have learned already as I pass people on the street, and it is amazing to see
their faces light up from even a few simple lines of Chinyanja. They have
definitely appreciated our feeble attempts! </div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-67509419266654298692012-08-18T12:16:00.000-07:002012-08-18T12:16:01.382-07:00Pre Zambia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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Hello friends!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When people ask me how my week has been, the words that come
to mind are “crazy” “emotional” “life changing” or “surreal”. In the past ten
days I have said goodbye to my friends and family in Canada, said hello to a
new group of people during my training in Akron Pennsylvania, waited in the
philly airport for 8+ hours, and traipsed around London England during our day
lay over. But now as I sit on my last flight to Lusaka Zambia and watch the
airplane symbol on the Flight Tracker in front of me fly across the
Mediterranean Sea, I can’t help but think to myself “is this really happening?!”
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When me and Tiffany (my other Zambian SALTer) let out
squeals from our seats (that was probably not appretiated by our fellow
passengers…) as we rose from North American soil, we were hit with the reality
that after months and months of preparation, THIS was the moment we had been
waiting for. And the crazy thing was we actually felt at peace with it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe its because we haven’t grasped fully what we are getting
ourselves into yet, or maybe its because we have prepared so much that our
hearts have been ready for this on this new lifestyle for a while. Either way,
we are both blessed with a sense of peace as we head into new territory.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like my life in the past couple months has been
consumed by preparations for this year, so you can imagine the sense of relief
I feel to soon have an accurate picture of my mind of what living in Zambian
culture is like- one that is a lot more real to me than the images I have
created in my mind. One that has people and stories attached to them. One with
raw emotions and personality to them. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel so blessed to have the week of training that I had
last week. Although it was mentally and physically exhausting, I come out of it
with a better grasp of the highs and lows that I can expect next year. It
affirmed my passion for working together as a global community, with SALTers
(going to international counties) and IVEPers (from international countries
coming to Canada) creating unity that surpasses race, age, background or
experience, and found beauty in cross cultural experience. Some of my favorite
memories from that week were the chances I had to pray, sing, dance, and be in
community with people from around the world. There was something very unifying
about that.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Prayers will be needed as I step foot onto Zambian soil, and
begin to embark on this new adventure!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-11926517504874738462012-07-26T11:12:00.002-07:002012-07-26T11:15:27.855-07:0014 days.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">It
hits me certain days more than others that in 14 short days I will be saying
goodbye to my home in Dundas, and in 24 days I will be in an entirely new
country. Those numbers just can't seem to compute in my head right now!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Its
such a strange feeling packing up your life into a suitcase. The only physical
symbol of my departure lies on my floor, screaming "this is really
happening!!" even though my mind refuses acknowledge that as a
reality. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">And let me just say, I am
such a newbie at packing too. I don't know what way to fold clothes so that
they maximize space, and I dont know how much "western" clothes to
pack (will I even wear jeans??). I'm trying fit in as much comfort items as I
can (letters, my favorite smelling lotion, a years supply of my favorite
tea...) even though the perimeter of my suitcase is telling me
otherwise. I guess this is only the begining of my crazy learning curve this
year.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As
much as I dread the final goodbyes with people that I love, I have to remember
the reasons why I choose and then re-chose back in April to complete this year
of service.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">As I have mentioned in
previous posts, these past few months have been extremely hard, but
they have allowed me the opportunity to grow in ways that I normally wouldn't
have before. Im learning about myself again, and I am excited about the idea of
having a year dedicated learning and growing through service, community, and
relationship building in a new setting. In the midst of saying goodbye, I
sometimes forget the amazing opportunity I get to say hello to.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">I have to remember that as
scared as I am for this new step, going back to school or staying at home next
year is just not an option for me right now. More than ever I am so hungry for
change, discovery, new people and having the time for writing, creating
art or self reflection. Sitting in class or writing papers all year would feel
like I am moving backwards, and my heart would not be in it. I am so thankful
that this opportunity has come at such a time when I am ready to fully give
myself over and hopefully learn some things in return.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">But even with all of that,
goodbyes still suck big time. If there is one thing I need prayer for right
now, its for some strength as I say goodbye to my incredible family and
friends. Oh man that's going to be hard!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--EndFragment--></div>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-61957251162616458392012-06-17T10:59:00.000-07:002012-06-17T18:50:42.942-07:00On Fathers Day<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dad...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I just love coffee. But you already knew that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love the way it radiates heat when it's around my fingers. I love the way it lingers on my tongue and the way it smells in the morning. I love when someone I love brings me coffee. I love conversations over cups of it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This morning mom woke me up to a fresh cup coffee from my favorite coffee place in Dundas. I took it with me and a bowl of strawberries and visited you. I didn't really know how I would start off today, but that was good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because do you remember what we said about Romance, Dad? It doesn't just come in first dates or holding hands, weddings or store bought anniversary cards. It is all around us, all the time. We just have to find it. And for me, it's in the discovery of Romance in things like small sips of coffee that allow me to open to beauty in this world. There is so much beauty here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since you've left, there have been many times where I have failed to see this world as beautiful. I laughed at the similarities to my life from what you wrote about me on Feb 10, 1997:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>"Rachel got really angry and stormed into the bathroom. She sat on a stool and draped a towel over her head 'are you hiding?' I asked. She was shutting the unfriendly world out so I spoke very gently and she pulled the towel from her head and she said she loved me."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still have those days when I let the brokenness that comes from your absence swallow me whole. Some days I wish I could just hide out in the bathroom again, drape a towel over my head and escape dealing with pain. But I think you had those days too. Our life has always been a series of feeling and reacting to every emotion we have even when we can't explain why we feel it. So we continually change to embrace the beauty- but I think we can agree that some days it is just harder to find than others.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know that you were never really fond of Fathers Day. Maybe it was the stiff feeling of forced emotions for a holiday everyone had to celebrate, or the dreaded attention you got as an introvert. So we'd </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">subtly</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> acknowledge the date without being too cliche, and always searched to find personal touches to let you know we loved you without being too overwhelming. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But let me just say, that I realized today that I don't think there will ever be a time when you will have stopped "fathering" me. You are both here and not here, teaching me how to find Romance in every part of my life. I am still growing and learning from you. I'm still finding letters you left me tucked away in old birthday cards. Im still get glimpses of you in dreams. You are still teaching me how to be a better writer as I read your articles and reflections on our time together. The amount that you inspire me does not stop after final breaths. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Like my five year old self said quietly, popping out from under the towel draped over her head, I will say again: "I love you"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Happy Fathers Day Daddy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-51091885395788363292012-06-01T11:14:00.003-07:002012-06-01T11:14:49.139-07:00Updates!<br />
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After 4 medical appointments, 6 shots, 3 amazing coffee dates with some African contacts, 1 trip to Ottawa, 1 MCC dinner with my fellow ontario SALTers, on top of renewing passports, health cards, and getting police checks, I finally let myself have a break.</div>
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I decided to have an "all me day", which included spending the afternoon at bay front park soaking in the sun, reading <em>Radical Gratitude </em>by Mary Jo Leddy (definitely recommend it), ice caps, shopping for some Canadian paraphernalia for my Zambian "host sisters" (finally got the confirmation that i'll be living with a Zambian couple and their three daughters, ages 3-10 ... exciting!!!), followed by an amazing dinner for family night. </div>
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I have to remember that this is just as important as the logistical stuff. Im trying to remember what it means to "say goodbye well", and that means finding a balance between getting the boring things done, and listening to myself when I need to just do things for me, or spend time with my wonderful family.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGf81gqwAlaybC7d_hFog0AC3tBBDtpyHn9cBshRNbhHWCxj2p__aoyYI9J_KYS8Cv4Bo-f5perstyMdRxFihihOMSPfbhWMSwYj7wY1sK-oW1tmsC0DU2SrmyzoSvw629lo73LosMsvA/s1600/DSCN5806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGf81gqwAlaybC7d_hFog0AC3tBBDtpyHn9cBshRNbhHWCxj2p__aoyYI9J_KYS8Cv4Bo-f5perstyMdRxFihihOMSPfbhWMSwYj7wY1sK-oW1tmsC0DU2SrmyzoSvw629lo73LosMsvA/s320/DSCN5806.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-19707989921397243492012-05-10T14:28:00.001-07:002012-05-10T21:49:49.938-07:00More<br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh my, there is so much to say and I haven’t even started this trip yet! Within the past month, my life has turned upside down, been shaken up, and been thrown back down. I feel like that kid Jonah in the bible who was eaten by a whale, then spit out- no doubt completely reoriented and confused. For those of you who don’t know, my dad past away about a month ago suddenly from a heart attack. Writing that still doesn’t make sense to me. With this came a sea (Jonah pun?) of emotions that has been devastating. Because during that time, I had to choose between two really hard things- staying home with my family, or leaving to follow my calling in Zambia. The creation of this blog alludes to the fact that I chose the latter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But why? Why would I pick up and leave while I go through this trauma? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because as much as I don’t understand Gods timing, I decided that he is far bigger than my own understanding. Because that is what being a Christian peacemaker is about- throwing myself into situations and trusting that God will be more present in my life then ever. Some may say this is the worst timing for this trip, but honestly I think it is the best time. I am learning how to reshape my life to becoming a better Christ follower, and to do that I need to become vulnerable again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week I started taking pottery class at this cute little art school in my hometown. If this has taught me anything, It has showed me that beautiful things can come from a pile of dirt that was extracted from the ground. My life is kind of like that mound of clay. Its messy and looks a little gross sometimes, but I think its malleable enough to be transformed into something good. And this is not to deny that there will not be bumpy parts or it won’t get thrown off center from time to time. But I am welcoming the messiness that comes with this trip and trusting that God will help me become workable clay. This requires me to really surrender myself to the hands of God. Re-accepting my position was the first step I took to do that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The new mantra in our household these days is that we no longer wait for ideal times, for anything. Do you want to travel more? Then do it. Do you want to reconnect with a relative? Send them a message and go have coffee. Have you been wanting to get a new hair cut? Stop looking at yourself in the mirror and book an appointment. Do you want to quit the job you hate? The quit, and trust that God will continue to provide for you. I think we’ve all been pretty accountable for eachother, and we’ve all helped to provide eachother with the means to make all that happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If we sit around and wait for the most ideal time, it will never come. I know that sounds so cliche, but within the past month I have done more with my life than I did all last summer. I have had more inspiring conversations, had more difficult conversations, cried more, loved more, travelled more, prayed more, felt more. Of course there have been obvious circumstances in my life that have pushed this “more” on me, but I would hope that my life continues to grab whatever I can take, always.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Because</span> I think there's a difference between being stupidly spontaneous, and thoughtfully throwing yourself into new situations, if that makes sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Im putting back together my life, yes. But that doesn't mean I have to put it back in the exact same way. This time I can add pieces, throw out ones that never fit, and rearrange it to make something that is unrecognizable, but hopefully more beautiful. The title of my blog “Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope”, comes from a beautiful book by Joan Chittister that my mom lent me a few weeks ago. Along with acknowledging the deep pain that comes from loss, it outlines the hope that we can feel when we allow ourselves to transform our hearts again to change. She says, </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>Conversion does not expect to settle down, it expects only to become new over and over again. It sees changes as the impetus to explore the other part of the self, demanding as that may be, as difficult as that may be to begin, unwanted as that may be at the time. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Change in an invitation to see life differently now than I ever did before. Change converts me from the narrowness of perspective that trapped me in the small confines of my former self to a more expansive, more flexible citizen of the world. It calls me to imagination.</i>"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">...This is what I have in mind as I prepare to leave. And this is why I welcome messiness and change that will inevitably come with this new experience.</span></div>
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</div>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2933272869544944529.post-40539676372707696972012-05-09T09:29:00.000-07:002012-05-09T09:42:11.323-07:00Welcome to my blog!<br />
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Welcome to my blog! For those of you who don’t know,
starting in August I will be serving with MCC’s Serving and Learning Together (SALT) program in Zambia
for one year. My job position will be an assistant project coordinator for peace clubs. Many have asked me what exactly this job entails... and to be honest I find this question hard to answer because the nature of peace work is so open ended. My job description tells me enough get a sense of what I will be doing without building up to many preconceived notions. This will definitely be a learning curve for me! But thats all part of the fun though, right? However, for those of you who ask, there is an article and a video that highlights peace clubs in Zambia, which gives a neat picture of what my job might look like. Check these out:</div>
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<a href="http://acommonplace.mcc.org/acp/2011/10_12/feature_story_01.html">http://acommonplace.mcc.org/acp/2011/10_12/feature_story_01.html</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.mcc.org/stories/videos/zambia-peace-clubs">http://www.mcc.org/stories/videos/zambia-peace-clubs</a></div>
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In a way this blog will kind of being like you stepping into
my life and reading my private journal from front to back. That is so weird to
me… I would never normally let someone do that! But here I am, letting you into
my personal world. Give yourselves a pat on the back.</div>
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Reasons why I am starting this blog:</div>
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1)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span>I really do believe in the power of writing. My
love for writing (especially about peace) is an important part of my life. It
is my outlet, my therapy, and my way of feeling connected. I guess journaling
started from my insomnia two years ago, and now it’s just a habit that I can’t
shake. So there.</div>
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2)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span>This is the only way I know how to give back to
the people who have whole-heartedly invested time into this process. From filling
out reference letters, to listening to me rant about the decisions I had to
make, to challenging those decisions, to asking me hard questions. They all
helped me make a choice that I am happy about. You deserve to at least have the
option of knowing what goes on in my life!</div>
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3)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span>If anything else, I need to write about this
experience if I want to get a credit for my PACS field study (my current major
at the University of Waterloo). So it’s decided then- welcome to my Zambia
blog!</div>
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I will be posting regularly as I prepare for my trip and
throughout the year. I'm sure you're wondering by now what the title of my blog is all about... keep checking back to find out!<br />
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Also, If you are interested in supporting me in this journey financially, check out:</div>
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<a href="https://donate.mcc.org/registry/rachel-krueger-zambia">https://donate.mcc.org/registry/rachel-krueger-zambia</a></div>
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You can also get in touch with me through email: rachel.krueger19@hotmail.com</div>
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Thank you!!</div>Rachel Kruegerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16834318510364396408noreply@blogger.com0