“The enemy of my jet lag is my friend.” I wrote these words in my travel journal on the second night of my first trip to Zambia, February 6th, 2005.
Zambia is ten time zones from my home in California. I have never done methamphetamines, but I can say I understand what it feels like to go without sleep for four days. I felt like a how I imagine a tweeker might feel, completely upside-down. I was living in crazy extremes: exuberant about my Zambian adventure; my body on the brink of exhaustion; erratic eating schedule; ecstatic about my newfound sense of purpose; exhilarated by what I was experiencing. By night, I would sit at the desk in my room writing crazy, hopeful visions of possibility I might offer to this country’s betterment. By day, I would attend every forum, seminar, presentation, and reception that was offered at the 3rd IIPT African Conference on Peace Through Tourism. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I felt like I was wide awake for the first time in my life. I say all of this to acknowledge that my mental state was whacked, out of kilter, and geared up for something extraordinary.
For someone on a fact finding mission, the conference proved ideal. I met and shared stories with ministers of tourism from all over Africa, representatives from tour and travel industry companies, and founders of non-profits working in Zambia. I shook hands with Presidents of African nations, including the first president of the Republic of Zambia, Dr. Kenneth Kaunda. But, what proved to be my most profound encounter was with a group of Zambian youth in their 20s.
On the first night, there was a reception garden party at the home of the US Ambassador to Zambia, Martin Brennen. I arrived, feeling all the aforementioned e-words, and a little awkward, not knowing a soul at the gathering. I introduced myself to the Ambassador and his wife and chatted with them for awhile about their experiences in Zambia. I mingled a bit over hors d’oeuvres with some American kids working for USAID. I met some Zambians who ran organizations or owned tour agencies. I was just about to concede it was time to return to the hotel to try to get some sleep when, suddenly, I was accosted by two Zambian youth. One of them grabbing my arm.
“Will you be our friend?” a strikingly beautiful, Lozi princess enthusiastically requested.
Surprised by her boldness, but thrilled to have a reason to not return to my empty hotel room, I responded, “Of course I‘ll be your friend! My name is Jaime.”
“I’m Fridah and this is Evans!” She joyfully introduced. At this, Evans, Fridah’s handsome companion, grabbed her arm with a quizzical expression and asked her something in Nyanja. Fridah threw her head back, laughed, and answered, again in Nyanja. He laughed heartily, seemingly satisfied with her response.
I stood there, mute in my inability to understand their banter, relying only on my interpretation of their body language.
“That’s not a very good way to make a new friend.” I good-naturedly asserted, “We are going to have to speak in a language I understand if we are going to be friends.”
They laughed and agreed, apologizing for their rudeness. I would find out much later that when they arrived Fridah, being the more dominant of the two, adamantly proclaimed to Evans that they would ONLY make friends with other Zambians, NOT mazungus (the Bantu word for “white people“). So, needless to say, when Fridah grabbed my arm and asked me to be their friend, Evans was confused. Evidently Fridah laughed and told him, “This mazungu is different.”
We spent the next hour together in effusive laughter and excitement at the mystery of life. They giddily shared that they never dreamed they would have the good fortune of being invited to the American Ambassador’s house. They taught me the basic Nyanja words I needed to get along, greeting/response: “how are you?” (muli bwanji?) “Fine!” (bwino!) and “thank you.” (zikomo.). And then, because Fridah is a Lozi princess, Lozi words for the same. We talked about our families. They asked me about my life in the US. We parted that night, fast friends, promising to find each other at the conference the first thing following morning.
I’m not sure what difference Fridah was anticipating in me, but I spent the whole rest of my sleep deprived week with them. I met their friends, hung out at conference sessions, eating and laughing with them at their table at every reception. They shared with me their worries and concern for their future, their life growing up in Zambia, their hopes for a better day. No amount of documenting what took place can convey the bonds of friendship that were forged between me and those kids. Sometimes life sends you a gift, people who are instantly grafted into your heart. That is how it happened with my new friends who would, in time, become my Zambian family, my Nyanja banja. I’m not advocating for sleep deprivation, but, it’s possible that because of it I may have been more open to the mystery of Life/Love and its propensity for connection with complete strangers.
*I actually came across this exact rendering on the internet last year. It must be a crazy travel meme that’s floating around in the cultural universe.
Zambia is ten time zones from my home in California. I have never done methamphetamines, but I can say I understand what it feels like to go without sleep for four days. I felt like a how I imagine a tweeker might feel, completely upside-down. I was living in crazy extremes: exuberant about my Zambian adventure; my body on the brink of exhaustion; erratic eating schedule; ecstatic about my newfound sense of purpose; exhilarated by what I was experiencing. By night, I would sit at the desk in my room writing crazy, hopeful visions of possibility I might offer to this country’s betterment. By day, I would attend every forum, seminar, presentation, and reception that was offered at the 3rd IIPT African Conference on Peace Through Tourism. I didn’t want to miss a thing. I felt like I was wide awake for the first time in my life. I say all of this to acknowledge that my mental state was whacked, out of kilter, and geared up for something extraordinary.
For someone on a fact finding mission, the conference proved ideal. I met and shared stories with ministers of tourism from all over Africa, representatives from tour and travel industry companies, and founders of non-profits working in Zambia. I shook hands with Presidents of African nations, including the first president of the Republic of Zambia, Dr. Kenneth Kaunda. But, what proved to be my most profound encounter was with a group of Zambian youth in their 20s.
On the first night, there was a reception garden party at the home of the US Ambassador to Zambia, Martin Brennen. I arrived, feeling all the aforementioned e-words, and a little awkward, not knowing a soul at the gathering. I introduced myself to the Ambassador and his wife and chatted with them for awhile about their experiences in Zambia. I mingled a bit over hors d’oeuvres with some American kids working for USAID. I met some Zambians who ran organizations or owned tour agencies. I was just about to concede it was time to return to the hotel to try to get some sleep when, suddenly, I was accosted by two Zambian youth. One of them grabbing my arm.
“Will you be our friend?” a strikingly beautiful, Lozi princess enthusiastically requested.
Surprised by her boldness, but thrilled to have a reason to not return to my empty hotel room, I responded, “Of course I‘ll be your friend! My name is Jaime.”
“I’m Fridah and this is Evans!” She joyfully introduced. At this, Evans, Fridah’s handsome companion, grabbed her arm with a quizzical expression and asked her something in Nyanja. Fridah threw her head back, laughed, and answered, again in Nyanja. He laughed heartily, seemingly satisfied with her response.
I stood there, mute in my inability to understand their banter, relying only on my interpretation of their body language.
“That’s not a very good way to make a new friend.” I good-naturedly asserted, “We are going to have to speak in a language I understand if we are going to be friends.”
They laughed and agreed, apologizing for their rudeness. I would find out much later that when they arrived Fridah, being the more dominant of the two, adamantly proclaimed to Evans that they would ONLY make friends with other Zambians, NOT mazungus (the Bantu word for “white people“). So, needless to say, when Fridah grabbed my arm and asked me to be their friend, Evans was confused. Evidently Fridah laughed and told him, “This mazungu is different.”
We spent the next hour together in effusive laughter and excitement at the mystery of life. They giddily shared that they never dreamed they would have the good fortune of being invited to the American Ambassador’s house. They taught me the basic Nyanja words I needed to get along, greeting/response: “how are you?” (muli bwanji?) “Fine!” (bwino!) and “thank you.” (zikomo.). And then, because Fridah is a Lozi princess, Lozi words for the same. We talked about our families. They asked me about my life in the US. We parted that night, fast friends, promising to find each other at the conference the first thing following morning.
I’m not sure what difference Fridah was anticipating in me, but I spent the whole rest of my sleep deprived week with them. I met their friends, hung out at conference sessions, eating and laughing with them at their table at every reception. They shared with me their worries and concern for their future, their life growing up in Zambia, their hopes for a better day. No amount of documenting what took place can convey the bonds of friendship that were forged between me and those kids. Sometimes life sends you a gift, people who are instantly grafted into your heart. That is how it happened with my new friends who would, in time, become my Zambian family, my Nyanja banja. I’m not advocating for sleep deprivation, but, it’s possible that because of it I may have been more open to the mystery of Life/Love and its propensity for connection with complete strangers.
*I actually came across this exact rendering on the internet last year. It must be a crazy travel meme that’s floating around in the cultural universe.
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