When my husband, Doug, arrived in Zambia I was excited (to put it mildly) to see him and thrilled to introduce him to my newfound friends.  (I had been there a week earlier to attend the International Peace Thru Tourism Conference.)  We quickly scrapped most of our plans of connecting with Americans living/working at NGOs in Zambia.  We decided spending time with our Zambian friends would be a more efficient, fruitful, as well as, enjoyable way to learn about what was happening there.   We spent the rest of the next two weeks in a giddy, honeymoon-esque whirlwind of new experiences and relationships.  Laughter and joy crowd my memories of those two weeks. One of my favorite recollections is of sharing our first traditional Zambian meal with our new friends.

    Evans, our handsome Tonga friend, insisted on hosting us in his home for dinner.  We suggested taking a taxi to where he lived in a compound west of Lusaka.  However, he was adamant that he would meet us at the hotel and escort us so we could take a minibus, the local form of public transit.  He wanted us to experience what he, in his wittiness, called, “the Real Lusaka”,  a play on the slogan, “Zambia, the real Africa”.   

    Traveling in a minibus in Zambia is quite the wild-ride adventure.  Generally, there are twelve to fourteen people of various sizes and ages crammed into a nine seat van.  The drivers are less concerned with caution or the safe arrival of their passengers as they are with getting as quickly as possible to their next fares.  The majority of them make a sport of weaving in and out of congested traffic, jostling their sardined customers, and taking reckless chances with all other vehicles and pedestrians on the road.  Needless to say, I was overjoyed, just to be counted among the living, when we reached our destination.

    As we walked the dirt road to Evans’ house, the locals greeted us with a mixture of curiosity and welcome reception.  Most adults were furtively peaking out their doorways. Some would greet us in the local vernacular, “Muli bwanji!”  When we replied, “Bwino!”  They would jokingly counter, “You’re Zambian, now!”  Young children, always the boldest of our species,  would run towards us laughing and shouting, “Muzungu!” (white/non-Bantu people!)  or, “Muzungu, take our picture!”   They would pose together in crazy formations with thuggish attitude and then erupt in laughter when they saw the images.  

    We finally arrived at Evans’ house, a cement block two bedroom structure where he rented a room from another family.  Here we were introduced for the first time to Eunice, his beautiful wife, and their eight month old baby, Taylor (Baby T-who has been my grandson ever since).  We enjoyed an authentic Zambian meal Eunice had been preparing all day, consisting of “village” (free range) chicken, relish, beans, and nshima, the local staple.  I am sure we clumsily transgressed many Zambian customs during that meal,  but were graciously forgiven and patiently taught how to share a meal, Zambian style.   Our meal in their home that day was one of the most generous and gracious experiences of hospitality I have ever encountered.  Thanks to Evans and Eunice’s warm welcome into their home, we were able to experience, “the real Lusaka”.  

“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.

Research has shown that spending time in surroundings untarnished by concrete and steel (read: our natural world in harmony with itself) has mental health enhancing qualities.  But, if being in a forest or on a lake is good for you, being near a waterfall is even better.  And, experiencing the intensity of one of the largest waterfalls in the world is, well, exponentially better.  

Zambia is home to one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World, The Victoria Falls.  In local vernacular it is known as Mosi-Oa-Tunya, “The Smoke That Thunders”: The “smoke” is towering columns of vapor from the falls you can see from miles away.  The “thunder” is the deep heartbeat, rumble of the water plummeting.  It is nearly twice the height (360 feet) and over twice the width (1 mile) of Niagara Falls. David Livingston (“Dr. Livingston, I presume.”), the first European to testify of its majestic beauty, wrote, “…scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight.”

The falls display a magnificent wall of water stretching a mile across the unyielding basaltic rock on the mighty, mighty Zambezi River.  In the rainy season, torrential curtains of water plunging off the falls create a musical spectacle of sound and light.  The rainbows are exceptional! I have personally witnessed an extraordinary 360° beauty.  Moon bows, an extremely rare phenomenon, can be witnessed there on a full moon night.  The light from the moon and the precipitation from the falls, coupled with absolutely no light pollution, make a ghost-like rainbow in the skies.  Travelers and locals gather together on the lawn to picnic and share the rarity of the experience.  It’s a beautiful thing.

The light and sounds are amazing, but the most awe-inspiring element of the falls is the intense energy created from all that falling water. From my first visit there, I noticed how broad the smiles were on the radiant faces confronted with the cataract’s brazen display.   Happiness is contagious there.  A common occurrence is to see people joyfully shouting at the top of their lungs at the thunderous cascades and dancing in the rainstorm it makes, letting their worries and cares wash away in its powerful showers.  

I pondered this tendency until one day I came across an article about “The Grin Effect”.  Apparently, there is scientific credence to what I had been observing.  Any fall of water, including your bathroom shower, produces something called negative ions, which increase the level of serotonin in humans.  The opposite of negative ions are positive ions [Go figure.], or what are commonly referred to as the enemy of youthfulness, free radicals.  Serotonin levels have been linked to mood, sexual desire and function, memory and learning, and appetite: the more, the merrier.  In fact most anti-depressants (e.g., Celexa, Lexapro, Prozac, and Paxil) are designed to boost serotonin levels.  In other words, falling water affects a cascade of mood enhancing chemicals in our bloodstream.   Consequently, one of the largest cataracts in the world, Victoria Falls, is one of the most mood enhancing places on Earth.

It is ironic that Victory Falls was named by David Livingston in honor of his Queen, Queen Victoria of Great Britain.  Her life was marked by melancholy.  She should have traveled to her name-sake to experience its healing qualities!   

_“Breath the peace of Zambia!”
These were the words of my first encounter with a Zambian upon my initial arrival to Zambia. 

As the plane landed on the tarmac,  rousing myself from the lethargy of the long flight from Los Angeles, I wondered what “the Real Africa” (Zambia’s slogan in 2005) had in store for me.  I had come alone to attend a conference with the International Institute of Peace Through Tourism.  

I was anxious and energized by the experience of arriving in this African country without a traveling companion and knowing no one on the other side of the airport doors.  I maneuvered my way through the long line at the visa desk, gathered my luggage at the crowded baggage carousel, and passed through customs.   Exiting the airport doors, I located the shuttle to the hotel.  The driver greeted me with a warm Zambian smile. 

“Is this your first time in Zambia?” 

“Yes.” I responded, “In fact, it is my first time in Africa.”

“Ahhh,”  He countered with  a deep sense of pride, “Breath the peace of Zambia!”

I drew a deep breath, then another.  Maybe it was the power of his suggestion. Maybe it was because I came to Zambia to attend a peace conference and I was primed for finding it.  What ever the reason, the peace was palpable.  A beautiful calm entered my being. 

“Yes.”  I  smiled in agreement, “Peace is in the air.” 

We chatted awhile about the weather when an elder Zambian woman joined us. 

“Mum,” the driver  greeted, “this is her first time in Zambia!” 

The woman smiled and extended her hand.  “Welcome home.” She offered warmly.

“No.” The driver corrected, “It is her  first  time in Zambia.”

She looked at him with a dismissive glance, turned back to me, took my hand in both of hers, gazed into my eyes with her crinkly, aged countenance and said with a knowing certainty, “Welcome home.”

Thus began my love affair with Zambia, a country of peace and warm welcome.