Alright, alright, alright...

... I know I haven't blogged anywhere since I got here. Not on MySpace or LiveJournal or Blogspot or anything. In my defense our internet has been down for a few days, and even as I write this I don't know if it will actually go out because the connection is so bad.

Well, it is my first "day off" all week, so I finally have a few minutes and an internet connection at the same time. I just boiled my water for coffee and Lady, our dog, is waiting outside my door for some much needed play time, so I'll try (and likely not succeed) to be brief.

It took us four days to get here. We were delayed for 6 hours on the tarmac in Amsterdam, then delayed another 18 hours or so. Then in Nairobi they hadn't heard of us even though A'dam was supposed to arrange a connecting flight. So we were delayed there over night after arriving at 7 am. We found out the day after we left Nairobi that there has been International News Making Sized killings in downtown Nairobi since the day we were there. Considering changing our return route.

Zambia is beautiful. It get a little warm during the days (80 degrees or so) but the locals say that will change soon and we will be in full blown winter. I keep waiting, because my mizungu skin is starting to go pink. The sky is huge, and always blue and fully of puffy white clouds.

Zambians call us (white folks) "mizungu", which isn't insulting, and I gather that it means "white ghosty person."

Everyday we walk down the street in N'gombe, the slum where our school is located, to a shack that sells cold sodas, run by a boy of 10 or so. When we walk down the road, all the children follow us and laugh and say "Mizungu, mizungu!" and laugh at our very very bad attempts at Nyanja. I think they think we are the craziest mizungus they've ever seen-hanging out in a slum. The other day, a little girl, maybe 2 years old came up and pulled on Kelley's pant leg, looked up with big brown eyes and said, with a lisp-"-athunguuuuuuuuuu" which was hilarious.

We went to our first school on Monday, Chikumbuso, which is awesome. In one year, they have changed it from bar and whore house to functioning school. All the kids were super happy to see us and would crowd and scream and giggle when we took pictures. Saba (Sabrina) got through 37 health screenings (phew!) with only a few serious cases (some seriously swollen lymph nodes and a bad ear infection) and about 7 presumed cases of HIV according to the headmistress, Gertrude Banda (Trudy).

The next day was better--40 health checks and no presumed cases, but a little boy fell into the open flame where lunch was being cooked. The burn was pretty bad, but contained to only his leg, so Saba did some great first aid and his was back, playing in no time.

I hung out with the widows that make those beautiful purses that some of you have seen. They taught me how to string the bags together for crocheting and we sat and with the help of a translator talked a little about being a widow in N'gombe and how making the purses has given them a new lease on life.

Our second school, Kibbutz, was in an area called Chamba Valley. It made Chikumbuso seem like the Ritz, really. About 90 elementary school kids, 60 or so who show up regularly, who are incredibly smart, but also very behind. They really can break your heart. Ruthie Banda, age 3, walked right up to Rick (all the other kids were sort of hesitant with such a big mizungu) and said "How are you?" and stuck out here little hand. We observed school and helped out a little and then played with the kindergarteners outside in the field. Rick ended up acting as the kid's first playground, picking them up as tall as he was, much to their delight. They swarmed around him yelling in Nyanja "Pick me up mizungu, pick me up now!" One little girl fell and cut her leg, and without gloves (which I had forgotten at home), I really could do nothing. I showed her how to wash it off, and then gave her a candy and she seemed happy.

Well, my birthday is coming up (June 14th) and I'm hoping to throw a birthday party at Chikumbuso. None of the kids know when their birthdays are, so I figure they can all have mine. Or, at least share in a giant cake, something that they have probably never seen before. If you all are thinking of giving me a present, just make a donation to School Without Boundaries. You can send your checks to my dad, and if you are interested, write back and I'll send you the address.

I would write more, but we have to walk down to the grocery store to meet Saba and go to Chikumbuso.

This post was written by Annie, a public policy student at the LBJ School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas at Austin and a SWB board member.