Day 5: This One's for the Girls

Part I: Contemplation in Action

            It hardly seems possible that today marked only our third full day in Lusaka, when I feel that I have experienced a greater depth of emotions that I would typically feel in weeks in the U.S. For me, much of our experiences here showcase the Jesuit ideal of “contemplation in action.” Typically this phrase encaptures three phases: an experience, a reaction, and a reflection. Most of the time, this mental process invigorates me as I am learning at a much more rapid rate than I would be in my own comfort zone. It reminds me of my semester abroad when I learned new French words each day, and I felt a warm-fuzzy sense of tangible learning through immersion. But sometimes, this three-step process prohibits me from experiencing moments in the present moment as my brain attempt to play catch-up and wonders why I’m feeling the ways that I am. This afternoon I experienced several of these moments, first at a wildlife preserve with a predominantly white clientle and secondly in my ineffective bartering at a market.

            Tonight we shared a concert with the Sacred Heart Choir, who we have will have connected with on four different occasions during the course of our time in Lusaka. I felt a new, invigorated joy in each of the musical pieces we offered thanks to the electric energy filling the spacious St. Ignatius church. I learned that each neighborhood in Zambia is assigned a parish, but since this particular church is so popular, Zambians come from miles and miles away to attend the masses and participate in the choir. Tonight, I was able to live only in the present moment, which is one of the most indescribable parts of choral singing. When the music begins, time stops.

Part II: Zam Grams (named by Andrew Kelley)

            After our concert, we removed Zambia flag pins from our dresses and pinned them on a member of the Sacred Heart choir. Each of us had been told there would be a reception after the concert, but little did we know that a surprise party was waiting for us back at our hostel, complete with a banquet, drinks, and dancing to share. While we may not have been able to invite them into our true homes, symbolically, the choir arriving at our hostel felt much like an attempt to create this exchange.

 Before receiving our food, I chatted with a woman named Akita and described my failed bartering attempt from earlier in the day. I asked her how one should distinguish the best chitenge, Zambian fabric used for clothing, and what one could expect for a fair price. After laughing and exclaiming, “Well of course I know, I’m African!” she began to take on the role of a “mama” as she fretted that she hadn’t been with us at the market to negotiate prices and select the best quality. Akita then offered to hurriedly drive my friend and I to a different market after mass tomorrow to pick out gifts for our own mamas. If only we could adopt the Zambian time and not have to worry about missing our bus!

  I then happily found myself sitting in a circle of Zambian “grandmas,” some of the oldest women in the choir who are honored and recognized among the group. They are lovingly titled ‘The Girls’ among the choir (not to be confused with the ladies, as I found out).  Susan, a member of the choir for over three decades, included me in the dinner conversation of her circle of friends. I felt comforted with her body next to mine, covered in a sparkling choir gown and a colorful shawl. She hilariously shared stories from their own choir that seemed just like many of our own, discussing whether or not their gowns would be clean for mass, the unpleasantly early time they must arrive for rehearsals, and how the choir has vowed to never again drink wine before performances. Susan speaks English fluently as well as six other Zambian languages. She expresses her reasoning for this affinity for language, explaining that she never wishes to become lost in a different region of Zambia and always wishes to communicate with others she encounters. I feel inadequate sitting next to her realizing the times I have traveled knowing only “hello” or “thank you.” I ask if she is married, after having met her grandson, and she smiles saying, “no, I am a free person,” shaking her hips to the beat of the DJ’s song and raising her hands above her head in perfect rhythm. She then identifies herself and her group of friends as widows. Susan exhibits self-confidence and inclusivity in ways that I hope to emulate in my own life.

Finally, I lean over to chat with Pristek, a friend of Susan’s, and I share my insecurities about our American choral music in the context of such a lively tradition of Zambian music. She shushes me saying, “it moves people,” speaking of our performance. After reassuring me that it’s okay for our choir to not move like the Sacred Heart group, she shares that we are the first American choir they have ever hosted. A smile creeps across my face as I realize the magnitude of this present moment. To my right, three Gonzaga choir members, all young white men, are each paired with a Zambian grandma, heads arched downwards in deep conversation. I smile again to myself, thinking that this is one of the best parties I’ve been to in college.

Around midnight, lights flicker a number of times before finally plunging us into darkness. The “Zam Grams” laugh and regretfully exclaim that our evening is ending too soon. They leave me with kisses on the cheek and mutterings about tomorrow’s mass. I thank them in gratitude for welcoming me into their circle, even just for a night.

Shared stories and choral singing allow me to be present in ways that I struggle to achieve in most other aspects of life. Our musical exchange beautifully combines these two experiences, allowing for conversation to naturally flow from the same place in which our hearts felt touched by shared music. With one individual’s story, I feel that I can enjoy the experiences they share without plunging into a muddle of confused thoughts and critical reflections. As I have learned from a Jesuit education, we are called to sit with deep injustices and partake in remarkable joy. Throughout the rest of our experiences, I hope to balance both. 

Zikomo (thank you) to all following our journey. Today, we move south to Monze, Zambia, where we will stay at a Jesuit mission.

Blessings,

Maria Farrier, Soprano, Class of 2017

*Zikomo, usually expressed with a humble clap of the hands, means “thank you” in a Zambian language called Nyanja