My senses are fully engaged the moment I step down the plane’s stairs. The sun is shining brightly, and the breeze brushes my cheek while I take in the expanse of azure-blue sky above. The warmth on my exposed skin from the rays is welcomed against the brisk wind whipping across the open space of the tarmac and I’m suddenly cognizant of the winter season I’ve stepped into far from the heat and humidity of summer back in Chicago. The dry season presents itself with an array of earthy tones in orange, rust, brown, yellow, red, and tan across to the horizon with treetops and shrub grasses dotting the arid landscape in clumps of dark green. The rusty orange dust of the earth finds its way into everything, even coating and choking the foliage until leaves are unable to photosynthesize and the plant collapses.
The smell of wood smoke and cooking briquettes mingles in the air with ash and smoldering embers from the burning of tall grasses which blow across the city and countryside from the small brush fires that seem to burn endlessly in this region. While this practice clears the land of hiding spots for snakes and other predators, the smoke combines with the ever-pervasive dust constantly kicked up from the passages of car, trucks and motorbikes on the highway or the countless feet that tread through the vermillion dirt streets of little sub-villages like Twapia, Ndola.
All along the highway, tall, skinny pine trees stand like cinnamon powdered sentinels in their sooty farmed forests. In the haze of the rich campfire smell, one could be fooled to think you were driving through an arid stretch of Wisconsin during the fall burning season had it not been for the three days of traveling halfway across the globe prior to this moment of reflection, gratitude and awe. I’m sitting in the middle row of a small minivan cruising down the T3 Kitwe Dual Carriageway from the Ndola airport as my attention sharpens into focus and I realize just how far from home I really am.
After what turned out to be the longest travel experience of my life, we had finally arrived in Zambia, a country I honestly never imagined I would get the chance to see, on a continent that I had dreamed about visiting since my childhood. Curious faces peek out of doorways and from side streets as we pass down the final road to the school. The occasional wave of curiosity from a roadside traveler or neighborhood child is reciprocated back with calls of “Mulishani” and peace signs out the window from fellow travelers on our bus. There’s a buzz in the air now that the entire travel group has been united after a week of arrivals. The bus crawls to a stop on the roadway and as the engine is cut a new sound rises to meet our ears, a choir of voices singing.
As we exit, two rows of students line the road to greet us, their white and emerald, green school uniforms pop in stark contrast to the orange and brown landscape around them. They sing together in a tight four-part harmony “We say, we say, welcome, welcome!” as they rock gently side to side. Singing in the call and response style, heard throughout the pan-African world and rooted in indigenous spiritual songs and gospel music, the choral leader sings out the next verse for the group and in a swell of voices, the choir answers with a resounding call. There are smiles and waves from students and staff as we enter and the school to be greeted by Ba Charles and Ba Margaret, the power couple and founders who both are visionaries for this community.
(In Bembe, the term “Ba” is placed before a person’s name as a title for elder and is said with the upmost reverence and respect. The grace and humility that Ba Charles and Ba Margaret carry themselves with is that of the first couple of a small nation and indeed, they are respected with admiration from all they cross paths with.)
Just as that walk onto the grounds of The Hope Community School and the welcome ceremony, we received that day will forever remain in my memory, the students and staff I encountered in Ndola are unforgettable for their dedication, passion and resourcefulness as educators. Throughout the short time I spent in the country meeting students, teachers, and community members, and after seeing the way life operates under such restraints, I described the way I felt as “gob smacked” for truly I was blown away by the level of ingenuity and pluck the staff at Hope School possesses.
Ba Charles and Ba Margaret’s talent for leading by example and their extreme generosity for the less fortunate has created not just a community school, but a self-sustainable farm, Hope House Orphanage, economic programs for widows and elderly caretakers, a working textile business, expansion of school grades from Pre-K-Grade 12, a running convenience store and so many more initiatives for their community. Their leadership style, positive outlook on life, and framework for growth to meet the needs of the children they serve is a wonder to be emulated (not to mention that the traditional dinner served to our group out of their home was possibly the best I had in country, so I’d say the cuisine should be emulated too. Extra crispy caterpillars, please.
The sounds of singing and the house band mingle as one as the welcome ceremony closes and everyone is up and dancing. The choir has pulled our group of travelers down off the stage to the main floor below and we are joined by younger children and other classes eager to say hello or extend a hand for a high five. The swell of voices and harmony surrounds us as I swallow into my dried throat and attempt to sing along, first an octave below, and then jumping up with the group, stumbling over the words as I attempt to learn the melody. Every eye I catch is smiling back, and my cheeks are sore from holding their upturned position, but the energy in the room is infectious with joy, and the happiness I feel is profound for this moment.
There is a power in music, in creating something greater than yourself that relies on your abilities as a musician while working in tandem simultaneously with the talents and abilities of others. Each voice or instrument has their part to play within the greater score, but all small parts contribute to the whole. While my time at The Hope School may have been short in duration, I’m honored to have had the chance to play along, because what a beautiful sound this community is making.
