Post 2

To serve is to do something for someone else. In different contexts, service can come in very different forms. This experience has not necessarily changed how I define service. Service has presented itself in the form of putting the needs of another over my own. However, over the past few weeks in Zambia I have begun to understand service as an investment.

            One of the first things I noticed about Zambian culture is how people treat each other. Similar to the us, every interaction begins with “hi, how are you,” but rather than a mere courtesy people genuinely want to know how your life is. Here, people invest in each other, they invest their time, energy, resources and self into one another. My host mom has given a new meaning to how I understand service.  I can think of 1,000 ways that she serves other people every single day, but it is the way in which she interacts with people that has changed my sense of what it means to serve. One day while driving in the car she said, I am not a confrontational person, I usually just apologize and laugh and it’s not a confrontation anymore. This in itself is not an example of how she serves but it exemplifies how she puts another before herself, investing in another.

            She has shown me a quality of service that I hadn’t identified before. It is the ability to make yourself subservient to another while at the same time maintaining your integrity. Before, I would have thought that to serve one in this way is somehow inherently demeaning; however, she has taught me that you can lift someone up and put their needs before your own without it saying anything about yourself. Over the past few weeks I have realized how service isn’t about yourself it is about another. My work at CCZ, while it is not a topic I myself would have chosen, it is important for the advocating they will be doing. My service is to invest my time to produce a report for their use.

            My motivation to serve was and still is based in the fact that I value helping others. What I have come to learn is the importance of valuing others. I used to be motivated to serve because it made me feel good to help others. While this is still true, I am dually motivated by what I can do for someone else. Relationships are mutual and when you serve someone it is as much about you as it is about them. Going back to the way in which Zambians greet each other, it is a mutual relationship and they value what is happening in the other’s life. The importance of this for me, is the ability to fully invest myself in someone else, putting myself on hold and paying attention to someone else. People here act in a very self-less way, doing things for people not for what they will get out of it but because it is for the other person, a skill which I had lacked.

            This is not a conventional definition of service, but this is an important underlying quality of service that I had not realized before. I hope to not only serve with this quality in the future but also to maintain this as a core value. We get so caught up in making sure that our personal concerns are met that we are blinded to what others need. To serve is still to do something for someone else but I have come to realize the importance of the someone else.

Blog Post 2: Now I Know

Until just a few days ago, I considered “service” to be quite an elusive term used broadly to define activities that vaguely and ambiguously benefitted others: Serving in the military, serving the community, serving those less fortunate. Until just a few days ago, I never knew what “service” actually meant and the potential for its real impacts, due to the all- encompassing and difficult to grasp context the word is often used in. I used to believe that there can be no one concrete definition for service, as it continues to be a relative and complex concept.

However, the ambiguity of its definition- at least what it means to me (remember, “service” is a personal and relative concept)- ended just a few days ago. I remember the moment in extremely vivid detail, as though I could almost feel the clicking in my brain- the “aha” moment, where I finally understood what it means to serve.

My peace corps volunteer host had lead myself and my group into the Chongwe Child Development Agency, called “Child Fund” Zambia. Immediately, we were greeted by dozens of locals who worked in various departments of the Chongwe community association and were then promptly escorted through the assorted rooms of the agency- each one serving a specific purpose to child development within the community. It was upon entering the classroom section of the agency building and witnessing the dozens of teenage students in the classroom (who attended willingly- not by mandate), educating themselves about real issues affecting their community, such as gender based violence and HIV prevention that I understood what it means “to serve”.

I understand that some may label their own personal definition of service as the process of conducting “high up” research with their organizations on a pertinent issue that undoubtedly aids the development of the nation as a whole; prior to this experience, I also would have defined service to be the same. However, in that moment I understood service to be something completely different, and that understanding is what will continue to motivate me “to serve”. The understanding is that service begins within the community with people who will live the changes that service affects, through a sort of “hands on” process- and that’s exactly what I saw in that moment in the Chongwe Child Development Agency. I saw youth coming to this resourceful agency willingly to educate themselves on how to improve their communities. I saw youth caring about the future of their lives and the lives of those in the community. I saw youth directly engaging in service- and there’s something incredibly beautiful and touching about that.

While I do consider my work with ZGF and SAIPAR to be a kind of service (as I am conducting research that will be utilized to improve the lives of those living with HIV/AIDS- so, obviously “service”) what I witnessed in Chongwe that day is what I consider to be real service with real, first hand effects. I imagined the youth in that classroom leaving later in the day, putting their education on these issues (education that they deemed to be important enough to attend these classes willingly) to good use during the courses of their everyday lives- and I believe that is how real, lasting change is affected.

The youth that I witnessed in that classroom inspired and humbled me, more than they will likely ever know. If I had the chance to see them again, I would thank them for showing me that service is more than just an ambiguous and uncertain term. I would thank them for exhibiting the beautiful efficacy of community based service. And I would thank them for motivating me to live my life a bit more like they are living theirs: service oriented. 

Blog Post 2

After working at my service placement for two weeks, I feel like I have gotten a new perspective on the definition of the word “service.” I used to define service as something you do to help someone else. However, due to my research topic, I feel like my definition has broadened. My topic is about social protection, and through the literature review process that I have been conducting during the past two weeks, I have come across many organizations (usually NGOs) which are completing various service projects to ensure social protection and social security for vulnerable populations, such as women and children living in poverty. Reading about some of the amazing work that these organizations do, inspired me and made me realize that service is not necessarily an individual thing. It can also be a largely coordinated and organized effort to help a group of people. This realization seems obvious, but when you actually see it in action, it changes your perspective on what service can mean.

There are many things that motivate me to serve. They range from my own personal learning goals to something as broad as the disparities in healthcare which exist in the world. Although it’s kind of selfish, I think that one of the biggest motivators for me to serve is my own desire to complete my goals and gain new experiences. Serving and completing service projects (in various forms) can give you such amazing and unique experiences. You usually end up meeting people so different from yourself and widening your worldview. This is one of my favorite parts of service: the learning aspect of it. While you may think that you are helping someone and changing their life, it could, in fact, be the complete opposite. In a more broad and serious sense, one of the other biggest motivators which makes me want to serve is the extreme disparities in healthcare, especially maternal and child health services, which exists in the world. This is an issue which I am extremely passionate about, and a problem which motivates me complete service and research projects in areas related to this issue. I have seen and experienced this problem firsthand, having had family members in India pass away due to complications during pregnancy and birth which would be easily avoided in the US due to the timely access to medical care. Having these experiences and memories motivate me to study in school so that one day I will be truly prepared to serve underserved populations around the globe.

I personally do not think it’s possible to measure success in service. In fact, I think it’s wrong to be measuring success in service. To me service is something so pure and good, that it seems cruel and harsh to measure it. One thing I hated in high school was the mandatory community service hours we had to put in before graduation. I despised this requirement because it made students just do community service for the sake of completing the requirement and not because they cared about the issue they were working for. They were literally measuring their success on a timesheet, and not caring about the impact they were having on the populations they were working with. Now, I’m not saying I’m not guilty of this sentiment. There were times I completed service projects to put it on my timesheet or to fulfill requirements for various clubs. However, there were a few projects which I was especially passionate about and which I did because I wanted to; not because I had to. To me, service, regardless of what it is, is successful as long as the deed comes from good and pure intentions. I don’t believe that this success can be measured. I feel like any service is equally successful as long as people are doing it out of the goodness of their heart.

Blog Post #1: Trains, Buses and Other Modes of Transportation

            Since being in Zambia I have found a new love and appreciation for New York City’s subway and bus system. Even with its increasing metro fares every year, trash infested tunnels, and many unplanned delays there was a level of comfortability and familiarity that came along with it. Now that I am in Lusaka where an official city-wide public transportation is nonexistent, taking the minibus has become an integral part of the Zambian experience. Therefore, it no surprise one of my most memorable experience took place on a minibus.

            Erica and I were returning home from hanging out at The Deli after orientation at UTH. Since The Deli was past town we had to travel to through town to get back home in Kabwata village, St. Patrick’s.  At this time, we had only passed through town once and this would be our second. The first-time Aunty Martha enlisted the help of a trustworthy and committed stranger who helped us navigate the crowded streets and busy bus stations with ease. To our surprise, he even waited until our bus left the station before he walked away. This spoke testaments to how truly friendly many Zambians can be. However, this time Erica and I were on our own.

            The First struggle:

After boarding the first bus within in 10 to 15 minutes we arrived approximately 5 blocks away from Kalema Tower. Since the streets were filled with traffic this is where the minibus stopped. Caught in the middle of an intersection the bus was completely unable to move, every passenger became so impatient and decided to walk the rest of the way. Usually, I don’t follow crowds but as soon as people hopped off I was right there with them. Luckily Karl was also with me and Erica because he was confident and comfortable navigating the streets. With Karl in front, we bobbed and weaved through traffic. Hesitant and nervous, Erica and I were lagging, cautiously walking to avoid holes in the street, reckless drivers reversing without checking for pedestrians and the multiple people who were all rushing to arrive at this same hectic terminal. Luckily we made it to the bus terminal but unfortunately, that is where our second struggle began as Karl parted ways with us.

            The Second Struggle:

“Do you know where I can find Chelinge buses?” I asked. The man pointed down the terminals and said: “Down there, on that side.” I replied “Oh okay” like I knew exactly where “down there “meant. Walking in a very general direction Erica and I crossed the dark lanes of the terminal determined to get to the other side. Weaving through vendors trying to sell cookies to passengers on the bus, men conducting buses to park in the lanes, and random people moving in out of the streets with such an ease that I could only admire. Finally arriving at the Chelinge terminal I had to stop walking to take a moment to breathe with relief and then sigh with contempt as I observed the chaotic scene of 20 buses navigating through this tiny parking lot. The lost in look our eyes were plain to see as conductors came to us shouting their bus routes to us. “No I need to go to Chelinge. Chelinge Market!”. “Oh okay, follow me I will get you on the bus” one of the men replied. Looking back every so often making sure Erica was close by we followed him. Unfortunately, the bus he took us to was full. So I started the routine over, asking conductors their bus routes, moving out the way for buses to pass as one bus was so close to running over my foot. Finally finding the right bus Erica and I boarded and sunk into the seats as we thought we could finally relax. However yet again the struggle wasn’t over.

            The Third Struggle.

Chit-chatting with Erica, I saw the conductor starting asking people for their fare. Usually I look at how much people are paying and how much change people were getting back but navigating town drained my energy so I was just concerned with our own fare. It was our turn to pay and I watched Erica hand him 10 Kwacha bill and stated “for two” as she pointed to me. I looked at him, nodded and turned away. Suddenly a felt tap and the conductor said “Aye you. Three Kwacha”.  This nervousness began to swell up in me but I dare let it showed in my voice “She just gave you 10 Kwacha, five and five” I said with an assertion. He kept repeating “No. Three more Kwacha” he repeated with even more conviction.  Then I bluntly asked, “how much is fair?” Instead of answering the whole bus began to talk in an uproar of Nyanja. Imagine a whole bus of people knowingly talking about but you can’t understand a word. The embarrassment, awkwardness, an uncomfortability that I haven’t felt in a while. But all I could do was repeat my original statement “How much is fair?” A passenger finally came to the rescue and told us 6.50. I exclaimed, “6.50 since when!” The conductor replied “Since when? Since now.with a serious laugh. After a very challenging day, I coughed up the change reluctantly. Ten cents short I gave him all the change I had. He scoffed and I continued to look at the window. On the ride home I just thought to myself, “were we being overcharged, should I have not paid, was it even worth it being that this fare was literally less than a dollar, was the passenger telling the truth? This inner monolog within myself continued until we were dropped off which was only about a 10-minute ride which really did make me think we overpaid.

            From this experience, I have learned to avoid town at all cost. Just kidding but right now it is now my favorite place at the moment. Put into a tough situation it did force me to deal with confrontation which I hate doing. In all honesty, a situation like this could happen anywhere whether back home or Lusaka but being a new country does make it harder to deal with. Not completely sure of the rules and the customs you constantly second guessing your actions, thinking about the what to say and how to say it, wanting to stand your ground but not wanting to draw more attention to yourself. I don’t feel like this all the time but when I do it always put things back into perspective that I am still a visitor here. It has only been two weeks which is to be expected but hopefully, by the end of the summer, these reminders of my foreign origin will soon become insignificant.

Blog Post 1

On our final day for orientation, our trip to SAIPAR did not go as smoothly as it usually did. We had been always instructed to get on a minibus to Chilenje and then get on another bus to Kabulonga. This day, when we hopped on the packed Chilenje bus, it started to make turns instead of the usual straight path there. This had been our third day riding the minibus to SAIPAR so we weren’t worried yet. We thought that it would make its way to the market like it always did. We went out of our way to remind the conductor that we needed to get off at Chilenje market to catch a connecting bus to Kabulonga. He reassured us that they would go there. Then at the next stop, he told us to get off the bus. He said it was a two kilometer walk to the market and pointed us down a road to start. We were annoyed that we had been lied to. Many questions raced through our minds. We had no map of Lusaka and no GPS to go off of. We didn’t know the area, but it looked residential instead of the hectic environment of Chilenje market. We had 30 minutes to find our way to SAIPAR before we were late. As we started walking, we asked a woman passing by where we were. She said south Chilenje. She was very kind and pointed us in the right direction to start looking for a minibus. As we kept walking, the people around us kept to themselves and focused on their walk to work. But when we would try to ask them for directions, they would stop what they were doing and lighten up, both older and younger people. Everyone was very happy to help us. Eventually we found a bus that went to Kabulonga that weaved through the residential area and we made it to SAIPAR.

From this experience, I learned that I am capable of being calm in a vulnerable situation. In the U.S., with street signs and GPS it is very rare that I am ever truly lost. When you are lost in Zambia, your greatest resource is the locals. This experience also reinforced that not everything will always go to plan. This had been drilled into our heads during the pre-departure seminar but this day that concept came to life at a different level. Minibus conductors work hard and have great enthusiasm to make sure their minibus is always full. As I found out that day it can mean they don’t tell the full truth or will lie so they can make 10 extra kwacha. It can make you frustrated when you are taken advantage of because of your lack of knowledge as a foreigner. There was no way to tell that this minibus would not follow the usual and expected route to Chilenje market when we initially got on. We only found out when it was too late. But this is only a small fraction of experiences we have had on the minibus. Most Zambians are kind and will help when you need it, even the conductors.

When this mistake happened again about a week later I wasn’t frustrated like I was before. I was more accepting and understanding. They have families to feed and needed to make a living. It may have added extra walking to my commute but it didn’t have to ruin my day. Something else I learned was that patience is key in Zambia. Things will always take longer than you expect them to and therefore you must give yourself more time. Luckily the kindness you experience around you makes the patience come much more naturally.