Thanksgiving (Zambian Style)
Just another normal Thanksgiving afternoon. The wind is roaring, pulling dust from the townships up into the air and creating a brownout near George compound. Thunderheads stack and the temperature hits at 92 degrees. A few drops hit the windshield as I swerve around a stalled minibus with no brake lights. A kid runs along the roadside rolling a large hoop. Garbage smolders in the drainage ditches as people try to finish up their burning before the rains come and make the heaps of trash to soggy to burn. Old ladies wearing bright chitenges wrapped around their waists and floral print blouses from the seventies chop with wood-handled hoes at the earth, making rows for the maize they will plant as soon as we get our first real rain, a few brief showers and towering black clouds, aren't enough to start planting yet. We're on our way to our teammates house for an old-fashion American style Thanksgiving. Karen and Tracy hosted the whole team and thanks to a box from friends in the States, the Dearths had some of the necessary staples for the meal. At the Singletons, the power was out and after a prayer of thanksgiving and asking for power, the Lord provided and ovens and fans came back to life and dinner was shortly served. It was quite a feast with all the usual fixin's. The best part was just spending time with our team. When we were asked to share what we most thankful for this year, many of our teammates agreed - we are so thankful for our current team. It's small but we're tight. And we really feel the love, which is so important when you're celebrating holidays away from your usual friends and family. We feasted and had a great time of fellowship and encouragement and it felt like we were home. Thank you Lord for our team, our family away from "home." God has been so faithful this year and we have much to be thankful for!
wind blows dust and some scattered drops on the drive across town
dust and trash blows through freshly hoed fields
tricia fills her plate and tyler gets started
singing hymns of thanksgiving
the men sweat it our in the kitchen doing unending stacks of dishes
as Karen says, "No man was ever shot doing the dishes!"