International Experience Internship
Kelsey Sorensen, kms444
Summer 2016 (June- August)
Final Reflection
Many have said before that such a trip is a life-altering experience. They share that their goals, hopes, perceptions, mindsets, dreams, and aspirations have all been drastically changed by an experience similar to the one I had in Zambia this summer. This was not, however, the case for me. Instead, my previous goal and mindset was merely solidified in my mind. I now know with absolute certainty that I want to pursue an international career. I had many concerns associated with such a variable. Prior to this summer, I had not been overseas at all and I had no idea if the overseas field was fitting given my personality. My time in Zambia helped me come to the understanding that life in a rural village is not only fitting for me but also brings me incredible joy and peace—I felt very much at home.
Fimpulu is a rural village just outside Mansa, Zambia. The imagery is similar to that of a storybook or movie but, as can be expected, the reality is not nearly as glorious as it sometimes may seem in a story or painting. Tiny huts with roofs of thatch dot the village. Women walk with buckets through the dust to the nearest borehole and men saunter towards their fields with hoes and axes resting on their shoulders. Children, ducks, chickens, goats, and pigs all run freely—weaving between the clay brick homes and small family gardens. At a glance, everything is as it ought to be. People visit one another constantly, laughing and joking casually as they work to keep their households afloat. Some lucky children dressed in pressed uniforms pass my vantage point on their way to school. Those who are not so lucky can be seen bustling between the thatch with the women or following their fathers to the field for another long day in the sun.
One of my favorite village kids, Mulenga, would come to my house each day after school and help me draw water or sweep the yard. He was about the size of an average American eight-year-old child despite the fact that he was closer to the age of 18. His demeanor was filled with mischief and I immediately loved him when we met. I did not find out until later that he had only a fifth grade education and had been abandoned by his father after the death of his mother (I believe he was five when she died). The boy has been passed from family to family for several years and is currently living with an abusive, alcoholic man named Bashi-Chedee. Moreover, he is malnourished, has several micronutrient deficiencies, does not have access to appropriate healthcare, and has been diagnosed with HIV-AIDS. Yet amongst village children he is considered very lucky because he can go to school and doesn’t lack clothing. Mulenga loves to dance, drum, sing, draw, sew, and run errands for his favorite families in the village. It seems that his energy never dies despite the obvious lack of nourishment and he never failed to impress me with his creative talent. Indeed, the boy has a great deal of potential but likely will never realize it fully. This is the story of one orphan in one tiny village in one country from one part of the world. His friends and the other village children are no different—they all have had similar misfortune and many are worse off than he.
To be certain, the poverty of these people both in spirit and material possessions was very apparent to anyone who cared to look twice. Domestic violence, drunkenness, black magic (and its “white” counterpart), food deficiencies, child mortality, sexual abuse, poor education, and a lack of healthcare were rampant in the community. These people faced daily problems that I, as an American, believe to be serious and appalling. Despite this fact, the villagers seemed to be decently happy. I would not go so far as to say that they were among the happiest people I have ever encountered but they certainly did not behave as though they believed they were an oppressed, unfortunate people which is how many in the western world describe them. In fact, I think that there are many aspects of Zambian society that are actually far better than what can be found in the western world. For example, community is highly valued in Fimpulu. People work hard to help their neighbors and treat them as they would their own family members. In America, we tend to shut ourselves into an individualistic bubble wherein we are the center of focus—our grades, our career, our family, our life, our home. We fail when it comes to accepting, helping, and loving one another as the Zambian villagers do. Indeed, no society is perfect. I do not think Zambia, with all of its flaws, can be considered less than America. We have so much to learn from them just as they have a great deal to gain from us.
I never believed that America should enter a country like Zambia with its mind set on “fixing” or “westernizing” the culture and infrastructure. To be certain, the people I met in Zambia have fewer resources than the average American might. However, they are not to be pitied. The people of Fimpulu are proud and want to share with their friends. They have little outside of community and thus they hold fast to the values of their ancestors. I do not believe that this is a lower form of survival than individualism and therefore the Western world should learn to work with first world culture to build it up rather than imposing its ideas and enforcing its mindsets. The approach we have been taking has left broken wells and failed development attempts scattered throughout communities in Zambia and, I am sure, all across the globe. It is time, in my opinion, to take a new approach.
I mentioned before that I felt very much at home while on my trip. This has a bit to do with my natural inclination to be a part of community but I also liked knowing that I was providing the people of Fimpulu with an image of a white girl willing to step into their world rather than trying to alter it as so many before me have done. It was encouraging to watch their preconceived notions of Americans change into the realization that we are all just as human and vulnerable as they are. I enjoyed stepping into their shoes, sharing in their poverty and their community, and learning from them just as they learned from me. During my stay I held community meetings with local farmers and discussed the issues they were having with their farms. I was able to scientifically explain to them why these problems were prevalent in their fields, make predictions concerning what might happen if they continued with their current techniques, and discuss ways in which they could harness the science working against them in their systems to be beneficial and work for them in the future. I would like to assert, however, that I learned far more from them than they could have possibly learned from me. This realization solidified in my mind the idea that these people are intelligent and that we should never pity them or look down on them for their way of life. Too often I see the western world fall into that trap and it had always frustrated me but I never really had a basis for my mindset until after this trip.