My Soul is Still in Zambia

The pace of life in Zambia has traditionally been a lot slower than in the West. Time is a relative concept; "I'll be there at 9" often means "I'll start getting ready to go at 9." Travel generally involves walking and/or taking a minibus -- a vehicle the size of a minivan but with multiple rows of seats overstuffed with locals. If someone is taking a minibus, the procedure is to get on the bus and the bus driver might wait until the bus is full. Each driver has a loosely-structured route and you can always tell the bus by the "name" on the back window. 

This bus (picture sourced from Zambia Wikitravel would thus be named "Street Fighter" - actually a pretty sweet name. As an aside, my oldest son recently was able to retrieve his extensive and impressive list of bus names that we thought was lost forever). 

This said, time is slow. When a meeting starts depends on when everyone gets there. Then everyone needs to greet one another fully. Not just a perfunctory "hey, how's it going?" but a much more personal greeting. And ending times... just suggestions. Or not even that.

All of that is to say that time is different in Zambia. A lot different. As an American, I was usually mad about the meeting time thing (but "usually" I mean "always" and by "mad" I mean "red hot smoldering fury") but there is something to be said for slowing down. Gatherings were often person-centered instead of results-centered or agenda-centered. Slowing down gave me a chance to speak with people and listen to people in ways that were much deeper than I can usually expect in my fast-paced life. I think this slower pace is actually the pace of the soul. The soul does not rush, and when things change quickly, my soul gets whiplash.

But most evident was when I left Zambia. The soul, moving at a comfortable three miles per hour walking pace, suddenly came into conflict with a jet crossing the ocean. And stopped on the runway. My soul did, that is. The airplane made it to Atlanta in a matter of hours (a lot of hours -- that's a long flight), but it took my soul much longer. The part of my soul that returned, that is.

When I talk to my kids, they can't articulate this, but I hear the same sentiment.  They want to go back, not just to see people, I believe, but because part of our souls will always be in Zambia.