Today I encountered the first policeman I’ve ever seen in our area since
coming to Sawala. I was traveling in a daladala (van/taxi) from Mafinga to
Sawala when we had to pull over onto the side of the road behind another
vehicle. After a few minutes talking with the truck in front of us, the
officer let them go and turned his attention to our van.

In my humble opinion there were a number of things “wrong” with our vehicle:
18 adults squeezed into what should have been a 12-13 passenger van, no one
wearing a seatbelt, there were five large cracks in the windshield, the
doors were practically falling off, exhaust fumes settled around us like a
cloud… Did the policeman pick on any of these things? No. Instead, I heard
him say something about “mzungu” (white person) and since I was the only
white person around, assumed he was talking about me. Sure enough, the guy
made his way over to my window and began a litany of questions: What is your
name? Where do you come from? What are you doing here? What do you teach? I
tried to answer his questions as best I could in a mixture of Kiswahili and
English. He was kind enough - nothing like the super serious authorities
I’ve encountered in other countries (like Romania). When he was finished
with his questions, he apologized for the condition of my door (which didn’t
seem to close all of the way). I responded with the only Kiswahili phrase I
could think of at the moment: “hakuna matata” (no worries). Thank God for
the Lion King!

After questioning me, he moved on to questioning the driver who, we soon
discovered, did not have his license. Great. The thought of being detained
and having to walk home did not appeal to me. A few minutes later the
officer addressed me again: “You are going to be my witness.” “Okay,” I
said, “For what?” I never got a solid answer. Something about me witnessing
the fact that he wasn’t going to fine the driver, I think. At this point I
couldn’t help but be humored and make light of the situation. The rest of
our conversation went something like this:
Me: “Do you want to see my passport?”
Officer: “Yes.”
(I show him a copy of my passport which I had on me. He examines it.)
Officer: “Jennifer Ann… How many years?”
Me: “26″
Officer: “Are you married?”
Me: “No.”
Officer: “Why not?”
Me: “I don’t know. That’s a good question.”
Officer: “Okay. I am coming to Sawala.”
Me: “Okay. Keribu nyumbani!” (Welcome to my house!)

And that was that. Soon we were on our way.

This weekend I survived the longest walk of my life. Mainess (one of my students) and I left Sawala at 5:45AM and somehow managed to miss EVERY daladala/taxi/bus (all of two or three) to take us to her home town of Kasanga. So we walked and hitched rides and took breaks (mostly because I was tired) and finally arrived at her home 10 HOURS later.

During our trip whenever vehicles drove by I unashamedly flaunted my white skin like nobody’s business. Whether out of pity, curiosity, a chance to practice English, intrigue of a mzungu (white person) hitch-hiking, or genuine African hospitality, it worked a few times. We got partial rides along the way, for which I was incredibly grateful. Side note: I must say, I have a newfound appreciation for shocks. The worst dirt roads in BFE (I’m throwing that expression in there just for you, Ryan) NH in the springtime can’t top some of the road conditions I’ve experienced here in Africa!

Somewhere along our way to Kasanga, I realized Mainess was simply enjoying the journey while I was concentrated on arriving at our destination and getting quite grumpy about our transportation sheda (problem). Actually, I’m realizing this paradigm is indicative of more than just physical journeys in my life. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I am so prone to live with the next best thing in mind. In some ways this is a good quality -  it keeps one from growing stagnant. But in other ways it can be a real weakness. There’s a point, I think, where one needs to learn to enjoy the journey, embrace the process and see “the glory in the gray” (as one poet put it). I’m not so sure “enjoying the journey” and “keeping the next best thing in mind” are polar opposite, mutually exclusive concepts, but I seem to have a hard time living simultaneously in both realms.

We finally arrived at Mainess’ house. Her family was beyond thrilled that I came to visit. They rolled out the red carpet for me - killed a chicken for dinner and everything. (Eating meat is a luxury I have come to greatly appreciate since being here. Even still, I politely but firmly refused the chicken kidney Mainess very nearly plopped on my plate, due to the fact that I was “already so full”.) To top it all off, her family sent me home with blessings and a gift of cabbage, mboga (greens), corn and beans. I walked away with a full stomach, full hands and a full heart.

I’m glad I went to Kasanga with Mainess. I was also very glad to return home to Sawala (by bus, thank God). And maybe somewhere along the way I slowly started to learn to simply enjoy the journey.