I follow the news from Zambia a bit. The nation in southern Africa doesn’t get a great deal of press. But the people there did just elect a president. Given the coverage of Zimbabwe, the neighbor to the south, and Congo, the neighbor to the north, you’d think, perhaps, that the peaceful transfer of power in Zambia might get a little of the world’s attention.
I just completed an amazing two weeks in Zambia. One afternoon our group stopped at a market in Ndola to buy snacks and drinks. I kept my seat in the back of the van while several others entered the store. Five boys approached seeking food or money. One man from our group came out of the store with a big bag of bread rolls to give to the boys. He handed the bag to the tallest boy, expecting him to pass the rolls around. The boy held the bag by the neck, tight in his fist.
“He won’t share those,” our driver told us. The driver got out of the van and divided the rolls among the boys.
“I’m that boy,” I thought. “I’m holding tight to my bag of rolls. My spot at the table. My money. My American passport.”
Now what will I do with that awareness?