This story ends, and begins I suppose, in the mountains of Andalucia.
The feasibility of relocating to Zambia to volunteer my services was always contingent upon reliable internet access, so that I could continue to teach online and write curriculum. I did not fundraise in advance of going, and I am not sorry for that; it never occurred to me that anyone owed me the opportunity of living in Africa. Rather, I planned my indefinite stay to be self-funded, and due to the flexibility of Virtual High School that has afforded so many students the chance for asynchronous and borderless education, I also had the ability to work meaningfully from abroad.
Except, as I have alluded to previously, the internet connection was not sufficient for what I was trying to do.
Kirsten and I were in Lusaka, the Zambian capital, a couple of weeks ago to sort out our visas. During that time, internet was out all over the city, and after several days of being unable to work, we were told by immigration that my visa fee had been retroactively changed. Being in Zambia would cost more, and it was increasingly obvious that we wouldn't be able to keep up with the expense. We reluctantly searched for the cheapest flights available to a country with a decent internet history.
But back in the village, standing outside our first house, the hut made of bricks shaped by ants and human hands, viewing the perfectly fertile land that should have been by now tilled for our garden, through swollen eyes and throats we resolved to redouble our efforts for one more week. We would go to Solwezi and stay at a lodge to ensure steady internet access and work as much as we could. We had to try to stay.
The power failed. The power came back and the internet failed. The internet came back and the power failed again. Both came back and the entire population of the lodge started to stream videos, slowing our access to glacial speed. Like gunning the engine while stuck in mud, we spent more money and still were unable to work.
Mukimba, God bless him, went to extraordinary measures to help us to stay. He arranged for a house at which we could stay, free of charge, so that we could work; but internet was not accessible there. He used connections to find us a cheap-to-free internet access at a coffeeless-café; it was good, but simply not good enough for web development. "You will have to decide what to do," he said as he left us to our lodge, eyes sunken, understanding the inevitable outcome.
But when we told him with certainty that we would be leaving, he was sad but philosophical. "The disciples all wanted Jesus to stay after he had risen," he said, "but Jesus said, 'No! I must go so that you can be strong,' and this is what is coming even now".
Kirsten and I left rather quickly. I had students that needed assignments graded, after all. Our journey out was eventful, a topic for another blog.
For now, you need to know that we are resettled to Spain. We were sad to leave Africa, but we have seen Kibombomene now. We know what we can do to help. And ironically, we can likely help better from here, where we might research resources at leisure and not be constantly chasing after the internet.
This blog will continue. There is much about my travels in Africa that I have not yet shared, and it will take some time for it all to unfold. Already, the Spanish light casts strange shadows on that foray, shadows that reflect back to Canada and myself. There is much to tell you yet.
The feasibility of relocating to Zambia to volunteer my services was always contingent upon reliable internet access, so that I could continue to teach online and write curriculum. I did not fundraise in advance of going, and I am not sorry for that; it never occurred to me that anyone owed me the opportunity of living in Africa. Rather, I planned my indefinite stay to be self-funded, and due to the flexibility of Virtual High School that has afforded so many students the chance for asynchronous and borderless education, I also had the ability to work meaningfully from abroad.
Except, as I have alluded to previously, the internet connection was not sufficient for what I was trying to do.
Kirsten and I were in Lusaka, the Zambian capital, a couple of weeks ago to sort out our visas. During that time, internet was out all over the city, and after several days of being unable to work, we were told by immigration that my visa fee had been retroactively changed. Being in Zambia would cost more, and it was increasingly obvious that we wouldn't be able to keep up with the expense. We reluctantly searched for the cheapest flights available to a country with a decent internet history.
But back in the village, standing outside our first house, the hut made of bricks shaped by ants and human hands, viewing the perfectly fertile land that should have been by now tilled for our garden, through swollen eyes and throats we resolved to redouble our efforts for one more week. We would go to Solwezi and stay at a lodge to ensure steady internet access and work as much as we could. We had to try to stay.
The power failed. The power came back and the internet failed. The internet came back and the power failed again. Both came back and the entire population of the lodge started to stream videos, slowing our access to glacial speed. Like gunning the engine while stuck in mud, we spent more money and still were unable to work.
Mukimba, God bless him, went to extraordinary measures to help us to stay. He arranged for a house at which we could stay, free of charge, so that we could work; but internet was not accessible there. He used connections to find us a cheap-to-free internet access at a coffeeless-café; it was good, but simply not good enough for web development. "You will have to decide what to do," he said as he left us to our lodge, eyes sunken, understanding the inevitable outcome.
But when we told him with certainty that we would be leaving, he was sad but philosophical. "The disciples all wanted Jesus to stay after he had risen," he said, "but Jesus said, 'No! I must go so that you can be strong,' and this is what is coming even now".
Kirsten and I left rather quickly. I had students that needed assignments graded, after all. Our journey out was eventful, a topic for another blog.
For now, you need to know that we are resettled to Spain. We were sad to leave Africa, but we have seen Kibombomene now. We know what we can do to help. And ironically, we can likely help better from here, where we might research resources at leisure and not be constantly chasing after the internet.
This blog will continue. There is much about my travels in Africa that I have not yet shared, and it will take some time for it all to unfold. Already, the Spanish light casts strange shadows on that foray, shadows that reflect back to Canada and myself. There is much to tell you yet.
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