A Lesson From the Desert: Friendship and Peace in Zambia

As the bright yellow-orange sun rises above the horizon—showering the sky with rays of color—all of Africa responds. The hippos slide back into the water after a night of feeding in the grasses; the lions find a comfortable resting place to lay in the morning sun; and the Zambian people step out of their huts to begin working. The day has begun.

With mealie-pop in my stomach, a water bottle over my shoulder, and a camera around my neck I set out on my adventure. Makuni, my village, was like the picture you see in National Geographic: sand stretching as far as the eye can see speckled with little huts made from sticks or mud. It is so primitive, yet wonderful.

I wandered around the village for a while, trailed by my “fan club”—a group of wide-eyed African children bemused by my pink-white skin. They were afraid of me. Every time I turned around they would slowly back away—even though I smiled. Despite their fear, they seemed incapable of going home. They wanted to know who I was, and what explanation I could possibly have for my odd-colored skin.

Eventually, I found my way to the home of the chief. His was the only group of huts with a metal fence. I went into the yard—leaving my disappointed fan club and my American-superiority-complex at the gate.

That is where I met Grace. She was a tall, slim, beautiful girl with braided hair and clean clothes. Her regal bearing left no doubt in my mind that she was someone important. She was the chief’s daughter. When I approached the hut she was meticulously braiding small strands of her friend’s hair. I could tell by the look on her face that she was intrigued and deliciously happy at my visit. Her friend stood up, offered me the stool, and somehow I became the next customer of Grace’s hairstyle salon.

Being the chief’s daughter, Grace was well educated and fluent in English. While she styled my hair, we talked. We talked about our families and how they’ve either helped us or hurt us. We talked about our homes and how much we love them. And we talked about our God and what we believe. We spent the rest of the summer together, and I learned the most important lesson of my life: traveling isn’t about animals and scenery—it’s about people. That summer a friendship was born. Our hearts were knit together so tightly that nothing—not even distance—could rip them apart.

As the sun sank below the horizon, peeling the blue from the sky, another day came to an end. The hippos climbed out of the water to feed in the tall grasses; the lions rolled over; and Grace returned to her hut. The tears in her eyes announced the end of my visit. Leaving Africa was the most difficult choice I ever made. As I waved goodbye, my heart broke.