Zambia, Oh Zambia

There was a poem I had to memorize in the first grade. It was a Shel Silverstein classic, and we youngins' thought it was pretty cool that our teacher even allowed us recite it before the class...

Homework, oh Homework
I hate you, you stink.
I wish I could wash you away in the sink.
I'd rather take baths with a man-eating shark
or wrestle a lion alone in the dark.
Eat spinach and liver, pet ten porcupines,
than tackle the homework my teacher assigns.

Pieces of this poem have been stuck in my head ever since, and unfortunately, there are occasions when other words find their way into the "homework" spot. Zambia may not fit according to syllables, but there are certainly times when my mind squeezes it right on in there.

It has happened several times this week, in particular when I have been packing up the boy and his stuff to make yet another trip to Social Welfare. I swear I have driven to that building at least 5 times this week. There haven't even been 5 days yet. And, Tuesday was International Women's Day, therefore causing an entire city shut-down, and so it doesn't even count.

While the people there are friendly (they all now know us by name), there are indeed moments when I wish I was dealing with a hungry shark instead. The look on the face of a hungry shark is very straight-foward- it says 'you look like a tasty snack and I am going to eat you.' The look on the face of a Zambian, however, could mean a plethora of different things on a spectrum that spans an incredible distance. When the Social Worker woman tells me, 'ah yes, I will have this done for you by the end of the week,' she may actually mean the end of the week. However, what week she means exactly is always unclear. Does she mean this week, or a week many moons from now? I am never sure, and now matter how hard I try to read, their faces never do tell.

You all remember the day I had to eat liver at our friend Nancy's house, and while that is not an experience I am looking to repeat- I may actually consider doing it if it meant the woman would hand me the license right then. If only it was as simple as performing a silly dare, but alas, I have found that tackling this task has been beyond frustrating for me.

I really believe that it will all work out, and that we will get the license, passport, and visa in order for Joab to travel back to the US- but would you all pray with me that I don't keel over before it happens? Would you also pray that God gives me a heart that is a tad more mature than a first-grader so that I can stop this poem from going through my head all day? And let's be serious- I've seen a few lions, and I think I'd take on any Zambian before I stand up to one of them.