An Appointment with The King

I am back in 'my world'.  The world of ease and conveniences. I am coming out of my jet-lag fog and want to catch up on the stories of the past two weeks.

Do you ever feel your life is surreal at times? Mine is!  When I decided to blog about the year 65 in my life I had no idea just how incredible, random and unpredictable  the experiences would be.

I have set out to make note of all things 'life'.   Ignoring sunrises and complaining of rain, ignoring kind gestures and noting the opposite, groaning over inconveniences rather than embracing the luxuries I do have have, all come into focus as I realize what blessings abound in my life.

In my 4th Zambian trip some things have rarely changed, but little changes are poking their heads up through this sandy forsaken place.   Each trip looks a bit different as we focus on the people and projects that are part of our over site. This time there were more local paved roads in Mongu. They lead us to dusty paths but it is progress! This time our visits with dignitaries seemed a bit more hopeful.  This time the weather was cooler (70 degrees) their winter.

But one tradition remains part of the African culture, The King. Here in the Western Provence of Zambia he still plays a significant role in the lives of the people. I had been on his property one other time.    His cement walled home is old but distinct, when surrounded by the grass huts of those who pay to live on his property.  It borders the river and it is a tranquil part of Mongu.  Guards, walls and rules are what one experiences upon arrival.  Protocol of where to walk, when to talk, what to do is immediately thrust upon us as we arrive.

Perhaps no one will be reading this but as I write, it helps me to keep the experience forged into my brain.  How many people get to experience this?  As white women from across the globe, born in Oregon, living in Chicago, finding myself in Mongu, sitting before a king, I am in awe. Many of his subjects have never had this privilege, they watch him from a far!   Wow and why me?

I will write another blog post about this king adventure,  but for now protocol is my focus.  Upon our arrival our  instruction on what to do, how to do it and when, was very serious! Our American chatter was discouraged. We were subject to his rules.  We were introduced to a world very foreign to our way of thinking and doing life. 

Women play a lesser role (understatement) in this world.  Both men and women have a protocol that is strictly adhered too.   No one is ever 'higher' than the king.  No one ever 'turns their back' on the king.  Women enter through a side and back entrance, men go directly in.  We ultimately did meet together in the reception room.   At several junctions we were instructed to kneel down and clap.  Women have a different clap/beat than the men.   I am not catholic but it reminded me a bit of stations of the cross. There were specific places where we had to stop, kneel and clap.

In the past my friend (a woman) had to crawl into the king.  I had been hoping we would do this just for the experience.  As it turned out we did not crawl and given the distance (any distance) I would have had to be wheeled out or remained prostrate during our time. In this instance my 'old' bones would have revolted.

The room where we met, was a cement stone building next to his residence.  A modest but large residence by Zambian standards.  The floor had bamboo woven mats, the windows were openings within the cement block wall,  in the back a nice conference table, in the front his 'throne/chair' and prominent side chairs. We were given chairs to sit on.   Those who directed us on protocol sat on the floor.  Those on the floor were awaiting direction of what we were to do 'next'.  The king directs the conversations.

Kingship is foreign to our/my thinking and so when I see one who embraces his role very seriously and expects the same from others, it is to be taken note of.   Since we do not serve a 'king' and our culture is irreverent,  I pondered the experience and tried to put my self in the place of those who have a 'king'.  I was on his land, in his Provence, in his presence. Observe and learn were my thoughts.  We had no idea what to expect but our time turned out to be delightful.

The work of Hands of Hope had come to his attention a couple of years back.  Hands of Hope does excellent work on each of our projects, be they wells, schools or the clinic.  We expect excellence and the results are obvious to all who see the projects.  (http://www.handsofhopeonline.org/).    The Western Provence is the poorest in all Zambia so what we do is noted on so many levels. The quality of the projects completed is superior, the location choices (the middle of no-where) and we keep coming back to help have made a bold statement to this king.  None of it makes sense to those observing but it is changing lives.

Vicky Wauterlek and The King

The Kings entry was solemn, but he turned out to be very cordial with us.  Laughing at our weak pronunciation of 'Mongu' and our American blunt/direct approach to things.  He listened and heard our concerns over the lack of help from the government in getting school books to his people, medicine for the clinic, etc. He was shocked at the blatant resistance we have received these past years in getting projects completed by government officials.  He became an advocate for us!

He allowed Vicky (president of HOH) to sit next to him.  This is huge on two accounts.  One, she is a woman! Two, she was allowed the chair that only the Prime Minister sits in.

(Take note of his scepter. It is a beautiful carved piece of ivory.  It has leather fringes (my word) on the end.  This day is served to swat flies. )

Our team with the King of Western Zambia!

Today,  I am sitting here in a home grander than this king's.  I am sitting here with all creature comforts known to man.  I am for the moment free to share what I think, hope for and feel. However, I am humbled to have had this privilege for though his 'reign' has no impact on me, he rules his people and I hope justly.