I am often asked "What is it that you actually do?". People say they know I am out "doing good in the world' and "saving babies" but the reality is that it’s not as magical as some would like to think. The skies don't open up and the heavens don't pour down with angels and harps as I find an orphaned baby in a field somewhere and bring her back to life. No folks it’s not really like that. I have regular duties like everyone else. I clean bathrooms, change the trash, collect firewood, fix tent zippers and organize housing for fifty to a hundred people at any given time. I also cook in the kitchen and drive into Livingstone twice a week to collect food and supplies for the Base. Out of all this, Mondays are my favorite days. They are crazy, long and after cooking in the kitchen for ten straight hours on Sundays, I often find it hard to peel myself out of the bed come Monday morning. But alas, 7 am comes and I grumble to sit up, clear my eyes of sleep goobers and say good morning to Jesus as I make my bed. I throw on something to wear and shuffle my way to the Main Center for morning praise and worship and our weekly Staff meeting.After our Staff meeting I run to my tent to grab my purse and dab some mascara on just in time to hear Candi Martin (a spiritual mother to me)  pull up in the Land Cruiser Defender and squeak to a stop. I could pick that squeak out of a crowd anywhere. She hits the horn two short times and I stagger out of the tent and hurry to the truck.  Coffee? Check. Water? Check. Purse? Check. Sunglasses? Check...crunched them on top of my head as I jumped in the truck. Candi laughs at me as I wrinkle my nose and rub my head and look to see if I have puncture wounds from my sunglasses. The paved road is a mere ten kilometers away and in about a half an hour we will be in the land of plenty. Plenty to do that is.

We pass the elephants as we approach the city and Candi pulls over to admire. She says that if you ever stop pulling over to admire the elephants then you don't deserve to live in Africa anymore. I agree but also wish they weren't so close on my side of the car! After I squirm a few times she once again laughs at me and we continue on our way.

Parmalat Milk has a wholesale store front and warehouse on one of the back roads of Livingstone. I found it because I went all Carmen Sandiego one day and followed one of their trucks. So we turn down the alley, park on the corner of the white building with its blue sign and I hop out of the truck. Today the line is long. I'm the only white person in the room and I am being starred at as if i was a novelty item. You see it's not that they are racist or don't like "makuwas". They are just not used to seeing us. They certainly don't expect to see Westerners in the deepest parts of the city. This is their turf. The tourists of Livingstone don't go here. So the fact that I am there all bright eyes and smiles has them baffled. I am skipped at least twice simply because I don't belong but I keep my peace. It’s too early to get frustrated now. They don't know I consider myself a local. I make my order, bag my own items and then pack everything in the back of the truck.

Next stop is Murdoch bread. We make our way down another alley and then make a sharp right turn by the old blind lady that is always sitting on the corner, hands out and turned up, crouched down, bothering no one and needing more than you know. We pull into the bakery and I jump out and walk up the steps. Jerry the bakery manager, a tall slender man with weathered hands, sincere eyes and a smile that takes you back is there with our order.  He tells me that they burnt a batch of family buns and so there is not enough for everyone. By the restlessness of the crowd I can tell they are not happy with the “makuwa” (white person) getting the last two trays of family buns. So I tell Jerry we don’t need them this week and the room grows silent. They all just kind of stare at me in disbelief that I would give my bread away.  So a woman steps forward and says “let’s share, you take one tray and I will take the other”. We both smile to seal the deal and I look back at Jerry to see him whisper a silent thank you.

We are now in the deepest parts of Livingstone, along the outskirts where the local markets are located. Welcome to Maramba Market everyone, where your friends know where you have been simply because of the distinct scent you now carry with you. We make our way through the market and get the usual. Mary tells me that this week she will give me double grounds nuts because last week she accidentally shorted me. I didn’t even know the difference and hug her just for being so darn sweet! Regina bags the vegetables and Aidah helps us to the car with the cabbage. I follow with one measly bag of ground nuts on my head while Aidah balances eight cabbages. She turns around and laughs at me. “What??? “ I say, “I’m learning”!

Zim Market is the last local market of the day. We park the car and the potato ladies all start lifting their bags of potatoes in the air for us to buy. I pick up ten bundles of dried fish from Rebekah and then head over to Judy the fruit lady. Judy pulls out a photo and says “This is my brother, I want you to marry him so you will be a true Zambian” I say he is handsome but I just don’t think it would work and we both start laughing. She tells me that she will bring him there and I can meet him in person and then decide. She fills the box with fruit and then adds the “mbesella” (bonus) which is a few extra apples, oranges and bananas.

As we make our way back to the heart of the city I peel oranges for Candi and I. It’s the mid day snack that gives us a much needed boost before the Shoprite extravaganza. As we walk into the store it is the moment of the day where the skies actually do open and angels carrying electric fans lower from the heavens. Yes friends, I’m talking about air conditioning… real life air conditioning.  We linger on the milk and cheese aisle (ironically the coolest aisle of the store) for a few minutes and then make our rounds. About an hour later we emerge from the store with three very full carts. We pack the car and by the end of it I am covered in dust, dirt, flour and everything in between.

We make two more quick stops and then begin our journey home. It’s 4 pm and I have five bags of ice at my feet, six trays of eggs in my lap, twenty loaves of bread behind my head and my hair definitely smells like dried fish. I look out the window and think of all the faces I saw today and wonder if they see themselves as significant.  Do they know they are what got me out of bed today? Do they know I think about them and pray for them?  Do they know how precious they are in the sight of the Father? The car stops and I look up to see what is wrong. The elephants are back. Twice in one day! What are the odds?