Like this:

(A big thanks to Tiff*ny for the reminder of the word thirtween.)

I typically enjoy my life in Zambia; it has its ups and downs and definitely dramatic moments but always at the end of the day, I feel thankful to be here. Life recently has been especially amazing. I’m sure that is mostly compliments to my 13 year-old roommate and the crazy things she seems to do almost unintentionally.

Since nothing especially exciting has happened this week, I would like to dedicate this entire blog to Aurry Chipo Kabayame and her everyday antics. I hope you guys are growing to love Chipo and her stories as much as I do. If not, sorry about your luck, you should just skip the rest of this blog. And, if you really dislike them, you should say something or I’ll just keep talking about her.

The end of last week was the last thunderstorm we’ve had. I was at school at the time and had my laptop with me. Since we rode home in an open game viewer Land Rover, I was really nervous about getting my laptop home safely. I double bagged it in plastic grocery bags and hoped for the best. I wasn’t feeling too excited about the risk since it was hailing and pouring the rain down. (Did you know that it hails in Zambia? The kids were so excited to pick ice chunks up off the dirt and eat them. I suppose if 7-11 coke slushies fell from the sky, I would also get a straw and attempt to drink it but dirty, frozen balls of water don’t excite me.) Anyway, the computer made it back to the TB ward safe and sound. As I was working on my computer later that night, Chipo decided to have a conversation with me while holding water in her mouth like a chipmunk. As usual, she made herself laugh. She spit water all over my computer. I’m glad that I can save my computer from a hail storm but I can’t manage to keep it safe from a thirtween year old.

Sunday night was her birthday party. She was so excited for her party. One of her friends got her some nail polish for her birthday but it was pretty old polish and it didn’t really go on nice. I offered to let her have my nail polish. She came back in after five minutes with her nails looking like stucco walls. I realized then that it may have never been the nail polish but the little lady holding the brush. I offered to paint her fingernails for her. She went crazy too and had me paint both hands. (If Zambian women paint their nails, it is usually only one hand – the one they don’t eat nshima with.) Now, please, imagine with me, would you ever guess that I would be painting a 13 year-olds fingernails with bright pink nail polish? I suppose if anyone ever asks me, did living in Africa change you? I will have to answer yes. I am not so sure that you could have paid me to paint little girls fingernails a year ago. But, I did it for Chipo with abundant joy in my heart. After I finished, she hid herself away with a new confidence for painting her toenails.
Her birthday party started off kind of slow because Zesco was out. Chipo and all her girl friends then took it upon themselves to entertain us with a fashion show until Zesco could return. It was at least really entertaining for her friends. When Chipo walked out in some kind of crazy platform shoes, I noticed her toes for the first time. I kid you not; she had smeared nail polish from her toes to half way up her foot. I couldn’t control myself, I was dying laughing. She told me that she forgot to let her toes dry before she put on her shoes. It actually looked like she had just poured out the polish on her skin.

Zesco finally returned and we could get back to having an appropriate party. First, we opened the rest of her presents. Innocent signed his homemade card as Innocent Fitzwater. (It’s a running joke in the TB ward that I have four children and not one of them is white. Innocent started calling me mom after our trip to Victoria Falls and some people kept asking him if I was his mom. They wouldn’t leave him alone so he just told them yes. He also likes to tell me that he looks just like me.) The rest of the party was mostly dancing and then some cake and Mazoe (I would call that Zambia’s version of Sunny D.). I should mention that the majority of people at this party were under the age of 10. There was cake and vanilla pudding (icing) EVERYWHERE. It was worth it to see Chipo so happy on her birthday though. I was concerned that she might be kind of bummed because she would be missing her parents. She didn’t seem to notice that anything or anybody was missing.

On Monday, like a fool, I left out the nail polish in the bathroom. While I was at school, she practiced some more. I came home to find a Hanzel and Gretel trail of iridescent nail polish around the apartment. She claims to have no idea how random spots of bright pink nail polish got on the salt shaker. A modern day mystery. I blame all of this on her weekly dose of The Bold and the Beautiful. Nothing good can come from watching that show.

And, as always, the direct quotes from Chipo herself:
At her birthday party, for the first time ever, Chipo accidently called me mom. She was really embarrassed when she did it. She then decided that she wanted to give me a nickname. First, she decided my nickname had to be aunty. I protested because that makes it sound like Chipo is an orphan. Based on how often her mom calls me, I know she is far from an orphan. As we were headed to bed that night, I said, “goodnight mwana (child),” to Chipo. She replied with, “goodnight mupati.” And there you have it, my new nickname – big one.

A few of her favorite songs to sing:
All That She Wants by Ace of Base
How Straight Thou Art, her very own version of How Great Thou Art
Bust the Windows Out Chicago, another remix from Bust Your Windows (out cha car)

Me: Chipo, do you love me?
Chipo: I’ll tell you later.

(The reason I found this so funny is because Chipo is not an American child. She is Zambian through and through. She bows when she hands me something. She will get on her knees if she serves our older neighbors any food when they are at our home. She would wait an hour on me to serve her meat before she ever picked it for herself. She wouldn’t ever dream of going outside the house without a skirt or dress on that doesn’t go below her knees. The day she did wear jeans, she wore a chitange over top until she was off the farm. I literally laughed out loud when she said this because her answer was 100% American.)