Unsung Heroes

Usually on my trips to Zambia, I’m blown away by the stories of our women entrepreneurs - their determination, their resilience, their ingenuity. And I still was. But this trip left me in awe of a different group of people.

Our unsung heroes: our Zambia staff.

These women and men have been with us for years now, some since the very beginning. They have endured really difficult seasons of financial hardship and uncertainty. Some of our security team have been attacked. Some of our other staff have been robbed. These incredible individuals have walked through fire in their personal lives. And they’ve stuck it out with CiH when we’ve had really hard things to tackle together.

We had our Staff Retreat at a nearby lodge. The lodge offers an array of recreational activities for the day trip, such as fishing and safari and nature walks. After a very busy week, we were all ready to unwind. But we also had plans to discuss our direction and unified vision during some downtime.

We began the discussion with our accomplishments. My Western mindset immediately went to numbers - how many impacted, how many businesses created, percentages and data. But our Zambia staff offered their unique and valuable observations:

• Staff members saw themselves as “living proof” that the empowerment model truly changes lives and offered their own testimonies

• The entrepreneur training has made an indirect influence on the larger community, benefitting many

• Endurance: several staff noted how it is an accomplishment in itself to have pushed through seasons of difficulty while staying unified

• “Many will go on to believe there is still hope.”

  And perhaps the most significant accomplishment mentioned of them all:

• “Loving Others”

These accomplishments are only possible because of our Zambia staff. Sure we are also so grateful for the hundreds of women who have come through our doors, for those solid stats that prove the efficacy of our model. But the day in and day out investment of our staff has produced the most powerful accomplishment: loving others. In a world where it’s easy to feel unloved, unseen, unappreciated, our staff chooses to step out in their roles each and every day to make sure that’s not the case.

They are motivated by love, fueled by hope. Our staff reaches the most remote parts of the city compounds to visit with each entrepreneur, making sure she feels supported, ensuring that she has the training needed to succeed.

These women and men are our unsung heroes. They deserve more than just this post (more details coming on how to bless these incredible people), but I wanted our first follow-up post to be about them.

When it was time to wrap up and go off for fishing or nature walks, the staff refused to go. They said they would rather spend this precious time planning together, gaining a clear vision for what’s ahead, than to go off for the activity. (Don’t worry - we definitely all got to do an amazing safari drive together) But I found that to be a profound testament to who they are. Committed. Determined. Passionate. Not just a job, but a calling. I am honored to work shoulder-to-shoulder with these incredible individuals. Thank you for supporting them as you support Clothed in Hope as they support countless vulnerable women in Zambia.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy

Zambia Trip Recap

I’ve been back longer than I was away in Zambia, yet I’m still reaching for words to describe what happened during this trip.

Practically, our week was very full. Meetings, home visits, business visits, planning, more meetings. I hadn’t been for a visit since December 2019, so there was a lot of uncertainty. After a few years of our planning being a reaction to the economic challenges of shut downs and health issues, it was time to begin a new chapter. One where we can look forward. To this year, to 5 years from now, to a renewed vision for CiH and its place in Zambia.

After 3 years away, I was confronted with questions from within:
Was there still a place for CiH?
Is our entrepreneur program even working?
What did our staff want?
What are the needs to be met?

I was braced for hard answers. To come to a scene of question marks and unknowns.

But that wasn’t what happened.

I walked into a quiet confidence from our staff. A peaceful assurance in our people. Validation that this is EXACTLY where we are supposed to be.

This isn’t to say that there isn’t still need. Rather the opposite. There is immense need. Poverty is more rampant and intense than ever. Abuse is widespread. Lots and lots of struggle.

But instead of the feeling of chaos to address these issues, there was a feeling of stability.

We have a history. We have a tested program. We have more than a decade under our belt. And most of all, we have a team who is more passionate and dedicated and unified than ever before.

I look forward to sharing details with our exact plans forward in an upcoming post, along with personal stories from our graduates and entrepreneurs. For now, I’ll sign off by saying thank you.

Thank you for sustaining us in the uncertain years when we blindly took one step at a time, unsure of how this story would play out. Thank you for your faithful commitment to empowering women in a sustainable way, for doing the hard long-term work of transforming communities led by locals. Thank you for continuing to hope. For sending your dollars and encouragement that kept our women going during times that seemed impossible.

It may sound cheesy or exaggerated, but this trip really was magical. Unexpected in every wonderful way. We lost our luggage and I brought home a parasite, so I don’t say that it was void of difficulty. But it was wonderful in the deepest sense. A unified vision formed. Meaningful relationships cultivated. Tender conversations spoken. Powerful moments shared. The stuff life is all about. Life. Love. Overcoming. Encouragement. Empathy. Compassion. Sacrifice. HOPE.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy
CiH Founder

If you haven’t joined the CiH family just yet, now’s the perfect time. We need your partnership to continue this journey on behalf of women in Zambia. Sign up for the HOPE Club by clicking the button below:

A Legacy of Hope

When Clothed in Hope first began in Zambia in 2012, Shekiwe was only 10 years old. Her mom, Elina, joined our program as one of our first students. And as you may recognize her name, Elina graduated from our skills-training program to then become our Zambia Director as she is today. 

At 10 years old, many girls in Zambia are on their way out of school, especially as the third, fourth, or fifth child, when there are no more funds available in the family for school fees. Then comes the likely possibility of child marriage and teen pregnancy, two contributing factors to continuing the cycle of poverty.

But Shekiwe’s story has been different. 

Shekiwe grew up witnessing what was possible through her mom. Not merely surviving, as is the reality for so many, but thriving. She saw her mom chasing a dream. Igniting a passion. Living full of HOPE. 

Shekiwe’s mom, Elina, taught her determination in how she never gave up. Her mom taught her the importance of education through graduating from our program. Her mom taught her confidence in being proud of her accomplishments. Her mom taught her to dream big. To want more. To ignore the negative voices, and to embrace the possibilities ahead. 

Simply put - her mom taught her to HOPE. 

And because Shekiwe’s mom has loved, guided, provided for, and encouraged her every step of the way, Shekiwe is stepping onto a new path. A path dug out with hard-fought victories, struggles, defeats, and successes. 

Because of the incredible example shown by her mom, Shekiwe stayed in school. She excelled in school with a full belly, a growing mind, a stable home, and a loving family. Challenges that can trap young girls in a vicious cycle of dropping out of school, child marriage, and teen pregnancy stood no chance against Shekiwe, all because of Elina’s brave steps forward. 

Today Shekiwe is 22 years old (in the first photo below). She is truly following in her mom’s footsteps as she is in her second year at an esteemed fashion design school in Zambia. She runs a growing fashion brand called “Royalty Fashion Fanatics.” She is the second child in her entire extended family to ever attend college. She is incredibly talented. And she is full of HOPE. 

Shekiwe (first photo) with 2 of her custom designs for local clients in Lusaka, Zambia

---

Shekiwe is just one of 1,028 children of Clothed in Hope women. 

Friends, imagine what is ahead. Now that we’re over a decade out, babies are becoming teenagers. Young kids are becoming adults. And we are witnessing families truly breaking the cycle of poverty. 

Thank you for writing hundreds upon hundreds of stories of HOPE in the lives of women and their children in Zambia. 

Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

Our Entrepreneur Co-op is comprised of 15 women who graduated from our program and are now successful entrepreneurs. Most all of these women have received at least one Business Grant from us over the last few years.

This group of women is committed to meeting every few weeks, checking in with each other to share new ideas, problem solve, and best of all to provide encouragement every step of the way. As some of you may know, running a business is tough stuff. Running a business as a woman in Zambia is extra tough stuff.

When we formed this group, we were excited for the strength in unity that would surely come about. And it absolutely has. But one unexpected perk has also arisen, because these women are just that amazing.

Enter: Village Banking

This form of group savings is just like it sounds in the name- familiar, cultural, communal. And while this group of women doesn’t live in the village but rather in an urban neighborhood, the premise remains the same.

How does it work?

Each woman saves money to her name, recorded in a group notebook. Rather than keeping funds in a box with a shared key, as is sometimes customary (called merry-go-round savings), this method doesn’t put the burden of safekeeping of the box on any one person.

Each time the women gather together, everyone puts money into the pot, each choosing how much she wants to save. Then one woman can choose to withdraw or take a loan from the pot. She will re-pay the loan with interest over a set period of time. The next time that the women meet, another woman will take a loan from the pot, and she’ll repay that loan with interest over time. At the end of that time period, all of the interest collected is proportionally shared amongst the women according to how much each woman has saved, which is typically a large sum.

Sound confusing? Yes, I’ve had to ask for clarity many, many times and still probably don’t have every detail understood. But what matters most is that the group of women have it under control, and they absolutely do.

During this last share, each woman was able to purchase or pay for some really substantial things. And when access to capital is pretty tricky, this Village Banking model provided them with larger sums of money to be able to make dreams come true.

Here’s just a snapshot of what some women did with their “shareout:”

• Doreen purchased tiles to put down in her primary school classroom, covering the dusty concrete floor with beautiful tiles for cleanliness and a nice learning environment

• Charity paid for her daughter’s school fees. Did you catch that? Because of this Village Banking model, Charity was able to send her daughter to school.

• Mervis bought popcorn seeds to start a side business when it’s not farming season.

• And Elina bought a small plot of land to build shops for passive income generation.

Charity with her shareout

I know we say it a lot, but we really are so proud of these women. For their ingenuity, for their grit, for their determination, and for their commitment to one another and to paving a new path for their children.

Thank you for supporting these women through your monthly HOPE Club gifts, one-time contributions, and end-of-year donations. You are helping create these ripples of HOPE in Zambia.

With Chikondi (Love),

Amy
CiH Founder & Executive Director

Giving Thanks for You

"Unprecedented." How many times have you heard that word over the last 2 years?

We've heard it over and over again in an effort to make sense of these trying times. And I could use it here to describe this past year that started off with a tragic loss in our CiH family, a third wave, and challenging economic decline.

But what if we flip this word around?

Unprecedented: never before known or experienced

2021 was a year of unprecedented HOPE.

Ten women entrepreneurs in the middle of Zambia overcame all odds - a struggling economy, shut-downs, supply issues, and the undercurrent of poverty - to run and grow successful small businesses to support their families and benefit their communities.

Ten women faced their challenges head on, supported by one another, empowered with business knowledge, and cultivated a HOPE never before known or experienced.

Catherine's fields were FULL of vegetables and greens, and she experienced her biggest harvest ever.

Rabbecca doubled the size of her chicken run and had her biggest sale ever.

Tresa landed her first wholesale account with a local school to make school uniforms and acquired her biggest order ever.

The list goes on...

We are so very thankful that you have chosen to partner with us this year as we celebrate 10 years of HOPE, and look back on this year of unprecedented HOPE.

We hope that you, too, can look back on your year and find instances of unprecedented times in the very best way. A new perspective, a new hobby, a career change, an especially joyful day.

Happy Thanksgiving, friend. We give thanks for YOU.

With Chikondi (Love),

Amy
CiH Founder & Executive Director

---

Join us on November 30 for GivingTuesday, a global day of giving, as we change the world through generosity. Here are some ideas of how to get involved on this fun day:

• Share Clothed in Hope on your social media accounts and tell others why you are part of our CiH family

• Run a Facebook fundraiser challenge, asking each friend to donate $1 or $5 to hit a goal together

• Make a tax-deductible donation at clothedinhope.org/give

An A-Maize-ing New Business

We’ve been keeping a little secret over here these past few months!

As you may know, we’ve been partnering with a rural village 3 hours outside of Lusaka, Muchochoma Village, since 2013. We began a sewing skills-training program with a group of women there and they were the producers of our Village Twist Bracelet back in the day. Thanks to a generous private donor, we were able to drill a clean water well, benefitting hundreds of people in surrounding villages. Then we built a permanent brick building there to house our manual sewing machines and provide a training center for our monthly intensives, led by our staff from Lusaka.

While many of the women are now proficient in sewing (which is so great!), they have always been amazing farmers. Muchochoma Village is a farming village with entire families pitching in to harvest maize, sweet potatoes, squash, vegetables, and more. We were able to sponsor a business grant to boost their yield last year through providing seed and fertilizer.

This year, our staff had a great idea to further the independent success of the village.

For every other maize harvest, the women would have to take the maize to a government-sponsored milling factory for it to be processed into roller meal, which then becomes nshima, the national staple food. There is always a high demand for this, as it’s typically eaten for each of the 2-3 meals per day. But the women were only making a tiny profit on each harvest, not leaving enough money to purchase seed and fertilizer for the next season.

In comes the brilliant idea.

Food scarcity is on the rise, the prices of food are climbing, and yet there is the opportunity here to make a good amount of money. Our staff and the women of Muchochoma Village came up with the idea to purchase a Maize Hammermill. The CiH women could farm on a communal plot, pick the maize at harvest time, process it on their own Hammermill, then sell it directly to the nearby villages, controlling every part of the process and getting every bit of profit for their hard work.

We had to coordinate a quick build of a concrete structure to protect the equipment from the elements and then a tricky transport of a huge piece of machinery out to a village, so it’s been quite the process to get this Hammermill there. But we are thrilled to share that this season’s maize has been harvested and the Hammermill is now in use with our ladies in Muchochoma Village in control of their new business venture. We are so proud of them for taking on this exciting new project and continue to support them along the way.

Just take a look at these incredible entrepreneurs living an empowered life for the benefit of their families and entire village!

A huge thank you to Highland United Methodist Church in Raleigh, NC for providing a generous grant to fund this Hammermill project!

The Power of Motherhood

The power of motherhood is what gripped me 10 years ago. A college student, 21 years old, and not yet a mother, I was shocked at the power of motherhood across cultures.

This organization was formed out of a deep desire and vision to see families remain together, combatting the orphan crisis from a preventative measure by empowering mothers to rise out of poverty. The power of motherhood was heartbreakingly visible in the urban orphanages filled with children whose mothers were alive and able to care for them, but simply did not have the finances to feed another mouth and clothe another body. That very power became re-directed in each of our life-skills training classes.

With babies strapped on backs with a fabric sling, mothers poured into our Chikondi Community Center ready to learn a skill and be reminded of the immense strength inside to keep their children in their homes, to see them grow up to live happy, healthy lives. Mothers breastfed hungry babies while guiding fabric through sewing machines. Mothers gave out a precious coin to a toddler to run to the corner shop for a snack. Mothers rocked heavy babies to sleep as they took notes about entrepreneurship and profit margin. Mothers cared for each other’s babies as they took turns ironing their latest design in the showroom.

For years, I witnessed this power but didn’t quite understand it. How could a woman sacrifice so much of their time, energy, and even bodies with no complaint?

What I didn’t understand was that these very babies were both the recipient and the fuel of their mothers’ power. Each stitch completed while feeding that baby gave life to the vision of this little one growing up to complete school and live a different life than his mom did. Each aching shoulder of carrying the heavy baby on her back was the sacrifice and contribution of the mother to provide meals on the table without lacking. While she learned and worked, her little one took notice. While she sacrificed much, she gained much in the secure feeling of empowerment and rising above the poverty that kept her captive for far too long.

Many people see my involvement with Clothed in Hope as an investment. Giving much through a commitment. But over the years I have truly seen this work as mutually beneficial and mutually transformative.

I stepped into Clothed in Hope as a far observer of motherhood. I then journeyed with these mothers in my own pursuit to become a mother, initially filled with deep loss and sorrow. As I shared my own grief of losing babies, other women shared their own stories of pain in lost little ones, or the grip of infertility and its cultural challenges. Once I had lost my own babies, the rocking, the snack time, the peek-a-boo, it all felt healing. Rather than another mundane task to complete, it felt purposed. That this was the gift of this community. That I, too, was tapping into the power of motherhood even in my waiting. Together we were modeling for these future world changers that hope is powerful, that joy is contagious, that community is necessary, and that love is life-giving. In the safe haven of our Chikondi Community Center, women were being changed through practical life skills, yes, but also with the fire and drive to pave a new path for the little ones who accompanied them day in and day out.

Years into CiH with layers of my own grief and anticipation, I became a mother. Carrying the sensitivity forged by the pain I experienced along the way, I felt a sense of comradery with the women of Clothed in Hope in a new way. I couldn’t equate my struggle with theirs, as we live on separate continents and were born into different circumstances, but I could start to appreciate the power of motherhood that is uniting across all cultures. In sorrow, in pain, in sacrifice, in really hard days, in profound moments of shaping a little one’s life forever.

Since starting Clothed in Hope, I have become a mom to two little boys. These boys know about the women in Zambia, and I look forward to the day that they’ll know these women’s stories of overcoming, of perseverance, of power. I love raising boys who are learning about life from these strong women, just as the many little ones have done while soaking in the room on the backs of their mothers.

And in just a few short weeks, I’ll become a mom to a little girl.

I’ll get to raise a girl to become a woman walking in the steps of these incredible women who have shaped me, taught me, challenged me, and shown me the immense power of motherhood. One that gives much, one that receives much. One that is utilized to better the world and inspire others. Whether or not my own girl chooses to become a mother one day, I am so grateful that she has this army of mothers who love her and can show her the diversity, complexity, and beauty of being a woman in a way that I’d never be able to on my own.

These weeks ahead preparing for my little girl to enter the world feel purposed and special. Like lighting a fire to begin passing the torch to the next generation of women who will change the world through both the mundane and the spectacular. Through showing up each day, putting in the work, giving much, getting much, and fueling the fire within.

I am grateful for the power of motherhood that has changed me over the last decade. I am grateful to learn from women who love deeply, live sacrificially, and shine so brightly for their benefit and for the sake of their children. Before I was a mother this power changed me, and as I walk in this new role of motherhood, it continues to each and every day.

I look forward to sharing the newest CiH woman with you once she has made her arrival. Thank you for walking this road with me, with the women in Zambia, in every season. We are all so very thankful for you.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy
CiH Founder & Executive Director

Catherine's Business is GROWING

Earlier this year, Catherine S. received a water pump from her Business Grant. Catherine wanted this gas-powered pump to supply water to her vegetable farm to maximize yield and grow healthier vegetables. We expected to see a slight increase in quality during our first Entrepreneur Visit after she received the pump. But we expected there to be a learning curve as she figured out this new piece of machinery.

We definitely didn’t expect what we saw at the first Entrepreneur Visit at Catherine’s vegetable farm...

Catherine’s vegetable farm is HUGE and thriving and healthy and ready to be harvested already. And because of this water pump, she’s able to continue the planting and harvesting cycle even in the upcoming months of dry season, a time when she and her family have previously struggled to make an adequate income. This year-round irrigation system means year-round income and the ability to grow her business even more with the increased capital.

Catherine’s community is already benefitting with year-round access to healthy vegetables at an affordable price, especially during a time of rising food insecurity and economic hardship.

Catherine shared with us and her Business Grant donor, “We are saying thank you for what you have done for us by giving us this water pump. Recently we used to hire (rent) a water pump which was costly to us. We are saying thank you. Now we can do farming throughout the year. Things will be well with us this year.”

We love it! A relatively small investment is having a huge impact on Catherine’s life, on her family, and on her entire community. We are inspired and encouraged by Catherine’s hard work and vision for her growing business!

Click below to see a video of Elina, our Zambia Director, visiting just ONE of Catherine’s vegetable farms...

Still Going Strong

• We've held 9 Food Distributions at our Chikondi Community Center. Women wait in our courtyard, spaced out and with masks on, until it is their turn to receive the food bundle.

• Our 10th Distribution was in our partnership village, Muchochoma Village, where we sent a bus load of staple foods, soap, sanitizer, and fertilizer for their crops. Life in the city is really tough right now, but this village is feeling the economic effects of COVID-19 even harder. We are in contact with our women there and will continue to help as needed.

• In total, YOU have made it possible to provide food for 625 people so far!

Zambia is hurting.

Prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, Zambia was already struggling economically. The details of the how/why is in this recent WSJ article.

Here's what it means for our women (and millions of others in Zambia): "At least 6.9 million of Zambia’s 17.4 million citizens don’t have sufficient food, up 290,000 from three months ago, according to the World Food Programme." 

THIS is why we are holding Food Distributions, when we aren't an aid organization. 
THIS is why we've been changing up our plans for this year. 
THIS is why we need to care. Food insecurity is a real problem, and it doesn't look like it's getting better anytime soon. 

We have plans in the works to create self-sustaining co-ops centered around food production, but unfortunately things like this take time. Until we can get a plan off the ground (figuring out details from thousands of miles away since we can't get there), we will keep taking care of our women in this way.

COVID-19 is spreading rapidly after a quiet and slow start in the country. Hospitals are nearing capacity, and there are reportedly only 4 laboratories testing for COVID-19 for the entire nation.

But there is still HOPE.

"My name is Martha Banda. I graduated in 2019. As to today, on behalf of the women of Chikondi, I really appreciate what you have done for us today, for remembering us. Thank you for the donation which you have given to us. It will go a long way during this pandemic that we are having here in our country. Thank you very much. May God bless you. Amen."

"Hello! My name is Sarah Zimba. We just want to appreciate all our helpers, those who have given us  all the goods during this Coronavirus pandemic. Most of us have been depressed, naturally down. So we just want to appreciate you. We want to thank you for what you've done! We say thank you. Let the works of your hands be blessed. Thank you very much!"

"My name is Maureen Chanda. I graduated in 2019. I just really appreciate what you have done. You have shown love. Just like the name of the center is, Chikondi, it means love. Some like me, I was working. I'm no longer working. This food will go a long way for me during this pandemic. Continue with this work. Thank you so much."

"My name is James. I am jobless due to this crisis. This relief has come at a time to keep me from starving. Help has just come at a time when I was losing it because I have no money to support myself for now. Thanks for everything you've done for us and where you have brought us."

Our graduates are trained entrepreneurs. They are capable and smart and determined. But a crumbling economy and global pandemic are just too tough, even for the best resourced. We've felt it here. They're feeling it there, big time. 

Let's keep remembering them. Remember our fellow humans in Zambia, in America, and around the world.
Thank you for giving HOPE and being a light in this dark time.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy + the CiH Team

Keeping Families Alive

Yesterday was our 2nd Food Distribution at our Chikondi Community Center. If you’ve been around here for more than a minute, you know that we are incredibly passionate about development. Teach a man how to fish (or teach a woman how to run a small business). We don’t give things away. We empower. We teach. We train.

But that model can only thrive when the individuals in our program have their basic needs met: food, water, shelter, safety. When one or more of those needs aren’t being met, the brain cannot absorb teachings on profit maximization, and it fails that individual greatly. When basic needs aren’t met, survival is the only focus. I’d imagine that would be heightened times 100 when children are involved.

And that’s where we are. Thankfully COVID-19 as a virus hasn’t affected much of Zambia in the way it has here in the US. But the ripple effects economically have devastated those who were most vulnerable to begin with. Inflation is sky-rocketing. Food prices are rising daily. It’s nearly impossible to run a micro-enterprise right now.

Our women and their families are hungry. Add on power cuts and dry season and they’re also struggling to find clean water in their own communities. Times are harder than I have ever seen there in the 10 years I’ve been going to or living in Zambia. And when those suffering are our dear friends, sisters, and staff, it’s just awful.

Thus, food distributions. We have seen over 300 women come through our doors since we started our training classes in 2012. Through the years we’ve been able to help a few individuals in their personal crisis thanks to the generosity of our CiH family. But now it’s not just a select few. It’s the majority. The majority of our women are hungry. And when people are hungry and desperate, things can get even harder.

We don’t want women to fall victim to sex trafficking or prostitution to get money. So we’re going to show up.

We don’t want to children risking their lives by begging around communities. So we’re going to show up.

We don’t want any more women to be left by their husbands due to no food in the home. So we’re going to show up.

We don’t want women to have to choose between feeding themselves or feeding their kids. So we’re going to show up.

We don’t want immunocompromised women to expose themselves to a deadly virus by looking for a few cents to buy some scraps of food for the day. So we’re going to show up.

We don’t want any women to struggle alone. So we’re going to show up.

The stories we’re hearing at each food distribution are heart-breaking. We are cycling women through based on greatest needs, but the need is still so overwhelming.

Just yesterday, one graduate said that this distribution has come at the perfect time to keep him from starving. (Not our “starving” but truly, starving.) He is jobless, and he shared with the group that this help as come when he was about to lose it all. “Thanks for everything you’ve done for us and for where you have brought us,” he shared.

Just yesterday, a previous student came and fell to her knees in gratitude. Her husband just left her because she couldn’t keep food on the table for him (though he was the one employed). He sent his brother to steal her sewing machine and loot her entire store, leaving her with absolutely nothing. She had been searching up and down her street for any food that people could spare. When we heard her situation, we brought her in. Tears of relief. Tears of exhaustion. Tears of pain.

I wish I could say that was it. But friends, these days are hard. These stories are excruciating. These women and their families are suffering immensely, more than I can ever fathom. It hurts me to hear and not be there.

But I am SO PROUD of our Zambia staff members, also facing their own hardships, who are stepping up to hold these food distributions in the safest ways to keep our families alive. They are doing hard and holy work, and it’s an honor to partner with them.

Right now our plan is to hold weekly food distributions, cycling through women in our program. We will stay aware of the greatest needs in the community and try to meet those as quickly as we can. Women will keep coming back for distributions for the immediate future, as long as the situation remains so dire. We are also distributing clean water for free for any of our women + any members of our community who cannot find it, which is turning out to be a lot. THANK YOU for making it possible to show up. THANK YOU for loving big, for giving big, for keeping hope alive in this challenging time. We know it’s hard for everyone in their own way, and we know that the only way we can all get through it is to stick together. I’m honored to do this together with you.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy

We are so very thankful to have enough funds to keep this going for the next couple of months. We have no idea how long this struggle will last. If you’d like to contribute to our relief fund for food distributions and emergency assistance, you can give below:

(Thank you to our Head Caretaker, Eddie, for these powerful photos.)

Meeting Faith

If you’ve been following along with us over the past year, you may remember hearing the tragic news about the loss of Hope, a twin girl of one of the ladies in our program. Hope passed away from being severely malnourished due to a medical condition, just hours after we visited her and were met with incredibly discouraging road blocks to her care by a corrupt medical system.

Fast forward to last week when I was back in Zambia for a quick trip...

I was walking around the center during a break from our 6-hour Entrepreneurship Training. My brain was fried from teaching this course and fighting jetlag simultaneously. I stepped down from the staff office into our training room. Standing at the bottom of the step was a woman and her daughter speaking with a visitor who came with us from the US. I quickly acknowledged her with a traditional “Hi, how are you?” which was reciprocated. I went on with my break and training, racking my brain from how I knew those familiar faces. I just couldn’t place it.

When we got back to our Airbnb for the evening, Tara, the US visitor, informed me that the woman and the toddler were actually Mirriam and her daughter, Faith. The mom and twin sister to Hope!

I was stunned. Shocked. Mirriam’s eyes were full of life and joy. She stood tall and confident. And Faith – the most unrecognizable of all. The last place I saw her was in a tiny hospital crib crying out in pain and loss amongst a sea of other severely malnourished babies and toddlers in horrific conditions. She seemed like she was the size of a 9 month old baby when she had just turned 2. I recognized Faith’s eyes at the center the other day, but her body was transformed. She stood tall, smiling big with a full face and full belly. She skipped around the center like every little almost-3-year-old should. That’s why I didn’t recognize her. She was healthy and thriving.

Her mom told us that though the grief journey continues and tears come to them often, they are all doing well. Mirriam is feeding Faith nourishing foods such as avocado to fill her little body with all the fats and vitamins she needs to grow. You would never know that this Faith was the same little Faith in the hospital just 8 months ago. I know many of you were heartbroken for this family. You cried with us and you provided the funds for a proper funeral for baby Hope. You gave money towards food for the tradition of family coming to stay from far away to mourn the loss of baby Hope and hold up the rest of the family.

While we can’t take credit for the survival and thriving of Faith (that was a miracle!), we do know that your prayers, funds, and friendship have carried Mirriam and equipped her with all she needs to care for her beautiful girl.

With all that was going on last March, we didn’t even know about the other children in Mirriam’s family. Faith has an older sister, Dorothy, full of giggles and funny faces. Mirriam also took in Richard, her sister’s son, after her sister passed away just months after Richard was born. Mirriam remains married to her husband who has been supportive through all that life has brought them over the past year. Below is a photo of Mirriam, Dorothy, Richard, and precious Faith.

We miss Hope. We wish she was still here and a part of this family photo. And in the midst of that grief is also gratitude that Faith has survived. And now she thrives. Joy + grief. Gratitude + pain.

Maybe this explains your holiday season, too, as you miss a loved one or are walking through a season of suffering. We see you. We hold you close, just as we hold Mirriam and her family close. Thank you for being in our CiH family.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy

She Made it Happen

Ever meet someone who just makes things happen? Maybe he/she is a pro networker or excellent multitasker or just drinks a ton of coffee.

Ever heard of someone who just makes things happen in the middle of a rural village? Without social media, without the connections, without resources, without coffee (gasp). Just tons of grit and determination.

That’s Precious Chisangano. This woman.

She lives in Muchochoma Village (where we’re about to open our brand new facility!). She graduated from our skills-training program in 2017.

Those two sentences seem matter-of-fact, but let’s break that down a bit:

-Muchochoma Village: a rural village 3 hours outside Lusaka, the capital city; a former self-proclaimed “beggar village” as the poorest of the poor in the region before we started our training; a farming community; the “typical” village with mud brick and grass thatch huts; primarily accessible by ox-drawn carts

-Graduating from our skills-training program: for a woman in the village to graduate from our program, it takes extra grit. She is already responsible for tending to her family’s farm plot and working the land. She’s responsible for raising the children, few of whom are able to go to school. Yet she finds time to attend class regularly, learn how to sew and how to run a business, create 5 custom garments without patterns, and jump on a CiH bus to Lusaka to graduate. A lot, right? It is.

Precious did it. She graduated. And she used that momentous occasion as a launch pad for her dreams. Some may say that her life will never change because she lives the village life. But Precious believes otherwise.

She wants to be a businesswoman.

Instead of waiting for our next microloan cycle to get the capital needed to purchase a sewing machine, she went out (literally) and MADE IT HAPPEN.

She went out into the nearby forest to join others from the village in harvesting charcoal. She took the hundred-pound logs, cut them down, put them into 50 pound bags to sell on the roadside, and sat outside in the blazing sun to sell her handmade bags of charcoal.

We had no idea. But that’s how she wanted it. She wanted to make it happen because she knew she was capable and strong and smart. Goodness is she smart.

Precious sold enough bags of charcoal on the roadside to buy her own machine. SHE BOUGHT HER OWN SEWING MACHINE, folks!

The start of her own small business. Her dream becoming a reality. She is now making custom garments and school uniforms for customers from nearby villages. She plans to open her own stand to showcase her beautiful work.

Precious says,

My family will have a better life now than before.

Instead of patting her own back for MAKING IT HAPPEN, she says thank you. Thank you to her teachers and to each one of you who supports Clothed in Hope.

Thank you for empowering Precious to see what she’s capable of - big, wonderful, incredible things. A new path for her family. A fresh start.

Precious with her VERY OWN SEWING MACHINE! Her smile - that’s what it’s all about.

---

Want to jump in to provide skills-training to even more women like Precious in Muchochoma Village and in Lusaka? We’d love to have you! Join our HOPE Club to provide life-changing opportunities and write stories of HOPE with us.

Joy + Sorrow

How do I even begin to summarize my time in Zambia a couple weeks ago? If you haven’t heard, a baby girl named Hope, the daughter of a woman who was scheduled to graduate during this cycle, passed away shockingly. She suffered a lot. And it didn’t need to be like that.

I’ve been wrestling with that ever since I’ve been home. I bet many of you have had similar thoughts about the injustices of this world. It is just hard.

But the trip wasn’t all hard. Not at all. That’s the other shocking part.

Just as there was space made for sorrow, there was space made for joy. The two co-existing. The two held sacred.

We held a graduation for over 20 women who heard their names announced publicly and positively for the first time ever. We danced and celebrated.

We held a grieving mama who had to stay strong so her surviving daughter, Hope’s twin, would survive. And Hope’s twin, Faith, held onto her stuffed animal, about the same size of Hope and dressed in her dressed covered in her scent to comfort her as she screamed out for her “mpundu” or twin.

We visited a private game reserve for our first-ever Zambia staff retreat where many of our staff ladies saw a giraffe for the very first time and smiled in purest joy. They filled their stomachs with the buffet and talked about how peaceful it was to get out of the bustling city.

We visited Martha’s home for Hope’s visitation. Shoes off, kneeling before female elders, shaking hands, meeting sorrowful eyes, sitting on handmade grass mats. Understanding in that very moment that this is community.

It doesn’t cost us our joy to meet another in their sorrow. If anything, it expands it. Our hearts swell when we use them how they’re designed to be used. To be broken for one another, to be healed with one another, to be expanded by experiences, to be shared and poured out, to be filled and built up.

This trip was complicated. It started out with a schedule and a casual check-in with our ladies. We flew home without much of “accomplished” yet everything accomplished.

We know that our program is working. We saw it at graduation. We saw it in our staff. And we saw it vividly at Hope’s visitation.

Community. Empowerment. Encouragement. Love. Joy. Hope. Sacrifice. Overcoming. Determination. Faith. Kindness.

All existing in a society and others in the community trying their hardest to trip up, to defeat, to oppress, to shame, to hurt, to keep down, to belittle and to silence.

Thank you to every single one of you sowing into this organization. You are raising a banner of HOPE over hundreds of women and thousands of their children. You are creating a force to be reckoned with - women who will not be stopped, women who will not let their friend suffer alone, women who are fighting for their children to walk a new path in life. We are honored to partner with you in this hard and incredible work.

With Chikondi (Love),
Amy

---

If you want to join us in this work, join the HOPE Club. Click the button below:

Patience's Story

If you're part of our HOPE Club, you're already familiar with this story since it was our October HOPE Story. But it was too special to keep within the Club, so we're sharing it with all of you!

Patience's story is just one of many, and she represents the dozens and dozens of women in our program who have risen above oppression to choose a better life for themselves and their families. Her story is still being written, as she's a current student in our Kaunda Square location. She will graduate this coming March. During our recent trip to Zambia we asked who would want to share their story with our CiH family in America, and Patience was eager to do so. 

Patience has a voice and she's excited to use it. It's up to us to listen, to be inspired, and to act.

"My name is Patience Mulenga. I have one boy who is 4 years old and one girl who just turned 1 year. I started at this Kaunda Square class in March.
 
I heard about the class from the first group of students. I was standing by the road one day and helped them carry chitenge fabric and a machine. I told them that I wasn’t doing any business, and they invited me to join the class since I was just sitting at home. I met with the Teacher to find out if I could join and she said I could start in March.
 
I have enjoyed learning everything so far. I’ve always had the passion to sew but didn’t know anything about it. Someone bought me an old sewing machine a while ago, and now I can actually start to use it. Learning has given me so much joy and I’ve been inspired. I’ve managed to learn how to sew other things. I can see clothes I like and then cut out the design on fabric to make it. I can imagine a design and then make it. My sewing isn’t perfect but I am still practicing.
 
When I finish my course and start my sewing business I will be able to enroll my son into preschool. I want to name my business 'With God.'
 
You should continue with funding this program. You are really empowering a lot of us and it’s helping us women who are less privileged. The skill will take us far. There are many women going about and sleeping with men so that they can feed their children. But with this, a lot of women will be able to stand on their own as women. When you have this skill as a woman, you can go far. You will never lack. So I am saying thank you for this program."

Did you catch that?

When you have this skill as a woman, you will go far. 

You will never lack. 

THIS is what you are giving to women in Zambia when you partner with us. This dignity, this hope, this confidence, this success. While Patience is the one overcoming much, you can be the facilitator of that change. You get to link arms with her and see lives changed in Zambia. 

Want in?

The Very Beginning Pt. 6 + Final

This is the final post in our 6 part series "The Very Beginning." If you haven't been following along, you'll want to start HERE for the whole story!

---

The women in our CiH class told me that I couldn’t live among them in the compound because people would know that I was there and I would not be safe. And if I wasn’t safe, I wouldn’t be able to help them and teach them.

I took that same truth to the situation of the gunshots that one night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest easy and be restored in that house if I stayed there. And I needed to be my best self if I wanted the best for the ladies.

So today I'm meeting with a USC-Aiken professor’s son who heard about me from some generous press that USC (University of South Carolina, of course) did for Clothed in Hope. He has a room for rent at his home in a prominent neighborhood in Lusaka. Maybe I’ll just go for dinner to feel it out and see if it’s even an option. Living with two guys wasn’t in my plan for Zamlife, but at this point I can’t eliminate any options.

Since I don’t have a car, they pick me up at the cottage. Both of these guys are also new graduates, all of us the same age. The professor’s son is from the south and somehow that brings a bit of familiarity to the weird situation. I made no-bake cookies to bring them a taste of home. I know how hard it is to be somewhere so different.

We pull up to their house and it’s amazing. Super safe with 24/7 on-call security, an automated gate from remote only. Beautiful grounds, a pool, a garden. Like an oasis. We sit down to dinner, a soup and some chicken tenders that had been prepared by their housekeeper who they are able to provide employment to with their social enterprise start-up funds.

Even though they’re talking about global economics and other really smart things that fly over my head 100x, it feels familiar and safe and welcoming. I feel like I have a pretty good judge of character, and these guys feel more like family than creeps.

But how will I explain to my parents that I’m moving in with two guys, soon to be three after their friend joins them? Mom and Dad don’t know what happened the other night. And I feel that this meeting is a divine one, that there’s purpose in the timing of me meeting them and this room being available for a very affordable price.

I sleep on it and think it through for a few days. The cottage seems lonelier than ever and I realize that I just need to be around people. That roommates would be good. Sure, male roommates aren’t ideal when it comes to finding BFFs, but I’m pretty much out of options. If anything, living with men would bring an added layer of security that I don’t get when living by myself as a woman in Zambia, unfortunately.

I call my parents and have to spill it all. They don’t say much but I know they’re shocked, scared even. And we all decide that moving in with them is the best option. They’re coming to visit in a couple of months and will see it for themselves. So I spend the evening packing up my things and move across town into the vacant room in the guys’ house.

My new bedroom, complete with makeshift curtains from extra muslin fabric and a chitenge I bought on the side of the road. Nonprofit budgets are real, folks.

There are a billion stories that can come from this unique living arrangement, but just imagine the show New Girl. But Zam style. With a few goat legs on the kitchen counter, a tortoise in the house, a black mamba once on the outdoor chair cushion, and plenty of other crazy tales.

A very dead, very venomous snake.

But here, I’m safe. And these guys have been incredibly helpful with finding a car for me to get safely around town, saving tons of time driving instead of riding. They have introduced me to people I should know, given me tons of advice, and provided the friendship and community that I really need these first few months. The biggest gift of this arrangement besides my safe place to stay has been the housekeeper/chef/new BFF, Faith. She teaches me how to cook with local ingredients and shares in much-needed laughs at the end of difficult days.

I’ve only been in Zambia for one month and already so much has changed. The program has taken off with our meetings a few times a week. We’re registered as a Zambian charity. We have a local bank account (thanks to the guys’ connections), a vehicle, sewing machines, and we just started making fabric bracelets to sell in America.

These bracelets - the Knot and Village Twist - are still available in our shop today!

What we’ve done in one month could’ve taken a year to accomplish. It hasn’t come easy, and there are plenty of days that I wonder what on earth I’m doing. But this job is so full of joy, of adventure, and I can see glimpses of how this really will be able to change a woman’s life. What these women desire is empowerment and education, so that’s what we’ll do.

I know we have a long road ahead of us to develop this start-up into a formalized program, but I’m here. And we’re still learning to trust each other. I want them to see that they’re worth the hardships of adjusting to life in Zambia. That I am excited to be here because it means being here with them, learning about their lives, their struggles, their joys, and being part of those stories.

We now have nine women in this first group, still meeting in Elina’s house. If even one of these women is impacted through this program, I’ll consider all of this worth it and a huge success. Only time will tell where this will go, how it will change, and what other adventures lie ahead for my life in Zambia.

--

I lived in Zambia for over two years after this phase, in half a dozen other places with other people, with my husband (lots happened in that timeframe). I lived my formative early twenties halfway across the world in a culture so different, but I wouldn’t trade that experience for the world. I moved over to Zambia expecting to stay for years, decades, but after just three years I had worked myself out of a job.

What we thought would happen in 5+ years, raising up local leaders to fully run the program, happened in around 2.5. Elina, the first contact turned student, is now our Zambia In-Country Director, managing nine other staff members who were students or relatives of students. We went from five people in one living room to over 170 in three (soon to be 4!!!) locations, all because the women in our first class took the tools given to them and ran with them. They ignited their communities with HOPE, and showed what can happen when you dream big, work hard, and choose a new path for yourself and your family. We’re not perfect, and we’re not even close to having it all figured out.

But one of my greatest life joys and accomplishments is this group of 10 people who are now investing directly and intentionally in their own communities to see huge waves of change surge through places marked by oppression and abuse and poverty. THEY are the change-makers because of YOU. YOU set us on this course, keep us on this course, and what’s happening in Zambia through CiH is just so incredibly special.

If you do anything this fall, COME TO THE GALA FOR HOPE! One is in Raleigh and one in Columbia, so there’s double the chance to get there to meet Elina for yourself. To hear this story from her perspective, and to meet the most inspiring woman I have ever come across. I promise you won’t regret it.

Here we are, five years after that exciting, crazy launch of Clothed in Hope in Lusaka, Zambia, and we are just getting started, friends. Thank YOU for making it happen, for being our world-changers, our movers and shakers, our family. You are the very best. Let’s keep this going and keep HOPE spreading through Zambia and around the world.

Elina and I in 2012.

---

If you're not in NC or SC and therefore can't make it to the Gala for Hope and still want to be a part of facilitating life-change for vulnerable women in Zambia, join the Hope Club! HC folks are our foundation, our family of supporters who keep the program running, thriving and growing. We'd love for you to join us. You can sign up HERE. 

The Very Beginning Pt. 5

If you're just now joining us, head HERE to start at Part 1.

---

Mark is back in America. I’m living in a little cottage near the family’s house. Once I got all unpacked, I just sit on the couch and cry. What on earth am I doing? I had to get all of that fear and insecurity out of my system in order to move on and pursue what I know I’m here to do.

I walk to the compound by myself every day and it feels really good. I have my morning routine down of $7 Rice Krispies for breakfast (a worthy splurge to remind me of home), a hot shower (praise!), a little reading, and out the door to spend 10am-4pm with Elina and the ladies. I come home, stopping at the grocery store for fresh (mostly) vegetables, and cook up some rice to go with it, a three hour process from start to dishes cleaned and put away.

I’m housesitting for another American woman. This cottage is super cute, decorated exactly how I would dream of decorating my own place someday. It’s quiet and restful, and is a gift to be able to rent.

But I’d be lying if I said that nighttime isn’t hard for me. Often times, especially since it’s dry season, the power goes out around 8pm, and it’s just my laptop and me and bad cell service.  I’ll read a little bit, try to contact friends back home, try to catch my boyfriend during his work break, but usually just end up writing emails to people I miss. It’s only been a few weeks, but it’s pretty lonely here.

Tonight is a night like every other. The power just went out at 8, just after I finished the dishes and got a hot shower, thankfully. Today I had a lot of work to do on my computer and phone, and pulled a rookie move- I wasn’t charging them while I was using them.

Phone is almost dead, computer is dead, and I’m out of candles. It’s pitch black. I’ve always been kind of afraid of the dark, so I’m already on edge. I lock the house with the padlocks. Bars are on the windows (as most houses have), and I lock myself in the bedroom for some perceived safety. This night feels especially creepy, but I can’t tell my parents who are 6,000+ miles away. It’ll only worry them.

An hour or so has passed. I’m about to go to sleep when I hear a strange noise. Pow pow. Brakes? The road is quiet and I don’t think it’s a car. It gets louder.

It’s gunshots.

I hear them coming closer on the other side of the concrete wall that’s about eight feet high. My bedroom window is only two feet from the wall. I lay perfectly still, as if that’ll keep them away. Heart pounding, sweating, tears falling out of my eyes without my awareness of them.

I look around the room. There’s nowhere I could hide that wouldn’t still be exposed with the windows filling up most of the wall. Usually I like those windows and the breeze that flies through them.

So I lay there. Praying. Crying. Regretting every bit of the go-getter in me who thought I needed to live alone to prove my independence and such.

And I realized in that moment that there are two options: I will either be shot by this gunman approaching the property. Or I will live. That’s it. It may sound wild, but I just felt overwhelmed with the sense of doom, fighting fear with every ounce of my being. A physical pain almost. Would I survive this, or would this be the end of my story, my life?

By the grace of God, I somehow fell asleep. I woke up from the light shining in my window, birds chirping, the world seemingly unaware of the horror of the night before.

Cautiously I unlocked the bedroom door and tip-toed around the house. Everything was intact, the padlock still on the front door. I was okay. I made it through.

And I had two choices: either stay locked inside forever and live in the fear of what could happen, or choose to take that step of faith outside the house, trusting that the God who brought me to Zambia was the one who would walk with me every step of the way.

It changed me. It changed my idea of faith, of trust, of God.

I chose to get ready for the day, open the gate, and take the step outside, walking the same path I’d walked every day so far.

But I knew something had to change.

Part 6, the final piece of The Very Beginning, goes live 7/19

---

Only ONE MONTH left to grab your ticket for our Galas for Hope! Meet Elina, our very first student and now Zambia Director, who is coming to the U.S. for the first time to share her powerful story with YOU! It's going to be great and we hope you'll join us.

The Very Beginning Pt. 4

If you are just now joining us for this fun blog series, you'll want to start HERE at the very beginning of The Very Beginning. 

---

Mark leaves tomorrow. We have been killin’ it with all that we’ve been able to get done right out of the gate like this. We bought sewing machines downtown, another memorable experience. They shoved these giant manual machines into cars smaller than Corollas and drove them to the edge of the Ng’ombe Compound. And then some random guy came out to CARRY THEM ON HIS SHOULDER to Elina’s house where we’d begin our training. We know why he was so generous to help, so we tipped him a couple dollars for his hard work and he was thrilled. 

The Joanne Fabrics of Lusaka, Zambia

Our first five ladies learned how to make fabric flowers with a needle and thread. Mark presented on marketing and business practices from his wealth of knowledge. We established group rules, brought a few other ladies into the group, gathered photos and some stories, and started the ladies on the manual sewing machines. 

Jessy learning how to use the manual sewing machines

The days felt long but went by so fast with Mark by my side. They were full and rich and challenging and joyful, and we were getting in a really good groove. 

We took a taxi (that was recommended to us) three hours outside of the city to a national park with roads rougher than we or the taxi driver knew possible. After bottoming out several times and wondering if we’d ever make it in one piece, we arrived for our debrief and rest safari after two weeks of nonstop activity. 

And here we are back in Lusaka. Mark’s packing up. We’ve never spent this much time together, all day everyday, in our entire lives. We learned that we could eat dinner for less than $1 if we bought day-old scones at the grocery store and dipped them in our jar of peanut butter. We learned that Coca-Cola is cheaper than water, but probably won’t make you feel good if it’s all you drink. We learned how to say hello, how are you, and see you tomorrow in Nyanja. And we also learned that we could really get on each other’s nerves. 

A part of me is excited to send Mark back to America. I think I’m ready to do this thing on my own now (another “haha” moment, five years later). 

When Mark leaves tomorrow, I’ll be moving out of this family’s house and into my own place. I think I can handle living on my own in the middle of a brand new country that I still don’t really know. Right? 

Part 5 is a wild one & launches 7/12

---

Time is running out to get your Gala for Hope tickets! Grab yours TODAY to be sure to make it for this amazing event! Elina is coming to America for the very first time to share her story with you, and it's an incredible one you won't want to miss. Go HERE to get your tickets.

The Very Beginning Pt. 3

If you are just now joining us for this fun blog series, you'll want to start HERE at the very beginning of The Very Beginning. 

---

We wake up early to the sounds of screams and giggles of the kids running through the house. I think we’ve missed breakfast, so we dive back into the Clif bar stash. I never knew that mushy brown bars could be so life-giving. 

Afternoons in cold season may feel warm with the bright sun, but mornings are cold. Like shivering cold. Houses don’t have insulation; so all-night we felt the chilly wind whip through the glass slat windows. And for a girl who enjoys 80 degrees at bedtime, this is a challenge. I wake up still tired from stirring in the cold, only to find out that there is only cold water in the tap. The expert would’ve already tested the water to figure out the best time to bathe. But day three into my baby powder hair treatment, coated in the dust from the walk the day before, I have no other options. A true amateur. 

So I’m quickly introduced to the bucket bath with cold water in a cold tile bathroom. I don’t even think about how much of a gift it is that water even comes out of the tap, and instead am shrieking at Mark to take pity on me as he enjoys his own Clif bar breakfast in the other room. 

Here’s the technique: use your hands as a scooper and strategically position your head over the tub so that when the water hits your hair, not even a drop of its ice-coldness will touch your body. AND GO FAST. The body can just be washed down real fast and touch ups made with baby wipes that I packed last-minute. I just accept the reality that I will never be as clean as I hope to be, and move on with the day. And also scour the aisles of the grocery store later on to find all of the baby powder to keep myself from having to endure that cold water torture every morning. 

Ok here we go. Hair is half greasy, half wet, all cold. I’ve got my linen pants on (that I thought were required to be an American living in Zambia - joke’s on me), ready to face the paperwork day. 

We meet Elina at the bus stop at 8am. The office opens at 8 and we have to get a good start on the process. I’m thinking that we’ll easily be done by lunchtime, and start looking around for lunch options on our bus ride, as I’m practically sitting in the lap of the strange man sitting next to me so that all of us will fit in the bus as the “conductor” instructs. But you can’t beat it for 20 cents. Watching my tall brother fit himself in one of those buses shows that he’s got skills that would win any game of Twister. Just sayin’. 

We’re here. Standing in a surprisingly organized line at the office where we’ll register as an official Zambian charity. Elina and her friend take the lead on this, and I couldn’t be more thankful for them in these moments. They return and inform us that we have the forms! Yay! But they must be filled out by TYPEWRITER. I repeat, typewriter, like in the olden days, y’all. 

The only place they know to go find a typewriter? City Market. The market of all markets, one of the busiest, craziest places in the entire city of Lusaka. During my trip in 2010, I went here with a male leader and some guys from my group, and a man asked them how much it would cost to buy me. Real talk. 

Needless to say, I’m definitely not pumped to be going here. But we have to. We jump in another bus, walk over streams of litter, and join a huge mass of people heading to City Market, senses working overtime. 

We pass the stalls of fabric, secondhand shoes, counterfeit soccer jerseys, fake Barbie dolls from China, plastic hair clips, and are just a couple rows from the typewriter man. 

The row that’s between this typewriter and us is enough to send me back to America, but I’m with Mark and have to pretend to be brave and power through. A table stretching 15+ feet is covered in animal parts for sale. Cow tongues. Brains. Eyeballs. Entire heads. Feet. All bloody and smelly and fly-infested. If I had more food in my stomach than a little Clif bar, I would lose it right here and now. 

Sure enough, catty-corner to the animal parts table, cow tongues still visible, we’ve arrived at the typewriter. Phew. Let’s just get this over with and head back to the registration office, please. We hand our document to the typewriter man, and quickly learn that we won’t be leaving any time soon. He’s a hunt-and-peck guy. With potentially failing eyesight. And when he hits the wrong letter, the whole document has to come out, apply white out, and re-insert the document after it dries for a few minutes. 

Mark and I just look at each other and utilize our nonverbal sibling communication skills. He’s squirming, I’m squirming. Please just let us type this five-page document to get us out of here sometime today. But we trust, we let him do his thing, and meanwhile I’m going weak in the knees as the day heats up and the cow tongue smell becomes especially pungent in this dark, cramped, busy market stall. 

It’s as if we keep getting these “outs” to tap out of this whole Zambia thing and just return back to the land of familiarity. But nope. Can’t no cow tongues or brains or eyeballs or flys nesting in said cow parts keep me from empowering Zambian ladies. 

Fast-forward a few hours, more buses, probably 20,000+ steps clocked into our imaginary Fitbits, and our paperwork is miraculously submitted. A few days later, APPROVED!! 

We giggle about the cow tongues for days, and now after the end of it, I feel like the female version of Indiana Jones, ready to take on the world (“haha” –me 5 years later). 

Part 4 (it's about to get crazy) launches 7/5

---

If you live anywhere in NC or SC, you won't want to miss this! Elina is coming from Zambia to share her story of how YOU have helped change her life and so many others! We have some special surprises planned for each location, so make sure you get your ticket before they sell out!

The Very Beginning Pt. 2

This is Part 2 of our blog series "The Very Beginning" written by Amy about her experience during our Zambia program launch in July 2012. If you haven't read Part 1, you'll want to start HERE.

---

We hop in the van and are on our way, all luggage miraculously in tow. While we don’t know what day or time it is, we do know we’re not in Kansas (or North Carolina) anymore. Cars flying by at unreal speeds and maneuvers. Check-points, at which the kids say police are checking for monkeys under the car, which will take me months to realize isn’t true, because there aren’t monkeys in the city, whoops. The smell of burning trash and grass in dry season.  The dusty air. The streets filled with pedestrians walking to work, home from work, to the bus station, everywhere. The roadside stands of tomatoes and lollipops and laundry soap. We’re here. Lusaka. Home.

We pull up at the American family’s house in a quiet residential area within walking distance to a brand new grocery store (jackpot). Two giant dogs greet us, which we quickly learn serve a greater purpose than just a pet. “Make sure they smell you first.” … Or what? We quickly learn that we’ve gotta make friends with these pups since we’ll be coming and going on our own.

Their 2-story house (a rarity in Zambia) sits at the end of a road, behind a concrete wall and iron gate (a commonality for homes). The grass is green and lush, trees towering high, and it feels like a retreat.

This gracious family has agreed to host us strangers for 2 weeks, sight unseen, because they’re best friends with a couple who I Skyped with who are living in rural Zambia. The missionary/expat connections seem to work like this here. Loyal, tight, extremely helpful, and in this thing together.

Mark and I are led to the guest room with a bathroom attached, and within minutes it feels like we’re part of the family. And while we want to hang out and settle in, we’ve got work to do.

But first, naps. Jet lag recovery. And by day 2, we’re ready to get going.

We suit up with our backpacks, notebooks, a couple of Clif bars, and hit the road. We walk up the long road to the main road, and we’re greeted by other children walking to school, adults walking to where they need to be. Ok, we can do this.

A 30-minute walk leads us to the Ng’ombe Compound, a densely populated urban area. Around 120,000 people in 2 square miles. The scenery changes from paved roads to dirt roads, from greenery to dusty brown landscape only briefly visible between concrete block houses packed tightly together. There are children everywhere, running, playing, adventuring, many without parents in sight. And while there’s a new fancy grocery store just down the road, Ng’ombe seems to have it all at the main market that we walk through. Stalls crafted with wood scraps and cardboard adorned with the brightest red tomatoes, green peppers, leafy greens, bright yellow bananas, brilliant oranges, all perfectly arranged in towers and stacks for customers to peruse.

It’s noisy, with mini buses zooming by, packed to capacity, which is twice the number of people you’d normally fit into a little van like these. Music blaring from bars lining the main dirt road, from hardware shops and barber shops.

Mark and I say few words to each other. We’re just soaking it up. It’s not my first time here, but it’s still a lot to take in. And yet somewhere in the midst of all the hustle and bustle and new sights, it has this strange feeling of home.

Elina, a woman in her mid-forties, a good foot shorter than my super tall brother, emerges from her home. A huge smile, a wave, and a giant hug for each of us. We’re home, and she’s family.

I had been in contact with Elina since 2010. She just happened to be the only Zambian woman I met who lived in Ng’ombe and had an email address, so we were in contact by default (or by fate). Her heart was to see the women in her community empowered, and she was already taking orphans into her home, treating them as her own children. It was apparent from the beginning of our friendship that this woman is really, really special. She fights oppression, she advocates on behalf of the vulnerable, even being vulnerable and oppressed at times of her own life. Her story is hers to tell, but it’s an amazing one as I’d learn over the coming days, weeks, years.

Elina brings us into her home and all of the kids are there, all 6 of them, and even 4 or so others who are staying there temporarily or permanently. Shyness quickly fades with tickles and giggles, the universal language of friendship for kiddos. We’re ready to dig into our Clif bar stash when Elina’s daughter appears with bright plates filled with traditional Zambian foods.

We are still navigating this new friendship and we want to do everything to gain trust and be respectful, so we dig in. Nshima, beans, and a leafy green called rape. I’m still jetlagged and not as jazzed about trying new foods, so I pick at mine and quickly dump it on Mark’s plate during the few seconds we’re in the room alone. Just like the annoying little sister that I am. Mark, now stuck with pounds of food, cleans his plate with the same discipline as the guys on the Nathan’s hot dog eating contest.

Pretending to eat all of my food. Sorry, Mark!

Don’t get me wrong - the food was amazing. Just incredibly filling when you’re still jet lagged and used to only eating rolls with butter for the last two days straight on airplanes and at odd hours of the night that feel like daytime.

We wrap up the day, Mark eager to get home with the nshima-induced food coma and my jet lag screaming out for a nap, and make plans to get the ball rolling tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be paperwork day. How difficult can that be?

---

Part 3 will be posted next Wednesday 6/28 so stay tuned!

**This month we had 3 HOPE Club Campaigners + Members cancel their sponsorship for personal reasons of their own, which left a bit of a gap in our income! Would YOU consider signing up for the HOPE Club to keep our program running smoothly? We rely heavily on our HOPE Club family to fund our Zambia operations, and can't do what we do without your partnership. You can sign up HERE.

The Very Beginning Pt. 1

As we’re gearing up for our Gala for Hope(s) this September, I’ve been pulling tons of Elina photos from the CiH archives. Photos of us together over the past 7 YEARS that I’ve known her. And before we look ahead, dreaming together at our Galas, I wanted to share this story, this incredible story of one simple “yes” making ripples throughout entire communities in Zambia. Not really “my” story, but the story that I get to be part of. A gloriously messy, painfully thrilling, hope-filled, risky, adventurous, faith-filled story.

And while this story for me started in the summer of 2010 on that impactful mission trip to Lusaka, Zambia with 23 strangers, we’re going to start this story at the beginning of the launch of CiH in Zambia, July 2012, FIVE YEARS AGO almost exactly.

Part 1

It’s 3:30 in the morning, which should really be called 3:30 at night since no one should ever be awake at that hour. I’m at the Raleigh/Durham airport with my parents, my brother, and my new boyfriend of 3 months (another novel for another day).

We have 4 suitcases packed to the capacity of 23 kgs which is actually 51 pounds, which takes some convincing for the check-in attendants for our airline. I’m wearing my Clothed in Hope logo shirt like a total goober, and have my shiny blue outdoors backpack filled to the brim, or as much as they’ll let me fill it to still be called a carry-on.

The day is here. The day that started as an idea in the fall of 2010, a dream in early 2011, and the next-step over the next couple years as I fundraised and started Clothed in Hope stateside. Logo, website, some funds to get me going, and a few Skype calls with people way more experienced than me who have gone before me on this whole nonprofit/move across the world by yourself thing.

I’m 22 years old, two months graduated from the University of South Carolina, and ready to take on the world. Perhaps the very fact that I’m 22-years-old is a gift in itself, the naivety and boldness that the age brings.

It’s time. Time to jump into what I’ve set out to do, to empower women in Zambia through fashion and business. But first I’ve gotta get myself on the plane. And thankfully I’m not alone.

My big brother, Mark, three years older than me and always way smarter than me, is coming with me to get started for the first two weeks. I definitely don’t realize how much of a gift this is, and instead throw him a few eye rolls when he gets bossy or I get tired/hungry/overwhelmed.

We hug our parents goodbye. I don’t have a return ticket booked yet and even though I consider myself an emotional person, I think I have to make them believe I am strong enough to follow through with what I convinced them I’d be doing. Mom and Dad are brave and even stronger than I pretend to be, hugging their baby girl goodbye and putting her on a plane and life-path to Zambia. Though they expressed their concern in the early days, they kept their reservations to themselves (assuming they’re human and had many) for my protection and out of the largest amounts of love that would take me years to realize.

And then I hug my new boyfriend goodbye. Bless him. He just turned 21 a few weeks before, and we just started dating after I swore off dating for this whole “Africa thing.” Life is funny like that. He’s tired, I’m tired (because it’s 3:30 in the morning), and we have absolutely no idea what we’re doing committing to a new long-distance relationship that stretches past oceans, on different continents and different time zones. We hug, but not for too long as to not freak out my parents and big brother. “See you later.”

This all seems normal, like the rational next step in the process of pursuing this dream. But I fail to recognize the number of people that I’ve taken along with me who aren’t able to jump on this plane with me. Little do I know, every friendship and relationship will change the second I walk through those metal detectors in the airport security line.

And as matter-of-factly as it feels to fly to NYC, we’re off to travel across the globe. To NYC, to London, to Nairobi, to Zimbabwe, and finally to Zambia. Within the span of 30 hours.

Crusty-eyed, greasy-haired, lookin’ a hot mess, we’ve arrived. It’s cold season, but it still feels quite warm in this tiny terminal without any ventilation, nerves through the roof. After being cleared for customs and immigration, we step into the “arrivals” area, merely a room the size of a doctor’s office waiting room.

Our eyes scan for the sign. They’re supposed to be here with a sign, this family who we’ve never met but briefly emailed with who offered their guest room to us strangers. What if this is a scam? What if they’re going to rob us? No time for questions or concerns, we’re here and we need the room they’ve offered. And we find their smiling faces. The mom with four of the cutest little kiddos smiling up at us and holding up our welcome sign. We’re good.

We’ve arrived.

---

*Part 2 will be released next Wednesday 6/21. Stay tuned! In the meantime, head over HERE and get yourself a ticket for our Gala for Hope!