Sundays are typically quiet in Livingstone. Many families attend worship services, others rest at home and prepare for the new week. So, when I walked into town this past Sunday, I did not expect to see three familiar faces, a student, a security guard, and a hairstylist. With each encounter, I was reminded of how welcoming and friendly Zambians are. After more than twelve months, hospitality remains. The student greeted me, expressed concern about my absence from her school, and demonstrated her disappointment with a high-pitched sigh, shaking of her head, from left to right, and a request for me to attend the next club day. She refused to accept that my contract ended (the easiest way to explain that I completed my Peace Corps service). I continued my walk into town full of nostalgia as I reflected on my time as a volunteer working with students and teachers.
As I approached closer to home I heard “madame Jessy, madame Jessy.” The security guard who managed the premises of my previous residence was shouting my name as he passed by on his bicycle. He was thrilled to see me and gave me a warm embrace. He was bubbling with enthusiasm because he sold a stack of cassava. It was apparent that he kept a small piece for himself, there was evidence of sprinkled cassava crumbs on his cheeks and lips. We walked and talked until we reached the market’s entrance, but not without seeing my hairstylist. She was working outside enjoying the breeze and plaiting a customer’s hair. She shouted, “Where have you been”? In response, I said “I’m around, nabwela” (I will come).
Moments like these make Livingstone feel smaller to me. With an estimated population of 177, 393, spanning 672 km2 , I am always surprised to see people that I know when I venture out into the community. I feel joyful to be here and to feel accepted by my community.
jess•make•room 
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