I sit here in the mid-morning coolness on a flat rock among rows of freshly turned soil. The sun has yet to escape from behind the thick blanket of bright white clouds over head.
Looking ahead I find many trees overtaking the top of the next hill as fields of grass and maize make their home on the slopes. In the valley just below me, all the gardens together create a lush green alley that leads to the blue of water that is the local dam.
All around me, near and far, I watch the teams of oxen pulling plows through the Zambian soil. The hillsides farthest away showcase tiny moving dots that indicate others planting. The land has been moistened by the recent showers and the pale brown ground is turned over revealing rich red clay earth.
The crack of whips ring in the air as the men handling the plows encourage their animals onward. The smack of a thick tree branch on an ox's hindquarters rarely goes unnoticed by me.
Some families have a walker in front of the cattle to guide them across the field while the women walk behind dropping seeds and fertilizer into the furrows. The oxen continue around and around the fields.
For every two or three passes of the plow, one row of maize is planted. The women rest beside me on the rocks as they wait for the plow to make the rounds. I notice the women's hands are colored red or green from the coatings on the seeds.
Sometimes above the cracks, snaps, whistles, or shouts, men and women singing can be heard. Some men don hats to protect their eyes from the sun. Luckily this morning is bright, yet remains cool and comfortable.
Seated here amongst the planting activity all around, and the amazing green scenery that the recent rains have produced, I realize again just exactly where I am.
Here in Zambia, in rural Zambia, is where I am. Its not a different world, but truly very different from other places scattered across our earth. I have been to many areas of this world and today I am very happy to be here!
