Elysia Choudhrie - Blog Abroad

Blog #1

1/23/2026

When people first heard I was going to Lusaka, Zambia for my study abroad semester, they usually responded with: “Wow! Why?” commonly followed by: “That’s gonna be hard.” What it felt like was, why not go somewhere easier? But that is precisely why I chose Lusaka. I didn’t want something easy. I didn’t want something that was palatable, and always aesthetic. I wanted something hard, I wanted to love and respect a culture that is outside of the mainstream. When I was packing I wasn’t very stressed because I knew I would do it wrong. I knew I wouldn’t pack this or I would pack too much of that. But I remember telling my mom, “there’s no point in stressing. I know I’m doing it wrong. There just is not a way to be prepared for something I know so little about”. And boy, I didn’t know the extent of it.
Before arriving in Lusaka, I spent a week in Cape Town, South Africa. It was amazing. The city has huge mountains and bright blue clear water. It has some of the wealthiest people in the world, living right next to some of the poorest in the world. It was a very interesting dynamic to watch and exist in. Cape Town is truly the city with everything. I met new people from all over the world. I tried surfing for the first time (I fell a lot, but had a ton of fun). Although it was amazing, it had some hard parts and I was excited to come to Lusaka, to build a routine and to see the place I would be living and to settle in.
When I got to Lusaka, it was rough. I couldn’t find a ride from the airport so I was walking around with no internet like a lost dog. When I finally found my ride, the place I was supposed to stay didn’t have a room for me, but they told me to wait. When the room was ready, it was already dark and I was exhausted and starving–I hadn’t eaten since 4:30 am. The room that was provided didn’t lock, had bullet holes in the walls, broken windows, no way to shower, and 1 cockroach infested twin mattress with no sheets to share with a total stranger. Needless to stay, I didn’t sleep there. I had to figure out the taxi system in the city at 10:30 pm with all of my luggage and find a hotel. It was all very stressful. I stayed there for a bit then moved to a more affordable hostel with no idea how to find myself safe, clean, affordable lodging that wasn’t a scam. I was completely lost. On my second day at the hostel, I got a call from a very very distant connection–my dad’s friend's wife's friend's sister’s daughter had somehow heard about my homeless situation. I know, it’s a looonngg train of connection! Anyways, this complete stranger insisted I come stay the night at her house. I was hesitant, but it didn’t seem like I was going to get my way and good thing I didn’t. Her house was a sanctuary. Full of fresh fruit, animals, literally what I think heaven must look like. It was the perfect oasis, a place I felt I could finally breathe. Her family was wonderful. They were welcoming and kind. “Welcome home, and welcome to the family!” And suddenly, something I thought wasn’t going to work out–staying in Lusaka–started to look possible.
This is the best thing I have found about Zambia: the people. They are kind and thoughtful. Every single person says, “Hi, how are you?” I am yet to hear someone only say hi. If I were to stand in the middle of the street and ask for directions, people would immediately give up what they are doing and bring me there. If I was struggling to find a place to live, a stranger would invite me to stay at their beautiful home.
After this wonderful adopted family found me a place to live, we were driving back home and passed through a part of Lusaka called Kalingalinga. It is a komboni–a poor community full of workers. I looked out the window, choking back my tears. It was then that I knew I had come to the right place. And it wouldn’t be easy and it hasn’t been since. Cockroaches, so many cockroaches, getting scammed, being homesick, having no idea how to get my clothes washed, sign up for classes, or even when classes start, etc. However, I can’t complain about something actually being hard, when I had told a million people that I chose Zambia because I wanted it to be hard! Sometimes, maybe a lot of the time, hard spaces are where we grow the most and discover the most beauty... hopefully. 
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Blog #2

Weight

Living in Lusaka for the past month has taught me a lot of things, but so far the most influential is realizing the impact of decisions. I can go to the store and get practically anything I want for lunch. When I am hungry, I eat. If my clothes are dirty, I change my clothes. But the little boy I say hi to on my morning walk doesn’t know where his next meal is going to come from. The clothes he has on are the clothes he has. I feel the pains of the older women sitting outside all day, rain or shine, selling fruit. Or the very young girl with a baby strapped to her back, needing to help take care of the family instead of just being a kid. 

 

At home, I am aware that I have privileges, but I can easily let myself forget. Here in Lusaka, it isn’t a momentary realization; it is a constant knowledge that sits in your stomach. It is wonderful to eat when you are hungry, but it is a privilege and one I didn’t use to think about often enough. These privileges and comforts had become so mundane to American Lysie. But here, the weight of this world sits with me constantly. Here, you feel it with every step of your comfortable shoes. 

 

My Professor from my Environment, Culture, and Religion class said something that really stuck with me. He said “The culture that values privacy puts up walls, and the culture that values beauty, kicks out the orphan.” I had become so accustomed to living a beautiful life that I wasn’t looking for the orphan. I learned to live a life where everything looks good, no matter how fake it is. Side note,the fruit here is much better.

 

Feeling this weight isn’t always bad. One of my greatest pleasures these past weeks has been going to soccer games. The first game was an away game, and I traveled with the team. The boys sang their hearts out throughout the bus ride. They hooted and drummed and sang. And as we drove down the streets, some people stared. Others grinned. Others danced. Some even sang along. And since then, the singing has only gotten louder. Feeling the weight of life also allows you to feel the weight of joy–just how sleeping feels so much more refreshing when you are exhausted. While the boys were singing, I could not stop smiling. A line from a Mary Oliver poem got stuck in my head: “Joy is not meant to be a crumb.” If you allow yourself to feel real pain and hardship, you also allow yourself to feel and find real joy in the gaps of life.  Zambia is a highly Christianized nation, so going to church is a part of the rhythm of life. There, the people sing as loudly as they can, and dance and move as much as possible, as if to get the attention of the heavens. It isn’t performative or fake; this version of joy is one of the realest things I have ever experienced. You wear your heart in your movements and in your voice for everyone to see. It is unfiltered joy, a happiness that isn’t bashful. 

 

So as I move forward in weighted culture, I pray to have eyes that notice, a heart that cares, and feet that feel the path below me. I pray to lower my walls, to stay soft and open to all of the love and suffering around me.

 

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