Gesh, on the left, has an unfinished, mostly unfurnished house that his father gave him. There is no running water, no electricity, just put in a few glass windows. It's a work in progress whenever he saves enough money for improvements. Actually right out of this shot of us in the makeshift living room is a pile of rubble that takes up a quarter of the space. But it's his own house, which is amazing.

Unfortunately, Gesh's father passed away of stomach complications last Tuesday. I went to the funeral on Friday although I never had the fortune of meeting the man, my first in Zambia. Gesh was suprisingly strong and resilient about the whole thing. While my thoughts are not settled on the subject of death in Zambia, sometimes I think Zambians aren't afforded the luxury of mourning like Americans. They can't sit shiva for weeks. At the same time, the ritual of burying the dead happens with much more frequency here (Gesh lost a brother to AIDS not more than two months ago). Does this serve as an anesthesia to numb the pain of loss? It seems difficult to imagine that one can get used to the idea of death. Yet the trauma of many deaths might distance an individual from further occurances of such loss. I'm not sure. I do know that Gesh's inner strength is inspiring.

What he never told me is that his father was the personal driver for Kenneth Kaunda, the first president of Zambia. KK (as he is affectionately called) was at the funeral and gave a eulogy. Nothing could be more of an honor in Zambia.

I look forward to seeing Gesh's house take form and become a beautiful home were he and his family can one day live and from which he can inspire those around him like his father did before him. RIP Mr. Banda.