Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror during an excruciating season and asked yourself, “how in the world did I get here?” My guess is if you’re breathing oxygen and identify as human, the answer is yes. If you ALSO identify as a mother, my guess is your answer to that question is, “I don’t know”. “How did I let it go this far?”
If you identify as a Christian woman like I do, you might pose this question not just to yourself but to God. What gives? Shouldn’t my all-knowing all-caring Father in Heaven provide good gifts? This does not feel like a blessing more like a curse.
You see, as a forty-something-year-old mother, I discovered myself in a space where many women often find themselves. In our dedication to love, sacrifice, and nurture our families, we sometimes lose touch with our true selves and deepest desires. In the quiet erosion of self, a gradual and deceptively gentle neglect unfolds, casting a shadow on the glow of our passions. It’s only when someone or something turns the lights on that we realize just how far we’ve wandered from the rhythm of our own heartbeat and register just how dark our world has become. For me, that illuminating force was a nearly fatal health scare, a moment at rock bottom that made me realize it was time for a change.
Thus, was born, this travel blog—an invitation to embark on a journey homeward after decades of wandering in the dark.
But before I go any further, let’s rewind to the beginning – my name. Have you ever looked up the meaning of your name? Well, my name – Barbara means Stranger; Foreigner; Traveler from a foreign land. The cosmic irony is not lost on me as you read my travel blog.
The name couldn’t ring more true. I’ve felt like an outsider, a foreigner my entire life, no matter where I was. Being born and raised in Zambia, I veered away from the expected path of a traditional, quiet local life.
Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror during an excruciating season and asked yourself “how in the world did I get here?” My guess is if you’re breathing oxygen and identify as human, the answer is yes. If you ALSO identify as a mother, my guess is your answer to that question is “I don’t know”. How did I let it go this far?
If you identify as a Christian woman like I do, you might ask this question to not just yourself – but God. What gives? Isn’t my all-knowing all-caring Father in Heaven supposed to give good gifts? This does not feel like a blessing more like a curse.
You see, as a forty-something year old mother I found myself in a space I know too many women often find themselves.
In our dedication to love, sacrifice, and nurture our families, we sometimes lose touch with our true selves and deepest desires.In the quiet erosion of self, a gradual and deceptively gentle neglect unfolds- casting a shadow on the glow of our passions. It’s only when someone or something turns the lights on that we realize just how far we’ve wandered from the rhythm of our own heartbeat, and register just how dark our world has become. For me, that illuminating force was a nearly fatal health scare, a moment at rock bottom that made me realize it was time for a change.
Thus, was born, this travel blog—an invitation to embark on a journey homeward after decades of wandering in the dark.
But before I go any further. Let’s rewind to the beginning – my name. Have you ever looked up the meaning of your name? Well, my name – Barbara means Stranger; Foreigner; Traveler from a foreign land. The cosmic irony is not lost on me as you read my travel blog.
The name couldn’t ring more true. I’ve felt like an outsider, a foreigner my entire life, no matter where I was.
My constant yearning to explore the world, fueled by my childhood fantasies from magazines, set me apart. As an immigrant and now a citizen in America, the label of the foreigner stuck with me. My skin color, accent, and customs were always under inspection, shaping my journey in ways I couldn’t escape.
The truth is, “home” always felt just outside of my reach.
Growing up in Lusaka, the vibrant capital of Zambia, I found myself as the eighth child in a family of nine. Zambia, with its stunning wildlife, delectable cuisine and rich culture, is undeniably beautiful. However, alongside these wonders, I encountered enduring traditions and narrow expectations that dictated the local life I was supposed to lead—an obedient girl destined to become a submissive wife and mother. As a Christian, I was meant to follow a traditional calling-to worship God in the narrow expectations of the Methodist church – but even that felt too confined.
Yet, from an early age, I harbored a relentless curiosity that drove me to break away from these predetermined roles. My thoughts diverged from the norm; my mind was a stranger among my peers and family. I dreamt of exploring, not just Zambia but the entirety of Africa and eventually the world. My head was filled with visions, inspired by magazines brought back from overseas by my uncles and brothers. I was captivated by the foreign landscapes, lifestyles, languages, and foods that unfolded in those pages.
My first taste of adventure came at the ripe age of 14. I left the country for the first time, in secrecy. With our juvenile wit and nimble feet, we were able to book a secret stay in the neighboring country of Zimbabwe. All nerves were swallowed by satiation of new – new people, traditions and culture.
I was enamored by this sensation, the sense of connection to something so foreign yet so familiar. I, the foreigner in a foreign place, felt right at home.
I witnessed black people who weren’t simply an extension of the culture I knew. They were distinct, they were unique to themselves. So, I realized I could be too.
After six more years of secret adventures across Zambia, came the opportunity of a lifetime to travel to America. My older sister Chipo invited me to Michigan to help care for her young kids. Before I knew it, I had the elusive green card in hand and first set foot in the United States at 20 years old. God was opening my world in enormous ways.
When I first arrived, everything seemed massive and different. The airport, the food, the people – the weather. A Zambian girl who chills at 70-degree weather drops in a blistery Michigan snowstorm – it felt like a cosmic joke! As I nestled into my sister’s apartment with my young niece and nephews, I couldn’t help but realize how isolating and new this all felt. However, despite the challenges, the experience was undeniably worth every moment.
America is where my identity as a foreigner become undeniable, marked by an unending barrage of questions from strangers:
How do you speak English so well? You’re so articulate!
Did you come to the US to take our jobs?
Are you a refugee?
How did you afford to travel?
How did you get here?
Did you walk?”
I could not escape the feeling of the outsider but none of it deterred me from my yearning to explore. I experienced my first visit to a major body of water – Lake Michigan. I took cross-country road trips, sampling local produce, switching the radio stations in each county, and noting shifting dialects. There again, that sensation met me in the new I felt familiar.
I got married in 1999 to a man in the Navy. This transition launched my travels to new heights as we moved frequently as expected of military families. From San Diego, Monterey, Virginia, Rhode Island and Hawaii where I fell head over heels in love with the ocean. By this point I had given birth to my two beautiful children, who I longed to share in these adventures with. We practically lived at the beach.
Scuba Diving became the place where I discovered a secret key to my heart—the peace, the intimacy, the profound stillness, and the unveiling of a world beneath ours. Once more, that comforting sensation erupted within me—a personal familiarity amid the vastness of the unfamiliar.
Our journey led us to Japan for a memorable five-year stay. Living there felt like unraveling a treasure trove—every stone turned revealed a beautiful new tradition, intriguing cuisine, or fascinating cultural facet. From exploring the frozen city of Hokkaido to witnessing the grace of Geisha in Kyoto, our adventures knew no bounds. We ventured beyond Japan to South Korea, the Philippines, Thailand, China, Australia, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Palau with my family. My heart couldn’t have been more full.
The music stops, the light fades. Divorce. A painful, earth-shattering interruption that put an excruciating end to our family’s joyful travels and deferred my hope. Heartbreak, depression and fear became the agenda as I pivoted all of my securing the futures of my children and adventure entered definitive and devastating retirement. The eventful life I felt I was promised by God was torn apart.
My life shifted from almost 30 years of constant travel to nearly a decade devoted to ensuring the survival of my family as a single mother. Despite the challenges, we managed to create beautiful memories along the way, supported by my family and loved ones. Yet, amidst the struggle, I failed to notice that the vibrant light of my passion for adventure was gradually dimming, until one day, it was extinguished entirely.
In 2021, my life took a surreal turn, as it quite literally flashed before my eyes. Following a string of family losses, including the passing of my father, I hurriedly flew to Zambia to be there for my family. A fateful day, while caring for my mother, brought a catastrophic health event that landed me in the hospital for weeks, fighting for my life. By God’s grace, I emerged from the hospital, returning to the US with my daughter, yet grappling with the health complications that now loomed over me.
With my kids now independent adults, I found myself evaluating the life I had built—not just for them but for myself. In moments of isolation, I pondered the question we started with: “How did I get here?” I asked God – “How did you let me get here?” After years of deferred dreams, a broken heart, a spirit weighed down by depression, and a body now exhausted, I realized I was not a stranger or outsider in that energizing familiar way. Instead, I had become a stranger and outsider to myself.
I needed to turn the lights back on, return to myself and find home again. But where does an outsider find home?
I had to start with the beginning. My name, my origin as the outsider.
It was a crazy idea at first, when I first learned from a family member about the Camino de Santiago. But the pilgrimage felt like the exact prescription for my wilted soul. With my doctor’s approval I found myself boarding a flight to France where I was to walk and complete the famous pilgrimage in 30 days after 800 km.
I felt the color return to my skin, the warmth re-enter my lungs, the light come back into my eyes. The familiar, warm and fortifying sensation when I find myself in a foreign place – encountering new traditions, culture and people. Barbara was back.
I stumbled on this quote that surmises what I have finally learned about myself, “The journey itself is my home.” ― Matsuo Basho.
In a life where I’ve often felt like a perpetual outsider, a forever foreigner, I’ve come to embrace the familiar surge of exhilaration. The allure of beauty, the revelations, and the quiet humility that accompany my travels. It’s a journey marked by a persistent curiosity about people—their varied experiences and challenges.
It’s the foreigner in me that feels so at home in foreign places. I feel familiar with the new and that is something I will never let go of. My inner wanderluster has been a constant companion, a flame that ignited from the very moment I opened my eyes in Lusaka years ago.
As a single mother, as a black woman, as a Zambian, as an American citizen – I am turning the light back on in my life – paying attention to my own heartbeat again. I refuse to let the light of my life dim and the darkness swallow me no matter what happens.
I now see how the tapestry of my experiences both beautiful and broken, are part of what makes my adventures even more rich. Because I knew what it took to get there.
In the orchestration of my existence, God, in naming me Barbra, wove a plan that intimately understood how my journey would unfurl, cradling me through every nuanced chapter.
I am using this blog to document my journey home to myself. And I hope any of you who are following along will learn to pay attention to yourself.
If a Zambian girl from Lusaka can find herself on the ocean floor of Palau, there is no telling where in the world you will find yourself.
Thanks for joining me on the long, winding and luminous journey home for us all 🙂
6 COMMENTS
Chiseche M. Mutale
6 months agoWow, what a transformation! You have chosen to be the captain of your soul, if I can borrow a famous line from Invictus ” Iam the master of my fate: Iam the captain of my soul.” No doubt an Awakening has taken place within you – you determine what your future will bring by the way you see life and prepare yourself to face its realities.
I also like the fact that you have chosen to share your story in your own authentic voice. It is said that when writing the story of your life, don’t let anyone else hold the pen. You have done a great job taking us through the hills and valleys. You dug deep within you. I enjoyed reading every line, so well written. Great literary piece. Lovely!
There is a writer in you waiting fuller expression. You have a natural gift for writing. Why don’t you publish your story? It will inspire others. To me, there is no story that is not worth telling. Even from the least fascinating of people, there is always a lesson to learn – and to impart. Your story is not necessarily about Barabara Kashinosha: it is a lesson in an unyielding resolve the magic of perserverance.
I love the spirit of adventure in you. Thanks for sharing the breathtaking pictures – underwater- brave soul.
Looking forward to hearing more about the 800km walk across the lengths and breaths of Spain!
Barbara Kashinosha
6 months ago AUTHORHi Ba ‘Seche,
Thank you so much for your incredibly touching words. Your words mean a lot to me. My journey of self-discovery has been a profound one, and I am honored to be likened to the captain of my soul. The lines from “Invictus” ring true in my heart, as I’ve strived to take charge of my destiny and navigate life’s seas with courage and determination. Your appreciation for the hills and valleys I’ve traversed fills me with deep gratitude. I’m thrilled that you enjoyed the underwater pictures. They capture moments of courage and wonder, symbols of the magic that awaits when we step outside our comfort zones. Thank you again for your kind words. I look forward to sharing more adventures with you.
Martin Mupula
8 months agoWow, wow, wow!
What else can one say? This is so touching and inspirational as well. Pictures very nice and you’re looking beautiful. Thanks for sharing this documentation on this blog. Indeed names carry something special we usually don’t pay much attention to. We only discover how special and powerful names are when we ponder and do some self introspection hence self rediscovery.
Your journey of life is so inspiring regardless the negativities you could have experienced. None the less, God is is always on your side. Psalms 91:1-16 says so.
Heart breaks and depression may come our way but that’s not the dead end. We have to pick up ourselves and forge ahead.
Big ups to you.
Looking forward to reading your book. You’re a good writer too.
God bless you.
Barbara
8 months ago AUTHORThank you so much for your heartfelt words and encouragement! Your support means a lot to me. I’m grateful for your reflection on the power of names and the profound journey of self-discovery. Your reminder of Psalm 91:1-16 is a source of strength. Life’s challenges won’t be the end; I’ll keep forging ahead. Your anticipation for the book warms my heart 🙂 and I appreciate your generous blessings. God bless you too!
Belle Shimonde
8 months agoWow “B” no words can express how proud I am reading this beautiful journey of self rediscovery!!
Thank you for sharing ❤️❤️❤️❤️
Barbara
8 months ago AUTHORYour heartfelt words mean the world to me! I’m touched by your pride and am grateful to have you sharing my journey 🙂 Thank you for taking the time to read and connect with my Camino.