Zambian Nostalgia
BY NICK MARSHALL TEMPE, AZ — I've been reviewing the journal I kept from our filmmaking efforts in Zambia. It's hard to believe it has been a year already. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. Sometimes, it seems like a lifetime ago.
Aug 11, 2006...
...But our best footage was when we went to the high density area, & people, hundreds of people living in squalor & in huts that looked like they were made by their own hands. 
The kids ran around wildly trying to get in front of cameras, we’d flash a pic & show it to them & the boys, already men’s faces, would smile and gesture like the rest curious & excited but when you asked to take their picture, they became so serious & hard faced as though they were posing for one picture and only one picture & that one would tell you all you needed to know about them forever...
Food was out everywhere, flies buzzing around everywhere, on meat laying out, some shriveled veggies, & massive amounts of stuff, just things to sell everywhere. Cyndi giving money to some that she bought stuff off & when we filmed their shop. When we left on the bus, I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t speak, cuz I knew I would breakdown, or at least cry...
It wasn’t that I pitied them or was ashamed of them at all, that was their home, that’s what they knew and they can find enjoyment in that simple life because they have to, but very hard, responsible life. I feel a pain in my stomach when I think about it. But I took pictures too. We all did, and me & Carlos discussed this a little in semi privacy when I asked to see the pictures he took. He hinted at the same thing, when we first got off the bus, he thought “What are we doing here?” I think I understood him more at that moment, I already could guess at his character, but having him say it aloud was more somehow like I knew the truth now of who he is and how he thinks instead of speculating.
Aug 14, 2007 (this year)
I tried to figure everyone out on the crew, to get to know them better, to see what drove them. I tried to write little paragraphs about each person cutting right to the core of that person, so if you didn't know them at all, anyone who would read that tiny paragraph could see them behind the surface level. Perhaps I'll put up some of those in the future.
Aug 12, 2006...
Sunday was rest day, relaxing, taking our shoes off & just sitting around and getting ready for Monday, but instead one bus driver (Max) said he was part of a N’goni tribe where they dance traditional dance & Cyndi said she’d love to see it (as well as everyone else). 
They were going to set up & dance in their traditional garb in the compound in the courtyard, but Cyndi thought that maybe if we could film it outside & find a location that looks like a village & shoot it for the feature than we could hit two birds with one stone. Me, Cyndi, Edgar, MK walked the neighborhood to scout out locations. Behind our compound was pretty good so we decided there. Back at the compound, came Dr. N’goma & overheard & “You need a village?” he mentioned there’s one a few kilometers from here. Great, we waited for the bus, wondering what this is, where we were going & what to expect.
A man with glazed eyes pronounced a plastic cup in my face. “Drink.” I looked; milky dirt water. I declined politely and again, he stumbled, with his sharp teethed smile, “You Zambian now. Drink.” I learned later that it was Chifuku, “Shake Shake,” a Zambian moonshine of sorts bought in a milk carton.
Aug 14, 2007 (this year)
Excavated out of my journal, I notice this is when I stopped keeping track of dates. Now, on a Tuesday, a day off from work, I sit in my crackerbox studio in the heart of Tempe and write and sweat. I have these memories swirling in my head from a year ago and all I am right now is glad. I think everyone that was involved in the project, when they look back one year ago today, I think it would be impossible not to get emotional.
Someday I've love to return to Zambia and jot down more notes and see the differences. This last paragraph is undated but was written near the end when we were in Livingstone:
— I look up to the sky, head held high like a solider to the rain, a washed out blue and I wanted to paint all this scrubbery in liquidy water colors, running off the canvas because it’s too small for this vision of calm.
If books aren’t your thing, click over to 
Screening in the World Documentary category, 
In his first feature-length documentary, 
In the U.S. Documentary Competition, Director David Stenn's 
Also screening in the World Documentary Competition, 
Mr. Badii says if he wanted a sermon he would have picked someone older. The seminarian also is dropped off eventually and Mr. Badii drives off with no one to aid him. He picks up an older man who is a taxidermist and talks about how he too wanted to kill himself once. He told Mr. Badii that he had gone to a mulberry tree one late night to hang himself. He threw the rope over a branch and it didn't get catch. Several attempts to no avail, he climbed the tree and tied the rope tight. While up there he decided to eat one of the mulberries. It was delicious. He ate another. And another. Kids came by and told him to shake the tree so they could eat the berries. He took pocketfuls and returned home to find his wife still asleep and when she woke up they ate mulberries together. Mr. Badii said, "So you ate mulberries and suddenly your life of okay." The taxidermist said no. But it changed his perspective. Something as simple as the taste of a mulberry or a cherry can just change your perspective on things and how things can get better. He finally asks the taxidermist to do his deed the next morning. The taxidermist says he will. 
When we got back I tried to start, but we started into the editing immediately. Even though I was happy to help, I wanted to help, but I wanted to write while the flame still burned. Wanted to get the ideas down while they were still fresh. I found it easy to get into that place again & I knew that if too much time passed, it would be harder to see it as it was instead of how I remember it. Almost everyday, clockwork, I'd show up at the hotel, the "Kraalette" & we'd work. And laugh & talk & eat & some of us; sleep. Robby would bring his tooth brush and enthusiasm. I'd bring the wake up call for Alec & Hacobo. A flick of a light switch can be a loud wake up call sometimes, sometimes not. MK would bring her smile & peppy self & usually the arrival of a break & lunch. Carlos would bring the sinking sun, blinding through shades & an ajar door. Sometimes I'd wait for a long segment to render & we'd talk. About movies, politics, just the world. Jeniece would bring the street lights & neon & the idea for dinner. Mike would show up either in the morning or afternoon & stay depending on if he had to go to work or not. Mike would bring his laugh & laptop & jump in the editing seat when one of us got tired. Cyndi lived there, sometimes rising to a knock and falling to the hum of the computers or Jeniece's breathing in the other bed. Pam sometimes there in the morning as I pushed open the door; talking with Cyndi , always the conversation between them. They'd argue like sisters; their threats and disagreements always only on the end of their sleeves & then there'd be laughter & the conversation would start up again. I would sit & listen. 
After all that I learned, after everything we overcame and just the whole experience, how could I possibly sum it all up in a quick one sentence answer? But in that pause I just thought it would be easier just to say something nondescript, something like "fine" or "ok" because even if I took them aside and sat for days with them and told them everything that I experienced, they would stare at me and wouldn't get it because they weren't there. Most people I have talked to didn't even understand what I meant by film. They asked if I made a short film or a religious film. Even if I told them it was the first feature film in Zambia and what we did was extraordinary, their faces told me, they just didn't understand.
When we went to Livingstone we visited Victoria Falls. Just being in the presence of something like that, just witnessing that power, that earthly power, I think we all were in awe. We stayed at a lodge, open everywhere and all I could think of was Sedona and the east coast. The lodge was situated on a giant gorge, a mini Grande Canyon and we awoke to birds chirping, a peaceful zephyr and the hypnotic flow of the water that ran through the gorge, for two gorgeous days. After being contained in the compact city for two weeks it was relaxing just to see nature and it seemed we were the only people for miles. The second day we journeyed off to a safari and elephants crossed in front of us as we drove, a herd of elephants and we held our breath so the giants would not get startled and charge. Monkeys sat and ate on the ground and scampered off when the cameras flashed. We drove to a monkey village of sorts, a village abandoned and reclaimed by monkeys and we stood ten feet from two eating white rhinos, as two monkeys fought behind some bushes. 
I've decided to read the script every couple days just to keep things fresh in my mind. The more I live with the characters, the more I'll learn to understand them, and the more input I can contribute to the film. I've started to hear the characters speak now in their own voices. I've started to watch the scenes play out in my head. I'm getting an understanding of this world they live in. It's developing a texture for me. After a few more reads maybe I'll be able to smell this environment and taste it on the tip of my tongue. Then I'll already be in Zambia in my head and I'll understand it better when we touch down there. 
BY NICK MARSHALL, GILBERT, AZ, USA — Over the past days I have been reading/researching on-line about Zambia. I've been reading out their customs and what not to eat, what not to drink; mostly precautions. I have read traveler's experiences and advice on Zambia and Africa in general. But after staring at the screen for hours my eyes started to get tired and blur the words, blend them altogether. Each word became indistinguishable from the next and it was as though I forgot the language, couldn't comprehend the words and they seemed all to fall into the same melting pot. But as I sat rubbing my eyes, clearing my head, I thought: words can only do so much. Words can only do so much to make you experience something. Words let you imagine, but a photograph shows you what something really looks like. To describe something, an experience you had, something you saw, it takes time to write and read, so many words. Plus the language barriers, but a picture, a photo transcends all language barriers. So many words can be expressed instantly in your mind with one look at a fabulous photo. In an instance where you are lost for words or don't know the right words to express yourself, show a photo of what you mean, and confusion is erased, the air clears and instantly people understand what you were saying. Even better than a photo, which captures a single moment, video, which captures a stream of moments. A photo can give an impression of how something is, but a video of something shows you exactly what went on at that time and place. 
BY NICK MARSHALL, GILBERT, USA - You know that game Yahtzee? Y'know the one with all the dice in the cup, shake the cup and the dice rattle about and you pour them out, they tumble and stop and you look at what you've rolled out, and voila? Well, the dice in the cup, the vexing rattling, that's my head now. That is the stage of the game I'm on now. There are so many things going on with this project and my life that my head aches sometimes. But even though there is some suffering, I have faith that I will eventually and progressively advance to the next stage in the game. And in Yahtzee, you go through this process many times, the cup, the rattle, the roll and the stop, and then at the end you count up your score. But, no matter what the score on this project, it can be nothing but a success!