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Published: January 24th 2009
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...sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and the baby makes an even twenty. Twenty people in the van. Its hard to tell how many people it was designed to take, but the most generous estimate is about 13, which includes three accross the front. Amanda and I are crammed in the back, the worst seats for comfort becuse you never get to move, but the best place for observation. The other eighteen people are of various shapes and sizes. Two brothers who were dropped off in the middle of nowhere, an older lady carrying food back from the market, a teacher, a small family, etc. The central figure however is a large bald man whose face seems built to smile. He sits in the middle, facing backwards. I cannot understand the conversation as it is in Chibemba, but it seems like a mix of theology and stand up comedy. Theology because of the way he commands the attention of his audience, and stand up because they are all in hysterics.
When the conversation changes to english, which it often does around here, I see that it is neither, but in fact politcs. The bald man at centre stage is arguing that zambia's
'iffy' election last year means that it is laggnig behind the democratic development of other coutries, especially Ghana. Several others, mainly a young well dressed man in front of us, disagree. That this fairly confrontational discussion should be confused with religious or comedic conversation is uniquely African. They may well not have known each other before entering the vehicle, but in the middle of trading points and barbs the two main interlocaters collapse in laughter and slap hands. Laughter is beyond an accessory to communication here, it is the lifeblood of it. Without the abilty to bellow loudly on command, one is effectively mute.
Transport in Africa is a frustrating task. Trips don't take hours, but always days. Where the Delhi to Hardwar train could take between 5-7 hours, Lusaka to Mfuwe is taking all of Wednesday. The story of this van explains partly why a phenomenon known as 'African time'. Before I arrived here, I thought this term meant that people were constantly late. Rather, Rysard Kapuscinsky, the Polish journalist whose book on africa I've just finished, explains it to be mush more. Westerners feel as if the dimension of time dominates humans- that it is beyond our
control when the bus will leave. Africans see time as a controlled by humans- the bus will leave when it is full. Thus, after getting off the bus at Chipata, our half empty van waiting at the station is only half way to departure. In this instance that means a three and a half hour wait in the back seats. The people beside us, several of whom have been waiting some time longer than us, have no problem with this. They feel no need to get out, read the paper, ask the driver when we will depart, no no. Rather than time passing in this period, it is suspended while we wait. People here are thus the most patient people I've ever seen, and I'm slowly picking this up myself. You have to simply say, the van will depart, I will be on it, air wll flow through these open windows, I will sleep in Mfuwe tonight. I will win this battle with time.
The road is attrocious. Its a windy and bumpy ascent that restricts the van to a speed below 50kph for the entire passage. As we climb higher, people jump out, others jump in. We left
Mother lion
They sleep throughout the day at around 3.30 and it is supposed to take about 3-4 hours, but it's getting dark fast. The conversation continues. Eventually, the bald man gets off at a friutstand at an intersection and announces of himself in English "O.K., the chairman is leaving" as if he had heard my thoughts. "The next chairman will be... " he scans the van for a successor. "...you!" he says pointing to me, the thus far mute mzungu (white man) in the back.
Not knowing how to react to a dozen sets of eyes immediatly turning to me, I say "you will have to teach me how". My predecessor's posture collapses as he laughs, and he stretches his arm all the way back to shake mine- we are now friends.
It is around 8.30 when we arrive at our camp- flatdogs. To our delight, reception is still open and we check in and seek a place to set up the tent. The guard escorting us reassures us that "when you see the elephant, just walk away slowly and he won't hurt you." Most campsites employ guards to protect guests against thieves. Edwin however was here because of the hippos, elephants, leopards and
Sunrise on the Luanga
the view from our campsite lions that occasionally stroll between the tents at night. Mfuwe is the gateway to the best national park in Zambia and, after Serengeti and Kreuger, one of the most reputable in all of Africa- South Luangwa. Flatdogs itself is regarded as one of the best safari operators and campsites in the region.
Rising at 5.15 the next day, Amanda and I are ready to see what all the fuss is about. It was fantastic. We saw pretty much everything we wanted to see- a female lion with cubs, a whole family of elephants, zebras, gazelles, hippos all of your favourites. We had tea and buscuits on the grass next to a currious male Giraffe, and learned that the collective noun for zebras is a 'dazzle'- just the kind of useless fact that keeps me going. The camp itself was worth coming for. Run by a duo of Australian and English expats, the food was worth the price and the pool was wonderful in the afternoon heat. We pitched our tent on a platform in the trees, not so nice on the back, but a good way to silence my increasing hippo-phobia, as I doubt fatty could climb those stairs.
Elephant
Five seconds after entering the park The other highlight of Zambia was of course Victoria falls. I'll leave the talking here to my photos, as words can't really explain. After Iguazu in Argentina last year, I thought it might be a let down. I was wrong. Livingstone, the city a couple of kms out of the falls was itself worth the visit. Not a huge place, but it was still our first taste of a reasonable sized city. Our hostel, the oddly named 'jolly-boys backpackers' was fantastic. Free water and a kitchen for self catering.
Somewhat dissapointing here was our first experiment with African food. This had thus far been elusive, as it was hard to find a place that served anything but burgers and fries. When we found a place to get Nsima (boiled maize flour) and local vegetables, it was memorable for the wrong reasons. Refusing to give up on local food, several days later in the capital Lusaka (en route to South Luangwa) we attempted to give it a second chance- attempted.
Lusaka, like most african capitals, is a hell-hole, and our afternoon there was not particularly fun. In booking a bus we walked half way across town before finding
that the bus was full. We chased two recommended places to find local food, both of which were closed. For dinner we settle for a crappy and overpriced burger at chain in the city centre. When we made it back to the hotel, we were delerious with frustration and tiredness, whch was only exacerbated when we found that the restaraunt there was serving exactly what we wanted and cheap prices!
But bad days here have a habbit of coming good. Just as we were about to leave to bed, a middle aged man struck up a converstion about how good his country was- especially its food. After admitting that our only experience with it left us doubtful of this, he insisted on shouting us meal- chicken stew with nsima. It was better, not because of its taste, but because of its story.
After South Luangwa, the next stop is Nkhata bay Malawi. We have talked ourself into attempting this trek in a single day. Crazy, but good for a story.
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