Mongu

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My husband’s paternal village is in the Western Province of Zambia. It is a small village of thatched huts and subsistence farmers. However, many of his relatives have migrated to the provincial capital, Mongu. This is a small town on the Angolan border. We have only been in Lusaka a few days but decide to make the drive out before Christmas. This is my first time in Africa, in Zambia. Everything is different and overwhelming. As we head out we have been told that the road is “good” and that we should arrive within five to six hours. There is a storm coming though and we are heading straight for it. The sky is black and ominous and there are streams of people on either side of the road. Some are carrying bundles on their heads, others are riding two to a bicycle, most are walking. Within an hour we are in the midst of a torrential downpour. I have never seen rain like this in my life. It thunders down in black sheets. Lightening smacks the earth. The road begins to flood and we slow to a crawl. I pray that a loaded Zoom bus won’t smash into us. From my youth I have romanticized what it would be like to be caught in an African rain storm. Unfortunately, this experience is not so romantic!

As we continue, we drive through bursts of rain and periods of glorious sunshine. The countryside is green and beautiful. There are many trees and open grasslands. We see kudu, impalas, cranes, and baboons. It is spectacular to see such wildlife so close.

The Kafue River is gorgeous. We cross a bridge and are met with awesome views on either side. What we meet on the opposite side of the bridge isn’t so awesome: a checkpoint. Armed guards in green berets and ancient looking AK47’s stop us. I feel so vulnerable. We are alone on this road with no towns for miles. Surprisingly, they are very smiley and seem amused to see two muzungus in the back seat (my husband’s cousin’s wife and I). They wave us forward and continuing waving as we speed on. I feel relieved, but I never quite get used to the checkpoints.

Eventually, the good road becomes a bad road and about an hour before reaching Mongu, we hit a Mongu-sized pot hole. Darkness is approaching and I feel helpless on the side of the road with a flat tire and two badly bent tire rims. As my husband and his cousin change out the tire, people from a nearby village peer at us from the trees. They stare at us; foreign invaders disturbing their peace. I feel I have been transported back in time, only I am locked inside a bubble and cannot fully experience my surroundings. I suddenly long for something familiar like street lights and gas stations. The freedom of Africa has yet to hit me.

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Comments

[kato]

Rain
I feel like you really loved the vegetation and rivers and so forth and failed to acknowledge the rain that makes it so beautiful. You have not been to Zambia if you dont experience anything different from what you are used to. Even i miss it so much regardless of not having "it all". You know what? make a story book for your posterity, i mean it. you are such a great writer. I will be the first to recomment it "a must read book".