Traveling Zambia
6-6-2008 – Chipata, Zambia
As I write this it’s the dead of night (or as I used to call it, 7:30pm) and I am deep in the African bush. One of the things my African friends failed to mention to me before my arrival on the continent was the hours of sunlight here, or lack thereof. Because I am so close to the equator, and it’s winter, the day is evenly divided between light and dark – 12 hours for each. The sun came up this morning about 6:00, and by 6:00 this evening darkness was spreading across the horizon. I spent most of that time…check that, all of that time on an eastbound bus through Zambia, inching toward the Malawian border. The whole time I had one thought in my head: “Would my luggage arrive with me at the border?” That question was answered at about 7:15 this evening as the bus pulled into its destination in the town of Chipata. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me put the day in reverse so that you can understand better my travels today.
I started today in Lusaka, the capitol of Zambia. I would describe Lusaka as a utilitarian city built in the Soviet style to provide for the basic needs of the population and nothing more. There is not architecture, only Soviet-style block housing and office buildings. There is one street that contains everything you might need to buy. The guide books all suggest that you find anywhere to stay besides Lusaka. So why did I leave the comfortable surroundings of Livingstone to stay there?
Basically I just got tired of being a tourist in Africa. I think that Paul Theroux explains it well in his book “Dark Star Safari”: “It was in Africa that I began my lifelong dislike of Ernest Hemingway. The Hemingway vision of Africa begins and ends with the killing of large animals, so that their heads may be displayed to impress visitors with your prowess. That kind of safari is easily come by. You pay your money and you are shown elephants and leopards. You talk to servile Africans, who are generic natives, little more than obedient Oompa Loompas. The human side of Africa is an afternoon visit to a colorful village.”
Livingstone is a great place to catch your breath and see something incredible at Victoria Falls. But it’s a tourist trap. You can bungee jump and white water raft, and talk to a bunch of white people from all over the world. I conversed with these folks for two days before it wore very thin on me as I longed to see the Africa out on the streets. Unfortunately all I was to them was another tourist. I engaged in lots of conversations with them about Africa and development. I learned a lot from them, but at the end of the day they just wanted me to buy one of their copper bracelets or jump in their taxi.
Anyways, I hopped aboard a bus from Livingstone to Lusaka. It actually ended up being a good experience in spite of the stories I’d heard about travel in Africa. The bus left promptly, there were free drinks and snacks, we only made four stops on the way, and got there by early afternoon.
The bus from Lusaka to Chipata was not so great. Here’s a running diary I kept of the trip:
6:00—wake up to catch my 8:30 bus. I was told to report for the bus an hour and a half early at 7:00. I put my bag underneath the bus and wonder if it is the last time I will see it.
6:50—I find the last window seat. I wonder how long I will be in this position. There’s already a baby crying and the lady across from me is blaring a portable stereo she brought. Later this evening the owner of the guest house told me that this is an aspect of African culture. Apparently if you have music, it would be rude to not share it with everyone else. Try that on the metro back in DC. She stumbles upon a Western station and Keith Urban is singing. People walk up and down the aisles trying to sell us chocolate, fruit, CDs, fabric, watches, radios, flashlights, cell phone chargers, etc. I’ve heard the trip can take 8 hours. That sounds manageable.
8:45—(15 minutes after “scheduled” departure time) Still waiting patiently in my seat. The bus is almost full. It isn’t even turned on. Man comes around to check tickets.
9:00—Still waiting for bus to start…
9:30—still waiting…Preacher gets on the bus and screams fire and brimstone at us. Then he prays for the safety of the bus and his passengers. I decide it would be a good idea to join him in this prayer. There are no atheists in a fox hole.
9:38—Bus starts!!! Preacher walks around to collect donations. Just about everyone pays up.
9:52—Bus finally pulls out. There’s one more person than seats, so they give him a stool to sit on in the aisle. It turns out that the bus would not leave until it had enough people in spite of the fact that this is a chartered bus in which people may only be seated. People yell at the drive in the back about it. Bus driver blares his own CDs over the PA system.
10:15—Bus stops frequently leaving Lusaka so that more people can get on. The aisle is filled with people who will stand all day waiting for their stop. Soon we are out in the African bush on a one lane road called The Great East Road. We pass by little villages with brick walls and thatch roofs. I wonder if their world is any different from when David Livingstone first happened upon them in the 1850s. There are little fires started which serve as their morning heat and cooking fuel. In the distance I can see fires started as far as the horizon. I wonder what their lives are like.
The other thing I notice about the bush is that there are no fences anywhere. There are no places like that in the US. Property has a completely different meaning here. I see cacti that are 40 feet tall and ant hills that are taller than any of the mud huts.
12:20—We stop on the side of the road for our first bathroom break. Men to the left, ladies to the right. Find the nearest tree. Sorry ladies. I had been sitting in that position for five hours. I am now really glad I decided to buy some extra bread rolls the night before for the trip. I really wish I had bought more than one water bottle, though. It’s starting to get hot. I realize that I am the only white person on the bus. I enjoy that. I’m not sure why. Maybe it reminds me of San Antonio. Maybe it’s the adventure. Not sure. Terrain has gotten more hilly now with more trees.
1:20—The bus stops so that a little girl can use the bathroom. She squats down right in front of my window as her mom braces her. Trees are changing colors. More 40 foot cacti and 10 foot ant hills and mud huts and campfires. I must be pre-med because I’m still nursing my water bottle. Could really use a refill.
2:00—The guy in front of me just closed the window which is my only ventilation. Suddenly the stench of human sweat fills my nostrils. It’s pungent like ammonia. Most of it probably from me, but still, it isn’t pleasant. Later on someone opens an orange and deodorizes the whole place. It’s getting very hot outside. Probably high 90’s. No a/c on the bus.
2:30—Stop at the roadside to let someone off and pick others up. This would continue every 15-30 minutes or so the rest of the afternoon. As we stop the guy next to me buys some bananas out the window and gives me one. I enjoy it, but now my mouth is dry. Gotta drink the rest of the water. I have this weird feeling about my bag underneath the bus. I really wish it had not left my sight.
2:40—The road gets much worse and we slow to a crawl across the bush. I realize that I am in the “darkest” part of the continent according to the Europeans of the 1800s. This was the vast uncharted territory that they usually left as a big white mass on the map. The first European didn’t even see it until 1855. And now I’m strolling across it in a chartered bus filled with Zambians on the move. Little kids are playing soccer in one of the fields a hundred miles from the nearest town.
5:31—Pass one more town. Katate. Is this the last before Chipata? Vendors run up to the side of the bus to sell things. FINALLY I buy two bottles of water and dispatch of them in minutes. Ahhh, relief. The sun is already starting to dip below the horizon.
6:14—We are now dropping people off in the middle of the bush in complete darkness. I start to wonder how they even know where to stop. There are no landmarks out here.
6:50—12 hours of sitting on this bus. My butt is complete agony. Will this trip ever end? We stop to let another person off.
7:05—Finally pull into Chipata and the bus grinds to a halt. People crowd the aisle and it takes 5 minutes for me to get out of the bus to see if my bag is still there. I finally get to the luggage compartment as they start pulling out bags amassed along the way. Don’t see it. More bags are pulled. Still don’t see it. I start to think about the laptop that I stupidly left in there instead of carrying it on. My malaria pills are in there. The diamonds and drugs I am smuggling over to Malawi. What will my dealer say if I lose them? Then, one of the last bags is pulled out and my heart skips a beat. My bag!! I have had no greater joy in life. Jump in a taxi and head over to Dean’s Hill View Lodge for a well deserved rest. Tomorrow I hop the border to Malawi…
As I write this it’s the dead of night (or as I used to call it, 7:30pm) and I am deep in the African bush. One of the things my African friends failed to mention to me before my arrival on the continent was the hours of sunlight here, or lack thereof. Because I am so close to the equator, and it’s winter, the day is evenly divided between light and dark – 12 hours for each. The sun came up this morning about 6:00, and by 6:00 this evening darkness was spreading across the horizon. I spent most of that time…check that, all of that time on an eastbound bus through Zambia, inching toward the Malawian border. The whole time I had one thought in my head: “Would my luggage arrive with me at the border?” That question was answered at about 7:15 this evening as the bus pulled into its destination in the town of Chipata. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me put the day in reverse so that you can understand better my travels today.
I started today in Lusaka, the capitol of Zambia. I would describe Lusaka as a utilitarian city built in the Soviet style to provide for the basic needs of the population and nothing more. There is not architecture, only Soviet-style block housing and office buildings. There is one street that contains everything you might need to buy. The guide books all suggest that you find anywhere to stay besides Lusaka. So why did I leave the comfortable surroundings of Livingstone to stay there?
Basically I just got tired of being a tourist in Africa. I think that Paul Theroux explains it well in his book “Dark Star Safari”: “It was in Africa that I began my lifelong dislike of Ernest Hemingway. The Hemingway vision of Africa begins and ends with the killing of large animals, so that their heads may be displayed to impress visitors with your prowess. That kind of safari is easily come by. You pay your money and you are shown elephants and leopards. You talk to servile Africans, who are generic natives, little more than obedient Oompa Loompas. The human side of Africa is an afternoon visit to a colorful village.”
Livingstone is a great place to catch your breath and see something incredible at Victoria Falls. But it’s a tourist trap. You can bungee jump and white water raft, and talk to a bunch of white people from all over the world. I conversed with these folks for two days before it wore very thin on me as I longed to see the Africa out on the streets. Unfortunately all I was to them was another tourist. I engaged in lots of conversations with them about Africa and development. I learned a lot from them, but at the end of the day they just wanted me to buy one of their copper bracelets or jump in their taxi.
Anyways, I hopped aboard a bus from Livingstone to Lusaka. It actually ended up being a good experience in spite of the stories I’d heard about travel in Africa. The bus left promptly, there were free drinks and snacks, we only made four stops on the way, and got there by early afternoon.
The bus from Lusaka to Chipata was not so great. Here’s a running diary I kept of the trip:
6:00—wake up to catch my 8:30 bus. I was told to report for the bus an hour and a half early at 7:00. I put my bag underneath the bus and wonder if it is the last time I will see it.
6:50—I find the last window seat. I wonder how long I will be in this position. There’s already a baby crying and the lady across from me is blaring a portable stereo she brought. Later this evening the owner of the guest house told me that this is an aspect of African culture. Apparently if you have music, it would be rude to not share it with everyone else. Try that on the metro back in DC. She stumbles upon a Western station and Keith Urban is singing. People walk up and down the aisles trying to sell us chocolate, fruit, CDs, fabric, watches, radios, flashlights, cell phone chargers, etc. I’ve heard the trip can take 8 hours. That sounds manageable.
8:45—(15 minutes after “scheduled” departure time) Still waiting patiently in my seat. The bus is almost full. It isn’t even turned on. Man comes around to check tickets.
9:00—Still waiting for bus to start…
9:30—still waiting…Preacher gets on the bus and screams fire and brimstone at us. Then he prays for the safety of the bus and his passengers. I decide it would be a good idea to join him in this prayer. There are no atheists in a fox hole.
9:38—Bus starts!!! Preacher walks around to collect donations. Just about everyone pays up.
9:52—Bus finally pulls out. There’s one more person than seats, so they give him a stool to sit on in the aisle. It turns out that the bus would not leave until it had enough people in spite of the fact that this is a chartered bus in which people may only be seated. People yell at the drive in the back about it. Bus driver blares his own CDs over the PA system.
10:15—Bus stops frequently leaving Lusaka so that more people can get on. The aisle is filled with people who will stand all day waiting for their stop. Soon we are out in the African bush on a one lane road called The Great East Road. We pass by little villages with brick walls and thatch roofs. I wonder if their world is any different from when David Livingstone first happened upon them in the 1850s. There are little fires started which serve as their morning heat and cooking fuel. In the distance I can see fires started as far as the horizon. I wonder what their lives are like.
The other thing I notice about the bush is that there are no fences anywhere. There are no places like that in the US. Property has a completely different meaning here. I see cacti that are 40 feet tall and ant hills that are taller than any of the mud huts.
12:20—We stop on the side of the road for our first bathroom break. Men to the left, ladies to the right. Find the nearest tree. Sorry ladies. I had been sitting in that position for five hours. I am now really glad I decided to buy some extra bread rolls the night before for the trip. I really wish I had bought more than one water bottle, though. It’s starting to get hot. I realize that I am the only white person on the bus. I enjoy that. I’m not sure why. Maybe it reminds me of San Antonio. Maybe it’s the adventure. Not sure. Terrain has gotten more hilly now with more trees.
1:20—The bus stops so that a little girl can use the bathroom. She squats down right in front of my window as her mom braces her. Trees are changing colors. More 40 foot cacti and 10 foot ant hills and mud huts and campfires. I must be pre-med because I’m still nursing my water bottle. Could really use a refill.
2:00—The guy in front of me just closed the window which is my only ventilation. Suddenly the stench of human sweat fills my nostrils. It’s pungent like ammonia. Most of it probably from me, but still, it isn’t pleasant. Later on someone opens an orange and deodorizes the whole place. It’s getting very hot outside. Probably high 90’s. No a/c on the bus.
2:30—Stop at the roadside to let someone off and pick others up. This would continue every 15-30 minutes or so the rest of the afternoon. As we stop the guy next to me buys some bananas out the window and gives me one. I enjoy it, but now my mouth is dry. Gotta drink the rest of the water. I have this weird feeling about my bag underneath the bus. I really wish it had not left my sight.
2:40—The road gets much worse and we slow to a crawl across the bush. I realize that I am in the “darkest” part of the continent according to the Europeans of the 1800s. This was the vast uncharted territory that they usually left as a big white mass on the map. The first European didn’t even see it until 1855. And now I’m strolling across it in a chartered bus filled with Zambians on the move. Little kids are playing soccer in one of the fields a hundred miles from the nearest town.
5:31—Pass one more town. Katate. Is this the last before Chipata? Vendors run up to the side of the bus to sell things. FINALLY I buy two bottles of water and dispatch of them in minutes. Ahhh, relief. The sun is already starting to dip below the horizon.
6:14—We are now dropping people off in the middle of the bush in complete darkness. I start to wonder how they even know where to stop. There are no landmarks out here.
6:50—12 hours of sitting on this bus. My butt is complete agony. Will this trip ever end? We stop to let another person off.
7:05—Finally pull into Chipata and the bus grinds to a halt. People crowd the aisle and it takes 5 minutes for me to get out of the bus to see if my bag is still there. I finally get to the luggage compartment as they start pulling out bags amassed along the way. Don’t see it. More bags are pulled. Still don’t see it. I start to think about the laptop that I stupidly left in there instead of carrying it on. My malaria pills are in there. The diamonds and drugs I am smuggling over to Malawi. What will my dealer say if I lose them? Then, one of the last bags is pulled out and my heart skips a beat. My bag!! I have had no greater joy in life. Jump in a taxi and head over to Dean’s Hill View Lodge for a well deserved rest. Tomorrow I hop the border to Malawi…
posted by Michael, aka Tex, aka Jett | 1:09 AM
5 Comments:
After this story I can really tell people I have a friend LIVING in Africa for the summer.This is Tony Horwitz style. Well done...and glad you and your stuff survived it;). Keep the stories coming!
That was a tricky stunt you pulled making me think you lost your bag. I think I shared your moment of panic.
Jett:
Wow, you are stirring some long forgotten memories. When you mentioned the smell of body odor on a hot, crowded bus in the African bush, I could almost smell it again. Even if it wasn't your own that you were smelling, it will be soon. But you are right, in that any tourist can see a limited version of Africa from a comfy, air-conditioned tour bus. You are seeing Africa for what it really is, and can probably learn more in one 10 hour bus ride than the typical missionary gets in three months of cross-cultural training.
So you've already sampled nsima, huh? Hang tight, you'll love the samoosas in Lilongwe. And there will be fresh mangos and bananas everywhere - for a handfull of change.
I should have told you to always hang on to your bag - no matter what! Even if it's uncomfortable, keep it in you lap. You were very lucky that it was still there - especially with a lap-top in it. Once we arrived in Malawi, I wore a back-pack everywhere. I wouldn't even leave it in a locked car. Don't get me wrong - the Malawians are thr friendliest, kindest people in the world, but their culture says that it's not stealing if you don't get caught - and many of them are very good at it.
It took us almost two days to get across the border to Malawi from Chipata - don't get your hopes up. The good news - once you cross the border, Lilongwe is only a short drive.
I was reading about the first bus story with free drinks and four stops and eight hours and I thought, "Ha, turns out Jett pulled a big one and is actually in Europe for the summer"... well, that was until we got to the hour and a half early departure time, bucket seats in the aisles, new undesirable smells that remind you of chicken blood and encourage one not to imagine where they come from, the typical African uncomfort with open windows in buses, and the ALL DAY long bus rides.
And then I believed you.
Remind me to tell you about the train ride from hell in Tanzania and the bus ride from Dodoma, TZ to Tabora, TZ. just wait... and don't worry, soon your nostrils won't work anymore and you won't notice the smell.
Bring me back one of those mangoes.
Thank heavens you did not lose my diamonds although I thought we had discussed one large one - not many little ones. Just kidding. . . Sounds interesting - almost like traveling through the interior of Mexico by bus.
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