This Easter I passed on Jesus, chocolate eggs and hot-cross buns, and opted for Kafue National Park and Zambia’s Western Province instead.
Kafue NP
Kafue National Park, which is a few hours’ drive to the west of Lusaka, is one of Zambia’s most popular game viewing areas. It’s big; it’s the size of Belgium (you know, where Kim Clijsters comes from).
I met a fellow volunteer in Lusaka and we got a bus out to Hook Bridge right in the middle of the park to meet some others. We were collected by Boyd from the camp where we would be staying. He was a small, slight man with bright eyes and a welcoming persona. Straight away we set off in his open top 4x4 – the wind in my face and nothing but glorious bush to my left and right. It suddenly dawned on me that I was away from the dusty, chaotic urban streets and was now in the bush. I immediately felt good.
The camp was set by the Kafue River, so it meant we could take a boat trip and hopefully see some wildlife. Our boat was a simple aluminium piece with a motor on the back. It had space for six patio chairs and a cool-box of beers for sundowners. It cut an amusing sight sat in the shallow waters of the river.
Along the river we came across a host of birdlife, hippos and the odd crocodile. We travelled slowly so Boyd could spot animals. When the engine was cut there was a stunning silence of non-human life, and all you could hear were the birds, the rustle of the trees and the gentle river current. We were never too far from the river banks and you could make out the vegetation over the sides. I could just imagine what was on the other side: lions, elephants, impala…all living in a world uninhabited by humans where it was pure survival of the fittest. Learning about how these animals won and lost in life from Boyd was fascinating as we sipped our beers as the sun slipped slowly over the horizon.
Mongu
After leaving Kafue we headed to Mongu, the capital of the Western Province. It is very similar to other Zambian towns but definitely more relaxed and less hectic. It is characterised by its abundance of sand which is deposited from the nearby Kalahari Desert. Our reasoning behind visiting Mongu was to hopefully catch the Kuomboka ceremony, but it wasn’t meant to be because the date was put back to May (so they say…). Nevertheless, we still made the most of our time there.
Limulunga
Limulunga: home to the Litunga (or Lozi king), but only when his other place isn’t submerged in water. This place is therefore on higher ground, to the north of Mongu. The king travels here when the rains have ended sometime around April; although, there are times when he stays in Lealui if the rains haven’t been as extensive as usual.
From outside the grounds, the palace looks fairly sizeable with several buildings sitting pretty behind high walls. You cannot take photos of the palace, and we were reminded of this by a guard whose name I can’t recall. He was a strange fellow. We shook hands and loosely talked about the palace. Some interesting talk ensued but I was left perplexed at the end of our conversation. He said he was thirsty as his mouth and throat were dry so I offered him some water, but he declined as he said he didn’t drink water…
As the palace is not open to the public, we were told we were welcome to walk down to the river where the Lozi king arrives on Kuomboka. As we set off we were accompanied by a boy of roughly 13 years. He was deaf and we struggled to communicate with him, but his sunny disposition was a joy to see for one who seemed to live in poverty by the look of his clothes.
At the waterfront there is a ‘grandstand’ where the crowds can gather to watch Kuomboka. Needless to say it was empty, but there was a fair bit of life mingling around this port of sorts. There were youngsters playing in the river, cattle farmers keeping their herds on the right path, and adults toiling in the river for their livelihoods. It really did feel like we had just dropped off the edge of urban civilisation and right into rural Zambia in only a few minutes.
We were obviously the main attraction being white. Cries of makuwa (white person) were immediate from the young. A group of kids were particularly enamoured by us and the feeling was likewise. They kept us amused by running about, screaming and performing amateur gymnastics as we strolled along the river banks. Their eyes lit in pure amazement when photos were being taken and showed back to them on the camera screen by Carole. Whilst we were being entertained by the kids, teenage boys were swimming around in their pants, fishing and posing like Usain Bolt on the sandbanks when the camera was on them.
We left the river and headed back into town with our tour guide and started looking for a place to eat. He took us to the market where we were shown the local nshima foodhall (I say foodhall but it was a concrete shack with two tables inside). It looked hot in there, and I wasn’t sure that nshima was what I wanted but it had to suffice. So, there we were, two makuwas eating with the locals on tables and chairs that were designed for kids. I sometimes looked to my left to see the other people eating and their expression never changed: pure bewilderment at the sight of two white people doing as the Zambians do.
We paid up and decided to leave and get back to Mongu after a drink. We said goodbye to our hero whose smile was still beaming brightly as we drove off. But we never got to know his name…
Lealui
Lealui: the home of the Lozi king during the wet season. After the rains have come, Lealui is effectively a temporary island so a boat is needed to travel from there to the mainland.
So, to visit Lealui we had to organise a boat at Mongu harbour, which proved to be a challenging experience as we had to haggle with the locals. After much deliberation and broken communication we bagged Joseph, a native of Lealui. His boat had a motor which saved us a journey by long oar that would’ve taken hours.
We had to get petrol first. Joseph took us round the harbour to visit various petrol dealers and tried to con us with the price, as expected. Whilst we were being dragged about I took in the sight of the harbour from the water: shanty type shacks built right upon the water edge; hens and pigs running amok; kids shouting after us; women and children bathing in the dirty harbour water.
After an hour’s delay we were on our way. It was a pleasurable experience on the boat: the water was crystal clear and the sun was bright in the sky. We passed many boats carrying people and their goods. Some boats had chairs and tables all stacked on. I was impressed with the strength of the oarsmen propelling these boats over long distances in the heat.
After roughly an hour and a half we arrived at Lealui. We docked and were greeted by the locals. For a brief moment I felt like an explorer from the 19th century. On dry land, the locals took us around showing us the main attractions of Lealui. It was quite the little community with homes, a market, some shops and a fully functioning school. Our tour guides were welcoming and provided us with the answers to all our questions. However, I was somewhat suffering walking around in the midday heat. I was cursing myself for being inappropriately dressed as I had nothing covering my neck. The sun was relentless and scorching. My body was craving the weather of Wales, where the rain flows and the grass grows.
One of the attractions on Lealui was seeing the canoe that the king is transported in to Limulunga. On Kuomboka, the canoe is stocked with a hundred male oarsmen who take the king over a distance of 20 km. It is considered a great privilege to transport the king and no women are allowed on the boat. It is painted black and white in vertical stripes to signify the dead (black) and the living (white).
To our surprise we finished our tour of the island with a visit to the king’s advisors. They were sitting in a building close to a lake. It transpired that we would have to take a canoe to get over to the building as it was surrounded by water. We had to take our shoes and socks off in order to wade out to the canoe. In two minutes we had arrived, travelling around the rear of the building to a side entrance. I could’ve walked quicker to the building but I don’t think that would’ve gone down well with the locals... It really was a bizarre experience.
The building was simply a shell, akin to one used for an end-scene in a cheap Hollywood action film. It was the size of a school hall and even had school chairs inside. We entered bowing and softly clapping our hands as a sign of respect along with our guides. Inside were two men. They were sitting on chairs: one said ‘Lealui’ and the other read ‘Limulunga’ in painted scrawl. It was almost comical how shoddy the place looked. I never got to know what the intended use of the building was.
So we waited on our school chairs waiting to be introduced, like lemons not knowing what was going to happen next. There was some talk in Lozi (the local language) and then the man sat in ‘Limulinga’ introduced himself. He wanted to know why we were on Lealui and asked us to introduce ourselves. We did so. Then the man in ‘Lealui’ asked if we could write down our names and where we came from for our records. Carole had a pen but no paper. We looked at each other and no solutions came. I then realised we could use the back of a receipt. So we wrote our details down and then passed to the messenger. The messenger bowed, clapped, walked towards the man in the Lealui chair and extended his arm out. The paper was received. Silence followed. Then he put it in his top pocket.
After some more silence, the messenger came and started whispering to Carole. She got up and was led to the back of the hall. I was worried. Maybe they would take her away and I’d be left alone in the hall with the king’s advisors. My fears passed when it emerged that she was asked for some money to be donated. So then came the dilemma of how much to give! We settled on approximately K35,000 (around £3.80). Then man in the Lealui chair put this in his top pocket along with the receipt with our details on. All in a day’s work he must’ve thought to himself.
It was time to go, so we retreated out the building, crouching and softly clapping our hands as we had done when we entered. The canoe took us back to dry land and we began our journey back to the boat so we could leave.
On the boat back to Mongu I began reflecting on my time in Western Province. I was left thinking that I had taken part in a real traveller’s experience, purely because the area had no tourist infrastructure at all. It was immensely rewarding and probably one of the most original travelling experiences I’ve had. Hopefully there will be more to come.
