Another field expedition came soon after the Ikelenge trip. This time it was way out west to two districts known as Zambezi and Chavuma. The department was requested by the council in Chavuma to do some layout planning (involving using a GPS to pick up out potential roads and boundaries for residential areas, and then producing a plan using GIS) for an area of the Chavuma township. There was no Mulenga this time, just me, Vincent and Nasun (known affectionately as ‘Baby Nasun’).
There were no vehicles available to us at the office, and we had no driver, so one was sent from Chavuma (it seems ludicrous to send a driver over 600 km to pick up 3 men, but, hey, this is the way it is here). Our man on the accelerator was called Clifford. He picked me up first from home. He was wearing an Arsenal replica shirt (2010/11 season – no name or number on the back), so we talked Arsenal – nothing else. His vehicle was a white Toyota Land Cruiser with ‘Ministry of Agriculture’ written on the side. Inside the van, there were two uncomfortable benches in the back and just the one seat up front. Knowing that I wouldn’t get the seat up front (that would Baby Nasun’s pleasure), a slight twinge of pre-journey pain ran through my body.
After getting the other guys we shopped in Shoprite, which was arduous. Picture the scene: three men walking around with a trolley trying to decide what to eat for a week.
‘How much toilet roll do we need?’
‘Do we need all that sugar?’
‘We don’t need that much water.’
‘I forgot to get some glycerine.’
‘We can get meat there.’
‘What tea do you want?’
‘I’m easy.’
‘OK.’
‘We should get some more water.’
‘Where’s Vincent* gone?’
‘Fish?’
Inevitably kick off was delayed because of some serious faffing (aside from Shoprite). What should have been a midday departure turned into a 17.00 hours departure, right amongst the thick Solwezi traffic. In true Zambian style there were a few stops before we eventually left town. Interestingly, when we picked up bread from the bakery we managed to pick up a human being. He had a box with a home cinema system in it but the box was for a vacuum cleaner; he also had three loaves of bread. I had no idea who he was – nor did Vincent. It transpired he was a teacher from Chavuma who needed a ride back. Fair enough.
So there we were, Vincent, me, bread-man and an entire week’s worth of food and water packed into the back. It was uncomfortable, but the moment Clifford hit top speed the warm, smoky air flowed through the van and it was just about OK considering we had over 600 km to go and the sun was going down. Vincent and I flirted with some ribald banter, but when bread-man (real name Joseph) eventually left his role of pot plant in the corner and joined in, the conversation moved towards second gear small talk.
Clifford got us to Mufumbwe around 19.30 so we decided to stay the night and head out early in the morning to reach our destination. Mufumbwe was another bog-standard Zambian linear town. Dust everywhere, lots of people loitering around, buildings with faded paint and chipped concrete, the stench of burnt plastic in the air, chickens and dogs wandering around...
Chavuma – but Zambezi first
The next morning we breakfasted at the guest house watching ZNBC. There was an interview with Macky 2 - the less said about him the better. So with our bellies full and brains fried, we set off to finish the last leg of the journey to Chavuma.
The road was very good, which surprised me. After a bad stretch between Kabompo and Manyinga, where the road was being tarred, the road to Zambezi was brand new. Fresh tarmac laid by the Chinese. There were even road markers indicating the distance to Zambezi (road signs are virtually non-existent in Zambia), and the tarmac didn’t spill towards the edge of the road akin to dried lava flow like it does on other roads in Zambia.
When we got to Zambezi, Joseph dropped off some loaves of bread to some family members whilst we got some refreshments in the form of fizzy pop (I had a Sprite, Vincent had a Coca Cola). Baby Nasun called us and we were soon on the road for our final stretch to Chavuma. After some time Clifford hammered a left turn – I gathered we were taking Joseph home but everyone was talking in Bemba. Like a captured fish returning to water, the Land Cruiser came into its own here, taking on some 6 km of rough track towards the Zambezi River. We eventually came to a stop near the river where a bridge spanned the water. It is known as the Chinyingi Suspension Bridge. An Italian missionary built it over 30 years ago, and it looks it. It wobbles as you walk over it. You wouldn’t want to fall down as crocodiles roam around the river banks. Joseph even entertained us with a story about a man getting chewed up. Yeah, cheers Joe.
We said goodbye to Joseph and I watched him walk over the suspension bridge with his remaining loaves and home cinema system. I wondered if he had that intense feeling of excitement you get when you buy a new electrical product that has the sole purpose to entertain... Anyway, we returned to the main road. Not soon after we hit detour after detour as the road was being tarred. It was an uncomfortable experience. Hot, dusty, bumpy, hot – nothing more, nothing less.
Chavuma
We arrived in Chavuma around 13.00. It was like the Wild West. Even the buildings looked dead and deserted. We came to a roundabout. There was a sign: head straight to the Angolan border, or turn right, or turn left. We turned left and soon found ourselves at the council offices where we were to meet the district commissioner who would escort us to our accommodation for the week.
Baby Nasun called him and found that he was out of town much to our frustration. So we had to sit around and wait. Fortunately Clifford took us to his home and sat us down in the living room. It was full of boys just watching TV. The Zambian tradition of respect your elders came into effect here, and within seconds the sofas were vacated.
After watching a fair chunk of West Ham v Fulham, Mr DC finally arrived so we went to meet him in town. We were taken to see some private accommodation because the guest houses were fully booked due to the road construction. Most districts have a council guesthouse which is primarily used for government workers when they have to travel around the country. Unfortunately there was no such facility here.
We arrived at the house after a short drive through town. The house looked quite nice from the outside. After a few minutes waiting, a caretaker came with keys to open the door. She must’ve had about 100 keys on her. To my dismay she didn’t know which one opened the door. So we all watched her go one by one through the keys. I was getting agitated. I just wanted to scream. Why hadn’t she thought of putting tags on the keys so she understood which keys were for what?
Meanwhile, whilst the keys were being tested, some drunken man came along with the intention to entertain, I think. He was absolutely smashed: wobbling, slurring, singing, dribbling. He had probably been drinking (the now banned) tujilijili – a strong spirit that is sold in small transparent bags like the ones you get goldfish in at the school fair. Our court jester came towards me first, clearly because I was the white man. You get all the attention – good and bad. This was bad. It was the wrong time to approach me. I was close to meltdown after the long drive and waiting all afternoon to wash, as well as the oppressive afternoon air. I had to get up and walk away. ‘Welcome to Africa,’ Clifford said with a grin on his face. Yeah, cheers Cliff.
Inside the house was...well, nothing. No furniture, no kitchen, no kitchen utensils. I couldn’t believe our tour rep took us here. Was he taking the piss? How would we sleep, cook and bathe? Apparently the water could be connected easily, but that was only a slight help considering all the other problems. We left after our quick tour and went to another place in town.
The second place was located round the back of a shop right next to the market. They were tiny bed sits that opened out onto a small patio. There were two rooms, and inside each room was a double-bed, a fan and a TV. There was just enough space for you to take your clothes off. Again, I was incredulous! Our tour rep’s entourage all had annoyingly patient smug faces like Phil Spencer. Just by looking at their facial expressions I could read what they were thinking:
‘What do you think of this?’
‘It’s alright this, yeah?’
‘Not bad, this...’
‘Now this is where you wanna be.’
This really wasn’t it. After a while it dawned on me that we were only shown two rooms. Three into two just doesn’t go unless one wants to share a double bed. But then I saw a third door and opened it – it was a toilet. I said Vincent could stay in there. Baby Nasun enjoyed that joke, but the man showing us the accommodation just didn’t get it. His face didn’t contort, and his head didn’t tilt back to let out laughter. As we walked off I was still wondering how staying there would have worked logistically considering there were only two beds.
So after waiting all afternoon to see two sub-standard places to stay we figured we’d have to go back to Zambezi to stay the night. Baby Nasun told the DC that he needed to prepare the house for living in by getting some mattresses, the water connected and some kitchen materials. I wasn’t confident that it would be completed on a Sunday for us to move in on the Monday. All I wanted was a cold shower to wash away the day’s trivialities.
Sunday in Zambezi
It was noticeably hotter in Zambezi than Solwezi. The kind of heat that when you first put your clothes on after a cold shower you're starting to sweat. We loitered around the lodge in the morning, and after lunch the three of us went for a walk through town and then down to the Zambezi.
We approached the river by passing through a lodge that overlooks it. The views were stunning, but the lodge wasn’t. It was clearly built well over 30-40 years ago. Now it was looking extremely unloved and tired. This is the type of place where tourism could flourish if there was a demand for it. Maybe one day.
We made our way down the banks to the river. As it was Sunday it was very busy. There were no adults around, just kids – mainly boys. They were everywhere! Running around and jumping into the river in their underwear. The Zambezi was a good 500m wide so there were boats that could take you to the beach on the other side. We stood and just soaked in the views and the life happening around us. One boy came up to us and shared our space for a while. He had a pet monkey tied to a rope so he could walk it like a dog. I asked him what the name of his pet was. He told me he was called Gilbert. I couldn’t stop looking at Gilbert’s bare arse.
Vincent disappeared after a while, so Baby Nasun and I started walking back. We stopped at the top by the lodge to wait for him. The sun was beginning to set over the horizon, so I found a place between two trees to watch the colours change. Vincent never came. He did one of his specials by disappearing without saying where he was going. That didn’t matter. The view was all that mattered. Another day in Zambia and another Zambezi experience notched to my belt. They never fail to disappoint.
*It turned out Vincent forgot the onions. Yeah, cheers Vin.
There were no vehicles available to us at the office, and we had no driver, so one was sent from Chavuma (it seems ludicrous to send a driver over 600 km to pick up 3 men, but, hey, this is the way it is here). Our man on the accelerator was called Clifford. He picked me up first from home. He was wearing an Arsenal replica shirt (2010/11 season – no name or number on the back), so we talked Arsenal – nothing else. His vehicle was a white Toyota Land Cruiser with ‘Ministry of Agriculture’ written on the side. Inside the van, there were two uncomfortable benches in the back and just the one seat up front. Knowing that I wouldn’t get the seat up front (that would Baby Nasun’s pleasure), a slight twinge of pre-journey pain ran through my body.
After getting the other guys we shopped in Shoprite, which was arduous. Picture the scene: three men walking around with a trolley trying to decide what to eat for a week.
‘How much toilet roll do we need?’
‘Do we need all that sugar?’
‘We don’t need that much water.’
‘I forgot to get some glycerine.’
‘We can get meat there.’
‘What tea do you want?’
‘I’m easy.’
‘OK.’
‘We should get some more water.’
‘Where’s Vincent* gone?’
‘Fish?’
Inevitably kick off was delayed because of some serious faffing (aside from Shoprite). What should have been a midday departure turned into a 17.00 hours departure, right amongst the thick Solwezi traffic. In true Zambian style there were a few stops before we eventually left town. Interestingly, when we picked up bread from the bakery we managed to pick up a human being. He had a box with a home cinema system in it but the box was for a vacuum cleaner; he also had three loaves of bread. I had no idea who he was – nor did Vincent. It transpired he was a teacher from Chavuma who needed a ride back. Fair enough.
So there we were, Vincent, me, bread-man and an entire week’s worth of food and water packed into the back. It was uncomfortable, but the moment Clifford hit top speed the warm, smoky air flowed through the van and it was just about OK considering we had over 600 km to go and the sun was going down. Vincent and I flirted with some ribald banter, but when bread-man (real name Joseph) eventually left his role of pot plant in the corner and joined in, the conversation moved towards second gear small talk.
Clifford got us to Mufumbwe around 19.30 so we decided to stay the night and head out early in the morning to reach our destination. Mufumbwe was another bog-standard Zambian linear town. Dust everywhere, lots of people loitering around, buildings with faded paint and chipped concrete, the stench of burnt plastic in the air, chickens and dogs wandering around...
Chavuma – but Zambezi first
The next morning we breakfasted at the guest house watching ZNBC. There was an interview with Macky 2 - the less said about him the better. So with our bellies full and brains fried, we set off to finish the last leg of the journey to Chavuma.
The road was very good, which surprised me. After a bad stretch between Kabompo and Manyinga, where the road was being tarred, the road to Zambezi was brand new. Fresh tarmac laid by the Chinese. There were even road markers indicating the distance to Zambezi (road signs are virtually non-existent in Zambia), and the tarmac didn’t spill towards the edge of the road akin to dried lava flow like it does on other roads in Zambia.
When we got to Zambezi, Joseph dropped off some loaves of bread to some family members whilst we got some refreshments in the form of fizzy pop (I had a Sprite, Vincent had a Coca Cola). Baby Nasun called us and we were soon on the road for our final stretch to Chavuma. After some time Clifford hammered a left turn – I gathered we were taking Joseph home but everyone was talking in Bemba. Like a captured fish returning to water, the Land Cruiser came into its own here, taking on some 6 km of rough track towards the Zambezi River. We eventually came to a stop near the river where a bridge spanned the water. It is known as the Chinyingi Suspension Bridge. An Italian missionary built it over 30 years ago, and it looks it. It wobbles as you walk over it. You wouldn’t want to fall down as crocodiles roam around the river banks. Joseph even entertained us with a story about a man getting chewed up. Yeah, cheers Joe.
We said goodbye to Joseph and I watched him walk over the suspension bridge with his remaining loaves and home cinema system. I wondered if he had that intense feeling of excitement you get when you buy a new electrical product that has the sole purpose to entertain... Anyway, we returned to the main road. Not soon after we hit detour after detour as the road was being tarred. It was an uncomfortable experience. Hot, dusty, bumpy, hot – nothing more, nothing less.
Chavuma
We arrived in Chavuma around 13.00. It was like the Wild West. Even the buildings looked dead and deserted. We came to a roundabout. There was a sign: head straight to the Angolan border, or turn right, or turn left. We turned left and soon found ourselves at the council offices where we were to meet the district commissioner who would escort us to our accommodation for the week.
Baby Nasun called him and found that he was out of town much to our frustration. So we had to sit around and wait. Fortunately Clifford took us to his home and sat us down in the living room. It was full of boys just watching TV. The Zambian tradition of respect your elders came into effect here, and within seconds the sofas were vacated.
After watching a fair chunk of West Ham v Fulham, Mr DC finally arrived so we went to meet him in town. We were taken to see some private accommodation because the guest houses were fully booked due to the road construction. Most districts have a council guesthouse which is primarily used for government workers when they have to travel around the country. Unfortunately there was no such facility here.
We arrived at the house after a short drive through town. The house looked quite nice from the outside. After a few minutes waiting, a caretaker came with keys to open the door. She must’ve had about 100 keys on her. To my dismay she didn’t know which one opened the door. So we all watched her go one by one through the keys. I was getting agitated. I just wanted to scream. Why hadn’t she thought of putting tags on the keys so she understood which keys were for what?
Meanwhile, whilst the keys were being tested, some drunken man came along with the intention to entertain, I think. He was absolutely smashed: wobbling, slurring, singing, dribbling. He had probably been drinking (the now banned) tujilijili – a strong spirit that is sold in small transparent bags like the ones you get goldfish in at the school fair. Our court jester came towards me first, clearly because I was the white man. You get all the attention – good and bad. This was bad. It was the wrong time to approach me. I was close to meltdown after the long drive and waiting all afternoon to wash, as well as the oppressive afternoon air. I had to get up and walk away. ‘Welcome to Africa,’ Clifford said with a grin on his face. Yeah, cheers Cliff.
Inside the house was...well, nothing. No furniture, no kitchen, no kitchen utensils. I couldn’t believe our tour rep took us here. Was he taking the piss? How would we sleep, cook and bathe? Apparently the water could be connected easily, but that was only a slight help considering all the other problems. We left after our quick tour and went to another place in town.
The second place was located round the back of a shop right next to the market. They were tiny bed sits that opened out onto a small patio. There were two rooms, and inside each room was a double-bed, a fan and a TV. There was just enough space for you to take your clothes off. Again, I was incredulous! Our tour rep’s entourage all had annoyingly patient smug faces like Phil Spencer. Just by looking at their facial expressions I could read what they were thinking:
‘What do you think of this?’
‘It’s alright this, yeah?’
‘Not bad, this...’
‘Now this is where you wanna be.’
This really wasn’t it. After a while it dawned on me that we were only shown two rooms. Three into two just doesn’t go unless one wants to share a double bed. But then I saw a third door and opened it – it was a toilet. I said Vincent could stay in there. Baby Nasun enjoyed that joke, but the man showing us the accommodation just didn’t get it. His face didn’t contort, and his head didn’t tilt back to let out laughter. As we walked off I was still wondering how staying there would have worked logistically considering there were only two beds.
So after waiting all afternoon to see two sub-standard places to stay we figured we’d have to go back to Zambezi to stay the night. Baby Nasun told the DC that he needed to prepare the house for living in by getting some mattresses, the water connected and some kitchen materials. I wasn’t confident that it would be completed on a Sunday for us to move in on the Monday. All I wanted was a cold shower to wash away the day’s trivialities.
Sunday in Zambezi
It was noticeably hotter in Zambezi than Solwezi. The kind of heat that when you first put your clothes on after a cold shower you're starting to sweat. We loitered around the lodge in the morning, and after lunch the three of us went for a walk through town and then down to the Zambezi.
We approached the river by passing through a lodge that overlooks it. The views were stunning, but the lodge wasn’t. It was clearly built well over 30-40 years ago. Now it was looking extremely unloved and tired. This is the type of place where tourism could flourish if there was a demand for it. Maybe one day.
We made our way down the banks to the river. As it was Sunday it was very busy. There were no adults around, just kids – mainly boys. They were everywhere! Running around and jumping into the river in their underwear. The Zambezi was a good 500m wide so there were boats that could take you to the beach on the other side. We stood and just soaked in the views and the life happening around us. One boy came up to us and shared our space for a while. He had a pet monkey tied to a rope so he could walk it like a dog. I asked him what the name of his pet was. He told me he was called Gilbert. I couldn’t stop looking at Gilbert’s bare arse.
Vincent disappeared after a while, so Baby Nasun and I started walking back. We stopped at the top by the lodge to wait for him. The sun was beginning to set over the horizon, so I found a place between two trees to watch the colours change. Vincent never came. He did one of his specials by disappearing without saying where he was going. That didn’t matter. The view was all that mattered. Another day in Zambia and another Zambezi experience notched to my belt. They never fail to disappoint.
*It turned out Vincent forgot the onions. Yeah, cheers Vin.
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