What lies ahead I have no way of knowing

I started writing this last month, but just wasn’t able to post it. I’ve got 2 big issues to talk about and then maybe some little ones to throw in. First, my adventure hitting the Zambian hotspots. Second, an examination of one year.

So last month (July in case you have forgotten as I tend to do from time to time), I got to dabble in the tourist life. Now, unless your only mode of cross-country transportation is by plane and you stay in the moderately pricey accommodations and you avoid villages, you will be forced to experience what Zambia is proud to offer as “The Real Africa”. It does not leave you with that blissfully-ignorant I’m-just-here-to-pamper-myself taste in your mouth. In fact, you usually end up with a mouthful of dust, a mindful of frustration, and a heartful of severe contrasts. My trip with Oliver was brilliantly successful, especially in how things just always happened to work out. Mostly this came down to transportation situations; barely making it to the Lusaka bus station to catch our lift to Livingstone, a successful plane landing in terrifying turbulence, catching a hitch from a generous Lutheran who ended up driving out of his way to deliver us at the doorstep of our safari camp. I must thank Oli for his humor and good nature when situations were potentially frustrating. Our ride from Lundazi to Chipata was in the back of a canter, sitting on bags of maize, the sun scorching our skin, battling the awful road while following a huge truck carrying loads of cotton kicking up exorbitant amounts of dust.

Allow me to start at the beginning of the adventure. I picked up Oli in Lusaka and we headed down to Victoria Falls or Mosi-oa-Tunya (the smoke that thunders). The falls were beautiful. There was a lot of mist being thrown up which partially obscured the view, but we got to walk across a bridge through the thick of it over to a plateau that seemed to receive perpetual rain. We went on a booze cruise one evening and met a croc named Duncan. Later, with the help of my good friend whiskey, I was able to charm our taxi driver into charging us ½ the fare by utilizing my previously untapped ability to conjure up a conversation in Nyanja (a Zambian language in which I have received zero training).

We flew from Lusaka to Chipata to save time. It was an interesting flight. There were seats for 6 passengers only. I had flown on a similar sized plane a few times before, but Oli had not. I was quite comfortable during take-off and Oli was not. By the time we were going in for a landing Oli was excited and I was not. I was freaked out by the turbulence and thought we were going to land short of the tiny tarmac run-way. But here I am writing to you.

The village was really fun. I had been given a small chicken when Marcey visited and by this time he was good and fat so we decided to eat him. However, mama was out in the fields and Idah didn’t know/want to kill the chicken sooo I had to step up to the plate (or chopping block…which was actually just the dirt ground under a tree). So I stepped on his wings, grabbed his head and proceeded to saw at his throat (knives are very dull here). Lots of blood came out and he went limp and that was that. I stepped off him, grabbed his legs and was carrying him over to Idah when he went crazy, flapping his wings and I dropped him. There were a lot of feathers, dust, gurgling noises and at one point he flopped his half sawed-off neck over my foot. Somehow I snapped out of my shock, pinned him again and finished the job. I must say he was delicious later that night.

After a relaxing Beatles and Burritos time back in Chipata we traversed our way to the valley for a chance to view the famous creatures of Africa in South Luangwa National Park. As I’ve experienced a peek into the local side of culture, heritage, history, development, and environmental issues, I failed to be the ideal tourist here thanks to the bittersweet complexities of human need and environmental strain with a little politics thrown in (is anything without?). Regardless of how I defined myself, the beasts were magnificent, the birds beautiful, the company delightful, and the experience sublime. My favorite animal (and the one I wanted most to see) was the giraffe. During the day we also saw: lions, elephants, hippos (in and out of the water), crocs (not the footwear), zebras, puku, impala, water buffalo, water buck, birds and birds, etc.

The game drive at night was interesting. We drank beers by the river as the sun sank beneath the smoky horizon. Then, they popped on the spotlight and we took off down dirt paths. It almost felt like I was back on the ranch driving around late at night to catch a glimpse of the shining eyes of raccoons, possums, owls, or coyotes. Only here we saw hyenas, lions, a civet, grazing hippos, and a leopard stalking impala. Once the leopard was spotted, 4 other vehicles drove up with their spotlights and the leopard lost its dinner. This I didn’t like so much. However, I guess the night drives are justified by the park closing at 8:00pm so that only 2 hours of the animals’ night are interrupted. Pristine environment competing against the desires of the curious human…in addition to the country’s need for the almighty dollar. At times I felt like we weren’t justified in our intrusion of the wild animals’ habitat. However, without the conservation money the tourism brings in, which funds the national park, a vast majority of the creatures would have been hunted down by now (so how “pristine” would have the ecosystem had actually been even without tourists?). But then this also conflicts with the health of the local people who have depended on these bush animals meat for centuries. Oh the complexities of the earth and its inhabitants.

No less are the complexities within the mind. My happy feelings towards this place/lifestyle suffered a minor blow when coming back from Germany. Hitting my one-year mark has taken me down another peg or two. Sorry if this next bit is a downer, I just want to be honest. How else can I expect understanding when I return to you? And its not that I'm unhappy either. Its just that the new car smell has worn off. I still enjoy the vehicle and the places it takes me and the things it shows me and the perpetual bend ahead that sustains the mystery.

When reflecting on the last year, I’ve come to realize the greatest sacrifice was/is the relationships I had with every person I knew before stepping onto that plane in DFW. With the free and decent internet now available at the provincial house, I have been able to begin reconnecting with some of you beautiful people. In fact, one of my dear friends asked me the other day if it helps or hurts being able to talk to and know what people are doing back home. I think it’s a mixture of both. It makes those relationships seem to have been somewhat maintained, but it also brings into better focus the massive distance between us. And not just the physical distance. I can find out about events in a persons life, but truly knowing a person requires more than just facts. People change: attitudes, beliefs, habits, preferences. I know I've changed just as everyone else has. Though, I don’t think I will realize the extent of it until I’m plopped back down into Texas (that faraway magical land of donuts and Dr. Pepper), back into the culture from which my own attitudes, beliefs, habits, and preferences were first developed. I’m already apprehensive about that transition and I’ve still got a year to go.

When I look at the one year I have remaining in Zambia it feels like so long. But when I look at the year I’ve just lived it feels like it happened so fast. I miss home and I long to be there, but I know once I am I will miss this place and certain things about this life. So I think it would be best to continue to immerse myself in the experiences and the life to be lived here while I’m here. Aware of it or not, with every decision in life there is an inevitable sacrifice.

Now, it’s story time:

On my way back to the village last month, I attended a 3 year-olds birthday party. Nobody in my village celebrates birthdays. However, I was in Chipata. My guess is they have more access to western culture and therefore regard birthday celebrations as a “sign-of-development.” The Zambian spin on certain customs familiar to you and me are pretty funny. Blue and pink toilet paper was used as crepe paper. My favorite Zambianized custom was the contents of the goodie-bags. In our culture, children find candy and cheap plastic toys. In Zambian culture one finds a small package of biscuits, 2 potatoes and a piece of chicken.

Now, how bout a story about Gooey Sana? Two weeks ago I was sittin on my couch, holdin her on my lap all content and peaceful when my father ran in and asked if I would bring her outside quickly. I wondered what the hell was going on that a grown man would need a little cat. When I got outside with her they showed me a deep plastic bucket with a cover on it and said there was a mouse inside and they wanted me to throw Gooey in to catch it. Really? So of course I agreed. But Gooey was getting scared of being confined in my arms with all the people around and she started to squirm, even scratching my arm a little. No matter. They opened the lid and I threw her in on top of the mouse which turned out to be quite large. Everyone jumped back as Gooey hit the bottom. She shot outta there like a cannon, knocking the bucket over in my direction! The mouse darted at me and I freaked out! I backpedaled a few steps and then turned to run. But before my eyes turned I saw one of my little brothers smash the mouse with a stick. Then a dog picked it up and ran off.

And I’ll leave you with a funny bedtime story. One for the kids. So there is a guesthouse we stay at in Lundazi. It’s quaint and affordable on our budget and the staff knows us by name, well, village name. The biggest plus is that they are one of the very few that do not have a noisy bar that bumps obnoxious music all night. What they do have is a small concrete fish pond. It’s about 2x4 meters and maybe ¾ of a meter deep. Awhile back, they decided to stock this “pond” with about 300 fingerlings (juvenile fish). This is really way too many fish for starters, but it was just ok. But then, they began to neglect adding water to the “pond” for several months. Scotty, Cherie and I walked over to it the other day to find the water level had dropped to about 4 inches and all of the fish were piping (when fish gulp the air due to a lack of oxygen in the water). And it smelled like shit. Upon closer examination we realized that the smell was, in fact, coming from floating chunks of human fecal matter. Cherie pulls the garden hose over and turns the water on. A few of the employees rush over to inform us that the chlorine in the tap water will surely kill the fish (hence the reason they had neglected to add water themselves for months). But I mean REALLY? 300 piping fish in 4 inches of turd-infested water and they are worried about a small amount of chlorine killing the fish?? Come on people. And we’re not sure if Lundazi even bothers to add chlorine to the tap water.

It’s the numerous stories like these that make this place frustrating, hysterical, and endearing all at the same time.