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Lusaka: Touring the city with a local
Posted by Squiffy on August 15th, 2008
You may recall that whilst we were home between travels in May, I briefly worked with a charity in Hinckley called The U Foundation, which supports children and families in Zambia. Sarah and Jay, my bosses at the charity, know Zambia very well and have lots of friends here. We were fortunate enough that they were able to put us in contact with Sydney, a local guy and good friend of theirs. He kindly agreed to be our driver and guide for the day and took us on a tour of the ‘real’ Lusaka.
We first visited his house in the compound (township), where we met his wife and sister. His home was small but well furnished and with electricity, though sadly they don’t have running water. Next stop was Chitukuko Basic School to understand how a local school functions, and to see the furniture that had been donated by Leicestershire schools, via The U Foundation. We entered the first classroom and found the children mid lesson. When they saw their deputy head, the children stood to greet him, and then the 60 faces turned to peer at us. Their teacher suggested we say something to the class. Dave pushed me forward, muttering “Well you’re the teacher”. I stumbled through a greeting, explaining briefly about our trip and that we were from the UK. I’m used to a lot less faces staring at me from my classes! I asked if they had any questions. Either they didn’t understand my mzungu accent or they were too shy to ask, but they all kept quiet and just smiled politely.
We showed them some postcards of the UK and one girl asked me if the lady on one postcard was my mother. She was pointing to the Queen at the time! Dave caused a bit of a riot by taking a photo then showing a couple of kids the picture. Immediately 60 children leapt from their desk and descended on him, all wanting to see their picture, much to the teachers bewilderment. Dave apologised profusely as he told all the children to return to their desks and took the camera round all of them in turn.
During our visit we also observed a still art class and a manual photocopier in use, helped the admin staff to fix their printer so that they could finally print the end of term French test and were in demand to have our photos taken with the students. The deputy head spent some time with us explaining the school system, that the children attend school in shifts and that some walk a long way to be there.
We were happy to see that the donated desks and chairs were being put to good use, although it was clear that they were still in need of a few more chairs, as about 15 children were sat on the floor in the two lower classes. The deputy explained that suitable chairs are very expensive and hard to get hold. He felt it really affected the children’s ability to learn as they were more restless and had poorer handwriting if they were sat on the floor.
We’d like to thank Sydney for an insightful tour and Bonnie (his boss) for her advice on travelling in Zambia and arranging our stay in Livingstone. It was great to meet people who live and work here.
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Lusaka: Did I really sign up for this?
Posted by Squiffy on August 14th, 2008
Up until now we’ve been travelling largely without any specific plans and without booking accommodation. This wasn’t really a problem until we got to Lilongwe, Malawi where many places were fully booked. The situation was worse in Lusaka. There are very few budget places and the ones we did manage to stay in rarely had hot water, if any water at all. You can imagine the state of the Western style toilets.
After two nights in our first hostel, we were kicked out because our room had been pre-booked (who are these pesky planners??) and tried our luck at the other budget places. Our only option was to stay in a tent belonging to Chachacha backpackers, in the grounds of the hostel. When our host showed us to the tiny, beaten up and broken North Face tent, we sighed, and took this photo, thinking “well at least it’s only for one or two nights”.
Deciding that we should really book our next place in advance, we tried to call the hotels in Livingstone. You can’t imagine the frustration we endured in trying to make a reservation. We couldn’t get through to any of the hotels on our Zambian mobile due to a number of factors including: changes to area codes, Celtel only allowing calls within the city you’re already in and landlines at the hotels being down When our hotel receptionist finally got through on her landline, she found there was ‘no room at the inn’.
What to do? We really wanted to visit Livingstone and Victoria Falls. Despite the very cold nights in Zambia, there was only really one thing for it; buy a tent. All of the places there have room for campers (with the added advantage that it’s much cheaper than staying in a room). We were about to set off to the mall to do some tent shopping, when the hostel owner mentioned he’d bought a tent off someone for $5 and we could buy it off him for the same price. Excited, we followed him to the garden to check it out. You can guess which tent he was talking about……..
(DaveB edits: Of course, the tent came with no pegs and so we’re using BBQ skewers. And nowhere here has a padded Karrimat to sell us and so we’re sleeping on picnic-chair covers…)
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Africa Insight: Hand-painted signs
Posted by daveb on August 13th, 2008
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Lusaka: Civilisation?
Posted by daveb on August 13th, 2008
For nearly two months we’ve travelled Africa and we continue to adjust to how different things really are here. Upon arrival in Lusaka, it appeared that we had re-entered civilisation as we know it in the West. The roads are made from tarmac. The cars are modern. There are numerous shopping malls. A cinema and even a bowling alley!
After a couple of months of [debatably] hard travel, we took advantage of the city’s offerings and spent a day or two pretending that we were back in the UK (more accurately, the US). We bought books and we bowled. (Disappointingly, Sex and the City: The Movie had already been and gone from the silver screen here.)
At last, we managed to find a replacement wooden giraffe, to fill the void created by Claire’s dad and his clumsiness with her last one. However, we were reminded that we were still in Africa after trying unsuccessfully to purchase ready-to-post packaging materials. Instead we had to build our own cardboard box and entertain the DHL office clerks into donating a roll of bubble-wrap to our cause.
Naturally, the phone networks remain down, internet connectivity is next to useless, power failures are a daily occurence and the council has turned-off the water supply until further notice. How could we possibly forget we are in Africa?
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Mfuwe to Lusaka: First internal flight
Posted by daveb on August 12th, 2008
To travel from Mfuwe, near South Luangwa National Park, to the Zambian capital of Lusaka meant spending another 4.5 hours at 15mph to get back to Chipata and then face another seven hours on a bus on road probably not that much better.
Or we could just get a one hour flight, from Mfuwe to Lusaka.
Guess which option we took?
This was our first internal flight and we were both really excited. The plane was titchy, albeit not as small as I had hoped. Even though the flight was only one hour in duration, our host still managed to squeeze in an in-flight meal consisting of a cheese cob and a mango juice drink. Bliss. He started to pour a coffee at one point and I got excited. Although it turns out that hot drinks were reserved for the pilots, presumably to help them read their newspapers at 24,000 feet…
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South Luangwa: Walk on the wild side
Posted by daveb on August 11th, 2008
The previous day I had booked us onto a morning walking safari, which seemed like a great idea at the time. At 05:30 the next morning, the matter was certainly up for debate. Worse still, it soon became apparent that the rest of the early diners would soon be whisked away for a morning driving safari and would thus be inside a vehicle where they would (a) be able to get further sleep and (b) be out of harm’s way. We on the other hand, would quickly learn that being on foot in the wild brings with it some eerie new challenges. All of a sudden, knowing the difference between lion poo, zebra poo and its freshness would be a matter of great importance.
For the last couple of nights we were escorted by men with really big torches. This morning, we had a uniformed guard with a really big gun. The scariest moment was being mock-charged by a male elephant, although by this time we were back in the vehicle and on our way home. Still, the car had no sides and was completely open. I managed to get a great photo just before telling the driver to put his foot down!
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South Luangwa: Night Safari
Posted by daveb on August 8th, 2008
Last night a man with a big torch escorted us from the Flatdogs Lodge restaurant to our cottage. Tonight a man with a really big torch escorted us through South Luangwa National Park on a night-time driving safari.
Squiffy was dressed like a disguised terrorist to shield herself from abundant dust being kicked-up into our open-vehicle. Yes, she got looks from the drivers and tourists in other vehicles. And yes, I tried my best to act like hired-security for the A-list celebrity who was trying to travel incognito. No, it didn’t work.
A night-time safari attempts to track down the quiet, resident nocturnal animals and then shines a bloody big torchlight on them. Being nocturnal, these creatures don’t much like:
(a) A noisy diesel 4×4 trampling across their homeland, and
(b) A bloody big torchlight being directed at them
More often than not, all we saw were bushy tails disappearing into the scrub. If I was Doctor Doolittle, I’m sure that I would be able to hear the furry things saying “F-off, I’m trying to discreetly forrage for food here!”
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South Luangwa: Flatdogs, saviour lodge
Posted by daveb on August 7th, 2008
As soon as morning broke, we checked-out of our terrible resthouse in Mfuwe and finally managed to make contact with the Flatdogs Lodge and Campsite. Within minutes, a branded 4×4 vehicle appeared and whisked us off to the lodge for a hearty breakfast. (We were told that we were not allowed to walk from the village to the lodge, as it was also breakfast-time for the surrounding wild animals.)
The Flatdogs lodge is beautiful, easily the best accommodation that we’ve experienced in Africa so far. Our ‘cottage’, built from a third concrete, a third wood and a third canvas, had a wonderful outdoor bathroom which provided a welcome change to the grotty, shared bathrooms to which we’ve become accustomed. Claire particularly enjoyed the open-air bush shower experience. We spent most of the day lounging around with the monkeys by the swimming pool (a swimming pool!) and staying out the way of the visiting elephants and giraffe.
Later we ate some really great, if pricey, food at the restaurant. I really take my hat off to Cathie, the restaurant manager, for getting such good food to our table: The lodge is in the middle of nowhere and the available menu would put many city eateries to shame. After our meal, a guide with a big torch safely escorted us back to our cottage where we slept in the midst of the wildlife. Thank goodness we had concrete/wooden walls — I wouldn’t have felt so secure in a canvas tent with elephants trampling through the site!
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Chipata to Mfuwe: 4.5 hours at 15mph
Posted by daveb on August 6th, 2008
Aftering waving the emerald smugglers goodbye in Chipata at about lunchtime, we set about finding an ATM, a cheap eat and a place to sleep for the night before setting off for Mfuwe (pronounced ‘muf-ooh-eee’), the nearest town to South Luangwa National Park for more wildlife watching. We found a restaurant to make us a cheese toastie, but with no running water in Chipata right now, we didn’t care to think when the chef last washed his hands…
After discussing our travel plans with the restauranteur, it seemed to make sense for us to try to complete our journey to Mfuwe today instead: There were only two minibuses a day, both in the afternoon, and the the lack of running water would make our designated resthouse a nightmare. (Confirmed: I used their toilet on the way back to the bus station, and nearly died at the smell. It was more hygienic not to wash my hands afterwards.)
The last minibus to Mfuwe was at the station and really full already. You see, in Africa, most buses are not timetabled — they leave when they are full. Really full. The ‘conductor’ was keen to squeeze us into any available air pockets, but there really were none and we were in full transit regalia, backpacks and all. And that’s when Peter Lapkan appeared.
Peter, a tall man, introduced himself as a shopkeeper from Mfuwe and invited us to join him for his return journey home. He asked for a contribution only a little above that which the minibus would have cost us and indicated that he had a 4×4 hatchback car, which would get us there safely and probably before the minibus anyway. Certainly in more comfort. This we couldn’t argue — being dragged face-down along the road would have been more comfortable than taking that bus. As is now customary for us with offers of carriage in Africa, we checked his breath for alcohol and discussed our requirements to keep within the speed limits. All was agreed and off we walked to his car. It turned out that Peter was a second-hand shoe salesman and regularly crossed into Malawi to buy cheap stock, before driving them to the Zambian town of Mfuwe for sale. Naturally, his car was full of second hand shoes but we managed to squish in.
The journey was long and arduous. The distances were not great, but the road (if you can call it that) was in such a bad state of disrepair it took us over four and a half hours at an average speed of 20km/h (15mph, or so). The road wasn’t sealed and, obviously, the front-passenger window in Peter’s car was missing; the orange road dust permeated everything — by the time we arrived, all three of us look like the Tango man. En route, we tried to help a policeman who had punctured both of his spare tyres and so was to spend the night in the middle of nowhere. We gave him the water, bread and bananas that we purchased a little way back. Peter said our gifts would save him from having to pay future bribes at the policeman’s checkpoint. It turns out that he was not insured and so had to give a backhander every time he left town. We were to have no dinner tonight — by the time we got to our resthouse in Mfuwe it was dark. Every hotel that we’ve stayed at in Africa has advised us not to go out at night, for fear of being mugged. Here, the advice was the same, but the reason was different: A couple of years ago a tourist was trampled to death by the elephants that came into town looking for food each evening…
Suffice to say that our hotel, the Cobra Resthouse, was a total dive. Definitely one for locals-only: No running water, the toilet was just a hole in the floor with two thoughtfully-provided wooden blocks each side to stand on and a titchy, filthy bedroom with a mosquito net that was more holy than the Pope. Squiffy slept in her sleeping bag liner, to insulate her one layer away from the abundant filth. For the first time since Morocco, I hit my own limit of acceptability and hid inside my liner too. Let’s hope tomorrow’s safari lodge is better than this…
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Malawi-Zambia Border: From straight-up to shenanigans
Posted by Squiffy on August 5th, 2008
It was a different story when we arrived in Zambia, after a long day of travelling. We left Lilongwe in the usual packed minibus and endured the two hour journey to the last town in Malawi before the border, then took the obligatory taxi to the immigration post. After receiving our exit stamp, we asked the immigration office where we could change our Malawi Kwacha for Zambia Kwacha, wanting to do everything ‘properly’.
“There is no forex bureau, only a black market”, he replied, and added “You need to go to the men outside”. “But isn’t that illegal?” I questioned carefully. “Of course, but it is the only way”. Still not convinced that we weren’t going to be arrested and imprisoned, or at least extorted for a bribe, we asked a police officer the same question. After receiving the same answer, we decided there was little choice (we needed the Zambian money to get transport from the other side of the border). Dave wandered over to the twelve money changing men who all offered the same rate (why so many of them and no competition?) and completed the transaction. We then made our way to the Zambian immigration, where they charged us $150 for the priviledge of entering the country.
From the border our plan was to catch a shared taxi to the first town, Chipata, and stay the night. A local lady in the immigration queue behind us asked us to wait, so we could all go together. Unlike most women who wear very traditional clothes, she was dressed in a fluorescent pink cropped jacket, jeans, a funky hat worthy of any fashionista and large hooped earnings. This should have set our alarm bells ringing immediately, but we tend to be less suspicious of the women folk then men here. She politely asked all the usual questions about our trip and told us that she was returning to Zambia after visiting Malawi on business. “Oh, what business?” Dave inquired, always happy to chat to a business person. I was convinced she was a hairdresser, she looked the type. Looking around shiftily she leaned in and whispered “Emeralds”. Neither of us quite caught this muffled exchange and looked at each other, puzzled. “Emeralds” she repeated, which prompted Dave to glance down at her handbag and tease “Not in there I hope!”. “No”, she laughed. “but I don’t tell everyone because it’s risky”.
Feeling slightly uneasy about her keenness for us to go in a taxi with her and her drunk/drugged/psycho? male friend we piled into the cab and kept our hands on the door handles, ready to jump out should it become necessary. After 200m the driver pulled off the main road and drove down a short dirt track. “Why are we stopping?” we protested. “We’re just collecting some things” chirped the lady in pink. “What things?” I asked suspiciously. She turned round from the front seat to explain.
“When we bring goods from Malawi across the border, we have to pay money at customs” she explained. “So what we do is use bikes on the road behind the immigration post so we don’t pay money”. “So the goods are illegal?” I summized. “YES!” she enthused, glad I understood so quickly. Now it made sense why she was desperate to share a taxi with us: several taxi drivers have told us that the police at check points are less likely to search cars carrying white people, as they don’t want to put tourists off visiting the country.
Despite Dave initially ordering me out of the car at this revelation we had to give in and ride out the 25km to Chipata. Taxis were our only option, and all of them seemed to be stopping at this smuggling station.
What a welcome to Zambia, and the illegal shenanigans didn’t stop there…
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