It is 5 hours direct from Serenje to Lusaka, but of course the journey is made much longer by traffic, rest stops, government checkpoints, and the overall fluidic pace of public transportation. I left Serenje at 7:30am and walked to the Serenje Junction at the Great North Road, where for only $12USD I was able to pay for a ride on a little blue bus from point A to point B. Unfortunately it took some time to get started, and then we made several stops in the major towns on the way south, including a bus change in Kabwe (which actually involved several bus changes-- the drivers couldn’t decide who was going to Lusaka and who wasn’t, I guess-- so I arrived in Lusaka a little after 4pm, after 8+ hours on a bus. I spent most of the time writing letters and watching the purple-blossomed Jacaranda trees, which have just come in to bloom.
Lusaka is not by any means the tourist capital of Zambia. In fact, before this trip I didn’t know there were hotels in Lusaka outside the $20USD price range. The city is as loud and dirty as any other modern city, though it has a markedly large number of roundabouts, and its main draw to me is the shopping center complete with fast food, a grocery store, and a movie theater. The people are relatively friendly, and when they put an arm around your shoulder 9 times out of 10 they are actually not going for your purse (though I kept my hand on mine anyway, just in case). I felt overwhelmed by the noise and activity but didn’t feel out of my element until I arrived at the hotel my father and stepmother had reserved just after sunset. At this point I had been traveling the entire day and had biked from my village the day before, so I was dirty and sweaty and gross, and walking into this hotel was like entering a completely different universe. It was like a quiet oasis from the bustle of the city, but nothing like the quiet of my village. This was the quiet of cleanliness and organized luxury. Desperate to fit in, I pasted on the biggest, most Zambian smile I could muster, checked in while throwing around a couple of Bemba terms to distract from my rugged village appearance, and rushed upstairs where I spent over an hour in the shower-- most of that time was spent scrubbing just my feet. Turns out they aren’t as tan as I thought they were. When Dad and Laurie finally arrived, I was about as clean as I had been when I left them 7 months ago, or at least the cleanest I’d been since February.
The hotel was so luxurious it didn’t seem to know it was located in a “developing“ country-- the food was excellent, the beds were pristine and comfortable, the shower always had hot water and the toilet flushed with minimal fuss, all the staff were friendly and helpful, and there were real live miniature crocodiles in the pond by the restaurant, no joke. 4 of them and a little baby one, all sunning themselves like statues and moving only to go for a swim. My father was more interested in the vibrant yellow weavers in the process of building their nests in the tall grass, but either way it was quite a show at breakfast. It felt a bit ridiculous to be here after being in my village-- this sharp an economic imbalance within one country is almost painfully ludicrous, though unfortunately not at all uncommon. The good news is a place like this, and the tourist industry in general, creates jobs for Zambians and helps the economy of the entire country. So you can have a great vacation and donate money to a country that needs it at the same time (though I doubt that will fly on your tax forms). I personally must have looked a right fool saying things like “wow, placemats and cloth napkins, that’s so cute” and “look Dad, the water faucet works, isn’t that awesome?” I guess Zambia has made me easy to please, which must be a good thing.
Dad, Laurie, and I spent two full days in Lusaka. On Sunday we went to the Arcades Shopping Center where the weekly Sunday market was in full swing, selling overpriced but often lovely crafts to tourists. Again, it’s hard to feel bad about spending money when it goes directly to support a Zambian craftsman/woman and his/her family. I bought lots of stuff, mostly gifts for Dad and Laurie to carry home for me, but also a lovely stone-carved leopard for myself. Since I had just been in Lusaka in August for IST, I didn’t go crazy buying stuff as I normally would have-- in August I bought a stone open-mouthed hippo, a red tie-dye dress, and a patchwork purse for myself (the last was from a woman who calls me her daughter because she lives in Chongwe where I had my training back in March. Apparently that’s all it takes to be adopted in this country). In addition to the stuff I bought in Lusaka I also got a bunch of gifts Dad and Laurie brought me from various relatives, including books, games, stationary, wind-up flashlights (my old one got stolen back in July-- oops), bathing suits, DVDs and a player, and a very small laptop. It was a bit like Christmas.
But the best Christmas gift of all came on Monday, and you can’t put a price on it (well, the company we rented the car from did, but that’s a different thing). The three of us drove east to Chongwe, about 45 minutes outside of Lusaka, and visited my host family from training. I had not heard from them in months and had been trying to contact them to plan a visit, and right at noon on Monday they called me and told me to bring my family over! It was great to be back in my red-earthed home, to see my Bamaayo and Bataata and sisters (who all ran to hug me) and brothers, my old one-room hut which is now housing another Peace Corps Volunteer from the new intake, and then it was bizarre to turn around and see Dad and Laurie standing there with me. Worlds merging. They had their first taste of nshima, the cornmeal-based staple food of Zambia, and got to see their first Zambian village. I tried for the first of many times to teach them some Bemba, but without much luck-- Dad was just getting the hang of “good morning” on his last day here. Luckily my Chongwe family speaks mostly Nyanja anyway, so we were all in the same boat.
Here is a picture of me, my American father, and my Zambian mother. Thanks for the laptop so I can upload pictures, Mom!The majority of our vacation was spent in South Luangwa National Park in a place called Flatdogs (another word for crocodiles). We went on 8 4-hour safari drives-- perhaps more than was necessary since we were exhausted by the end, but I don’t know which ride I would take back as they were all fantastic. Flatdogs itself was lovely, with great people and beautiful chalets and tents and a pool and a restaurant with great food (and not just by my standards-- the parents approved as well, especially during dessert) and a place you could sit and watch hippos lounge in the water. We were so close to the park boundary we had night guards to make sure no animals caused trouble in camp (well actually it would be the people who caused the trouble, but they probably wouldn’t be considered the guilty party), and one day I was woken from a midday nap (it was too hot to do anything midday, so our drives were in the mornings and evenings) by a bunch of baboons and monkeys patrolling the grounds outside my window. Elephants, giraffes, and hippos were also known to wander through, and one herd of elephants spent the afternoon at the restaurant when their baby decided that would be a good time and place for a nap. Talk about non-interference parenting.
Our tour guide, a Zambian man named Malama, was also fantastic, informative and knowledgeable and unbelievably adept at finding animals-- in the evenings we went on night drives (which I think are only allowed in Zambian parks) and he could spot a crocodile hidden in the grass several meters away while driving on treacherous roads. We got within 15 ft. of a pack of napping lions, spent an entire evening hunting for leopards (picture safari of course, not armed safari), saw another lion climb a tree and nearly witnessed a stand-off between some lions and hyenas over a dead buffalo (it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as in The Lion King), got very close to several giraffes and zebras, spent 20 minutes waiting for a huge herd of buffalo to cross the road, and got so into the bird watching (and it isn’t even peak bird season yet) that Dad eventually caved and bought a Southern Africa Bird Book. We were joined on most of our drives by a lovely couple from California, and the five of us had great fun playing the best version of “I Spy” possible-- the constant, informal, exciting, rewarding, entertaining, educational kind. On our last morning we had a walking tour-- it’s actually easier to walk in the park than in my village because there are fewer tree roots and the hippos clear very good paths-- and we got very close to some birds, zebras, and ant lions (they build ant traps like craters in the sand). But far and away the best part about the safari was the elephants. I love elephants, love to spot them emerging from the brush, to sit and watch them eat or sleep or bathe or walk, to take pictures of them or just look at them. The worst thing is an angry elephant charging-- more destructive than just about anything, and elephants actually cause multiple deaths per year-- but an elephant at peace is more peaceful than any other animal except perhaps a giraffe. I may have to go on safari again just for the elephants.
Traveling from South Luangwa to Serenje and then to my village was a long, stressful, painful process. My becoming very nauseous on the small plane from South Luangwa to Lusaka didn’t help matters, and I very nearly lost my cool before we finally checked in at the Hotel Zen-- well, actually, it was a hotel in Kabwe called Tuskers, but it was very relaxing so I‘m renaming it. We proceeded to Serenje on Monday and visited my favorite lunch spot, the town market, and a few small stores. It was interesting to see these places-- the parts of Africa I know best-- through the eyes of newcomers. Things that never fazed me, like live goats or chickens tied to the back rack of a one-gear bicycle or bags of charcoal and piles upon piles of tomatoes being sold by brightly dressed women on the side of the road, were of great interest to them. We drove to my village (only got lost twice-- the car route is different from the bike route so I haven’t been on it much) but I didn’t really feel like I had returned home at all because I was seeing old familiar things for the first time. Even my own Bemba language skills and ability to banter with my neighbors seemed less like a familiar routine and more like a successful attempt to impress my guests.
My village family generously provided my parents with beer (which I had to pay for) and a live chicken-- which they somehow expected could be killed, dressed, cooked, and eaten on the road to Lusaka. Instead my grandmother cooked it with nshima for them. She also prepared a warm Zambian bucket bath for them (and for me-- yay!). We walked around, visited a few people, rested during the heat of the day, saw the school and the place where I go to get cell phone reception, and witnessed a great deal of bush burning-- it is much better for the environment (and safer) to do annual burning/land clearing early in the year, like in May/June, but to protect the July-harvested crops (and provide new fresh leaves to increase caterpillar growth for the caterpillar-harvesting season in October-November) most people here let their forests burn in September. It is beautiful during and devastating after, a black charred landscape full of dead leaves on blackened trees, though pink and purple flowers grow out of the ashes almost instantly. Though I would like them to see my village in greener seasons, I think they really enjoyed their stay.
Unfortunately they were only able to stay two nights and one day in my village before I helped them navigate the rental car back to Serenje. They left me here at the Central Province Peace Corps House/Office in Serenje and proceeded down the Great North Road to Lusaka. From there they will travel to Livingstone and Victoria Falls and then home. I will be here, slowly preparing myself to hop on my bike and return to my village, readjust to life there and become accustomed again to the pace of life and lack of electricity. It’s always a bizarre experience to return to your village
