Happy Family Holidays

We drove out of the gate finally, only two hours late (due to loading difficulties) and a few weeks overdue. Two parents, four kids and two grandparents, all with the predictable excess baggage and excess food that female parents pack, even though they are normally quite lucid and do understand that ten days is not the same as packing for ten weeks, which they end up doing anyway, resulting in a tense, jaw-set male parent at the wheel.

The much-anticipated holiday was to take in Bridge Camp, South Luangwa (via the “treacherous” Petauke back road), over the escarpment to Mutinondo Wilderness and back to Lusaka via Forest Inn, Mkushi. The grandparents were booked to fly back from Mfuwe to Lusaka and would have, hopefully, also eaten a fair amount of the food by then.

About 30 km before Bridge Camp was the first hint that all was not well with the car. A terrific roaring noise emanating from the engine and clouds of black smoke, and the male parent informs the happy travelers that the turbo has blown and the engine is now running on oil alone.

Limping along, we reached Bridge Camp safe in the knowledge that the male parent would think up some cunning plan to keep the show on the road. The following day, a lift back to Lusaka, he returns late in the night with car number two. Unfortunately the gearbox decided to seize about 15 metres from the entrance to Bridge camp and that’s the end of that plan. However, being the devoted family holiday man that he is, he secures yet another lift back to Lusaka the next morning and returns with a new turbo which I am informed will set us back about one year’s of school fees, so the kids had better enjoy their holidays and learn enough to keep them busy for the next year.

Whilst at Bridge Camp, awaiting salvation by the cunning and ingenious male parent, we meet up with many happy travelers also on their way to South Luangwa, enviously waving them off each morning. They gaily talk of us all meeting up round some bar somewhere up there and of how much they are looking forward to seeing all the famous game viewing sights that the Valley promises.

Day four and with the turbo installed, we again pack up car number 1, very slightly lighter now due to food consumption and minus grandparents who have given up on the expedition and returned to base, but still somehow crammed to the gills including the roof rack. The Great East road condition deteriorates alarmingly as we head off eastwards. We reach the metropolis of Petauke after a couple of hours and turn off to go through the town and out onto the road to South Luangwa.

Five kilometres out of town, and we are informed that the car is dangerously overheating. Joy of joys this announcement comes as we are crossing a bridge over a small stream. Secure in the definite knowledge that the male parent will prevail, kids jump out for toilet needs and to fetch water to pour over the car’s engine. We cool off the car and slowly set off, but the journey is now clearly doomed as the temperature gauge rises immediately. Other travelers pass by and in true generous Zambian fashion stop to express condolences. An entire school pupil population turns out to study us at close range. Younger son brings out our realistic plastic cobra which causes chaos, and then dons his hideous troll mask which only makes things worse. Eventually male parent secures a lift back into Petauke on the back of a small motorbike to hire a larger vehicle to tow us in.

Teenage children are mortified at the thought of having to be towed back; whilst the younger and more innocent children are unphased and more concerned about feeding issues. Two hours pass by and the sun begins to sink. I decide to feed and apply mosquito repellant to the offspring. More passers-by, some stop to chat, some just walk on, as if it’s a daily occurrence to find a steaming car full of goods and people on the side of the road. Probably is.

I spot two large fat pigs trotting towards us, and decide to lighten the moment, by making reference to our first sighting of game. My efforts at humour are lost on the teenage mopers, but the youngest daughter appreciates my keen eyesight, and impressive wildlife identification skills. Oldest son perks up as the two porkers approach and he keenly eyes them over. He wonders aloud if we could shave a bit off the one’s hindquarters for bacon. Hysteria and tears as the vegetarian daughter erupts in rage and fury.

The sun sinks below the horizon, and the two sons position themselves on the top of the car to be our lookouts. The female contingent ensconce ourselves inside the locked car with choice nibbles, magazines and music. Just the way it should be – and brought home several times when passers-by, some very inebriated, stop but only notice the two young warriors on the roof, one of whom is proficient in the local language and skillfully manages to ward off those few over-eager visitors. We pass out a few choice nibbles in appreciation.

Finally the shout from the roof – headlights have been spotted approaching. We are towed back into town to start looking for somewhere to stay the night. How hard can this be, I wonder, Petauke is hardly on the map as a prime tourism or business destination. On our third stop at a motel sort of place, having been turned away by the first two choices, I began to think my judgment had been a tad hasty. We found two rooms finally at Mumbo Lodge to everyone’s relief and moved in.

The rooms each had two beds and were en-suite, although hot water had to be portered in by bucket. Getting to the main building where the dining room and lounge were located proved a small challenge in that the troop of mongrel dogs were decidedly racist in their outlook, particularly to younger members of the Caucasian race. We however did run the gauntlet successfully, without any loss, to find that the dining and lounge areas in the main building very comfortable and the dinner options adequate, other than being limited to the usual small rural town offerings of omelette and chips for the vegetarian. Then, joy of joys – the teenage mopers spot, first the television in a corner and then, the DStv dish nearby. I knew then, it would all be fine, and there was no longer any rush to get the transport repaired.

The ever responsible male parent, instead of pouring over the short dinner menu and ordering copious bottles of fizzy drinks, went back to another lodge which had a phone to call the grandparents to send help the following day.

Next morning, we decide to walk into town and do some shopping. The younger, less- addicted-to-DSTv-son decides to come along. The town was positively booming: shops frantically busy, outside pavements lined with farmers’ produce of all descriptions – groundnuts, maize, cotton, new shiny bicycles being proudly wheeled out of shops. Eastern Province is a hive of hard working, productive people and this was crop selling time and spending money time.

Back at Mumbo Lodge, we had vacated our lodgings, but still had nowhere to go and set up camp on a side verandah of the main building surrounded by the sulking, skulking, growling dog-mob. Our attempts to take our minds off the ominous situation by playing cards in a howling wind didn’t really work, until we had a very strange sighting. Someone spotted a blue microlight being driven along the road, resulting in much hilarity both from us and the locals.

Our rescue team finally arrived mid-afternoon with a large white truck and the resourceful male parent had already marked out the spot where the failed car could be driven onto the truck. Arrived back at Bridge Camp around 19h00 after a fraught trip due to younger son wearing the troll mask through every road block on the way. Police are terrified, marketers are aghast and hurriedly wave us through. We are amazed to discover the blue microlight parked in the campground and rush up to the bar to find the owner and work out what on earth he is doing. He’s just a microlighter – need we say more!

Home the next day on the truck, some inside the cab and others hiding in the car on the back (since being told by the one brave policeman who could bear to look in our car, that even though we had a “chinyau” in our car (a.k.a. younger son in troll mask), it was still not permitted to have passengers in the vehicle on the back of the truck).

And the success of the holiday – well I bet none of their friends at school went to Petauke for their annual holiday. We can usually be relied upon to provide the schools with alternative holiday essays that seem to be the first homework assignment of each term. And the moral of the story – find an ingenious, cunning male to accompany your trip if the vehicle is more than two years old. I’m hiring mine out to earn enough money to fly somewhere next year!