I discovered something important about my Zambians over the Easter
weekend. They like to drive… and drive… and drive…And they’re not
fussy about facilities – or the lack thereof – along the way.
Their mission: family reunion. My mission: sleep as much as possible
and read three books.
It was a nine hour drive through the great unknown from Ndola to
Kasama with peace inducing statements like ‘we’ll fill up at Serenje
if we’re lucky and they have diesel and power’. And if we’re not
lucky? There’s no plan B and no cell phone reception. We stopped at
a deserted lay-bye for chicken sandwiches and hard boiled eggs,
served off the tail gate of the 4x4. I heard later that another
member of the family unabashedly unloaded a skottel and cooked a
proper lunch for his three growing boys. The designer set in Sandton
would be horrified (What?! No Ultra City??!! Oi, Vey!)
The once family farm now guest house is a lovely restful place to
fulfill my mission, but alas my Zambian had other plans. His
arguments were determined if not convincing. There was not a
snowball’s chance I was going to be left in peace to sleep and read
when we were just a stone’s throw from the 2nd highest
falls in Africa. Just because the Americans haven’t found them yet
doesn’t mean they’re not the 8th wonder of the world. I
can’t come all this way and not see this spectacular sight. But what
about my plans I asked plaintively. ‘You can sleep in the car’ he
replied without a hint of sympathy or sarcasm.
Along the way we stopped at Lake Chila where no river flows to
create this great expanse of water. The echoes of prosperous times
have long since dissipated, the memories alive now only in the minds
of those who once shared its experience. How sad it is when
entrepreneurial opportunities are ignored and the once grand is left
to devastation.
Just how far can these Zambians throw? Three and a half hours and
two pit stops later we arrived at the National Monument of Kalambo
Falls. The last 30 km took an hour and a half to traverse.
How cleverly seductive they are, my Zambians. ‘It’s a beautiful view
from over here,’ I’m told. After descending the concrete steps and
puffing slightly I’m rewarded by the wonderful scene of water
tumbling over rocks and falling into nowhere. Then I’m told ’if you
go over there you’ll have a better view.’ This entails a climb up
some concrete steps, down a mountain path and onto a concrete ledge.
From this new vantage I can see more of the falls and look over the
amazingly green narrow valley that is the Zambian/Tanzanian border.
I’m impressed by the height of the mountains, the smallness of the
river meandering now quietly after it’s tumultuous fall. Then I’m
told, ‘You can see the entire falls from around there.’ Which
statement I discovered translates to ‘if one were to climb half way
up and around and down the mountain one can stand on a stone ledge
the size of an office desk’. Once I gathered my breath and
controlled the muscles in my legs I stepped down onto this ledge to
see the full extent of these falls, from lip to splash. I wouldn’t
have missed this for a much needed few hours’ sleep and a much
wanted few chapters read. Then, with legs shaking from the strain of
negotiating rock strewn mountain paths and lungs burning through too
much exertion, through too much nicotine and face red with sweat
because that’s just how it happens to be with me, I’m told, quite
innocently, that there’s a short cut back to the car park.
There should be two signs in the car park. Hard Way to the left.
Much Harder Way to the right.
Six weeks before my next trip north I will be toughening up in a
gym!
Glossary:
Pit Stop:
Driver of lead 4x4 decides it’s time for a break, pulls off the
potholed, patched, narrow, fat wobbling tar and parks on the muddy
verge in tall grass. Girls squat behind the cars, boys go across the
road. CD’s are swapped between interested parties. Drinks are
poured. Cans of asparagus are opened.
National Monument:
Clearing in bush with at least one general meeting structure with a
thatched roof. This structure may or may not have side walls. Two
small concrete structures with thatched roof sheltering a hole in
the ground, no door, no light, no seat; the bush is a better option!
One dignified gentleman collecting the required fee for each adult,
child and vehicle that survived the low ratio, 4 wheeled, sometimes
needing diff lock, drive.
June 2005
Zambia
The once family farm now guest house is a lovely restful place to
fulfill my mission, but alas my Zambian had other plans. His
arguments were determined if not convincing. There was not a
snowball’s chance I was going to be left in peace to sleep and read
when we were just a stone’s throw from the 2nd highest
falls in Africa. Just because the Americans haven’t found them yet
doesn’t mean they’re not the 8th wonder of the world. I
can’t come all this way and not see this spectacular sight. But what
about my plans I asked plaintively. ‘You can sleep in the car’ he
replied without a hint of sympathy or sarcasm.
Along the way we stopped at Lake Chila where no river flows to
create this great expanse of water. The echoes of prosperous times
have long since dissipated, the memories alive now only in the minds
of those who once shared its experience. How sad it is when
entrepreneurial opportunities are ignored and the once grand is left
to devastation.
How cleverly seductive they are, my Zambians. ‘It’s a beautiful view
from over here,’ I’m told. After descending the concrete steps and
puffing slightly I’m rewarded by the wonderful scene of water
tumbling over rocks and falling into nowhere. Then I’m told ’if you
go over there you’ll have a better view.’ This entails a climb up
some concrete steps, down a mountain path and onto a concrete ledge.
From this new vantage I can see more of the falls and look over the
amazingly green narrow valley that is the Zambian/Tanzanian border.
I’m impressed by the height of the mountains, the smallness of the
river meandering now quietly after it’s tumultuous fall. Then I’m
told, ‘You can see the entire falls from around there.’ Which
statement I discovered translates to ‘if one were to climb half way
up and around and down the mountain one can stand on a stone ledge
the size of an office desk’. Once I gathered my breath and
controlled the muscles in my legs I stepped down onto this ledge to
see the full extent of these falls, from lip to splash. I wouldn’t
have missed this for a much needed few hours’ sleep and a much
wanted few chapters read. Then, with legs shaking from the strain of
negotiating rock strewn mountain paths and lungs burning through too
much exertion, through too much nicotine and face red with sweat
because that’s just how it happens to be with me, I’m told, quite
innocently, that there’s a short cut back to the car park. 
There should be two signs in the car park. Hard Way to the left.
Much Harder Way to the right.