Monday, November 25, 2013

Northern Thailand

 
In Chiang Mai, during the Loi Krathong festival, I’d never seen so many different kids of meat on a stick.




During the Loi Krathong festival, the Buddhist temples in Chiang Mai, and many larger cities in Thailand, were all lit up and many were open to visitors.




Even at the temples, people were invited to take part in the Loi Krathong festival.  This part of it involved lighting a lantern/air balloon and letting it rise into the night sky.  I never got a good explanation for the lanterns but the “river wreaths”, also lit with candles but let free onto the river, were meant to be “thanks to the river goddess for providing life to the fields and forests and asks for forgiveness for the polluting ways of humans (Lonely Planet 2012).  Apparently the river goddess doesn’t mind all the styrofoam, wax candles, and other bits of plastic on the wreaths that have been jettisoned into her river.




During the Loi Krathong festival, the real stars that you can’t see because of the big city lights are replaced with thousands of candle lanterns set off by Thais and tourists alike.





Ancillary to the Loi Krathong festival is a parade showing off Thai tradition and culture.   Like the lanterns and river wreaths, the show is on at night!



Parade detail





If the river recedes after the nighttime festivities of the Loi Krathong festival, the banks are covered in the debris of wreaths.





Buddhist temples are always extravagantly ornamented, dragons being a recurring theme.  Another reoccurring but not necessarily ubiquitous theme is a sign at the entrance to the temples that reads “no women allowed”.  Apparently they don't want the monks to be "tempted."





 

On a day-trip north of Chiang Mai, Gina crosses a stream for a chance to swim in a waterfall pool.




Wat Phra Kaew in Bangkok is the name of the compound that includes the Temple of the Emerald Buddha and the monarch of Thailand’s residence.  It’s kind of like a somber-feeling Disney World in that you are surrounded by architectural eye-candy, BUT in a religious setting. 



Wat Phra Kaew, in the religious bit.




 Wat Phra Kaew, in the religious bit.




Wat Phra Kaew, but buildings related to the King and everything monarchial.




The food in Thailand has been consistently good everywhere from high-end tourist restaurants to these outdoor stands where you get all this for $1 dollar (30 bhat).

Friday, November 15, 2013

An African Traveler's Dream (Scott's)


Gina posted about bus travel in Zambia some time ago.  Bus travel in Ethiopia was marginally better.  Now, contrast that to bus travel in Thailand.  The first thing one notices is that the bus stations are real-deal bus hubs, with bus platforms and food courts, clean bathrooms (but you still have to pay for their use),  TV’s with news and music videos and commercials featuring bright red shiny tractors, and ticket booths with computers and price lists.  The bus stations in Zambia were little more than dirt patches surrounded by tin sheet and concrete shacks. 

Now get on the bus.  In our case that was about 8:45 pm for a 9 pm start time.  Instead of 5 seats across (3 seats and 2 seats with an aisle in the middle) there are 3 seats (2 seats and 1 seat separated by an aisle) in about the same width of bus that boasts clearly that it is 15 meters long.  These are similar to first class airplane seats.  There is a bathroom on the bus (which turned out not to be a great thing by the end of the trip after it got used), personal TVs installed in the seat in front of you complete with movies, videos, tourist attractions, games (yay Sudoku!), fully reclining seats, pillows, blankets, and headphones in the seat pocket.  




The bus starts off on time.  The bus doesn’t swerve every few minutes to avoid potholes, goats, or children in the road.  You get a little box of convenience foods and bottled water delivered to your seat shortly after starting off.  There is a 36-inch TV in front of the bus with announcements about what to expect on your bus ride, followed by Thai music videos, and then turns off around midnight to let those who want to sleep to do so while others continue to be entertained by their personal TV.  Half-way through the trip there is a half-hour stop where you actually have time to go the bathroom AND get something to eat, which can be paid for with your bus ticket meal voucher, no extra charge!  When you get off the bus to stretch you don’t get hassled by three guys trying to sell you a taxi ride, sunglasses, or some disgusting meat product in an open plastic bag.  You DO have many different food options in a clean food court and no one hardly takes notice of you unless you ask them a question, at which time they become very serious in their effort to try to help you using hand gestures and pointing since no one knows English.  After you get back on the bus which you are actually looking forward to doing because it’s so comfortable and there is on-bus entertainment and have finished your snack that the bus service has already paid for, the bus attendant gives you ANOTHER drink, this time hot sweet tea.  After getting tired of your on-bus entertainment you can recline your chair into almost horizontal and actually sleep a bit after you cozy up with your flannel blanket and satin neck pillow. 

At sun up, about 9 hours after the bus started, the TV comes back on with a quiet pop-thai-music video and then a friendly announcement about how you are about to arrive at your destination and to be sure to collect all your belongings and get your luggage ticket out to collect your checked baggage.  This all comes to you for about the same price as a similar length trip in Zambia, about $30 US dollars.  By comparison the Zambia bus is about 10% of the comfort of the Thai bus and 200% the hassle.  Gina told me afterward that she was reading how the bus service in Thailand is subsidized by the government.  That explained the comfort and service to a point, but for a traveler from Africa I had to wonder why Zambia couldn’t organize a bus service at least 50% of the value of the Thailand bus, even without subsidization.  Gasoline is more expensive in Zambia, close to $2 US dollars per liter versus a little over $1 / liter in Thailand.  Oh well, now I have to start getting comfortable with the fact that I probably will never get as nice a bus in America as I experienced in Thailand.  Oh America! I’m coming home.

Final Ethiopia Pictures

This is the inside of a coffee shop in Addis Abeba called Tomoca.  We were the only foreign customers that we could identify in the place.  Some Ethiopians won't set foot in these places because it does not include the full coffee experience in traditional Ethiopian culture: freshly roasting the coffee beans, burning incense, pounding the coffee beans, brewing the coffee in a clay pot, having a small snack to go with the coffee, and three cups of the caffeinated stuff in row.  Note the clock showing 3:41 on the wall.  In European time it was 9:41 in the morning.

I talked this tourist vendor down from 150 Birr (~$7.5 dollars) to 50 Birr (~$2.5) for a clay coffee pot.  I think a local Ethiopian could have got it for about 30 Birr.  Anyway, if it makes it intact back to Yakima I want to try to recreate the traditional coffee ceremony for people who are interested.

Northern Ethiopians play a game on a billiard table called "Karambula".  It is like a cross between lawn bowling or bocce ball in that you throw one of the four balls with your hand, but like pool in that you have 6 pockets the ball could go and your are playing on a velvet covered piece of slate.  But in this game you DO NOT want your ball to land in the pockets.  Also there are 5 tiny pegs (seen to the left near the blue ball) that you are not allowed to hit.

During one of our guided hiking trips our guide brought us into a traditional Ethiopian.  Here is the wood burning cooking stove with three different "burners".  One on the left is for roasting things like barley, one on the right is for baking injera, the traditional thin pancake staple food made out of a grain called "teff".  The one in the middle is for cooking in a regular pot.

Ethiopians love to get their shoes cleaned.  Shoe cleaning and shining is everywhere.  Cleaning cost 5 Birr (25 cents).  They were not sure what to do with my boots, but they got a kick out of cleaning the faranjis' shoes.  Faranji is amharic for "foreigner".

This is the view from our hotel in Adigrat.  This was a refreshingly non-touristy town where people were so tickled to have foreigners staying in their town they forgot to inflate the prices for everything.

In Lalibela, our guide explains to us how this church carved into bedrock came about.  All of these tourist attractions are used daily if not weekly by the local people in Lalibela.  There is always a priest (center of picture) keeping an eye on things.

Before you enter any church, everyone must take off their shoes and leave them outside.

Scott looks out of a window from the priests room, also carved completely out of rock.

Imagine the amount of rock excavated in the 14th century to create this church.  The metal "awning" over the church is to help stop the erosive processes of rain and rain seepage through the rock from which the church is created. 

Gina enters one of many rock churches.

We caught this priest napping in one of the rock churches.  He's probably been up since very early (like 4am) leading morning prayers.

Another rock church with similar awning.  This one was not separated from the rock at the top, but there is excavation on all sides.  The priests were just coming out of this church from a holy day Mass.

This "alley"  through the rock is where the priests and monks live who take care of the churches.  Their homes are caves carved into the rock.

As a respite from the hassle of alleged tour guides in the town of Lalibela, Scott and Gina took a hike up a nearby mountain.  Little did they know that the little kids who lived on the mountain were learning how to be tour guides one day and were even more adamant that we buy one of their trinkets.

The markets in Ethiopia all sell unroasted coffee so that people can roast it themselves for personal coffee ceremonies in their homes.  There are usually several grades to buy, usually visibly different because of the amount of "chaff" mixed in with the beans.

In Addis Abeba, we had a big hotel room with a balcony overlooking the city for $12 a night.


One of the reasons we stayed at the hotel that we did in Addis Abeba was for the adjacent jazz club.  We saw two shows, the first of which had a band called "Addis Acoustic Project".  The accordian that this guy was playing only came out for a few songs, but they even made THAT work in their repertoire.

On our last days near Addis, we went to a local resort called Sodore.  The place was crawling with monkeys and actually smelled like a mixture of monkey poop and flowers all the time.  Nonetheless, everyone seemed to love the monkeys, as evidence by this "shrine" attributed to them by the hotel management.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Gina's Ethiopia Reflections, Part 2


  After the Tigray trek, we got a lift back to the small city of Adigrat, and saw the same hospitality and friendliness that we saw before the trek.  We even treated ourselves to juice at one of the many garden date spots frequented by locals.  Then came the harrowing bus ride to Axum, which stopped several times along the way to make a donation to the village churches.  The conductor passed around a plastic bag each time, urging passengers to donate.  Since we were finished seeing the tourist sites in Axum, we spent two days trading our warm clothes (no longer needed) for souvenirs, catching up on e-mails, and finding the one swimming pool in town before flying to Lalibela.

We purposely saw Lalibela as one of our last stops, since it is the pride of Ethiopia.  It’s very large clusters of rock-hewn churches built between 1000-1400AD by King Lalibela and others.  Locals think it should be named one of the seven wonders of the world, and rightfully so.  Any visitor to Lalibela will get a unique experience, not just because of the impressive job of building the churches, but because it is still used as a religious sanctuary today by thousands of Ethiopian Orthodox pilgrims.  When first hearing about Lalibela, I expected churches perched way up high in a cliff, similar to the churches in the Tigray region or Mesa Verde in Colorado.  When coming upon them, though I was surprised that 1) They were not up in cliffs, but actually dug down from the rock in the ground, so instead of looking up at them, I was looking down at them and 2) There were villages and villagers all over going about their daily business right in the middle of this monument!

Scott and I began our official guided tour the first afternoon, and then met a friend from the Simien Mountains to watch the sunset over the valley below.  On the bus, he had met an ambitious young Ethipian man who was working as a social worker for an HIV prevention and vocational training for female sex workers in the area.  It was refreshing to meet a local who could relate to my work (at least a little bit) in Zambia and wasn’t trying to sell me another tour.

The second day in Lalibela was a feast day called Mehamid Alam, or “Day of the Savior.”  Different feast days are celebrated at different churches in the cluster, and fittingly, this was celebrated in the church dedicated to Jesus.  I woke up at 5:30 to catch some of the celebration, which had been going on since several hours before sunrise.  When I got to the church, I took off my shoes, covered my head with a scarf, and joined the women in alternating between praying at the side altars and spending time bent over, head to the floor.  The women murmured prayers but did not sing or chant.  That was all coming from the men’s side to the left, where deacons and priests in white robes beat huge drums methodically, moved their silver staff bells representing the trinity in unison with the drums, and chanted.  At various points in the service, the chanting and drums and drums died down and various priests came up to the front to read scripture or preach.  At certain points, the entire congregation would stand and bow halfway down at the waist.  People came in out of the church to pray and make their offering: young and old, some children and a few beggars, as well as the well-to-do and a handful of tourists.  The service moved to its own rhythm like it has been doing for thousands of years.

I went back to the hotel to meet up with Scott (who slept in) and have breakfast, and we found our guide for part 2 of the church clusters.  By the time we got back to the churches, around 9am, the large groups of believers had cleared out and were on their way to school and work.  But, a few priests gathered in one of the smaller churches to chant, beat the drums, and pay homage to Mehamid Alam.  We were visiting the northern cluster, which is interconnected by a series of underground caves/tunnel passageways chiseled by hand into the rock.  At one point, we couldn’t see our hands in front of us and had to trust the rock walls and the guide’s chanting in Thanksgiving to guide us to the next church.  So . . . touristy and overpriced . . . yes, but now I see why they say you can’t visit Ethiopia without visiting Lalibela!

The last afternoon in Lalibela, we took a hike up to a viewpoint where we could see the entire town and the tops of some of the churches.  Unlike the hikes we did before that, the children wouldn’t stop pestering us to either give them pens or buy their trinkets.  Great views, but it made me really appreciate the effort made by TEFSA tours to sensitize villagers on appropriate interactions with tourists.

We boarded a plane the next morning and headed to Addis Ababa for what we thought was 4 more nights in the big city.  After many failed attempts at trying to organize a coffee plantation tour with our short amount of time, we decided to give up on that idea and see the highlights of the city with one small excursion to some nearby hot springs to the southeast of the city.  We purposely booked a hotel next door to the prominent jazz club with the hope of catching a few shows, and were disappointed when checking in to hear that the show that night was for a “private party.”  We didn’t find out until two days later by reading in the paper that it was four of the most prominent rock bands in the city and Bono giving a benefit concert!  Well, at least we could say we heard it a little bit from our room next door.

The next day we took a walking excursion, which was a little ambitious considering the street boys and vendors trying to sell us anything from bubble gum to ripped-off maps of Africa.  We found our way via walking and minibus to the Derg museum, which is a recently-opened museum remembering the people who died during Mengistu’s ruthless dictatorship in Ethiopia from 1974-1991.  The museum asked for donations rather than entrance fees, and the person who showed us around was named Member, one of the victims who was imprisoned and tortured in underground for eight years simply for holding up a protest sign during a student march.  Visiting the museum definitely put tears to my eyes and realized the importance of letting the survivors share their stories and art to remind tourists and locals never again.  For the first part of the trip, I sensed extreme pride when Ethiopians talked about their democracy, and after visiting the museum I could see why.

We found what we thought would be a hole-in-the wall local restaurant which turned out to be a popular Italian lunch place for Ethiopian business people and then briefly toured the Addis Ababa museum which reminded me much of the Yakima museum because of its random collections of random things from random donors that don’t know what else to do with their random stuff besides put it in a local museum.  Scott occupied the street vendors for the good part of an hour with his bargaining skills and left with an authentic coffee pot in hand.  Now the challenge is getting it halfway around the world.  Later that evening, we did get to see a really good band, Addis Acoustic Project, at the jazz club.  It was impressive to see so many instruments, including an accordion and a traditional harp-like instrument thrown into the mix with drums, bass, guitar, and clarinet.

Our last little Ethiopian excursion was eye-opening in that we had to get to a bus station entirely on the eastern side of town.  The taxi ride just to get to the station was over five times the price of the bus tickets themselves, and we drove more than an hour on nice highways, terrible pot-holed dirt roads with donkey carts, markets, and industrial areas.  Since we had been staying near the city center, we had been oblivious until that ride to the bus station just how enormous, sprawling, and crazy Addis Ababa actually is.  Once we boarded the bus that looked like it came straight from the 1950’s, we drove at least another hour through the industrial city suburbs before coming to anything even remotely resembling countryside.  There was an older man sitting right in back of me who in English warned me not to put my pack on the floor for fear that “thieves might get it.”  He ended up walking us to the Sodere resort bus in the middle of the bustling city of Adama, also telling us not to eat any raw vegetables and sleep under mosquito nets.  Thanks, but we have been living in Africa for the past 2 1/1 years J.  During lunch, he explained how he used to live in Texas and now has several sons living in the U.S., but came back to Ethiopia to be with his wife.  And then he paid for our lunch!  It was amazing to see Ethiopian hospitality where we least expected it.

Sodere “resort” was definitely more of a cultural experience than a relaxing weekend getaway.  We saw many well-to-do Ethiopian families try as they might to have a picnic without all the monkeys on the grounds snatching their food.  Some were hanging around drinking coffee or chewing chat (a mild stimulant grown in the eastern part of Ethiopia), and there was definitely more of a Muslim influence than in the northern part of the country.  The majority of the guests stayed in large public showers of hot water or the wading pool, leaving the glorious 50-meter hot springs pool open for people who knew how to swim, since it was too deep to touch the bottom.  We took another dip the next morning and boarded another 1950’s bus next to a cute little old lady who has two of her eight children living in America.  Seems to be a trend around here.  Anyway, her English was the best of any older Ethiopian woman I had met, and she was happy to explain how she was a devout Orthodox Christian who went to church every day, and wanted to make absolute sure that I had a good impression of Ethiopia.  I told her I thought it was more developed than Zambia and she was very pleased with that answer.  As we parted, she said she was very sad she didn’t have a gift for me, so gave me a travel pack of Kleenexes.

On what we thought was our last day in Addis, we went to the Ethiopian Airlines office to confirm our flight only to find that it had been cancelled and re-booked for the next day . . . back in early October!  Of course they failed to notify us of this fact.  Oh Africa.  And I thought it was my last day with you!  After a few tears (good thing for those travel Kleenexes), we realized that luckily we had made very few reservations for Thailand and tried to make the most of the last day by catching up on internet and blogs with the extremely slow Africa internet speed.  After plowing through several blocks of more goods-hawkers, I made a short visit to St. Georges church in the piazza, which was like an oasis in the center of the city, with beautiful gardens and people quietly sitting and contemplating life.

We spent the last day soaking in more hot springs at the thermal swimming pool right in Addis Ababa . . . at the Hilton Hotel.  About 7 times the price of Sodere, and definitely a different clientele (and no monkeys!) and the last night seeing one more jazz show, saying goodby to a continent that we had been in continuously for over 28 months.  Goodbye Africa, on to new adventures!

Dad's Perspective on Zambia (guest post)

Dad wrote this a few months back . . . he had his own pictures that wouldn't embed in this blog post, so I added a few of my own!


Images of Zambia from a Colorado Chindelli
By John Ord   May 2013

In December 2012, I advised my daughter Regina (Gina) and her husband Scott that I was researching what would be involved in me visiting them in Zambia during their last service year in the Peace Corps.  Five months later I was descending into Livingstone Zambia after a 10,000 mile flight from Denver to NYC to Johannesburg.    During the descent, my first of many images of Zambia was of a white cloud of smoke in the distance, seemingly from a brush fire.  I was wrong.  In fact it was the opposite of smoke.  Zambia was going to be a very interesting place.   

First Stop - Livingstone
I chose Livingstone to fly into due to its location to Victoria Falls, a sight I most wanted to see.  I expected Livingstone to be quaint and orderly as its British moniker might suggest.  Not the case.  Our accommodations, the Stonehouse Lodge described on the web as “elegant and charming“ was anything but.   Gina found it online and was attracted to its swimming pool (not well maintained) and price (about $55 per night including breakfast).  What it proved to be was rustic, not elegant, but all in all quite acceptable.  We did share bathrooms with other rooms but as we were there in the off season, we had it to ourselves. 

As I had arrived several hours before Gina, I walked to the central business district, about a mile from the lodge.  First impression, so many people walking!  Even though the omnipresent blue Toyota cabs prowled the street with a quick honk to announce their availability, the local population seemed content with walking to the marketplace.  I felt safe with so many fellow pedestrians, even thought I was the only white face on the walking paths.  Speaking of which: proper sidewalks in Livingston, as I was to find elsewhere in Zambia, are a rare public accommodation.  At best they are paths next to the roadway that can scare the bejevies out of you as cars pass by within inches of you.  This is especially the case if you are a Yank trying to get used to drivers driving on the wrong side of the streets.  When sidewalks are present, they are in disrepair and likely to be next to large, open concrete drainage ditches with no protective railings.

As Gina was arriving from Lusaka by bus, I was hoping to meet her at the bus station.  Only problem was, there is no real bus station.  There exists only a large parking area in the market place where bus tickets are bought and sold by various bus companies from several shacks.  When I tried to inquire about the time the bus from Lusaka might arrive, no one could offer a clue.  The typical response was “when it gets here.”  Really helpful.  I ended up meeting Gina at our lodge instead.  Encouraging news though: they are building some sort of bus terminal on the edge of the downtown district.  It is hoped it will be done in time for a United Nations tourism conference in Livingston in August.  Good luck with that as only a cleared section of land designated the site at the time of my visit. 

Another sensory image of Livingston is the constant smell of soot in the air, a form of perpetual pollution.  At first I thought it was due to the possible brush fire I had seen on my decent into Livingstone.  But Gina told me it was due to the burning of wood by households for cooking, as well as trash for lack of local collection services.  I had thought urban areas had moved past that mode of fuel and trash disposal.  Not in the towns of Zambia as the smell was prevalent in other cities and towns as well.  There did not seem to be any great concern about the carbon footprint being generated.  I guess there are higher priorities such as a new bus terminal. 

Another observation from Livingstone albeit somewhat sexist: for the most part the women are beautiful.  Most all are trim and well-proportioned and appear to take pride in their appearance.  Most all have very stylish hairdos which enhance their attractiveness.  When I mentioned this to Gina, she enlightened, “Don’t be fooled. None of those hairdos are real.”  Evidently most all the women wear wigs, false hair extensions or “weaves” in their hair to obtain a more “Western” look that they could not obtain with their natural hair.  My advice: Ladies of Zambia.  You are beautiful!  Do what you can with your natural hair and you will still be beautiful.  The silly false hair enhancements are really not needed.  But I’m a Chindelli (white guy).  I doubt they will take heed.  The Zambian men on the other hand, have only one hair style seemingly without exception.  Buzz cut.  No fuss, no muss.
 

Where the Wild Things Are
It would be a travesty for any visitor to central Africa not to take the time to go on Safari.  From Livingstone, that meant Chobe National Park, about an hour’s drive into neighboring Botswana (requires an exit visa).  We hooked up with one of the local outfitters for an overnight stay in the Park.   The outfitter picks you up at your lodge and takes it from there.  Cost $215.00 per person.  A bargain at twice the price.

Our first outing was a two hour boat cruise up the Zambezi River.  The river was at its fullest as the wet season was just ending.  Wildlife (elephants, cape buffalo, hippos, water fowl and occasional baby crocodile) was spotted along the way in a surreal setting.  Next came the land excursion that provided additional vantage points for wildlife.  As we elected the overnight Safari, we were treated to the late afternoon excursion.  This is when much of the wildlife emerges from their daytime lairs that offer protection from the day’s heat.  In the cool of the late afternoon, we were able to witness the emerging activity of yet more elephants, warthogs, impalas, baboons, and an especially rare sight, lions.  It would be an injustice for me to try and describe the scene in narrative, so hopefully the accompanying photos will be worth at least the proverbial thousand words.




However, there is one sighting that I will try to describe as it struck me to be almost spiritual.  We witnessed a tower (herd) of giraffes moving across the landscape in the early evening.  The image of a tower of giraffes in motion at full gallop is ethereal.   The bottom half of the herd is an awkward, almost clumsy movement of unequal sized legs bouncing along the terrain, much like droplets on a hot skillet.  At the same time, the upper body and necks of the herd moved gracefully and rhythmically, like a grove of palm trees waving in a breeze.  Only the grove of heads was traversing the landscape like an armada of ships at full sail.  A sight that will never be captured in even the most endowed zoos.  How the clunky motion of the legs could be connected to the gracefulness of the body and neck can only be answered by means of Creative Genius. 

After a traditional Zambian meal of nshima, greens, chicken curry and pudding the human herd slept in tents at night.  I was awakened twice in the night.  Once when the surrounding bush seemed to come alive with every animal and bird roaring, growling or chirping in some kind of primeval competition.  It reminded me of the verse in Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sedak:  And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.” I was glad I was safe amongst my human herd.

Later in the night I awoke again.  Only this time it was to eerie, complete silence.  Nothing.  No birds chirping. No animal howling.  No crickets.  No wind in the trees.  Absolute quiet.  The world was at peace. 

The next morning, after a brief breakfast, we headed out of Chobe National Park.  We saw an occasional wildlife sighting, but not nearly as often as the evening occurrences.  Then we exited the Park, crossed the Zambezi, left Botswana and returned back to the land where the wild things no longer live.  Such a pity. 


And the Flood Gates of Heaven Opened…
As a child at Evergreen Junior High, I remember studying about Africa and the Livingstone expedition.  What I retained most from the lesson was his discovery in 1855 of the huge waterfall on the Zambezi River called Mosi-oa-Tunya by the natives.  Livingstone later named them Victoria Falls after the then reigning queen of Britain.  Mr. Latham, our 9th grade geography instructor must have done an exemplary job of describing the falls because from that day forward, I thought that if I ever get a chance I would visit them.  That day came on my third day in Zambia.  I was not disappointed.  In fact, it exceeded my childhood imaginings by a factor of 10.  As Victoria Falls has been named one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, there is little I can add to describe the beauty and grandeur of the Falls that others have not. 

At the time Gina and I visited the Falls, it was at the high water mark, coming off the wet season.  As such the volume of flowing water was at its greatest.   This is both good news and bad news for the traveler.  Good news:  the power and force of the cascading water is at its fullest.  The noise is deafening.  You can hear it within a mile of the Falls.  Bad news:  you can’t see it.  The volume and vertical fall of water is so great that a lot of it vaporizes before it hits the bottom.  This creates a mist that forms a curtain between the viewing side and the actual falls.  The mist continues to rise hundreds of feet above the rim of the falls and can be seen 10 to 15 miles away.  That is why the natives called it Mosi-oa-Tunya – the Smoke that Thunders.   It has been known to confuse some first time visitors who descend into Livingstone by air and mistake it for smoke from a brush fire. 



Note of advice to travelers to the falls: do not pay for the various rain gear and ponchos you can obtain at the entrance to protect you from the rain-like mist.  The complete drenching from the mist (The Zambezi baptism) is part of the total experience.  The warm African sun will dry you out in no time.  The viewing trail goes for about a mile.  Even when the curtain of mist is present, every so often it does part to reveal the magnificent falls.  The only way I can describe it is as though the flood gates of heaven have been opened as the water appears to be gushing straight out of the sky.  Put Victoria Falls on your bucket list.  You won’t regret it.   

In case you are wondering how Victoria Falls compares with our Niagara Falls, the numbers are below. 

Epitome of British Influence – High Tea
As long as you have now included Victoria Falls on your bucket list and committed to the time and expense to make it happen, you might as well include high tea at the Royal Livingstone Lodge on your list also.  The Lodge is within walking distance or a short cab ride from the Falls so you can check off two bucket items on the same day.  The Lodge, a five star resort situated on the Zambezi River right before it cascades down the falls, is a lasting legacy to proper British eloquence and snobbery.  The grounds include a private game reserve featuring giraffes and zebras without the normal zoo enclosures.  Our budget did not allow us to stay at the lodge, but we did indulge in their afternoon high tea offering.  For a cost of $20 each we were treated to the most elegant tea setting imaginable with your choice of over 20 blends of tea.  In addition, you are offered the most exquisite display of finger sandwiches and desserts you could ever desire.  Come hungry and with a sweet tooth because you can visit the dessert bar as many times as you like.  And the service is something inspired by British royalty.  We were there in the off season, so there was no wait.  


Please don’t tell the management, but Gina took the opportunity to take a dip in their magnificent pool afterward.  I retired to the veranda overlooking the river where Gina and I later enjoyed cocktails while watching the sun sink into the mighty Zambezi. 

Not a bad day for the price of a movie and dinner back in the States. 

Journey to Mwinilunga
Livingstone was a great place to begin my Zambian adventure.  But the real objective was to visit Gina’s and Scott’s assigned Peace Corps village in the upper Northwest Province near the town of Mwinilunga, some 500 miles from Livingstone.  We went via Lusaka as I wanted to go to the capital and largest city of Zambia. 

Lusaka – And the most impressive building is…?
We took the bus from Livingstone to Lusaka, stopping overnight in Choma about half way so Gina could visit a Peace Corps center there.   As far as Lusaka goes, there is not much good I can say about the city.  Certainly not a bucket list destination unless you like bustling, crowed, dirty, confusing and generally unremarkable venues.  However, it did offer one amenity that I did not see anywhere else in Zambia: a Western style enclosed shopping mall.   Actually three of them.  It was obvious that they catered to the one-percenters that benefit from a bloated foreign aid based government and large Non-Government Organizations (NGO) offering massive relief programs.  Evidently one of the malls is dubbed the “Mall that AIDS Built” by local cynics as it patronized primarily by employees of foreign-funded NGO’s supporting massive AIDS programs centered in the city.  However, the malls did provide a nice respite from the otherwise chaotic street vendor and shanty marketplaces prevalent in Zambia’s towns and cities. That is where we met up with Gina’s husband Scott who was training new Peace Corps recruits in a nearby town. 
There was one notable building in the city that seemed to dominate the skyline as it was situated on a rise that could be seen from most parts of the city.  The building was massive in size and dwarfed those around it. Although the architecture was unremarkable, it was formidable and hinted of a fortress.  It was obviously an important government complex.  Gina confirmed as much when I asked her what it was.  She informed me it was the United States Embassy. 





Chikmubuso – An Oasis of Hope
Lusaka did provide one interesting and rewarding side trip.  A cohort from my employment put us in contact with an organization that her mother had founded that operated in one of the slum areas of Lusaka.  Even though our taxi driver assured us he knew where it was (they all said that) he did not have a clue.  We relied on the directions of our contacts which lead us on a circuitous trip to one of the most impoverished neighborhoods I have ever seen.  I won’t describe it here.  Suffice it to say it left me with a sinking feeling that humanity had failed this place.  In the middle of this place was a compound of buildings known as Chikmubuso.  This particular Sunday, they were having an open house to show guests what they had accomplished and the clients they served.  Gina, Scott and I were honored to be guests on that day.

Chikmubuso is a word that means remembrance.  Remembrance of those who suffer and die from AIDS and our duty to do for others.  The center offers support for widows, orphans and grandmothers of those affected by AIDS.  Linda Wilkinson, the founder of Chikmubuso aims to support the children and women who are left behind, unable to fend for themselves.  73 widows and 350 children are served by the center by offering work programs and schooling.  The women learn to crochet handbags from used plastic bags and other recycled materials.  The bags are sold in various marketplaces and at fundraisers in the USA and elsewhere.   On our visit, we met the women who were proud of their new found abilities and a chance to begin life anew.  


Humanity was alive in this neighborhood as personified in the efforts of Linda and her staff.  Chikmubuso may mean “Remembrance” in the local language.  But in my estimation it means “An oasis of hope” to all those that it serves.   You can learn more about this grassroots program by visiting there website at www.chikumbuso.com.

Solwezi - The Wild West Revisited
From Lusaka, Gina and I flew the 250 miles to Solwezi, avoiding the 10 hour bus ride.  Scott remained in Lusaka to continue his training of the new Peace Corps recruits. Solwezi is near the Cooperbelt Province of Zambia.  As the name implies, its main resource is copper and related minerals.  Thanks to the Chinese’s investment in the extraction industry in Africa, Solwezi has become a boomtown.  Think Sacramento during the Gold Rush or Dodge City KS during the 1870’s.  Mining trucks and mine workers clog the main road through the town.  Dust, noise and crowds define the scene.  Infrastructure is inadequate and prices high.  A certain “each person for them self” attitude exists.  The one modern supermarket in town, ShopRite is guarded at its entrance by armed guards equipped with semi-automatic rifles.  Shoplifters beware!  There is a Peace Corps center in Solwezi a bit off the main route which offered a respite for a few hours as we waited for our bus to journey to Mwinilunga.  


Getting around – Zambian style
Now is probably a good time to discuss the various modes of public transportation used to get around in Zambia.  There are basically seven methods of travel.

Walking – by far the cheapest and most prevalent mode of transportation requires only your own two feet.  The general populace uses this mode more for economy than convenience or exercise.  However, the locals can’t understand why any Chindelli (us white guys) would resort to walking.  When we asked our lodge desk clerk in Lusaka for walking directions for the 2 kilometers to the local Catholic Church, they frankly did not understand the question.  “Why are you asking? We will get you a taxi.”  No directions were ever given.  We used an outdated map instead which somehow got us there albeit a bit late.

Biking – Although the Peace Corps’ modus operandi for its volunteers while on assignment, few bikes were seen in use by the locals.  Zambia is not a bike friendly country in that the major roadways do not have safe shoulders to ride on.  Urban areas are just too congested with side streets in such poor condition that bike riding is treacherous.   Rural areas offer roads and trails that require you to walk your bike as often as riding them in some areas.  However, I did see one hardy family of three on a single bike with luggage on the back rack.   

Hitching – While the literature suggests this is a normal practice, I did not see much of it.  Gina has done it on occasion, ending up in the back of produce trucks and other precarious vehicles.  Fortunately she didn’t suggest I try the local “experience” while visiting.

Minibus – Next to walking, this is probably the most utilized form of public transportation in the urban areas.  I am not sure how it works.  Basically the drivers cram as many bodies in small mini-vans as possible.   This may be up to 15 people in a van designed to carry eight.  I have no idea how to tell which minibus is going where.  Personal space is zero.  Gina did suggest I try this local experience.  I declined.  My observation of the practice and an imagination of what it was like was all the “experience” I needed. 

Taxi – Anyone who owns a beat up Toyota Corolla is in the taxi business.  There are no meters, no formal rate charges and no apparent licensing.  If you own a Corolla, you are qualified.  Rates are negotiated before each trip.  On one trip Gina and I took, we stopped to pick up a driver’s friend, a spare tire and stopped to add enough gas for the trip.  The first stop for any ride over two kilometers (about 1.2 miles) usually involves a stop at the petrol station to purchase enough gas for the trip.  The drivers seem to have petrol inventory management perfected in a just-in-time system.    

Bus – There is intercity bus transport with competing service from three or four bus companies.  Posted time-tables are more or less guidelines when the buses arrive and depart.  It is a game of chance as to the quality of the bus you end up on.  Some are quite modern and spacious while others are filthy with crammed seating.  You really don’t know till it arrives.  All are usually packed full with passengers even standing for a long duration of the trip.  A ticket does not guarantee you a seat.  The buses are used by the locals to carry goods and produce between towns. Chickens, large bags of meal and produce were all part of the cargo, both in the bus and in the cargo holds. 

The bus stops at most villages between the major towns making for a long bus ride.  However, I found these to be quite interesting as each village offered its own slice of Zambia.  At some you could buy snacks and fresh produce right from your bus window.  These included fried chicken, boiled peanuts, watermelon and pineapples.  At one stop, five women were selling their home fried chicken.  I saw three, maybe four takers.  I am still trying to figuring out the economics of such a trade.  There appears to be way too much supply for the demand.  Economics 101 would suggest that the supply should decrease to meet the demand.  But try to tell that to the women trying to earn a few Kwacha to support their families. 

The en-route entertainment system consists of overhead TV’s playing cheesy soap operas and musical videos.  Music ranges from American C&W to Zam Pop (a form of gaud awful Zambian rap).  The genre and volume is at the complete discretion of the driver.  What he likes is what you hear.  On the four hour bus ride between Solwezi and Mwinilunga, his choice was the gaud awful Zam Pop at full volume.  I could not get off that bus fast enough when we reached our destination to relieve a splitting headache.    


Plane – I did use the internal plane service ProFlight for flights between Lusaka and Solwezi.  The equipment was a 20 passenger dual turbo-props.  Service and reliability were terrific.  The hour flight was about $385 round trip.  Definitely worth the price to avoid the ten hour bus ride each way.  


Local Markets – Inefficient Efficiency
Allow me to ponder here on some observations I made on the marketplace in Zambia.  With an undergraduate degree in Economics, I have always been intrigued on how markets work and how they are subject (or should be) to the ebbs and flows of supply and demand.  So I took an inherent interest in what I observed in the marketplaces in Zambia and tried to make sense of them.  As near as I can tell during my brief visit there exist four consumer markets in Zambia:

First, there are the traditional “Western” retail markets consisting of legitimate stores with predetermined prices and properly receipted.  These are many of the ShopRite grocery stores (a South African chain) and the higher end retail malls we visited in Lusaka.  These operate much like any retail establishment you might find in America.  You choose goods, you go to the checkout, sales tax is calculated (16% Value Added Tax (VAT) in Zambia) and the transaction is properly receipted. 

Secondly, there is the government controlled market.  This is where the central Zambian government sets the price.  When I arrived in Livingstone in mid-April, the posted price of gasoline at established petrol stations was K8.16/liter (about $6.50/gallon).  This was the price no matter where I went in Zambia.  It did not change for the full 2 ½ weeks while I was there.  During the same period in Denver, the price changed from $3.29/gal to $3.68/gal reflecting underlying market conditions (good ol’ supply and demand).  And back in the good old US of A the price varied form station to station, city to city and state to state.  Not so in Zambia.  Some clandestine Higher Power has determined that K8.16/liter is the defacto optimum price that should be charged for petro and that will not change unless the Higher Power deems otherwise.  I have no idea who absorbs the shortfall or reaps the benefit as the international price for crude changes the price the Higher Power has to pay for the gas. 

Thirdly, there is the street market so prevalent in all the towns from Livingstone to Lusaka to Solwezi to Mwinilunga.  These are where thousands of street vendors sell their goods on the walkways or in shanty little shops covering huge shopping districts in each town.  The shops are selling the same commodity items (fried corn, fresh vegetables, cell phones, housewares, shoes, grains, fish) all within a few stalls and sometimes next to each other.  All transactions are strictly cash.  No VISA.  No checks.  No traveler’s checks (do those still exist?)  Cash only, period. No receipt.  No VAT collected. 

Based on observed activity and size of this type of operations, this appeared to be the largest retail activity in Zambia. Again, Economics 101 would suggest that some form of consolidation should take place to take advantage of some economies of scale.  But it isn’t happening.  Each vendor is content to take his miniscule portion of a commodity and live off its merger profit.  In my mind, this creates a very inefficient market as far as manpower to support but a very efficient pricing mechanism as you can’t charge any more than the vendor a few stalls down.  A very inefficient, efficient system.  One that takes more than an undergraduate degree in economics to try to understand. 

It was also observed that if you evoke the name of God in your business name, it will somehow generate some sort of competitive advantage.  That may explain the proliferation of names such as God Promise Boutique, God’s Love Barbershop, Father Forgive Them Motorcycle Supply, Debtor of Grace Traders, Blessing of God Lodge and (my favorite) Man of God Investing. 

Lastly, there is a system of barter that takes place in the remote villages in the bush. It is probably not of significant aggregate value.  But still a marketplace to be reckoned with when considering the totality of the Zambian economic fabric. 

Mwinilunga – Gateway to the “Real” Zambia. 
The main road through the Northwest Province brings us to Mwinilunga, the BOMA or county seat that encompasses the remote village that Scott and Gina are assigned to by the Peace Corps.  Mwinilunga is a sleepy little town lacking of any of the larger retail chains and is solely made up of street vendors operating out of shanty shacks, government offices and NGO offices.  Vehicular street traffic is all but nonexistent on the main street.   You are more likely to get hit by a bicycle with no brakes than you are a car.  Electrical power, when available is turned off at 11:00 pm and turned back on at 6:00 am.  We stayed the night there before journeying up to Gina’s village in a most quaint lodge.  It was a few kilometers from town and situated on a lush hillside along the Lunga River.  A wonderful respite from the noise and bustle of the previous stay in Lusaka.  The following day after a bit of shopping from the local vendors for provisions in the bush, we began the trip to what the people in this area refer to as the “Real Zambia’.  An area where the Zambian people migrated from the Congo several hundred years ago and still retain their village way of life.  



The Road to Gina's Village
Gina and Scott’s assigned village is about 18 kilometers, (10 miles) from Mwinilunga.  You get there by traversing an ill-maintained dirt road full of ruts, potholes and washouts.  A taxi can make it there at low speeds and with an astute driver.  The road there passes by perhaps a dozen such native villages, all inhabited by people of the Lunda tribe.  A journey on the road is a journey back in time when there was no running water, no electricity, no telephones.  Each village is comprised of between 10 and 30 brick and thatched roofed huts, each with a detached outside cooking shelter.  Total inhabitants in each village range between 50 and 200 of which well over half are children.  Most of the children spend the day outside waving and greeting  passers-by who come by on the road by foot, occasionally by bike and rarely by vehicle .  When school is in session, they do attend.  But it can be a hit and miss proposition. The women spend their days cooking, fetching water, washing at the stream, attending to children or visiting.  The men go to the fish ponds or the fields to attend their crops, or just hang around playing cards.  Other inhabitants of the villages include chickens, goats, sheep, pigs, dogs, and chickens, all roaming freely without fences or enclosures.  The village has a definite daily rhythm that doesn’t vary much.  One I would get to know and appreciate in my four days of visiting in the village.

Gina and Scott’s compound consisted of the normal two room brick and thatched roof hut and detached cooking area.  In addition, they had a brick outhouse, shower area (using solar heated water bags) and a tool shed that Scott built himself.  They also had a vegetable garden and chicken coop.  All-in-all quite a compound. It probably had the most amenities of any in the village due to minimum living standards as required by the Peace Corps.   The tribe does have certain customs such as married women should not stay in the same hut with even their fathers.  So Gina was relegated to sleeping in a tent outside the hut during my stay.  I stayed in a proper bed in the hut as Scott was still away teaching training classes. 

Mwani vudey mwani
My visiting the village proved to be quite a novelty for the villagers. Having another Chindelli in the village, especially the father of Gina created a lot of curiosity. Men, women, and children all came by Gina’s hut for the express purpose of greeting me.  I felt like a celebrity, enjoying my 15 minutes of fame.  As few of the natives knew little if any English, I had to learn their form of greeting.  Lunda is a very hard language to learn.  It amazes me that both Scott and Gina have learned the language well enough to converse with the natives; a real testament to the Peace Corps’ immersion training.  For me, it was a challenge to learn the few phrases used for greetings.  The most common is “Mwani vudey mwani”  (mawa- nee voo-day mawa-nee).  Which means something along the lines of: “it’s my great pleasure to greet you  and may you and your entire family and all your friends always be blessed with happiness and good fortune in all that you ever desire to do” or something to that effect.  The three hundred times or so I used it when both meeting and greeting the people, I don’t think I ever got it right.  Most every time I voiced it, it generated laugh-out-loud responses from the children and suppressed chuckles from the adults.    The other phrase I learned to use was “Nasakilili mwani” (na sa-kee-lil-lee mawa-nee) - thank you. 


It takes a village…
There is a saying that it takes a village to raise a child.  In the bush villages of Zambia, it might be rephrased to “the village exists to raise children.“  Children are everywhere.  From a Western perspective it is easy to conclude that the mothers in the villages are bearing too many children (families with six, seven or eight children were not unusual) at too early an age (mid-teens).   Most women of child bearing age have a child wrapped around her in the traditional baby carrying cloth.  Without being judgmental, the result is that a large percent of the village population are children.  I was told that 90% of the population in rural Zambia is less than 25 years old.  Children can be seen and heard as you pass the villages along the road.  Although they are poorly dressed, they seem to be genuinely happy.  Whenever I brought out my camera to take a picture, it was like a magnet and in no time ten to 15 children would gather to have their picture taken.  They all seemed to know Gina personally.  As she and I rode bikes on the connecting road, shouts of “Gina! Gina!” would emanate from every village imploring Gina to stop and pay a visit.  The high birthrate has not been lost on the NGO’s and government medical programs.  Most center on the three big medical concerns that center around reproduction and gender issues: HIV, spread of malaria, and pre-natal care.  There are also gender education initiatives to empower women in making the choices that affect their lifelong wellbeing. 

What’s in a name?
For the most part, Lundas do not decide on a name for their children until days after the birth.  This may be a custom rooted in the old superstitions or from the fact that many pregnancies do not go full term.  Gina told me that she has been asked on many occasions to help with the naming of the child by the parents after the birth.  I was somewhat skeptical of this until one day a new proud father came up to Gina in my presence and exclaimed the good news that his wife gave birth to a boy yesterday and they are in need of a name.  Could she come up with one?  It appears she had given out previously the names of Golden (her language teacher), Fredrick (her maternal grandfather), Philip (her brother), John (thank you very much) and Scott (her husband).  So she looked at me and asked, “Dad can you come up with a name?”   I suggested her paternal grandfather’s name of Robert.  So right there on the spot the name was chosen after my father.  So if you are ever in the Lunda village of Kalendi and meet a Robert, you will know how his name came about.  However, it may be pronounced “Obet” as r’s are very hard to pronounce in Lunda. 

Anglo names seem to be quite popular for bush babies.  During my stay at the village, I was introduced to Beauty, Pardon, Happy, Wave, Joy, Patron, Bright, Reagan, Obama (very popular for some reason), Steven, Mercy, Golden, Hope, Charity (no Faith as it is too hard to pronounce the “th”) Clifford and Gift.  Go figure. 


Can we talk religion?
I had several religious experiences in Zambia.  The first was attending Sunday Mass at St. Ignatius Church in Lusaka.  The service was very similar to Mass in Denver as it was in English.  We did arrive a bit late so ended up in the choir loft.  The only chair left was a plastic white patio chair that looked inviting.  There was a reason why it was empty.  When I sat down in it, it completely collapsed sending this Chindelli sprawling to the floor with a large crash temporary disrupting the service.  When it became apparent I was all right, the locals quickly cleared a bench for us on more stable footing.  The service resumed with one red faced Chindelli in a sea of black locals. 

One of the major activities in the bush villages is church activities.  Most of the religion is Christian based which means a lot of singing and dancing to drums.  Gina and I were invited to one choir practice and the locals were thrilled when we joined in with the dancing and singing.  Two nights later, in a very dark brick church (remember no electricity) the whole congregation of the Christian Community Church (CCC) was whooping it up in the name of Jesus.  The singing was in the Lunda language and was beautiful with full harmonic rhythm.  The chanting, the drums, the moonlit night.  A purely African experience!
There was also a Catholic service near the village on Sunday.  As no priest was available, a local deacon said the service.  It was completely in Lunda.  However, when I walked in, they did give me an English bible so I could follow the readings that were posted.  They also gave me a side by side interpretation of the Nicene Creed.  I include it below so you can see how different the two languages are. 

Gina advised me ahead of time not to be two generous with the offering as it would set a precedent for other Chindellis who might visit in the future.  So I reduced my offering from 50 kwacha to 20 kwacha (about $4.00) on her advice.  When the offering box was presented, only I and two other local women made a contribution.  The prior week’s offering was announced during the announcements.  Total received: 2 kwacha ($0.40  Yes that’s 40 cents US).   So even my meager 20 kwacha donation was a windfall to the local parish.  I am sure they will put it to good use.

The service lasted the normal hour or so.  However, the announcements at the end of the service (usually a few minute in the US) went on and on.  Apparently that is when all matters of the parish are discussed.  Everything from who is bringing what at the next social to when will a Sunday school for the children be organized.  We politely excused ourselves after about a half an hour as the “announcements” were just getting started. 

Although witchcraft is not openly practiced, it does raise its ugly head on occasion.  When visiting with The Chief of the Lundas, he pointed out a hut that had a hole in the exterior wall.  He explained the occupants of the house were victims of the “walking coffin”.  It appears a few months ago, a child had died in the village.  The family wrongly felt his death was caused by a spell put on the child by another woman in the village.  In order to seek revenge, the family rammed the coffin into the hut of the women who allegedly cast the spell and left it there in her living area.  So beware.  While in Zambia, be careful who you rile because you may end up with a casket in your living room.

A Day with Chief Kanongesha
I was riding my borrowed bike by myself waving to the kids in the villages when a white SUV pulled over.  The driver called out to me asking who I was as he had not seen me in the area before.  I smiled and said I was visiting my daughter Gina Ord.  He laughed with delight and said he knew Gina and Scott well.  As a matter of fact he was hoping to recruit Scott to be a head tribesman.  Then he introduced himself as Chief Kanongesha, head of the Lunda tribe.  He asked how long I was staying and I told him a couple of days.  He hoped we would meet again before I left and went on his way.  As I relayed this to Gina, her eyes grew big and exclaimed “Do you know who that was? He is the most important man in the whole Lunda tribe.  I hope you treated him with respect.”  I replied “I think I did.”    I didn’t think much more of the encounter.

Two days later, Gina and I were riding our bikes to Mwinilunga when the same white SUV came by and the Chief stopped again.  Gina was as excited as I had ever seen her.  She asked the Chief if I could have my picture taken with him.  He declined saying that instead he would like to invite us to join him for lunch at his palace on Saturday.  Evidently you do not refuse any offer by the Chief.  Gina immediately said we would be available even though we had made other plans and arranged for a 10:00 am meeting at the palace. 

The Chief’s palace was 28 kilometers (15 miles) beyond Kalendi.  Our only mode of transportation was our bikes.  But you do not show up at the Chief’s palace in biking shorts and a T-shirt.  As my only button down shirt was terribly wrinkled, it needed a good ironing.  No problem.  Gina directed me to the village tailor who owned a coal heated iron.  He was honored to do it for free but Gina insisted on paying him the going rate:  six fresh eggs from Gina’s chicken coup.  So the deal was struck. A freshly ironed shirt and six fresh eggs traded hands.  No credit.  No cash.  No receipt.  No sales tax.  The ancient barter system still in practice. 

You also don’t show up at the Chief’s palace empty handed.  Gina corralled her most prized Rooster, Idaho and gently put him in a box and strapped the box to the back of her bike.  Idaho would be a most fitting gift for the Chief.  And off we went on our 28 kilometer trek to have lunch with the Chief at the palace.  The bike trip was as much mental as physical due to the poor condition of the road way.  It was a constant struggle to find the best track on the road in order to avoid potholes, ruts, washouts and sand traps. 

Two hours later we arrived at the palace.  The palace was not so much a palace as a fenced compound of large thatched huts and open areas.  It was well kept and had some modern conveniences such as electricity from a generator and filtered water from an on-site well.  There was a large outside cooking area with traditional wood burning stoves. 

The Chief was somewhat delayed and finally showed up in his work clothes as he was working on a project he wanted us to see.  We piled into his white SUV with some staffers hanging on to the back and off we went.  There was a stretch of road in the area that had been pretty much washed out during the wet season prohibiting medical vehicles such as ambulances to service the area.  After many pleas and no responses to the government authorities to do something about the roadway, the Chief and his tribal members decided to take matters into their own hands.  Literally.  We came upon a road crew of about 50 men who were grading and leveling the roadbed with nothing more than pick axes, hoes and one wheelbarrow.  The Chief had organized the volunteer road crew and was extremely proud about the results. The roadway would be made passable in about three days.  I could only marvel at the tenacity the men put into their effort.  An effort that a bulldozer and operator could accomplish in a few hours if only one was available. 



The Chief took us to another area that featured a dammed river creating a beautiful lake.  The dam was also used to generate electricity for the nearby school.  The generator had recently stopped functioning and needed replacement.  After many months and help from church missionaries a new $50,000 German generator was acquired and installed.  When I asked how it was working, the Chief said it was not for lack of a simple electrical cable that also needed replacing.  No one new for certain when or if a new cable would become available.  So, for now the new generator was idle for want of a relatively inexpensive cable. 

We went back to the palace where lunch was being served in the Chief’s home.   The living quarters were very modest by Western standards but royal when compared to the village abodes.  The Chief changed into his ceremonial dress and we ate in the living room.  The menu consisted of tea, boiled peanuts, fresh pumpkin, bread and honey, hardboiled eggs and watermelon.  Gina and I had a delightful meal when the chief announced to our surprise that we would now go to the dining room where his wife had prepared the main courses.  Evidently the afore mentioned menu was only appetizers.  When Gina and I mentioned that we were not expecting anything additional and were quite satisfied, the Chief politely informed us that his wife would be offended if we did not continue with the meal.  So we sat down again and enjoyed the second courses of nshima, fish (some of the best I ever tasted), tomato sauce, garden greens, sweet potatoes, and cassava leaves.  Needless to say we were quite full when we left the table.

The Chief then took us on a tour of the grounds showing us the various historical features there.  He then took us into the presentation hut where he sat on his throne explaining the various artifacts in the room:  bows and arrows, animal skins, carvings, a staff from Queen Victoria days.  It was as though we were on a private tour in a boutique museum.  It was here that I finally had my picture taken with Chief Kanongesha of the Lunda tribe. 

Afterward he drove us half way back to our village so we could avoid the roughest part of the road.  As we waved good-by, we couldn’t help but appreciate that we had sent a great day with the great Chief Kanongesha of the Lunda tribe.  It was an honor and a pleasure that will be long remembered. 



How are things in America?
Zambians, both rural and urban are intrigued by America.  They do not hesitate to ask questions about America to get some firsthand knowledge about that mysterious place half way around the world. 
Questions that I was asked about America include:

How are things in America?  This was asked most often.  I was never quite sure how to respond to it.
  
Is Colorado Republican or Democrat?  This was asked by a taxi driver in Livingstone who obviously had more interest in American politics than his own. 

Do you like Obama?  Tough question to answer as Zambians have a high regard for the man. 

How much money did it cost to come to Zambia?  They are fascinated with the costs of things in America.  I was always honest with them and responded in this instance with “about $2,500 (a fortune to villagers) that I saved over a long time” trying to emphasis the value of savings.  

Do you use coal (charcoal) or wood to cook your food?  “Neither.  We use electricity or natural gas.” 

Do you have drying racks (wooden shelves made from branches to dry dishes)?  “No.  We mostly have electric dishwashers that both wash and dry our dishes.” 

Does the sun shine the same in America as it does in Zambia?  “Yes.  But the seasons are reversed.  We are entering summer in America now. “


Final Reflections on Zambia
Even though I spent 2 ½ weeks in Zambia and covered over 500 miles, it was only a speck in time and a tiny footprint compared to what all there is to know about a diverse and complex country.  So any general conclusions I may make may be challenged by better informed authority.  But I do have some observations:

What I will miss the most about leaving:
The friendly greeting from all the people I met
Cooking fresh eggs and toast over a coal fired brazier
The natural rhythm of daily life in a real village
The interest Zambians have in America
Having my daughter (and son-in-law) so near

What I won’t miss at all:
Zambian pop (the hip hop music)
Nshima, the doughy, sticky staple served at most meals
Mosquito nets over the beds at night
Riding bikes over sandy and rutted back roads

Gina asked me near the end of my visit if I had to describe the people of Zambia in three words, what would they be?  I ended up requiring five words.

Content with life as is 

The Zambians I observed seem so content with the current state of their lives that real improvement in standard of living or economic development will not be initiated from within or by its native citizens.  Any changes will stem from outside influences: foreign aid (thank you Uncle Sam), NGO programs, foreign investment (Chinese mining of its copper and other minerals).  As long as the people are content with their current ways of life, markets will remain inefficient, rural villages will be without electricity and running water, and birthrates will remain high.   Even though that seems to be the way it is, for the most part the people of Zambia remain respectful, extraordinarily civil and very happy. 

To all that I met, the fellow bus riders, all the villagers, the women at Chikmubuso, the taxi drivers, the shopkeepers, Chief Kanongesha, the Peace Corps volunteers, I can only say “Mwani vudey mwani” as it is my great pleasure to have met you and may you and your entire family and all your friends always be blessed with happiness and good fortune in all that you ever desire to do.

And to Gina and Scott for their hospitality during my visit, “Nasakilili mwani”.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

John Ord
May 2013