I Love Zambia

Nowhere is it more apparent than in traveling that an object at rest stays at rest. There are places in the world that are almost like black holes and seemingly impossible to leave even if you want too. I think about my narrow escapes from Vang Viene, Laos; Koh Phan Ngon, Thailand; Nairobi; Amapala, Honduras; and Fiji. Lake Malawi is notorious for that as well. I found that an object in motion quickly gains momentum as I blasted through into Zambia.


I caught a lift to the border with some guys who buy petrol in Malawi then sell it on the black market in Zambia. I fully intended on staying in the border town of Chipata so I wouldn't arrive In Lusaka late at night, but I had a crisis with Money. It was a Saturday and there was no where to change money on the border, every traveler's nightmare. It didn't help that there was one place to change money in the city but it closed early and because the border official insisted on going through my entire passport and having me explain where each visa came from, I missed it. Luckily I met a Zambian, Danny, who shared a taxi with me and took me to an underground exchange bureau in a fast-food restaurant that was in the early stages of being built. Danny said he was continuing to Lusaka and could help me get a taxi or I could stay with him, either way I would be sorted.


I thought, why not, and hopped on the bus to Lusaka with him.


I'm not going to say there weren't warning signs. We sat on the bus for 6 hours after it was supposed to depart. The guys did strange things selling us different tickets. The bus was left running the entire 6 hours we were in the parking lot.


I was lost in the beautiful Zambian countryside watching the circular huts flow by. I n the country side as darkness began to coat the air, people would light fires outside their huts. Danny explained that they have to keep them going all night to keep away wild animals. My attention was brought back to the inside of the bus when people began yelling. It turns out, not only did our bus have no headlights, but the alternator was broken too so when we stopped we wouldn't be able to start. The driver and conductor knew this. I guess Zoom, the bus company we were with is notorious for being really dangerous. Great. Half the bus was yelling to stop or else we would probably die, the other half said we would probably die if we stopped in the bush at night. The driver refused to stop. A fight broke out on the bus and people had to be restrained. Danny told me that we were coming up to a road that went along a cliff with a sheer drop off. I joined in on the prayers emanating from the bus.


People were praying out loud more and more urgently. Everything felt really intense. Lightning outside the bus popped quickly like flashbulbs in a way I have never seen.


Then we hit a road block. The police stopped us from going any farther and we pulled into the police station. The driver was arrested and the conductors ran away with all our money. We were absolutely stranded.


"How do you like Zambia?" A man came over and asked me. Along with Danny, 3 other men took me under their wing and they turned out to be pretty powerful people. One man worked for the president's office (the equivalent of the CIA) and he was on the phone yelling at the bus company. Another was the head customs officer for Zambia and he got us food and chairs and his police buddy friends joined us. The last man, Mr. Zuma, is one of the head of COMENSA (the African version of the EU) and works for the World Bank.


I couldn't imagine a better night than drinking soda and eating biscuits w, sitting in plastic chairs in the parking lot of a police station in Zambia with lightning exploding all around us with these kind of interesting and articulate people. We talked for hours about politics, culture, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Kenya, God, the future of Zambia and more. Mr. Zuma offered me a job as a part journalist, part PR representative at COMENSA. The customs officer said he could get me the proper paperwork in 15 minutes. We all agreed that we had been brought together this night for a reason. I could feel more momentum building as the men talked about how they were going to help their country in the future. It was incredibly inspiring.


One of them had an interesting though. WE were talking about God and I was explaining how people in Africa seem much more religious as a whole than those in the US. He said, "Maybe life in America is so easy people don't have to believe in God the same way we do."


Danny said that he thought the US has been so lucky economically because our money says, "In God We Trust" on it.


I eventually went over to the bus to sleep and woke up to Danny covering me with his blanket to keep the mosquitoes from eating my legs off. The next morning with no help in sight, Mr. Zuma bought me breakfast with some Zambian hospitality. We sat around talking with some women from Zimbabwe about the situation there.


Eventually they got the bus running, but I wouldn't have missed that night for anything. Zambia was quickly becoming my favorite country and all the people I met at the chaotic Lusaka bus station that helped me only reinforced that. Everyone was so friendly and helpful.



I decided to roll with the momentum and wait 7 hours for a night bus to Livingston from Lusaka. It was crammed into that bus with no room to even take a deep breath, the window stuck open with the wind assaulting my face but that's OK because the blaring Zambian music wouldn't have allowed for sleep anyways, that I realized how happy I am here. There is nowhere else i would rather be. I was by myself, but not alone, doing this in such a crazy way with only myself to depend on and the grace of the wonderful people that have helped along the way.



It is a great feeling to be completely happy and not due to anyone or anything but yourself. I think that reminds me that happiness is always within reach.



Coming to Livingston has actually been a big culture shock. There are so may tourists. It's the first almost-proper town I have seen my whole trip other than Nairobi. Many of the streets are even paved. Almost everything is available and I find it completely depressing and long to be one of the only tourists, for the bustle of the marketplace and smells of street food and life spilling out of the sidewalks. I'm ready to jump right off my sort of tourist route and go my own way again. It made me realize this transition to more developed Africa will be rough and that Africa is going to be much harder to leave than I could ever imagine before I came. I am in big trouble.