Under African skies

This is the story of how we begin to remember…

These are the roots of rhythm

And the roots of rhythm remain Paul Simon

Road Trip

A road trip in the heart of Africa is never an easy thing to do, especially with a looming gas crisis. Traveling in Africa is difficult. For one thing, you have to be prepared for the worst. That means carrying extra jerry cans of gasoline, spare tires, water, tools, and food. There are no rest stops along the way, no picnic tables, no toilets, no highway patrol, and very poor cell phone reception. Secondly, the roads can be treacherous and leave much to be desired. Because there had been rumors of an impending gas shortage I had the foresight to fill up a few days before our scheduled trip. I could only fill up the tank, no jerry cans were allowed.

My traveling companions included Charlie, Eloise, and Kay, all first year teachers at AIS. We left at the crack of dawn in order to avoid the heat for our first independent African adventure---a 5 day trip to Livingstone, Zambia; home of the mighty and majestic Victoria Falls. Since I was driving, I had found a nice young American mechanic to service my car. He put new tires on, gave the car a tune-up and basically reassured me that everything would be ok on the 500 plus kilometer journey.

We drove through Chobe---no gas and long lines at each service station. Mazabuka--- no gas. Long lines that stretched around the block awaited us in each small town we came to. Third stop Choma---still no gas. By this time we were a bit worried because I had no idea how much my tank holds nor how many miles to the gallon the CRV gets and we still had about 200 kilometers to go. My tank was a little below half full. As we were debating on what to do, two young Zimbabwean truck drivers approached us. They had just delivered a car in Mazabuka and had an empty flatbed. They assured us that we would make it. “I promise you,” they said. They also assured us that if we were to run out of gas they would be close behind. We exchanged cell numbers and with renewed confidence set off again knowing that Bob and Clyde had our backs. By this time the temperature was edging up to 105 degrees. Paul Simon’s Graceland CD blasted from the speakers and we sang along as we raced across the blacktop.

The Flamboyant trees shone like beacons on the dusty plains. Small villages with their conical mud/thatch huts dotted the horizon. Despite the heat people walked along the road carrying bundles of wood or water jugs on their heads. Women sat under trees selling watermelons and tomatoes. We passed banana groves, sugar cane and cotton fields. Cattle and goats grazed in the ditches and I had to do a few quick maneuvers to avoid hitting a poor animal that had wandered on to the highway.

The highway from Kafue to Zimba is excellent and the miles whizz by. However, the last 75 kilometers into Livingston are horrible. The main road is under construction so you have to take a detour into the bush. It is a bone jarring experience. The road itself is just gravel and sand with huge pot holes the size of craters. It was a very windy day and the dust swirls coming towards us reminded me of blizzard conditions. Whenever a truck passed you drove blind for a few minutes due to the red dust. Finally, it ended and we could see Livingstone ahead of us. We made it and still had a liter or two of gas to spare.