Zambian Village and Going to School

Student

July 8, 2011 Kalamu Bush Camp to Zambian Village and School

Zambian Village School

We are surprised and delighted to climb aboard the land cruiser and find hot water bottles tucked between the heavy wool blankets. Davidson Camp, in Wenge National Park should take note of this! Our destination is to visit a local village, 20 kilometer away, outside of the confines of the park. Emanuel drives slowly looking for wild life. The vegetation at this park is mostly thornveld and broad-leaf-forest. Few of the trees and thorny scrubs are higher than 50 feet, and the terrine is dusty and dry. We pass through a scrub mopane forest, where the elephants have foraged heavily, and the mapane trees are stunted.  Further on there is a forest of cathedral mopanes; I am not clear as to why the elephants have not damaged this part of the forest? 

John in the classroom

Felix is riding with us on this morning’s excursion and we soon learn that it will be his village that we are visiting. We are on a private tour with three men from the camp; Emanuel, our guide, James, our protector, and Felix, our host to the village.  We pass from the park into public land and over a wide dry riverbed.  Two women are doing laundry with a half dozen children in tow.  The women have dug down through the sand to reach the clean water below and pound laundry through the holes they have dug. (when, we return three hours later, they are still there, with their laundry spread colorfully to dry, like a patchwork quilt, over the compacted sand of the dry riverbed.) I desperately want to take photos, but refrain out of respect. Their village is up on the plateau, not far from the river, a collection of small, round, mud-brick shelters, with thatched roofs. We wave and continue on another 20 minutes until we come to three small structures, the village school. Emanuel pulls the Toyota Land Cruiser into the circular dirt driveway and we climb out to visit the classrooms. 

A+ Workbook

The school is from 1st grade to 7th grade, and there are three classrooms with a morning and afternoon session. We meet the head teacher who wears a dark suit, dusty and wrinkled, but very impressive; especially after having just witnessed the laundry facilities available. After introductions and hand-shakes, we enter his classroom and the 8 or 9 students snap to attention. The students share 4 desks in the classroom, and each is working in a neatly printed workbook. Plastic orange chairs are stacked at the side of the room and the large blackboard is neatly printed, with what I assume is today’s lesson. We gravitate over to one boy who has his workbook open. His printing is precise and the English perfectly composed.  John stares in amazement at this, grins and tells the boy that his writing isn’t nearly as good. The boy is working on questions concerning the benefits and disadvantages of mining in parts of Zambia.  We walk around the room, introduce ourselves and compliment the work.  Felix watches from the open doorway of the classroom; two of the girls in this school are his daughters.  The 6th grade classroom is across the drive in a mud brick building; built by Wilderness Safari’s. Once again, the children snap to attention; we share introductions and they show us drawings that they completed yesterday. I ask if I may take photos; affirmative, and I take many of the students who seem especially delighted to have their photos taken with John.

Proud Students

Village Classroom

We drive another 5 or 6 kilometers, past several small village compounds to Felix’s village. 15 or 20 children rush to greet us at the road and seeing the camera around my neck, beg me to take photos of them.  They pile in front of each other, pushing and shoving and making it difficult to take photos, but I am very happy to oblige. After each series of clicks, I bend down to show them the images in the back of my camera and my balance is offset as they crowd around, wide eyed and curious, immediately begging for more photos. A few of the children are rolling bicycle tires with sticks or riding discarded automobile tires; all look happy and healthy, and all are bare foot and dusty. The hair of most of the girls is elaborately tied in corn rows and one of the girls is carrying her baby sister on her back. Alice is a petite, precocious, 11 year old and quietly introduces herself to me. Her sister is 2 and tied upon her back with a colorful band of cloth.

Alice carrying her sister

We follow Felix into his village, which is really his extended family compound.

Zambian Village

There are 5 thatched, rectangular, mud brick houses, each with two small rooms; a sitting room and a sleeping room. There are numerous smaller out buildings for storage, bathing and toilet facilities. We meet Felix’s grandfather, sitting in a swept back compound. He is 80 years old, with a gnarled face as black as ebony. I tell him that my father is 94 and he tells me, via Felix’s interpretation, that he must then be young!  A very pregnant woman stands in the doorway behind the grandfather.  She looks to be in her early 30’s and I stupidly ask her if this is her first? She grins and tells me it will be her 8th.  Felix jokes that she may be having twins, but she tells me that is not the case; that she goes each month to the doctor at the clinic and is pregnant with just one child. I ask if she will have the baby at home, and she tells me that she will go to the hospital to have her baby. Later, I question Felix how she will travel the 8 kilometers to the hospital and he tells me that her husband will take her there by bicycle, when she feels that it is time.

Girl Watching

Village Children

Children Playing

John with village children

Going to the well

We meet Felix’s wife, a wiry, small featured woman carrying someone else’s baby in her arms. She is not forthcoming and I am sure that she is quite fed up with having visitors to her family compound on the Wilderness Safari, excursion list. Another, more gregarious woman is tending a still, making corn liquor over a fire.  We are shadowed by the children as we walk across the road to the well, a modern, pump system, where they fetch clean drinking water.  I inquire why there are no teen age children in the village, and am reminded that they are still in school; that the younger children will attend school in the afternoon.


I desperately need to use the bathroom and gather my courage to ask if I may use their toilet, or if I should wait until we are in the bush?  I am welcome to use their outhouse and am pointed in the direction of two small out buildings.  The first one I choose is the shower room, a piece of corregated metal placed upon the dirt floor, with several empty plastic containers set to the side. Beside this out building is the outhouse and I step in, close the corregated metal door and survey the facilities.   It is immaculate and bare except for a 6” raised oval “seat,” sculpted of red mud.

Woman mud plastering her house

Curious Villagers

We leave Felix in his compound and drive 15 minutes down the road to visit another village. We will pick him up on our return and I surmise that this second village visit is correographed to allow Felix, time alone with his wife. These village excursions may actually be a welcome diversion for the guides; and Felix is fortunate, his village being in close proximity to our camp. Most of the guides and camp staff work 59 days straight with two weeks off to return home.

The road we are driving is a single track dirt road and we pass a mud quarry and wave to a man who is cutting mud for bricks. Further on, we pass a field of tall grass and wave to another man, harvesting the grass to be dried and used for the thatched roofs. These men are the friends and family members of our guides and by association, we also wave and feel at ease. We park our land cruiser at the next village and enter the compound.  A young man in his mid 20’s in the process of building a traditional, two room, mud brick house. He shows us the form that he uses to make the bricks and points to a large pile of bricks off to the edge of the compound, waiting to be fired.  Beside the unfinished house, is a 15 foot stack, of thatch grass and he seems genuionly pleased to show us his work in progress. A woman about my age, hands thick with wet red mud, walks towards us. I extend my hand in an offered handshake and she extends her less muddy hand, grins and leads us to the other side of her house, pointing to the bucket of mud that she is applying to an exterior wall, cementing in the cracks. The news of our presence has reached the children and I feel like the Pied Piper as they follow us, pointing to themselves and then to my camera, crowding and pushing their playmates out of the way as I take their photos. They giggle and push close to me when I kneel down to show them their captured images in the back of my camera.

Saying Goodbye

We retrace our tracks, pick Felix up at his village and head back to our camp. The women from the first village are still gathered in the dry river bed, their washed laundry spread along the sand to dry. Several of the small children sit naked; I surmise having just bathed in the excavated holes of fresh water, dug for wash day. I ask Emanuel if this village has a well but they do not, and it is many kilometers to the pump well adjoining his village; here they must  get their clean drinking water from the river- bed, by digging down where the water is filtered clean by the sand.

When we pass back into the national park, we stop briefly for tea, alongside of the park guard house.  A woman sits outside, braiding a young girl’s hair. A tiny child of about two, appears from nowhere, runs up and hugs the legs of James, our silent guardian with the ever ready rifle. It is his daughter and when I ask him where his wife is, he points off into the distant scrub forest and pulls out a cell phone.

We get back to the camp at 12:30 P.M.; 1 ½ hours late for brunch, but they have held lunch for us and we enjoy omletts to order, bacon, sausage and fresh salad. 

We leave for our afternoon game drive at 4:00 P.M. following an afternoon tea of lemon cake and tea sandwiches. We are becoming jaded by the plentiful impala, and the puku antelope, which are unique to this region. We spot grysbok and bush bucks and the usual assortment of birds, yellow baboons and velvet monkeys. As the sun dips towards the horizon, Emanuel puts the vehicle in 4 wheel drive, jostling us over to a grassy embankment, overlooking the hippo infested river.  We drink our sundowners watching the hippos in the river move closer towards our embankment. Twelve hippos sneeze, spout, grunt and yawn, watching us and listening with twitching ears. It is obvious that as dusk settles in they are anxious for us, the intruders, to move on, so that they can climb up onto the bank and move inland for their nightly grazing. We are parked on their well worn, “hippo highway.”

When day turns to night, Emanuel drives with one hand, scanning the underbrush of the forest with a spotlight. As we drive between the forest and the grass lands, I note extreme temperature difference and understand why many of the animals take shelter in the forest after dark. I too prefer the warmth and spicy aromas of the forest to the open plains. Tonight, the animals seem to have gone on holiday and we see little but then Emanuel stops, gets out and reaches high into a scrubby bush. He returns to the vehicle holding a flapped skinned chameleon. We are delighted and amazed that he was able to spot this camoflaged, 8 inch reptile. As we hold it, it changes from solid emerald green to variegated green and black and we examine its remarkable rotating eyes and unusual feet. Emanuel carefully tucks it far back into the bush where it came from and we drive back towards camp.

4 other guests have arrived today, in two private Cessna airplanes. It is a family from South Africa; mother, father and their adult son and daughter in law.  We are happy to have the company and conversation of this group during a, not so remarkable, dinner of cream of tomato soup, fish sticks wrapped in bacon, veggies and rice.  After dinner, we visit briefly around the fire, returning to our cabin early, in anticipation of another full day tomorrow.

Paradise Found - Kalamu Lagoon Camp - Zambia

Hippo in the Lagoon below the deck

July 7, 2011, Livingston to Kalamu Lagoon Camp, Zambia. We pack quickly, eat an early breakfast, are picked up at 8:00 and driven to the Livingston Airport. As we wait, I watch an elaborate military march and ceremony taking place on the airport tarmac, but resist the temptation of taking any photographs, lest I be scolded by one of the many armed guards. Our flight from Livingston Airport to Lusaka International is just over an hour and after a 1 ½ hour wait in Lusaka, we board a small bush plane for the final leg of the trip to the Kalamu Lagoon Camp airstrip. Our pilot buzzes low over the airstrip to clear it of animals, circles around again and lands, breaking and bumping to a stop on the uneven hard packed dirt runway. As usual, a safari vehicle is waiting along-side the dusty airstrip. The pilot is flying immediately back to Lusaka and the protocol is that we wait for him to complete his safety check and take off safely before driving away. The Kalamu Lagoon Camp is just 5 minutes away and situated on an immense and lush lagoon with the anticipated resident hippos, crocodiles and shorebirds. It is 2:00 P.M. when we arrive and a half dozen of the camp crew greet us as climb from the vehicle; handing us hot towels and welcome fruit drinks at the same time. The lounge, bar and dining area is open on three sides and the veranda extends over the lagoon 15 feet below. An oval, jewel of a swimming pool is off to one side of the public area, also overlooking the lagoon. The setting is idyllic and I would be happy to simply sit here for the next two days and do little except watch the wild life parade on this panoramic, 3D screen. We are the only guests tonight and lunch is served immediately; a chicken curry and rice entrée accompanied by varied salads; fresh greens, feta, rocket and tomato salad, an asparagus, avocado and pumpkin salad, and a tropical fruit and mint salad. Heavenly!

Overlooking the Lagoon

John relaxes at the edge of the pool

After lunch we sit with our hostess, register our passport numbers and listen to the safety talk. As at the other camps, one must have an armed escort to and from the tents after dark, and each tent is equipped with an air horn in case of an emergency. We are cautioned not to lean heavily on the supporting wood railings at the perimeter of the deck and pool, lest we become crocodile fodder. 

Our tent cabin is lovely and luxurious; my favorite of the three camps that we have stayed at to date. The large screened tent overlooks the lagoon with closely spaced twin beds enclosed by one large netted gossemere canopy. There is a step up from the bedroom area to a small sitting area with two comfortable chairs, also facing out to the lagoon. The bathroom area is behind the lounge area; not visually private from the rest of the tent, but John and I will work this out. 

We have only just finished lunch and tea is served at 3:30; I drink a cup of iced coffee and eat a small honey pastry before climbing aboard the Landcruiser for our afternoon and into the evening game drive. Emanual is our guide and James rides beside him, quietly holding a rifle. We immediately spot two thorny croft giraffes, a sub species of giraffe, with unique markings, found only in the Luange National park.  We see many troupes of yellow baboons, much prettier and slightly smaller than the ______baboon that we have seen previously. 

We park at the perimeter of a near-bye lagoon, a bird watchers paradise, and watch saddle backed and maribu storks, Egyptian geese, sacred ibis and countless other birds. At 5:15 P.M., Emanuel drives out onto a jetty, overlooking the river below, dotted with hippos, crocks and shorebirds. Somewhere in the “safari manual,” it must ordain that drinks be served at sunset, and we obediently follow the protocol of sipping  gin and tonic, watching the backlit silhouettes of hippos in the river while the sun dips below the distant escarpment.  

Sundowners a la Landrover

As dark settles in, James turns on a high beam spot light and our night drive begins. We search the dark of the forest for pairs of reflective eyes, and for nearly an hour, see nothing but shadows. Eventually, pairs of eyes begin to emerge and we see two jennets, a civit, and multiple scrub hares. The highlight for the night, at the side of the airstrip in the “ambush grass,” are two spotted hyena. They are hunchback and extremely ugly, but it is exciting to see them. 

We return to camp at 8:00 P.M. and find dinner waiting; all except the filets, which are cooked to our requests. We are the only guests tonight, so both Evie and Emanuel join us for this 5 star dinner of filets, a remarkable baby corn and cucumber stir fry and thick wedged potatoes. We want only to retire to our beds, but stand briefly by the fire with our hosts before turning in. The gossemere mosquito netting is cocooning our two beds; we slip under the covers, seek the warmth of the expected hot water bottle and sleep. 

  

Livingston Island and the Darwin Awards

Marty and John at the edge of Victoria Falls

We start the morning with the inclusive, elaborate buffet breakfast in the open front restaurant beside the pool. After breakfast, John spends an hour on the internet while I write my blog, but I am unsettled; uncertain if an activity that I have booked for today, before leaving home, will take place. I had hoped that John and I would be able to swim in Devils Pool at the top of Victoria Falls, but hear that the water level is too high for the swim. Simply having lunch on the island seems mundane and I rather wish to cancel, but am told that I will not get a refund. We resign ourselves to going, not knowing how else to proceed and at 12:00 P.M, John and I are shuttled over to the Royal Livingston Hotel, where the motor boat will pick us up. We wait on the expansive deck of the Royal Livingston Hotel, overlooking the Zambezi River, dotted with sand bars and tiny islands.  We can see Livingston Island, at the very edge of the falls and I wonder if we are about to earn a Darwin award.  We sign the indemnity wavier, strap on the mandatory orange life vests and climb aboard a small motor boat. The boat sets its course directly towards the lip of the falls; turning towards the tiny island just 300 feet from the precipice and nosing up onto the sand.  We follow our guide along a narrow dirt path arriving at a raised and tented platform, with a table set for 6, and a heart stopping view of the falls.  Another couple will be joining us, but in the interim, we remove our shoes, wrap ourselves in the provided heavy green rain ponchos and set out barefoot along the muddy trail, behind our guide. The path is slick and our guide points out hippo tracks and I conclude that some of this presumed mud is most likely, hippo poop.  When the edge of the falls is just 100 feet away, our guide takes my hand and we step off the trail into knee high, marsh-grass, interspersed with outcroppings of firm black bedrock.  At places, I sink up to my knees in the muck and hold our guides hand all the more firmly.  A moment later we are standing at the edge of the river, the falls less than 20 feet beyond. Our guide points to a series of rocks between us and a rocky point immediately above the falls and maps out our stepping stone route between the river bank and the rocky point.  I tell him that I cannot do it, but John is game and I say a quiet prayer as our guide takes John’s hand and they traverse the 20 feet of river to the rocky point.  I reassure myself that this tour has been operating for many years without mishap and that, most likely, it looks worse from my vantage point on the bank, than in reality. Our guide has my camera and takes photos of John on the protruding rocky precipice, the falls thundering forcefully beyond. I breathe a sigh of relief when John is again, standing beside me on the marshy river bank.

John Touching the Rainbow

View from the edge of Victoria Falls

John standing at the lip of the Victoria Falls

Victoria Falls is over a mile across, so there are many sections to the falls and numerous vantage points. We turn and walk a 100 feet to the other tip of the island with a view of Rainbow Falls and the Livingston monument. In October, this part of the falls will be dry, but today the spray from the waterfall creates a rainbow. I hold the guides hand firmly and sink deep in the mud when bedrock is not available. Our guide takes photos with the falls and the rainbow behind us. With the island tour complete, we muck our way back to the trail and pad barefoot to the platform tent area where lunch will be served. Before stepping up onto the dining platform, we are seated and our feet washed in hot water and dried.

John and I sit on the sunny side of the table, the falls cascading, just 30 feet off to our left.  I seldom drink wine in the afternoon, but all is inclusive and we have little to do but relax after this adventure.  A newly-wed couple in their early 30’s from the U.K. are the only others on this island tour today and we share stories of our respective trips and lives, while indulging in a first rate, three course lunch.

Lunch on Livingston Island

At 3:00 P.M, we climb back aboard the small motor boat and within 5 minutes are deposited back at the Royal Livingston Hotel. A short shuttle ride takes us to our hotel, where for the remainder of the afternoon, John relaxes by the pool, reading Jurassic Park. Our lunch was very late so we skip dinner, but take early evening showers so that we will be ready for our morning flight to the Kalamu Lagoon Camp in Lungasa.  When showering, I discover 5 stowaway tics from Livingston Island, two of them burrowed in extremely private spots. I try not to freak out  but wish them removed.  After a call to the desk, I go to the hotel clinic and nurse  Nana, discretely removes the ticks with forceps. Her big smile and sense of humor puts me at ease and I am taking them home as souvenir, in the event that I experience any adverse symptoms later on.  

Zimbabwe to Zambia

Crossing the Border between Zimbabwe and Zambia- July 5, 2011.  

Foyer of the Zambia Sun Hotel (Livingston Tourist Bubble)

Before we leave the elegance of the Victoria Falls Hotel, John and I enjoy a final, inclusive breakfast at the Jungle Junction café.  This may be the best hotel experience in my life, and I have had occasion to stay at both the Ritz in Paris and in London.  I feel as if I am taking part in a classic movie, sipping strong coffee on this outdoor patio, overlooking the gorge, the Victoria Bridge  illuminated by morning sunlight.

I settle our dinner and laundry account with my Visa Card and our transfer arrives, promptly at 10:15, to take us across the border to Zambia.  As we approach the border, our driver asks if I have the $100 needed for our two visas?  I surmised that there would be a visa fee, but am surprised at the amount and inform him, that no, I do not have $100 cash.  We have $80 American and the equivalent of $15 in pounds.  He is non-pulsed by this and tells me that we will just leave my passport at the border and he will take me to a bank, across the border.  I hope that I have better luck with this A.T.M than I did yesterday. Today is a banking holiday in Zambia, but when I insert my A.T.M. into the Barclay Bank A.T.M. the screen welcomes me by name and spits out 500,000 Kwacha. We return to the border, pay the visa fees in Kwacha, and cross officially into Zambia. Within 5 minutes we are deposited at the flashy, Zambia Sun Hotel.  Four exotically dressed male dancers drum and chant in the grand open foyer as we offload our luggage and a waiter glides towards us with a tray of fruity welcome drinks as I register at the front desk.  The hotel is burnt orange in color with geometric mosaics and murals of zebras and elephants decorating the sun-kissed walls.  A pool shimmers in the distance and metal wart hog sculptures grace the expansive lawn.  Except for subtle details, John and I feel as if we are at an all inclusive 5 star resort in Baja Mexico.

Metal Wart Hog Lawn Sculptures; their positions changed by the gardeners each morning before dawn.

After settling into our comfortable room we follow signs along the path behind our hotel leading to the Zambia Park side of Victoria Falls.  Entrance to the Falls is included in the room rate, and we sign the ledger, our room numbers and the time before entering the park.  There are many other tourists as well as locals walking the paths, most drenched and wearing slick green rented ponchos, cameras in hand. We heard that the falls are even more stunning, viewed from Zambia, but yesterdays, Zimbabwe Falls adventure is cemented in my memory and today’s seems tame by comparisum.  We spend 1 ½ hours in the park, walking the slippery pathways with minimal barriers between safety and the gorge below.  We cross a narrow steel bridges, spanning the turbulent river below and shrouded in mist.  I take many photos and have extra batteries on hand today.

Rainbow at Victoria Falls - Zambia

Victoria Falls- Zambia

After two hours exploring the Victoria Falls park, Zambia side, John and I return to our stylish room. After a brief rest, we feel trapped in our Disneyesque Hotel and  spurge on a hotel taxi to drive us the 10 miles into the town of Livingston. This craft market is more structured than the one we visited in Zimbabwe, yesterday, but we enjoy time looking into the many tiny stalls lining the street arcade. When we bore of the tourist arcade, we venture out along side streets to the real part of the market and encounter some hostility.

John in the Livingston Tourist Crafts Arcade, Zambia

I seldom take close up photos without asking first, but I lift my camera to take a distant shot of the street market, zoom in, and a women points
angrily at me.  Several other women turn their faces away. Not one to be intimidated, John and I continue our walk along the streets and through the markets, but I feel that eyes are watching us and know that we are not entirely welcome. We complete the loop back to the tourist arcade and take a taxi back to the safe bubble of our hotel.

Colorful Girls, Livingston Zambia

Angry Market Women, Livingston

Livingston Market Scene

Livingston Street Scene

Vegetable Street Market, Livingston

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