Africa

The Odd Couple and Their Family Take a Road Trip in North Zambia

This is the story about the lovely Marilyn, the charming Peder, the cute
Joost and fabulous (Kim) me.

1. The Congregation

I was the one who wanted to go North.  The two boys were gathered
from the pool at Jolly Boys (Livingstone, Zambia). Peder was from Sweden and Joost  and I from the Netherlands. They were keen because they didn't know me yet. They were captivated by my humor and sharpness. We got a map, we got a car and we got organized. We even got a last minute passenger, which made the number four.

This down to earth person went by the name of Marilyn. A Canadian rock of ages counting up to 50.  She found her place behind the stove or in front of charcoal fires, and spread her wings over our daily nutrition program. If energy could be derived from a human body, a “Marilynplowerplant” would probably be installed in my basement. The stamina of this woman was beyond reason. My reason anyway. But then again, I’m a lazy fuck (not a lousy fuck though). And with a lot of help from little Peder, cooking, cleaning and scrubbing dishes, they merged into a perfect team. Perfect teams make perfect happy meals and perfect happy days for perfect happy people.

Joost and I had taken the strenuous charge of driving, which also earned us a seat in the front row every day. Soon enough the tasks were easily divided. Were they equally shared? I leave that judgment up to you. The major point is we got on from the start and there was no sign of generation terrorists anywhere. The boys looked after the women and the women looked at the boys and their attractive young bodies, very much.

2. The set off

I was sure that wherever we would turn up in the next ten days,  every local,  peasant or fisherman, cattle keeper or craftsman, wife or daughter, would
distress their baffled brain about the relationship between the unusual
collection of mzungus in our vehicle.  Certainly not your typical white family. It was on a late Tuesday afternoon that we set off on the Great Northern Highway. Which turned out not to be so great at all.  More of a boulevard of broken dreams for the ones living next to it and a poorly paved path for the ones driving it. Stripped of road signs and signposts, our first destination en route was already hard to find. Sweetwater Lodge, according to the Book, was only situated 2 km out of Mkushi.  There were 2 Mkushis and since it had already gotten
dark upon arriving at the first one was not of any help. But after driving up and down the road and questioning the locals brought us safely to our
initial resting place were we were warmly welcomed by the owners. We set up
tents, had green beans, spoke to local development engineers and dozed off
in anticipation of the next morning.

This morning was bright and early and full of good intentions to make it to the ruins of Fort Elwes by foot and back the same day. But  on the owner's advice and directions we took the car through the rural community  and parked it after the houses had disappeared and forest came into sight and before what should have been a river. From there we should have walked on until the Congo border and turned left, following the path beside the receding tree line to the west, and NOT, as we did, straight ahead into the Congo, frightening little Congolese traffickers and traders walking into Zambia. We ended up walking countless kilometers deep into the guerilla infested woods before agreeing on turning back and probably as well saving our own lives. Fort Elwes had lost the battle to its decay and we had lost our way. The story continued