Yes Boss,
I kid you not! That is how a lot of the men on the streets of Zambia address
foreign white males. I asked one guy in the Lusaka people's shopping complex why they
did it, and he replied that it is meant to be an expression of respect. I
told him that in America some of us looked upon such things as demeaning
of black people; signifying inferiority, a harsh reminder of times past
when our white ancestors treated people of African decent like property.
He lowered his eyes, studied his shoes and replied that he "was sure
no one meant anything like that." We both smiled, shook hands and I
wondered as I continued walking down the narrow crowded isle between dingy
seller's stalls, if our brief conversation would have any lasting effect
on the guy. I must observe that many people who approach whites on the
streets here substitute Sir or Gentleman for Boss. But, you hear "yes
boss." quite a lot.
Catching a train for Zambia in Dar es Salaam proved to be an adventure
in itself. There is only one a week with "first class"
sleeping cars. I use the quotes to alert you to the special use of the
phrase to describe the four person bunk compartments people here consider first class. The only things which distinguished first from second class
were a) 4 instead of 6 bunks in a compartment, b) a 24 hour guard in each
car, c) dingy toilets and sinks cleaned a little more often, and d) a free
bottle of water for each passenger with a handful of hard candies and a
roll of toilet paper to share. Like second class, too many people were
sold tickets for our car and for two hours I worried how we were going to
sleep 7 people on the four bunks for two nights.
They did eventually get things straightened out, but then I discovered
that two of our companions were merchants who planned to fill every nook
and cranny with boxes, bags and baskets of goods they had brought with
them. I insisted that the floor between our bunks remain clear for my
nighttime forays to the toilet and a re-shuffling got everything stashed
under or at the ends of the other's bunks or in the overhead storage
spaces.
One of the guys in our compartment had just retired from working for a
French oil company and had an excellent command of English. As it turned
out, Ferdinand Mutanda delighted in frank discussions of a wide range of sensitive
subjects. We spoke as equals: similar economic situations (relatively),
similar educations, both liberally oriented, but old enough to appreciate
the conservative perspective (Ferdinand Mutanda is 60).
He made it clear to me with examples that any American who could afford
to travel would probably make more in a month than the richest African
could make in a year. This reality explains a lot of the deference I
encountered with many people during my travels. White traveler equals
economic superiority. It is just that simple. Explaining that I certainly
didn't consider myself rich did nothing to change the reality of cultural
differentials any more than did my conscious efforts to treat everyone of
whatever means with respect.
Ferdinand described how any African person who happened to make good
would be obligated to help members of his extended family whenever
possible. And, his extended family turned out to be huge. He himself only
has five children, all of whom he has been able to college educate.
His brother, on the other hand has 21 kids and all of them are
"good-for-nothing." With hindsight his brother now admits his
misguided expectation that his large family would represent
"wealth" for his old age could not have been more wrong... about
forty years too late. His sister also has a large family, 12 kids. Some of
her offspring "are doing O.K." with his financial help.
Ferdinand assured me large families are the norm rather than exception
here on this continent, and the central cause of the intractable poverty
keeping economies from blossoming. Too many people see their situations as
hopeless. We talked for hours, looking for possible solutions, examining
the efforts of foreign NGO's, donor nation governments and religious
organizations. None of the present or past strategies seem very promising
to either of these two armchair philosophers representing the richest and
poorest of nations.
I came to the African continent to experience first hand the nature of
tribalism and the "green lines" created by tribes with opposing
perspectives living in close proximity. My naive understanding of the
problem before arriving has been clouded by images of feathered savages
banding together to dominate some other group with which they had
historical enmities.
Of course there are elements of "family feuds" in some of the
conflicts, but the real problems of tribalism have much deeper historical
roots. A man
like Ferdinand who does well and tries to help people close to him
commands respect. When people are called on to elect a representative to
Parliament or other local office, they naturally look to respected members
of their clans and tribes... not that different from the reality of
American politics!
The trouble starts when the newly elected individual is called on to
"pay back" those who have put him into office. A long tradition
dictates that he is naturally
expected to favor them with all manner of patronage. Ferdinand told me of
one election where the successful candidate immediately designated his
tribe's language as the national preference. No one is surprised or
considers it corruption in the common Western sense. However, the favored tribes
are the subject of envy and resentment as long as they retain power.
Traditionally that resentment has flared into violence at regular
intervals, often leading to civil war. That in a nutshell is my present
over simplified understanding of Tribalism as Ferdinand explained it.
Efforts at election reform, or attempts to breed a new generation of
statesmen have been to no avail for the most part so far. There are too
many people scratching for a bare subsistence living ready to take
advantage of any opportunity, which presents itself. And, the successors
to the old colonial power brokers constantly exacerbate already unstable
situations. The United States is always suspected to be involved in any
violent shift in the balance of power here.
Everyone in our compartment plus several visitors agreed that the CIA
had been behind the recent assassination of the elder Kabila in the Congo.
When I pointed out that American law forbids the assassination of heads of
state, I was treated to a recounting of "documented"
circumstantial evidence closely linking members of the CIA with other
known co-conspirators in the plot to get rid of Kabila. It appears to my
informants that he had become much too chummy with the likes of Castro of
Cuba and political leaders in China.
About two hours after we left Dar es Salaam the train passed into the
Selous Game Reserve. For the next three hours, herds of animals came into
view every ten minutes or so. We saw Wart hogs, Zebra, Wildebeest,
Giraffe, Elephant, Gazelle and others. While there were far more animals
during the Serengeti drives, nothing can compete with a train that slowed
for every animal (to avoid spooking them, I assume).
The first night on the thinly padded bench, wrestling with the package
of two thin blankets, two tiny sheets, and a dingy pillow plus a train that
jerked me to attention every five minutes, proved to be more than enough
to keep me awake most of the night. The temperature inside the train
stayed uncomfortably high until well after midnight when it plummeted to
near freezing. Leaving the compartment with my three sleeping companions meant
un-latching two noisy locks. My nighttime strolls down the weaving
corridor to reach the little room at the end of the car made me appreciate
comforts of home like no other experience.
I had been trying to eat nothing or very little in order to avoid the
frightening prospect of facing that seat-less toilet on the bouncing
train. Trying to direct a tiny stream at the moving target proved
challenge enough. I drank my complimentary bottle of water plus the liter
and a half I brought with me and still craved more liquid about half way
into the 46-hour trip. In the restaurant car the waiters served warm
Coca-Cola and set meals. I finally relented during the second day and ate
one of the meals.
Later that afternoon my body demanded that I relieve some of the
internal pressure it had built up. So, complimentary roll of toilet paper
in hand I staggered my way down the corridor and locked myself in the
little seat-less room during one of the relatively less bumpy stretches.
The designers of this torture chamber had anticipated some of the problems
we might face on the rolling, jerking platform and had provided a handgrip
on the wall in front of the porcelain funnel. I think that is enough
details of this typical African experience. I'll leave the rest to your
imagination. There are children in the audience, after all.
The second night I took more time getting my Spartan little nest ready and
managed to enjoy fitful sleep for a few hours. The train got into the New
Kapiri Mposhia station about 09:30 that morning. Outside the train were
the usual waiting throngs of transportation touts, each shouting the
virtues of their particular product.
I had been unable to find Kapiri on my maps and so had no idea where we
were. There were no clues around the station. We appeared to be in the
middle of nowhere. I found the matatu vans where conductors were pushing
people and their bags into the lead vehicle. I spotted the next one in the
waiting line and told a conductor that I wanted to buy both front seats.
He hustled me into the van and immediately began a heated argument with
some of the other touts and conductors.
From watching the activity around matatus it has become clear that no
one (except mzungus) are aloud in the next waiting van until every cubic
centimeter of available space in the first one is filled. Sensible people
hang back feigning disinterest until some poor soul is squeezed into the
last non-seat space and the first van door slides closed so the driver can
at last speed off. That is the signal for others wanting a reasonably
decent seat to surge forward from their hiding places for the next van
which is immediately half filled.
Mzungus are always given preference, though well-dressed ladies can
often be seen eyeing the front spaces jealously. This strategy works for
me as long as I am willing to wait an often-considerable length of time
for the process to play itself out. The last "seats" are always
hard to sell. People are dragged over to the waiting van and sometimes
physically shoved in, struggling to get free of the aggressive conductors
when they see the already overcrowded condition of the nearly full van.
The driver pretends to be about to leave by inching forward and urgently
sounding his horn until he has moved too far out of position, then
sometimes backs up to repeat the process, if still not full.
This vehicle bound for Lusaka had a particularly
hard time getting its full compliment of passengers. We played the almost
ready game for nearly an hour before finally bouncing out of the staging
area along the non-road to Lusaka some 200-300km further on south it
turned out. Eventually we reach a very fine highway
and the rest of the trip passed in comfort (for me at least). Several of
the people in our van were trying to reach Lusaka in time for some
pre-eclipse festivities and yelled at the driver about all the delays.
Actually, we had plenty of time as the time of totality occurred several
hours after our expected arrival time of 12:30.
When we arrived I dashed away from the bus station as is my usual
habit, heading in the direction where people said I would find city
center. Only then did it occur to me that with the entire world focusing
attention on Lusaka and pilgrims streaming in from every corner of the
earth, that I might have a problem finding a hotel room. After checking
three conveniently located, but fully booked houses I knew I had a
problem. All attempts by hotel receptionists to find me a room in another
hotel failed. Finally a call to the Holiday Inn got a positive response:
"Yes, we have just one room left."
"I'll be right over." The waiting hotel cab driver wanted too
much money, but finally agreed to my proffered rate. Off we went and in
only a few minutes he dropped me in front of the hotel.
"I'm sorry. We have no room." I explained that another hotel
had just called them, but no one there had taken the call. Only then did I
notice I had been dropped at the 5 star Taj and lamented my predicament,
starting to leave. At that very moment the Guest Relations Manager stepped
out of his office, took me aside to say he would accommodate me, and at a
preferential $110 rate for the $150 room. My life saved from a night of
exposure I thanked him and stumbled into my room for a badly needed shower
and clean clothes. I really wanted to take a nap, but the bright daylight
had already begun to fade and I realized the time for the three minutes of
total eclipse had to be only minutes away.
Down I rushed to the hotel garden to join several score of other guests
staring skyward through various makeshift filters. I had only my hands and
sunglasses so improvised a pinhole to watch the last brilliant moments of
partial eclipse. The abrupt transition from partial to total startled me.
I expected something more gradual. Even the thinnest sliver of un-obscured
sun carried painful brightness before finally disappearing behind the
moon. Totality lasted 3 minutes and 9 seconds in Lusaka Zambia where I
viewed it, but the magic of the event made it seem much longer. Watching
the sun's corona dance around the totally black hole in the sky created by
the moon is an experience unique in my life... beautiful, awesome,
mystical, yes magic. At the moment when totality started a large crowd of
people at one of the many Eclipse Parties nearby shouted their delight in
unison, kind of like the sounds of the first seconds after midnight at a
new year's eave party.
When the sun re-appeared, the eerie darkness abruptly transformed
itself into a metallic brilliance, giving the landscape an instant
otherworldly illumination. Being in Africa, I tried to imagine how ancient people
must have reacted to such rare and disorienting events. Seeing the heavenly cookie monster
gobble up the sun, finally swallowing it entirely must have struck fear in
primitive hearts. I would love to have been around to hear the
explanations offered by those who thought they knew what had transpired.
As soon as the great event had played itself out banishing all
awareness of fatigue, off I went searching
for more affordable accommodations and information about transport
possibilities south to Victoria Falls near the border with Zimbabwe. Deluxe buses leave everyday at 06:00 and
07:00 except that only the 06:00 is really deluxe. The 07:00 offers five
seats across, each so narrow people must sit diagonally shoulder over
shoulder... not my cup of tea. The acceptable Lusaka Hotel is located less
than a block from the bus station and had modestly priced rooms for the
following night.
Security is big business everywhere I've been in Africa. Private
security guards often chase beggars and hustlers away from places
frequented by foreign tourists. I watched the arrest of two guys, one a
shoplifter and the other caught with an open bottle of liquor in public.
In both cases the police slapped the suspect around the head as they
hustled them off, behavior that would be classed police brutality in
America.
Public Internet access is problematic in Lusaka: rates run $6-7/hr and
the equipment is old, though the demand keeps terminals busy most of the
time. I hung around exploring the town for several days and then boarded a
06:00 bus for Livingstone, the Zambian border town next to the Victoria Falls.
Fred Bellomy 19 June 2001
