News from Lusaka in a minute but as I write we are sitting outside our hostel discussing who owes what in money. We have written down all the totals for each person in our “little blue debt book”. The currency in Zambia is kwacha and its roughly kw7000 to €1 meaning we owe each other a couple of grand which in reality is only a couple of cence. I feel like an asshole for telling Jamie he owes me 4500 for the beer. Ok so when we arrived in Zambia after passing thru immigration we passed into the arrivals hall to see a guy with a melted face holding a sign with my name written on it. The taxi driver was however unaware of the small countries worth of luggage we had bought, but he tried to shove it all into his car which he achieved however there was no longer space for us. After realising we needed a second cab we set of for the city 20 minutes away. We passed along roads full of police checkpoints and under a giant “Independance Arch” it felt like being on the set of “The Last King Of Scotland”. The radio adds were so funny and I considered asking the taxi driver if he was busy tonight but he didn’t seem like the chatty type. The hostel turned out to be quite a nice place with a small bar in the garden and a pool so small Pavorotti would have called it a bath. We had booked 2 twin rooms, one was indoors near reception and the other was a log cabin from the cowboy builders handbook. Jamie and Dan volunteered to take the shack. After struggling with both the window and the mossy net for a while I finally got some sleep almost 40 hours since I last slept.
Our first day in Zambia stated with a long walk to a shopping centre which turned out to be even nicer than any shopping centre in Ireland it certainly did not fit the stereotypical view of Africa. The walk there was along the Great Eastern road, a large 3 lane highway, along which are located tonnes of small businesses including 1 guy carrying about 100 shirts. I’ve never said no thanks to so many people in such a short space of time. One guy was selling Zambia soccer jerseys and I considered buying one but thought better of it (please don’t laugh when you meet me back in Ireland wearing one of these jersies and I tell you how he eventually convinced me to buy at an inflated price). We bought sim cards and €1.50 credit each. We then tried to take out money from the pass machine which me and Dan (I know Dan & I is more correct but I like the word me) achieved with no problems. Jamie and Áine however could not as they didn’t have activated VISA cards (MasterCard doesn’t really work in Zambia). This lead to the “little blue debt book” mentioned above. Next up was a really good lunch in plush surroundings. This shopping centre obviously catered to the 10% of the population that’s well off. We bought some food for tomorrow and were surprised to see the prices were much the same as home. (Fitthebill.zm might be an idea Gregor). On our way back to the hostel we had to cross this cool foot bridge over the road, we were half way up when a soldier with a gun told us to stop where we were (not the words you want to hear from a soldier in Africa, another “Last King of Scotland” moment). We waited where we were as the president’s motorcade passed under the bridge. After he passed the solider then became all friendly and thanked us for waiting. Weird moment for the day over. Later in evening we met for dinner with an Irish woman (with unbelievable haggling skills) who was living in Lusaka working for a NGO. We went to dinner in a place called “Rhapsody” which has to be the nicest restaurant ever (well maybe not but it was damn good). The first task was to decide which one of the deliciously described meals to choose, a choice harder than choosing whether to die by stoning or beating. I eventually decided on stoning and went with a meal called “Mr & Mrs Smith” which was stirloin steak cooked in sea salt and Brandy (if I could remember how the menu described it you would be so hungry right now) washed down with the local beer “Mosi”. Our Irish friend Marie then haggled about €2 off our taxi even though the taxi driver was not happy with it. We then set down for a few more beers in our hostel and decided to settle our debts which is where I was when I began this post (I’ve now retired to my mossy net covered bed). And that as the radio said last night “is the end of the news” ** night night let’s hope the mossy don’t bite.
** in a really funny accent
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