Western Zambia has only increased my enthusiasm. I’ve been trying to figure out all evening how to describe today and the honest answer is I can’t properly describe it but I’ll try. Culture shock, amazement, overwhelming, happiness & excitement are some words I could use. We started the day by sharing the one bowl to eat our cherrioes and then making our way to the bus station. As you arrive at the bus station by taxi around 10 men start running after the taxi all hoping to carry your bags for a tip (which as an Irish man we try our best to avoid giving, saying “its grand” to Zambians means nothing). Once you get on the bus which is really modern you are instantly hit by the most horrible smell ever (go to your nearest haunting site, find the dirtiest looking traveller, lift his/her arm and smell their arm pit, now your close). We soon learned that they care deeply about seat numbers on the bus as we had to move seats when the ticket man checked our tickets. I ended up sitting beside a very friendly man from Mongu who gave us good advice along the journey. Before the bus pulled away a preacher with severe asthma, high pitched voice & severe love of his own voice decided to talk to the whole bus about “accepting the Jesus Christ” (which I might do if he’d just stopped talking). The bus started moving out through the western suburbs which are completely different to the eastern ones where we spent the last 2 days. It was acres and acres of overcrowded, rundown, dirty market stalls (but it was stereotypical Africa). The bus journey started with an helping a slightly blind women enter her credit (mobile phone top shops are everywhere, there are thousands of small huts selling top up, we passed thru a national park where there was no one for miles but there was a small hut painted red of the airtel network, at least half the shops in each town are painted in the mobile company colours, if it was ste same in Ireland the church on top of crough partick might be painet in the meteor colours). The journey was ok but for the fact that there were 3 seats on 1 side and 2 on the other and it was a regular sized bus meaning each seat was narrower. When we got to the gates of the national park we had to get off the bus at an army checkpoint. Of course there was a small village developed here to sell stuff, to say it was indescribable would be a understatement, it was all stalls no shops. I went up to one stall and asked who much water was and I suddenly realised the women behind the counter was breast feeding, she kindly delatched (if that’s the correct term) the child and served me tits hanging out (no further comment). After that freaky experience it was back on the bus and the next thing we saw was the sight you just hope to see in Africa, 20 elephants, adults & babies, drinking from a pond beside the road. To see elephants in the wild was unbelievable even if it was only a short glimpse. The road from here on became like a theme park ride, bouncing up and down like a secretary in the white house. When we finally arrived in Kaoma it was one of the weirdest sights I’ve ever seen. People everywhere, with small shops selling all kinds of stuff. We were met by Sister Molly an Irish nun who has been here for 32 years (she doesn’t wear the habit and is the most un penguin like nun I’ve ever met). We made our way to the orphanage and after checking into our very comfortable rooms in the guesthouse we made our way up to the childrens area. It was an amazing experience about 30 kids came running out of the dorms and surrounded us all wanting to be picked up and held, to be spun around.I made a best friend in a little kid called Jonny who just
attached himself to me and wouldn’t let go. At one point a little girl no older than 2 fell over a started crying so I knelt down and picked her up and she stopped crying at which point kids started climbing all over me. It such a weird feeling. Dan, Áine and Jamie were all surround as well with kids on the shoulders in their arms and pulling at their cloths. All the kids call us “Magua” (spelling probably wrong) which means white person (you here it everywhere you go, imagine doing the reverse in Ireland). After having a really nice dinner and a chat with Sr. Molly we asked some of the older girls to bring us to town. The walk to town was the most amazing walk of all time. It was quintessential Africa. Here I’m just gonna let the pictures do the talking cause I can’t quite describe it in words but there were people everywhere (a wedding party went by with women in dresses hanging out the windows dancing). We walked through a market that was so narrow due to the piles of stuff on each stall. It’s a place you have to see to believe. We then walked back lanes back to the orphanage it is the strangest environment I’ve ever been in. We bought the girls a pack of biscuits each and they were worried that they were to dear (they were about 30c each). After that we went back and trying to cook some food until the power went half way through (not our fault). It gets dark here at six and I mean dark so we all went back to the sitting room totted up the totals in the little blue debt book and sat down and watched the “Last King of Scotland” on the laptops (how appropriate). Anyhow I gotta start cutting these shorter as I’m using all my sleeping time writing.
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