As I start writing this its day 39 and I’m on board a bus to Kaoma with African music blaring out of the speakers (I’ll explain in a bit why I didn’t write this last night). Yesterday turned out to be a strange funny day. We started the day in usual fashion getting up having breakfast before washing our cloths (by hand of course). We then called Matthew our taxi driver to bring us into town to buy our bus tickets. The journey in and the bus ticket buying themselves were fairly uneventful the only thing worth mentioning was the strong wind which blew sand everywhere. Next up was a visit to the Mumwa Craft shop (it’s mentioned in the lonely planet guidebook). The place was treasure trove of souvenirs made from wood and weaved straw. The prices there were so cheap it felt kind of wrong. There was some cool stuff such as carved crocodiles and weaved chairs and couches that were really cheap and really cool but there was no way of getting them home (imagine trying to get a couch onto a Ryanair plane). We did however buy a load of stuff each (about €20’s worth but that’s no guide to the amount we bought). To bring our loot home we once again rang Matthew and his low rider. Once home we pottered about until lunch finishing off some of the things we wanted to give Sr. Cathy. Dinner was once again in the Cheshire Homes centre so we set off (on what proved to be our last) walk along the main road. It was as usual unbelievable, the latest incarnation was cottage pie with rice and carrots, it was so so good I had about four plate fulls (even the carrots were unreal). We gave Cathy the documents we wanted to give her and had a quick browse on the net (reading about the closure of The News of the World, now who’ll tell us which nobody has slept with Miss I don’t give a sit). She then gave us a lift back to the guesthouse with Andrew (four lads stuffed into the back seat, Andrew is not quite a doctor but but a technician and also he’s fond of a few drinks at ten o’clock in the morning if you know what I mean.) After dinner the strangeness began, we started packing our bags for our return to Kaoma when Sr. Cathy told us that we might have to change rooms because the leader of one of the opposition parties (Zambia’s equivalent of Eamonn Gilmore before he got into government) was coming to stay and he might need our rooms. Eventually after lots of confusion me and Dan moved into Jamie’s room and Áine moved down to the Cheshire Homes centre. The weird thing was the only double room was mine which shares a bathroom with Jamie’s room. There’s a door into each room and me and Jamie had a system where we kept the door locked from our own side and knocked before entering. Now that someone else might be in the other room that rule probably wouldn’t apply (and it definitely wouldn’t after Dan broke the key). We were just imagining going for a piss in the middle of the night and walking in on Zambia’s Eamonn Gilmore taking a dump (luckily it didn’t happen but that would have been a story). We were due to head out for the evening with the Irish women who were staying in the other guesthouse. Before we did we met with Augustine (finally) and asked him a few questions and showed him the plans we had prepared for the blockyard. At first, while Dan, Jamie and Áine were talking to him, I was in my room then Áine came running in in fits of laughter and tried to explain why she was laughing, five minutes later she left still laughing and I still had no idea why (apparently she burst out laughing in his face when one of his answers was very slightly funny). Once we were ready for town (after the quickest shower and shave ever) we rang Matthew again and got a taxi into town (picking up Áine on the way). We went once again to Oasis for pizza. The two Irish women were called Mary & Shirley and were middle aged women from Portloise. They were both care workers/special need assistants and had just written to the Presentation Sisters asking if they needed help out here and the sisters obliged. There was also a young women from New Zealand called Rachel also joined us for dinner. She had been working in the Central province raising awareness about Aids when the guy she was working for passed away so she returned to Lusaka where she met Mary & Shirley and decided to join them in Mongu. I ordered pizza once again and once again it was unbelievably good, it was chicken tikka. The food was good but it was so difficult to order a second drink we even started laughing at each time they ignored us. Once the food was eaten we sat and finished our drinks and discussed everything from Irish & Zambian Politics to condoms and the catholic church’s position on them (apparently they prefer the missionary position). Around half eight once the drinks were finished we all started to talk about getting a taxi home, even though I don’t think anyone wanted to go home that early but everyone was too polite to say anything. We walked in the darkness to the taxi rank(through a strange scene) said our goodbyes and went home (dropping off Áine on the way). I know what you’re thinking, that doesn’t sound like much of strange day but once we got back to the guesthouse me, Dan and Jamie realised it was too early to be home without any alcohol. Only problem was its pitch dark out and where would we get an offy around here (all we wanted was six Dutch Gold). We went out and asked the night watchmen and he told us there was a bottle shop about ten minutes away so we tried to convince him to cycle there and get us six Mosi’s but he wouldn’t (I don’t blame him) so instead we rang Matthew (again) and he brought us to the local market/village and we went into the pub. It was a weird place, the place was hopping with people dancing, we made our way to the bar but they wouldn’t sell us any bottles cause we wouldn’t bring them back ( we had brought 8 empty beer bottles hoping to exchange them). So we left and went to another nearby pub. ( I should just mention how strange the view from this bus is, we are passing loads of small villages filled with mud huts with straw roofs and everyone we stop at there is a flock of people running towards us trying to sell us casabas {large stick like spuds} it’s just a sea of them outside the window as I type. As one person we know said T.I.A , This is Africa). So back to our beer search, the next pub had the same worries about the bottles until id did something a bit assholeessness, I promised we’d bring the bottles back tomorrow (which we couldn’t). She sold us the beers and we were just about to leave when Dan decided to get a Chicoko Shake Shake which is a 1 litre carton of alcohol made from corn. While he ordered me and Jamie chatted with some of the guys in the bar (who were absolutely smashed). One guy said he was our neighbour and his name was Gerard Brown which was weird (he was an old black guy, I really doubt his name was Gerard lots of them take Irish/English names). Once Dan was ready (he bought 1 litre for us and 2 for the guys in the bar). We hopped back in our taxi slightly depressed that we weren’t staying in that bar for the night (sense kicked in though, the place was straight out of safety dont’s section of the guidebook, we were fine while our taxi driver was waiting outside but I wouldn’t trust staying there without him). We went back to the guesthouse and there was still no sign of Eamonn Gilmore so we sat in the sitting room chatting, drinking and looking at the pictures. We decided to drink the beers first and save the shake shake for later. It was cool looking back over all our pics (something I’m sure we’ll do many times once home showing them to friends & family).Once the beers were finished I filmed Dan as he tasted the Shake. The expression of disgust on his face left us in no doubt about its taste but me and Jamie had to try for ourselves. It was horrible there were lumps of corn in it and it was really sweet. We spent ages trying to come up with an accurate description of it and the best we could do was “cheap white wine mixed with a Guinness head and cous cous”. Despite its horrible taste we felt we should finish it off so we downed two shots and a glass full of it each. Downing the glass of it was disgusting I had to fight against my gag reflex. As we had to be up at six the next morning we decided to go to bed with the knowledge in our heads that we might be sick from that crap the next morning (which fortunately in my case anyway hasn’t been too bad). It was very hard to sleep however due to Jamie’s snoring which was “like a cow calfing in the room”. So that’s yesterday (and a bit of today’s) story, I’ve still another hour on this bus so have a good day all.
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