“Quick! They are leaving!” shouted Simon as he vaulted over the barrier into ‘no man’s land’, his heavy rucksack over one shoulder with its unbuckled waist belt flapping. We were panicking! The last transport to Lubumbashi, a military style MAN truck with a canvas roof over the cab, was leaving without us. Black diesel smoke bellowed from the exhaust mounted behind the cab as it belched and rattled its way out of Kasumbulesa towards Lubumbashi to the North West. Chickens flapped and children ran excitedly behind it as we ran in the opposite direction. We didn’t fancy spending a night at the unfriendly border town. The change from English to French across a few hundred metres of scrub and barbed wire was remarkable! The Zairians spoke French, no English, and the Zambians spoke English, no French – and yet they could wave and grin at each other as they fed their chickens or washed their clothes in the river..
Kasumbulesa
“Hey!” I yelled, waving my arms in the direction of the little yellow station wagon that had got us as far as the border, hoping Silas would glance in his rear-view mirror and see our frantic plight. I saw the surprised look on the Zairian immigration officer who had held us up for an hour in the hopes of a bribe as Simon darted past yelling like a banshee, “All that effort to get through without paying a cent, and they are going home again???” was the look on his face.
The sun was setting, and there was no way that Simon was going to be left behind, call it fear of the unknown, call it wisdom beyond his years, but looking back, it was the right choice, after all, we had no money (except useless travelers cheques), we couldn’t speak the language and we hadn’t a clue where Lubumbashi was. Simon thundered on, rucksack now held aloft, as if empty, as he pounded the tar between the two countries. I heaved a sigh of relief as I saw brake lights shine brightly as it reached the halfway point, “They’ve seen us!”.
Zambian Passport Control
Relief started to give way to worry as we left the border towards Kitwe. We hadn’t been through passport control to get back into Zambia, technically we were still in Zaire! “Will there be a problem tomorrow?” we pondered as we reflected on running the gauntlet of Zairian passport control, customs and health inspectors who would surely be delighted to find a legitimate problem with our papers.
The 4 Zambian road blocks between the border and Kitwe were now endured for a second time in worried silence as we anticipated the following day’s border crossing attempt. We stared out the window of the little yellow car as Silas and Martha negotiated with the military at each road block, trying in vain to avoid the full vehicle search. And at each road block we repacked our rucksacks with the contents that lay strewn across the road, politely retrieving the socks or other item of clothing that appealed to the official conducting the search.
8 roadblocks, 2 emigration counters, 2 customs offices, 1 health officer and a partridge in a pear tree! “The same again tomorrow?” we wondered as we lay awake that night, waiting for the 4:30 am departure for attempt number 2.
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Hannah home schooling
“What day of the week is it?” – the first thoughts of the day flicker into focus as the dawn chorus spoils yet another unfinished dream. And such is life in Kang, Botswana, each day merging into the next. For most of us, it takes a few moments to figure out the the name of the day. Now, don’t get me wrong, we’re are by no means bored here, what with home schooling, meetings, field service and the planning of a trip to the Moremi and beyond. Well …. let’s just say, for the rest of the village it is permanently Sunday.
The clatter of the beat up Landcruiser as it passes by, signals 6:30 am. The electricity board pickup is the first of three vehicles that will pass our house during the course of the day – it’s tired shocks offering no resistance to the corrugation of the sand road. A chicken will flap and squawk from under the wobbling steering rack as the driver negotiates to avoid the sad looking gray donkey as it stands motionless in the middle of the road.
The barefoot boy with a wire truck and his friend will pass at 7:03 AM followed closely by three giggling teenage girls whose animated conversation floats in through our window as we sit down to breakfast and the first of two strong cups of coffee.
Maids in blue
At 7:28 AM, as I turn my head to look out of the window while I wait for Hannah to find her place in her days text book, I will see the blue dust coats of our neighbors domestic workers as they scurry to make their 7:30AM start.
A herd of goats will circumvent the dreary donkey at 7:40 AM and head to the fence across the road to try some weeds.
Home Schooling, for us, starts at 7:45AM just as the donkey in the road brays, making sure that those who are supposed to be awake, are indeed awake. The braying will last for three minutes before itinerant beast resumes it’s motionless stance in the middle of the road.
"outside!"
At 7:58 AM a hoopoe will land on the sand next to the braai, just as a our two golden dachshunds appear at the front door, tails wagging for breakfast and some attention. They will be allowed the luxury of stepping just inside the door before being told that their presence in the house is forbidden.
The dogs will bark at 8:13 AM as Lindi, our maid appears on our front stoep.
“Dumela Maa, dumela Raa” she will say by way of greeting.
“O tsoga jang, Lindi?” (How are you?) Fleur will enquire.
“Maa?” replies a confused looking Lindi, lightly pinching her nose with two fingers and sniffing.
Sad donkey
The donkey will bray again as it ambles down the road towards nowhere in particular.
After waiting a few seconds to see if the original question will land somewhere, Fleur will rephrase, “O kae? ” (How are you?)
“Mmm.”, the reply barely audible.
Our attention will be quickly diverted back to work at hand by the nature of home schooling. A new concept, a challenging project or the correcting of a mistake.
Lindi will sniff again reminding us of her presence. And should a sniff require translating, I suspect it would be translated as: “What must I do?”
Victoria home schooling
“Come, let me show you the kitchen. Wash your hands. You can start by washing the dishes. Don’t forget to mop the floor. When you have finished mopping the floor you can……” Fleur moves with Lindi into the kitchen repeating the same instructions as the day before.
Fleur will re-emerge from the kitchen at 8:27 AM, a bemused expression on her face.
“I can’t believe she’s been working here for four weeks!”
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