17th July 2008 Lusaka - Heathrow.

Our early morning call doesn't arrive but we're awake and packed by 6pm. Into the restaurant for a cup of tea and then some bill examination and recalculation at reception as we had prepaid the rooms. Eventually all is settled and our taxi drives us to the airport in the usual bright, gleaming morning.

Lusaka International Airport.


As usual there is chaos inside. Its two hours before our flight leaves but we have to join a queue for check-in immediately. There is confusion, people getting into queues for the wrong plane, for the wrong ticket class and so on.
Eventually a BA ground staff man appears and bellows out a few instructions and it settles down.

We go through the baggage check and then through immigration. Into the pleasant, spacious departure lounge and we have a cup of tea. Dave and Sue look in the shops.
The flight is called and we form another queue through a security check, followed shortly by a second before queuing for the last time to get on a plane.

A young look-at-me Englishman with a toddler lets his kid run around before running after him and picking him up then repeating the performance twice more. Look folks, I've got a baby. No one smiles.

Up into the 767. Smiling Stewardess. Seats in the middle again. Less Americans, more Zambians on this flight. A stewardess comes down the aisle with a flyspray squirting it every few feet. It is just as ineffective at pest control as it was forty years ago.
The pilot gives us some chat as we settle in. The plane is full again.

We leave on time; its a daylight flight so sleep isn't easy. We read, doze, Sue produces a couple of crosswords, watch the TV and eat.

The toddler runs down the aisle followed by Mr. Look-at-me saying, 'Come back'. Then he appears in the opposite aisle. Everyone notices that he's got an extendable lead and could control his kid. No one looks at them.

The hours pass. We start the descent to Heathrow and have to stooge around above central London for ten minutes waiting for air traffic before finally making a smooth landing.


Another ten minutes taxiing across the airport and then another twenty minutes before we get our bags, clear customs and walk out to see Kev jiggling the car keys and grinning at us.


Twenty minutes later we're in a traffic jam on the M25.

16th July 2008.

JULY 16TH 2008

The holiday is almost over now. After an early breakfast a car arrives for the Males to take them to Lusaka Airport for flights to Chobe in Botwana for another couple of days game viewing.

We say our goodbyes.

Durbers make arrangements to get the next available car and wait around for it to arrive.

Paul phones Kevin to confirm pick up from Heathrow the next day.

Males say goodbye..................................................................................................Paul phones home.

The Voyagers car driven by Humphrey arrives. Its goodbye to the friendly staff.

Dining Room staff...................................................................................Frank, Paul, Goodson and Sue.

Humphrey drives at one speed - fast - and one braking method - hard. Two shut-your-eyes hours later we are in the middle of Lusaka. He drops us at the Holiday Inn just before lunch.

This is a good hotel. Good rooms, restaurant, McGintys pub, big, pool, gym, etc. The staff are first class and go out of their way to help.

Paul goes to the British Airways office next door to confirm the next morning flights and then spends thirty minutes in the 'internet' cafe printing off three boarding cards.

The hotel is built around an open air pond. In this live fish and half a dozen small crocs. The Husseys use this hotel frequently and Rob had told us that when he was there last year there had been very heavy rains which - unbeknown to anyone - raised the level of the water in the pond high enough for the crocs to get out. Rob was sitting in McGintys Bar that evening when there was a god-almighty commotion and a croc stalked into the bar. He said that the bar cleared in seconds and the funniest sight he's ever seen was the bar manager trying to push the croc out with broom.

We have a good lunch by this pool and then Dave and Sue buy most of the contents of the gift shop.

We meet again later in McGintys for a couple of drinks on our last night. At seven pm we go into the restaurant. This has a really top buffet and Sue is ready to eat. However, we've laid on a little surprise. When we overnighted here last week Paul had mentioned to Rob that Sue used to like Lobster Thermidor in our previous life in Zambia and that he hoped to get one on this trip. He wrote a note for the general manager and that afternoon Paul had been approached by a chef who confirmed that she would produce it.

So it is that Maina the chef marches down the restaurant bearing a silver platter and lays it in front of a delighted Sue. It has to be said that the lobster did not last long.

Dave and Paul settle for the buffet and steaks cooked to order by the Louis Armstrong lookalike.

A few more drinks by the pool then Sue and Paul go to bed.

15th July 2008 Chingola - Ndola - Kabwe.

JULY 15TH 2008

We're thinking of the return journey now. Males fly to Botswana tomorrow. Durbers have another day then fly back to the UK.

We pack and go for breakfast. Alison Hart comes over to chat and wish us goodbye.

She has not heard of the Open Pit viewpoint suggested by Tony Goddard but we try for it anyway and drive up out of Chingola on the Chililabombwe Road.

As Tony told us, a few miles north, there is a clearing on the right and we pull over and get out. We can see the pit but the angle is difficult and the low early morning sun is against us.

Then a Zambian with a peaked cap tells us that photography is not allowed. We leave. Mission not accomplished.

Goodbyes in the Protea then its back through Kitwe where both cars manage to get lost before arriving back at Polite car where we're to leave our cars and get a lift with Yumba to Kabwe.

We hang around for over an hour. Florence tries to calculate our bill but is constantly interrupted by the Accountant, Francis, who continually whispers corrections to her and generally slows it all down. New faces appear to collect or drop off car keys. Phone calls come in. Florence handles everything. Joe Chikole, the owner and father of Florence, introduces himself ; a big, louder than life character he is very hearty but does not accelerate the process.

After a further debate about which vehicle we are to use - which is won on our behalf by Florence - we all climb in. Poor Pam chooses the short straw and is in the boot.

Out of Ndola, down the main road, past a recently crashed truck being dismantled by about fifty scavengers, past roadside stalls selling honey, beer, fruit and baskets. The hills near Kapiri Mposhi come into view, more roadside vendors selling china which Yumba tells us comes from China as Kapiri is the rail terminal for the line to Tanzania constructed by the Chinese. On through the outskirts and into the Tuskers car park.

We've cancelled our original plan to stay at the Mukuba in Ndola as this seemed a better and easier location.

Dave D. was booked in at the Wazungulu Guest House but fortunately we find through Frank the recptionist that a room is available.

Tuskers,a cup of tea, a coke for Yumba and we shake his hand and wish him well. A natural gentleman - and a brilliant driver.

We walk round Kabwe. Dave M takes a photo of the slave tree but, as we are walking away we hear a loud voice protesting, 'White man.., what you doing,..... no good!'. We walk on.

We try to find an Indian Jewellers and an elderly, courteous man named Dixon from the library walks with us and tells us that it has now closed. We ask why the Kabwe traffic is so busy and he tells us that when the lead and zinc mine closed in the eighties the employees all received compensation. Many bought taxis - hence the congestion - but now that the price of fuel has rocketed they are facing tough times. We thank Dixon and walk on.

The roads as usual are breaking up badly. The shops run down and selling only very cheap or second hand goods. Vendors use the pavements . There are no whites and the few Indian faces we see are inside dark shops.

It is obvious that we are a novelty and comments in the local language are passed as we walk by; we can tell that these are not compliments. Some think that we are American.

We ignore them and walk the town. Its a noisy town with a general background babble topped by shouts from taxidrivers.

Its not pleasant but its not threatening.

Back to Tuskers.

More Kabwe photos. The Slave Tree and a market on the roadside.

Its the Males last night with us and we have a few glasses on the patio - glasses clinking, Cheers!

Then we eat. There are no other diners although the manager, Daniel Mweetwa and a lone Chinese resident are entering as we leave. Pam goes to bed whilst the rest of us try the bar.

There are about a dozen people in there. Loud music from the TV is stepped right up as we enter and we realise that we are not wanted. A couple of drinks and Sue and Paul leave followed later by Dave and Dave.

14th July 2008 Chingola

JULY 14th 2008.

A late breakfast today. Into the dining room at 8.30am for the now customary buffet with fried breakfast options as well as cereals and fruit. Many of the other residents seem to be mining engineers with South African accents to the fore. Most are immaculately dressed, have laptops and they sit around in the dining room, the patio, the bar and reception tapping away.

We abandon the cars for the morning and walk up the hill into Chingola town. Sue and Paul met and married in Chingola and Sue's family were long time residents.
Although slightly run down its a much neater town than say Kitwe or Kabwe and we all feel at home despite the lack of white faces. We walk through the town to Fourteenth Street where Paul lodged for a time with his mate Eddie Kirkham, his late wife Sheila and young daughter Julie. The street is untidy and has little tarmac left but otherwise looks the same.

The Kirkhams old house, 30, Fourteenth Street.

Back in town we walk through the main street. Most of the old shops have gone now but Stubbs the Chemist where Ann Goddard worked forty years ago is still there and has the same name. The shops seem upmarket compared to those in other towns that we've been to but security must be an issue. We see a policewoman carrying a rifle walking down the street, concrete bollards are positioned at the ends of streets presumably ready to block them off and we have to hand our backpacks in when we browse in a large store.

On through the town down to Tenth Avenue where one of Paul's old drinking haunts, the theatre, is located. Rob and Hazel were once stalwarts there and this is where Paul met them. Hazel trod the boards many times; Rob but once, memorably, in a WW2 play. A brilliant piece of typecasting. The first blond Japanese soldier.

At this time of the morning it is not open and a little chat is needed before a young woman removes the big chain on the door. We're allowed to go in and and find it little changed. A framed list of members from 1960 in the foyer, old and modern posters plugging shows. The reception and bar have not been changed.

The friendly manageress tells us that they still put on plays but only average about 20 paying patrons. They get more for bands and other events. We take photos. Paul poses in his usual spot hoping for a game of liar dice to start..

We walk out and along the main road to the Catholic Church where Sue and Paul wed on 3rd July 1971. The friendly, young priest, Father Brian Mutale, takes time out and opens the church for us.

The church remains in excellent condition, still painted in blue and white, and the inside has gained a balcony where, according to Father Brian, an excellent choir sing.

We walk around remembering. Many who were there are still friends albeit rarely seen; the Husseys - Rob was Best Man -, the Green family, Ken Barclay.

Back in Chingola we walk through a market just off the main road. Dave D. calls in for a haircut - £1.50. We're all struggling with Zambian money. Its 6,600 Kwacha to the pound and everything seems expensive until its calculated. To confuse the issue we've also brough US dollars as these are accepted by most traders and we sometimes have to make another calculation.

In essence most prices are cheaper than the UK.
Pictures below show the market and Dave D. getting a Number One haircut.

Pam and Posh Spice blouse ..... ............We then walk up to a cafe for a drink on the outside patio.

We walk back down to the Protea and for the only time on our holiday spend thirty minutes sunbathing by the pool. Alison Hart, the manager comes over and introduces herself and we discover that the Goddards who Durbers were friendly with in the sixties are still here, that Ann Goddard is still working at Stubbs Chemists in town and that she is Alison Hart's best friend.

Alison also tells us that we stand no chance of getting to see the Open Pit on the mine. Access is strictly controlled now since an Indian consortium took control. This is a blow as it was a spectacular sight in the seventies and we know that it has doubled in size.
Thirty minutes in the sun and we are burnt. We go inside for lunch.

After lunch Dave M drives Sue and Paul into Chingola; we go into Stubbs the Chemists and wait for Ann Goddard to appear. naturally she is bemused at seeing blasts from the past but promises to come to the Protea for a drink that evening.

We walk around the corner to the BCEL. This is the British Commonwealth Ex-Servicemen's Club, once a watering hole for expats and Paul and Gordon's (Sue's father) main boozer. It is still a drinking club although it is used as a church on Sunday mornings. We go in. A barmaid - Charry - lets us look around and we have a drink. Charry is pleasant but doesn't have much English and her maths aren't very good as somehow Paul doesn't get any change. The club has not changed in 40 years except for the substitution of a TV for the dartboard.

The same regimental crests - some now missing - adorn the pelmet above the bar, the same WW1 posters, badly faded, are on the walls and the footrail around the bar -perfectly postioned for the stand up drinker - is still solid.

Even the furnishings, the bar stools and seats along the window care the same and Sue suspects from the colour that it is the original material.
A beer, photos and we move on.

Dave drives up to Kabundi, a residential estate a couple of miles out of town. Sue's family lived at 4, Mupundu Street and we search for it. The roads are the worst we've been on and we bemoan the fact that we didn't hire a jeep. However, we didn't know that an off-road vehicle would be needed to get round the residential areas.

A few false leads then we find it. Two Zambian women at the rear see us at the gate and disappear. A young girl comes to the gate - an English speaker - and we tell her why we are there.

Nothing happens. We take a few photos and leave. Once again the house is in reasonable condition but the roads are terrible.

Back at the Protea we make calls to organise the rest of our trip and then meet in the bar at 630pm. Waiting for us are Tony and Ann Goddard. Tony was the 'official' photographer at the Durber's wedding.

He now works on a brickfield and brings us up to date with Chingola and people we once knew. Most are now dead (including Zebron the BCEL barman who lived at their house for a few years) and many others that he mentions we cant remember but the beers flow freely. Tony tells us that a new and bigger copper mine has opened in the northwest and that big money is being earned. He confirms that we wont get to the Chingola Open Pit but tells us of another viewpoint on the Konkola Road.

They confirm that crime is a problem and Ann had been tied up whilst their house was robbed a few years ago. The crooks got seven years. Neither wants to leave Zambia.

After a fairly hectic little session the shake hands and leave. We eat.

Playing WHEN-WE and JU-REMEMBER.

Above, Africa's Finest..

Above right Males, Durbers & Goddards.

Right. The Goddards say goodnight.

13th July 2008 Ndola - Kitwe - Chingola

JULY13TH 2008.

Dave M. is still on the internet when we head for the buffet breakfast at the Mukuba but denies having been there all night. The 'broadband' in Zambia is painfully slow.
We check out, the general opinion being that the Mukuba is distinctly average.
On the plus side it sports a small herd of impala and a clutch of noisy peacocks.

Peacock at Mukuba reception..........................................Dave in front of impala.

Yumba arrives and drives us to Polite Car Hire nearby at Ndola Airport. Whilst we wait for our cars to be organised by Florence we ask an armed policeman if we can take photos as Ndola Airport hasn't changed much since the 1960's - still the same old big Nissen hut used as the terminal.

At first he refuses but allows us to take pictures from outside. Later he draws us a map to Kitwe. Its wrong but the thought is there.

Florence shows Paul some of the dents and scratches. Pam is ready to go.

Friendly policeman.

The papers are processed and the two Daves man the cars. We drive out of Ndola and north to Kitwe. Its less than an hour away and we can see the mine headgear from miles away. As we get closer the massive slag heap on the left of the road comes into view. For over fifty years rail trucks have run from the mine along the top of this dump to tip molten slag down the side. At night it is a spectacular sight but its Sunday and daylight and we see nothing. The road is busy with taxis, minibuses and trucks, most driven badly, and scruffy buildings sprawl alongside.
We guess our way into the city centre and immediately the roads deteriorate. We locate the Edinburgh Hotel, park in a security guarded enclosure and go in for a bite and a drink.

Kitwe is Zambia's second city and the Edinburgh is its best hotel and one of the best in the country. Inside it is still plush and well maintained. Wide marble staircase brightly polished and smart waiters give a good impression. We go upstairs to the terrace bar and order a drink.

When we first arrived back in the country we ere told that a new beer named Rhino was to be tried. We could not find it in Livingstone, Lusaka, Mfuwe or Ndola and had almost given up on the quest. however, a smiling waiter tells us that we have come to the right place for Rhino and duly delivers three bottles. It is rubbish.

We have lunch and go to explore the town.

The Edinburgh Hotel............................................................and the elusive Rhino.

In the 1970's Durbers and Males lived and worked in this city and Dave D. was born here. Once again we are disappointed to see that it has fallen into disrepair. The once neat and clean streets now a mix of tar, sand and rubble, its shops selling downmarket goods. Moneychangers stand waving wads of notes on the corner by the Edinburgh.n We walk over to Mutondo House, the office block that was our workplace and a friendly security guard allows us through the gate. It is now David Mwila House and, although in reasonable repair, also suffers from the same shabby appearance.
All of the big, western stores have gone but the Post Office, a large, imposing building looks from the outside as if it has retained its smart appearance.

Mutondo (now David Mwila) House.

It is noticeable that we are the only white faces now in what was once a cosmopolitan town. We spot only two other whites in the city centre and see any no Asians although once there was a large number of shopowners.

Hero Statue in Kiwe City Centre ................................................Durber's old house.

We go looking for Durbers old house in Rhodes Street and immediately get hopelessly lost. We pass the Little Theatre, still putting on productions, and David D. listens as Paul and Sue give contrary directions. Behind them Dave and Pam try to stay in touch. The roads are abysmal and there are no street names or obvious landmarks. Locals give misleading directions. What we dont think of is that 'Rhodes' is not an acceptable name (because he was the arch colonial) and has long since been changed to 'Chile'.

After about twenty minutes Sue - right again - locates the house.

The friendly owner, Mr Chomba, comes to the gate and we walk into the drive. It is in good repair. He has cut much of the foliage back because there 'were too many snakes' and the avocado and mulberry are long gone. We take pictures, thank him (who wants to be interrupted at home by five foreigners on a Sunday afternoon?), promise to send him copies of the photos, and leave.

Its Males turn now but they know where they are going and we head out past Parklands to Nile Avenue. The road - like most - is in a bad way. The storm drains are almost full of sand and have been used to burn rubbish.

The Males cant remember their old house number and many houses are hidden behind tall fences now but Pam and Dave eventually settle on the one shown below.

Pam is determined to find her old house.

Memory Lane well and truly walked down, we drive out of Kitwe towards Chingola, our home for the next two nights.

The traffic thins out and then stops dead as we're heading down a hill towards a bridge about two hundred yards in front. We can see that a truck is at an angle on the bridge and that the opposing traffic has also stopped. Nothing is moving. A minibus inches down the hard shoulder on our left. Then another and soon the hard shoulder is packed. Still nothing moves. Then the hard shoulder on the right fills up. Only one lane left and sure enough a bus tries to get on it. Fortunately a policewoman appears and lays down the law.

A car full of Chinese is roundly abused by Zambians. There is much noise and anger but still nothing moves.

We move across to the right hand lane and then, half an hour after we stopped, our lane moves and we are waved through. As Dave drives down the hill an ambulance tries to move up. Its not hurrying and when we see the mangled remains of the truck's cab - its hit the metal side of the bridge - we can understand why.

Soon we're in the clear and in late afternoon sun reach the outskirts of Chingola. There are none of the ramshackle buildings trailing by the road, no piles of rubbish; the bush and anthills give way to neat buildings and then we're in the built up area looking little changed in forty years.

We turn right at the roundabout and down Kabundi hill to the Protea Hotel.

The receptionist, Sheila, remembers the Durber name from phone calls and emails and we check in to a modern, clean hotel.

Drinks, good meal. Bed.

Traffic snarled up after accident..........................................................Protea Hotel