12th July 2008 Luangwa - Lusaka - Ndola.

JULY 12TH 2008.

We take our time at breakfast on our last morning in Mfuwe. No game drive today; we're on the 9.30 flight to Lusaka.
We say goodbye to the Lee family who are also leaving and members of staff. Its been an excellent few days.
Jason rounds us up at 8.15 and we set off for the airport in early morning sunshine along the narrow road, over the Luangwa bridge waving goodbye to the staff at the checkpoint; past straggling, poor villages with their ramshackle vehicles and patches of cultivation. Children smile and shout 'Bye,bye'. Cyclists wobble off the tar and on to the orange dirt as they hear us approaching.

Jason cant resist pointing out birds as we pass. Rob, armed with three days of information, shouts out, 'Lilac crested roller' and later Dave, not to outdone, 'Chicken!'. Everyone laughs.
The airport is quiet. The Males arrive clutching souvenir blankets bought near the road. We've arrived before the staff and we stand around waiting until the check-in starts. There is no information about delays but Husseys, veteran users of Zambian airlines, walk out and settle in at a cafe with the papers and coffee.

A Proflight plane arrives, passengers board and we watch it as it taxis out and takes off right on time. Our flight time passes. No news. At 10.15 our plane arrives and we troop out. It leaves one hour late. Three of our four Zambian Airways flights have been delayed. Males had also told us that their flight to Mfuwe had been delayed as the previous passengers had refused to fly because of a smell of burning and smoke coming from the air conditioning. They had walked off and refused to continue till it was fixed.

No problems with our flight though. No Blanche, but the stewardess offers us the same chicken baps - maybe exactly the same chicken baps -and we politely refuse. We all notice, however, that they are delivered to the pilots.
As we begin to descend to Lusaka airport the little plane bumps around in turbulence. Rob leans over and says that the chicken baps are getting to work in the cockpit..
Outside the airport a smiling driver is waiting with a modern Nissan minibus. We pile our luggage in the back and said our goodbyes to the Husseys who have been absolutely great companions but have to get back to Swaziland. They gave us excellent advice and help in setting up the trip and were good fun all the time.

Out to the Zambian Airways flight at Mfuwe. Saying goodbye to the Husseys.

Our driver is Yumba, a smart, courteous man who is also an excellent and knowledgeable driver as becomes clear as he bypasses the notorious Lusaka city centre.

We drive through well-to-do areas with houses protected by ten foot fences with shards of glass or razor wire atop the walls. Some have electric fences and some have all three. Large warning signs are displayed Security guards stand by some gates.
We gradually drive out into the less well off areas, busy steets with older cars and vans and the ever present minibuses packed with passengers and putting out clouds of black smoke.

On the outskirts of the city we pass through an out and out shanty town with shacks made from every material conceivable; wood, brick, clay, cardboard, lino, plastic. Piles of rubbish, some of them alight, lie everywhere and thousands of ragged people swarm around.

Yumba chooses to stop for petrol here and we sit, uncomfortable in the van and breathe a sigh of relief when finally we move off and clear the built up area heading north to Kabwe.

The views have changed little in the thirty odd years since the Males and Durbers lived here. There are many more vehicles on the road, more people and more houses - mainly made of mud - on the roadside. However, this, the M1 of Zambia and the only major road in the country, is in good condition.

Every so often Yumba slows down and we thud over a speed bump. Much bigger than in the UK and with no warning signs they are not painted and impossible to see in the bright sunlight. Fortunately Yumba knows them all. They often precede a police check where all vehicles slow down and wait to be waved through or stopped. We're told that they are looking for untaxed and unroadworthy vehicles but a high proportion of the vehicles that we pass are obviously in a dangerous and overloaded condition. We can only asssume that they know routes past these checks.

Zambian bus passengers.

We are stopped only once on our journey when a young, self-important policeman walks around the brand new minbus looking hard at the wheels before waving us on dismissively.

Ninety miles on we enter the outskirts of Kabwe. The Durbers lived here between 1971 and 1974. Their daughter Carol was born here.

Yumba follows directions as we enter the town and eventually we find the Durber's first house, 8 Nerina Street. The once pretty estate, each street named after a tree and that street lined with those trees, has deteriorated badly. There are no roadsigns, the tar has disappeared from the roads and many houses are in poor condition.

We park outside the house. A high hedge protects the front but little else has changed. A young woman comes to the gate but -unsurprisingly - does not invite us in but allows us to take photgraphs from the gate. This house is not too badly maintained and a pool has has been added at the front. We dont linger and drive into the town centre looking for the Elephants Head hotel.

The pics below show the house today on the left and as it was in 1972 on the right.

Pics above show the Elephants Head (now Tuskers) and the Slave Tree, Kabwe.

We find the Elephants Head, now renamed Tuskers, and park . It was and still is the only real hotel in town. We have a good lunch on the lawn served by a helpful waiter named Frank. Round the corner stands a large fig tree where once slaves were sold. In the seventies it was the bus terminus but its fenced off now. We carry on north, arriving in Ndola. the start of the copperbelt mining area at dusk and check in to the mukuba Hotel.

A good lunch at Tuskers and arrival at the Mukuba Hotel, Ndola.

The Mukuba is a big, modern looking hotel The rooms are a bit of a let down and are well worn.

We meet in the bar and have a couple of beers. A Jaapie stands by the bar shouting in Afrikaans into his mobile. A so-so buffet meal and back into the bar where the Jaapie continues to dial and then shout. We suspect that he is dialling his own number. Dave M. gets on to the internet. He has work to do. The rest of us go to bed.