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.
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.
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
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