Zambia

One thing I find amusing about South Africans is beyond Mauritius all-inclusives they don’t really travel in Africa. Whereas to a North American Africa is exotic personified and a destination that will (rightfully) impress everyone back home. Sadly this meant that I couldn’t find a sidekick to bring to Zambia – not even my boyfriend was willing to join me. I can’t decide if travelling in Africa alone as a female is brave...or just stupid; likely it is a mix of both. But I’m not going to let lack of travel buddies stop me from seeing the continent, so I packed my bags and flew to the city of Livingstone - home of Victoria Falls. As I have said before, travelling in Africa leads to lowered expectations with regard to food, accommodation, infrastructure and cities in general. Really, the cities are not the destination anyway – it’s the nature that takes your breath away, whereas the cities tend to make you hold your breath. Livingstone's streets are dusty and pothole ridden, the buildings old (or at least look that way) with peeling paint, the power supply sporadic. Vendors line the streets selling fruits, dried fish decaying under the hot sun (the holding of breath is a good idea here specifically), and thousands of counterfeit mobile phones and Nigerian ’adult’ entertainment. But it’s pretty clean and much more African than South Africa. Most surprising is how incredibly friendly, and actually lovely, the people are. As one taxi driver told me, compared to what happens in Zimbabwe to the south, Zambians just want to get along and be peaceful and happy. It shows. I decided to rough it for the first few days, making home a thatched roofed lodge with a cushion covered floor and mosquito screens in place of windows. Unfortunately half the student population of Ireland had the same idea and they made for extremely loud bedfellows. Apparently the Irish medical students descend on Zambia for work experience in the regional hospitals, which is an admirable program. But they also, in typical Irish style, get blitzed every single night.

As the name suggests, Livingstone is dedicated to famous Scottish explorer David Livingstone. The town lies near the Zambezi River, and just upstream from one of the wonders of the natural world, Victoria Falls. The Victoria Falls National Park covers much of the surrounding region, so there’s plenty of wildlife and scenery to see. Livingstone itself is quaint enough, with a museum that doubles as a shrine to the Scottish adventurer. It also hosts a pretty impressive carvers market and the absolute best weather: it is mid winter and a balmy 26 degrees outside. Livingstone lacks the corrugated tin shacks that dominate South Africa’s townships. Rather, outside town lie traditional thatched straw settlements and villages where maize farmers and their families grow their food crops. Sadly, some massive graveyards and orphanages also lie in the surrounding countryside, reminders of the toll HIV has taken on the country. I spent my first day wandering the town to get a feel for the place. As my cab driver from the airport pointed out (the only airport I have seen that was infested with cats) there are very few “naughty chaps” in these parts who steal from visitors; in other words it was safe to venture out alone in daylight. When crime does occur, they blame Zimbabweans - a common refrain throughout southern/central Africa. Anyway, I was really excited because: Victoria Falls! I have been dying to see them since arriving in Africa. Despite a dodgy operation at the park entrance, where even though every sign stipulated a $20 USD cash fee to enter the park, they suddenly only accepted Kwatcha (the worthless local currency, $1 is equal to 4,500 Kwatchas) and were making visitors exchange currency with a smelly man in the parking lot who kept a large wad of rolled Kwatchas in his armpit. I gave my best bitchitude but arguing got me nowhere. This is the part of travelling in Africa that I hate: you are often helpless in the face of total sheisters. And really, who ARE you going to call when someone is blatantly ripping you off? No one cares, and in fact I suspect that they often just see a large dollar sign where your head is.

The falls, which rim the Zimbabwe/Zambia border make Niagra look precious. A bridge crosses one arm of the Zambezi by the falls, marking both the border and the former bungee jumping area -‘former’ because an Australian jumper suffered a broken chord recently, plunging her into the crocodile infested waters below. While she survived, I’m not sure it was good for business. Victoria Falls seem to stretch for a few kilometres lengthwise, and so visitors can follow a hiking trail alongside them for some distance. The trail, while baboon infested, is picturesque and winds through a lush green rainforest with long vines swinging from exotic trees, in direct contrast to the scorched earth, brown vegetation and red dust that surround the park's perimeter. The closer you come, the wetter the air – and the walkway develops a slippery, slimy carpet of green algae. The pathway can be dangerous, and a friend of a friend died here recently when he slipped off the side. You actually need to rent two layers of full rain gear for the walk, though the gear is rendered somewhat useless by the fact that the rain points upwards. Imagine pouring rain hitting you from above, from below, and directly in the face. Nothing stays dry (not even my treasured Sony NEX camera which no longer works after getting drenched here *sob*). The water droplets look like sparkling diamonds in the sunlight, and rainbows formed by the mist appear around every corner. The power of the falls is indescribable, the roar of the water deafening. They thunder, bubble and seethe all around you. They are truly a sight to behold – yet a confusing one because the eastern cataracts on the Zambezi seem placid – there is absolutely no hint of what lies ahead when you walk along the river from above. At the head of the upper trails sits a monument to David Livingstone marking the spot where he burried visitors felled by malaria (it is still rife in the region). There were a lot of really large baboons wandering the trails at the park. They may look funny with their puffy pink posteriors, but these scavengers are actually dangerous. If you carry any plastic grocery bags with you, you will get jumped by these gangster monkeys. There were a couple of points where I was alone in the trees and they appeared up ahead, making me very nervous. Mostly I tried to stay as close as possible to any other groups of people. On the other side of the falls two baboons had stolen someone’s lunch and created a traffic jam while they dined in the middle of the path. On either side people waited for them to finish, not daring to pass. But two macho male tourists took the opportunity to show off and started menacing the pair, obviously unaware that a baboon can rip your face off with one slap…rookie mistake on their part. The baboons, unimpressed, looked like they were gearing up to attack but luckily park rangers came by just as things were about to get ugly (for the two men – my money was on the baboons). Finally free of baboons, I hiked upstream to the Royal Livingstone, a vestige of colonialism and Zambia’s swishest hotel for lunch (my boyfriend Johannes would call it ‘Africa for white people’). The thatched roofs, manicured lawns, staff uniforms and stunning vistas along the Zambezi made me feel like I had inadvertently time travelled to the early 1900s. Along the way I found three wild zebras grazing in the shade. Because I am obsessed with zebras, I decided to take advantage of proximity and snap some photos. Plus it’s amazing being so close to these wild animals. One took notice and came up not two feet from me, to watch what I was doing. We stood there staring at each other for a solid ten minutes. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch it, but you really can’t do that – Africa is not a petting zoo, and no matter how tempting it might be they are totally wild and known to kick humans in the ribs. The landscape in Zambia really impressed me, a total blend of Africa colours; khakis, deep greens, golds and oranges. Sunrises were spectacular, as was the vegetation. Great swathes of the country remain traditionally populated, and they take great pride in their sustainable way of life. And you are very likely to see random elephants by the side of the road as they roam freely in this part of the continent, crossing the borders of Zimbabwe, Botswana and Zambia indiscriminately. I also loved the colourfully patterned locally produced fabrics seen on women’s clothing and on furniture, as well as the general attitude of the friendly people – they are so proud of their country and of their democratic politics. What a warm, relaxing and hospitable place. What wasn’t relaxing – or enjoyable – was the turbulence on the flights home. Africa seems a particularly bumpy place to fly. I have never been on a plane that has actually dropped in the sky before. It was terrifying, I hated it, and I hope it never happens to me again.