Blindsided

Somedays you think that everything can be fine. But it can’t be everyday.

Even though things aren’t going particularly well my spirits are high. A week or two before the impending arrival at Kitwe we began to call. It’s not easy to figure out how to call exactly as all of the cell phone numbers in Zambia have changed. Some now had an extra 5, 6, 7, 8 or 9. Depending if it’s Celtel, MTN or CellZ the numeral added would be different. Occasionally upon dialing an old number a cryptic message would say carry on as normal but start with ‘099’ and carry on with the remaining seven digits. (A local will know exactly what to do if you show them the old number so you have to get to Zambia to try really.)

People rhyme off numbers here frequently and the new digits have yet to fit into the rhythm and cadence as they recite always having a hanging single digit left out in the air while the others around are grouped in twos or threes.

So with a couple weeks to go we were trying. Of the two numbers I had, one was going to someone who insisted they weren’t, never were, and never knew the person I was looking for. The other number was working but speaking only Bemba. Mulishani!

So, with the help of my close compatriot, Field Hamalila we were able to determine that the lady who helped to organize our lives was at the markets or down the road or at the salon as we phoned every day.

With confidence we were told, come, come, she’s here.

Now at arrival, we looked and didn’t find. It was at first said Congo and then it was Zimbabwe and then Tanzania. It was settled that she was actually in Zanzibar but was on the way back. Frantic phone calls were made as it became evident the best laid plans were not laid at all.

Always in every place it’s the same time that I come and there will be a lot of mentions of the fact that I’m going to be there soon and then it is that I appear. It’s not a clockwork rhythm because clocks use minutes and hours and I work fairly reliably on years. Three here now.

So it was that she would be here by Friday latest. All that stood her from being here was some thousands of kilometers, a ferry, a slow train and a few hundred kilometers extra by road burdened all the way by whatever bundles, bags, packages and other assorted weighty goods that would make the journey that much harder. But Friday, everyone agreed, she would be here.

In the meantime, on a Sunday, it’s not the best of news. So our coordinator was not around but we knew everyone and they were all keen to help as they could. As the work was there for us to do we might as well do it.

Now traveling with Field can always be pleasant because as hours go by hours of stories will come from his mouth. In the gaps I try to fill with stories of my own or we can work on creating more.

The themes revolve around great tales of Zambian corruption or the betrayal of lovers or of families who have torn themselves apart. It can keep your ears happily. Even if a song on the radio happens a translation of what the song is about can be forthcoming with a flourish. Especially those songs about faithfulness, unfaithfulness or in between. My favorite about the mechanic who is to be called when something on the car is broken. For example, which ever thing, like a carburetor, he will come over and fix that thing. Or if you can think of anything on the car that will be broken you should call this mechanic. I am your mechanic. I have spanners and other tools that can fix all of the problems in your car. Just call me. Wink.

So we travel. Starting at Livingstone, going north. There are stops along the way and since Lusaka is big place we stop for a couple days. I don’t remember what we did now but it was pretty fun. Cha Cha Cha for those who know.

So further north again you cross a beautiful big river and you would marvel at that river as it’s very big, full of water. You would probably stop and see if there could be a hippo. Or just to stop because it seems the place you should stop.

Before you know you will be at Ndola and that’s a good place to stop also, even for the night, your first night in this area. Kitwe is wild and frenetic. The culture is Zambian but with a mix of Congolese owing to the close proximity.

There is a real Africa here. When you need an anything you go to the markets since they can have it and cheaper, if you know what cheaper is, than at the shops. If you don’t know it might be more expensive. Hose pipe, they have it. Impwa, a sort of eggplant tasting thing that doesn’t look like one is here. Units for your cell phone. Cassette tapes, especially Kenny Rogers and the beloved Don Williams.

If you can keep calm the market is a place to enjoy. You only have to look and you will see things. Sometimes I don’t envy the life of the marketeers you can see a weariness in the women as they sell their vegetables. At some point I thought that they grew them but this was naïve of me to even consider. Someone else grows them. The women come at five and buy from somebody. They put a small, small profit and sell the tomatoes and onions in piles. Little signs tell you how much is a certain size of piles. 1000 Kwacha, 1500, or the big one for two – five. The women are expert at making these piles.

The quality of the assorted foods is good and it makes you feel healthy to know that you can buy and eat these things that are so fresh. Especially the ground nuts. Ground nuts are simply put peanuts except they are much better. Peanuts are dry boring salty snacks that don’t make you excited at all. But ground nuts are still wet from being freshly taken out of the earth.

One pin can get you scoop but you might as well go for two pin and share with whoever’s around.

So with the excitement of the Congolese in the air you will be caught up in it and want to see more. Whether you are ready or not the urge to go will be there.

Field and I talked about how to do it. One of the things we did at Lusaka was to go to the Congolese embassy. The first thing they said was to go back and get long pants on.

So after putting on long pants for the first time in weeks we found a window closed but managed to get it opened to be told to apply at Ndola. No problem. Merci Monsieur, aurevoir.

So at Ndola Monday morning we got papers and went for passport photos and were told there would be no problems.

By 11, the appointed hour we joined the assembled 30 men and one late arriving woman. We sat as a mob descended picking up travel documents from the same man who told us about no problems.

After the crowd thinned he spotted me and declared “oh you!”.

“The Big Man says no, you can’t get a visa”

“Uh, why not, you said no problem”

At any rate, to go to Congo you must know someone. Never having been there I didn’t have the required connections. But Field and I wanted to make it.

I checked and found that with a letter from a Congolese hand you might be invited enough to receive a Visa.

Field is looking at me now. There’s a game he likes on the computer. A game which gave him hell, but not always. It a bit tricky, challenging. Freecell. He used to hammer it.

Through Kitwe we began to look for a Congolese who could take us. Nina was there for us. She had overstayed her days but there was a certain pastor who could go to the border and help her so that she could extend her days so that she wouldn’t be given hell and not allowed back upon leaving.

We made a complicated other arrangement and set off for Ndola again. Nina would join us the next day early to go with us to the Congo embassy and we could not be refused.

So we set off in good spirits. Now at Kitwe, it’s a mining town. There is a lot of copper around. Not just copper but also it’s famous for emeralds.

As you drive around Kitwe you’ll be confused about the traffic signals. It seems like the budget for green lights in the traffic signals (robots) is out since most are missing.

Now if you wanted to make a fake emerald you would need something green. I suspect someone thought of the green traffic light while driving. So they cut nicely and they can sell nicely also. One Anglo-American employee at Chingola took two nice big ones for $1600 USD.

Also recently a man took $25,000 of polished glass. All the craft sellers know about the big scores. A big score can translate into a nice house in Kitwe.

So, being that Kitwe was rough like that it’s better we push to Congo and worse.

But somedays you can get blindsided. And we were. A Mistubishi Pajero hammered us. There were no robots or stop signs on any side of the intersection that we entered first. The police later explained that vandals had stolen them all.

So when you get struck like that the first thing to do is to ask Field if he’s okay. He seems to be. And yourself? Yes, seemingly. Then Field will tell you not to move. Not to get out of the car. Sit there. Even if the glass is out of your window. It might not even be that your door can open since it is hammered. It also might be that you can taste the glass in your mouth. How does that happen? Is it sand? Is it glass?

Are you bleeding? A bit, on two sore fingers but it’s really nothing. How is your head. What about this crowd. The crowd is there. Stay in the car, the door doesn’t work anyways.

The engine is making the wrong noises. Fluids are out the bottom. Is it oil? Gear oil? Power steering fluid. Ah the gear shift, it’s snapped in two.

The crowd is getting big and bigger. Stay in the car. Safeguard the stuff in the car.

If you look out the window you might not feel good at the angle of the tire. That tire is fucked down. Not a bit but a lot. The gear shift is snapped in two. Stay in the car. The police are coming

Now the car is blocking. Mining trucks aren’t happy. The useful in the crowd gather around the back of the car and start lifting and pushing. At least now the car is spun parallel.

Cops are here. Okay, at least come out now. They are very indifferent and not interested in what is happening. There is a dark hole beside the car. A cop falls in and curses. The crowd is leaving. Nothing to see, no blood.

The other driver seems in fine spirits. Accidents happen. There’s no blood. Nothing to be upset about.

Field falls in the hole. So does the passenger in the car. A bit of blood is coming from his legs. It’s from the hole, not the accident. He’s gushing but not much. A Madala, the big boss of the other car arrives. He tells the passenger to stop whining. The blood is from the hole, not the accident. You shut up.

I get back in the car and start checking. It seems like the dashboard is bent. All things in the car seem to be right cacced. This car will not be moving soon. A tow truck driver is there. He’s revving the engine and backing into place.

A long while passes and the tow truck driver doesn’t accomplish the lift. Cops are impatient. Lets go, someone might want a night in the cell. Lets go, lets go.

Field, take the keys, watch the stuff, don’t leave the car.

The cops mention cells too much. I don’t need to see a cell and they know why. The cells are not for me. They are for people from here. People who know where and why they should stop where there are no stop signs. These roads are not familiar. Look at my car. I have other problems. Guys, no cells for me.

We’ll see what to do.

Statements. You outside. You can’t listen to his statement stand out there.

There’s a very drunk man also there. That one must see a cell. The lady who’s car was bumped is insisting that they need a breathylyzer for him. Look at him the man is so overdrunk.

The cops aren’t convinced. The damage is not much.

He wanders outside and urinates. I mention that might be an extra charge. It is to, public nuisance. Field later mentions that is a popular charge. The cops also like threatening the piece. They love that charge. They can slap it anytime. Even when there is no charge they can charge it. Ah, threatening peace. Even if someone just spits the cops can charge.

The breathylyzer is .12. The man mentions to the other end of the phone that he’ll be home in a few beers. No. Cells. He’ll be home in a few years.

But the cells are not for me.

The other guys were cruising.

So, no cells. For me. You have to have the attitude that it is never a possibility. And really, it can’t be.

So statements done then to wait for the tow truck. It’s taking long. The impatient cop hops back in his car to go back and find out the reason why.

Some minutes later the same tow truck comes attached to another tow truck. The original no longer having a functioning clutch plate. The strong one seemed to have a more sensible driver.

Now the issues of money come out. What to do here. Tow trucks, possible fines, insurance.

So it goes. But tonight, the next night. I can say that if you asked me at that time if the car could even move in 24 hours would I be satisfied I would just say yes. So since it is then I can say I’m satisfied.

There are problems. The car is now sekorokoro but it moved.

The 4 x 4 can not be disengaged. There is a new wishbone, ball joint and shock on the front right impact side. The car makes funny noises now. It has been up on bricks, pieces of wood, and jacks all day in front of the police station. It was pounded with a sledge hammer. They call it panel beating.

So it moves at least. Tomorrow will be more beating. The window is gone so hope it doesn’t rain. The door doesn’t open so climb across. This is no longer a Japanese car. It’s an African car now.

Two hours, our reliable tow truck driver / mechanic promises. I’ll book the whole day. The car is driving at least and 24 back I wouldn’t have thought so. It’s just sekorokoro car now, an African car.