ZAMBEEF!

Zambian noticings:

1. Piercing blue sky and air so dry the entire country seems likely to burst into flames at any moment.

2. Lots of Zambians know lots of English. Although it’s one of the national languages, I was still surprised to hear very young children speaking it (I hadn’t expected it to be a first language) and to hear Zambians speaking to each other in English rather than a local language. This assisted my eavesdropping, my preferred method of information gathering.

3. A disproportionate number of individuals with disfiguring growths.

4. ELEPHANTS! ON! THE! ROAD!

5. Horrible roads (elephants aside). I felt this with my stomach more than I saw this with my eyes. Poor Carissa. She’s probably seen more of my vomit in a month than my mother saw in my whole life. In fairness, the potholes are not entirely to blame because I also got sick on a canoe, much to my amazement.

5. Zambeef! This is the national beef company. Zambia is full of cows. You could drive dozens of miles without seeing a soul, unlike Malawi, Jersey and other densely populated places dear to my heart. But you can’t even go to the bathroom without crossing paths with a cow. Zambeef also works as an expletive (Zambeef! I stubbed my toe!), and a catchall phrase (“I can’t find my Zambeef-amajig”). Note: Zambians and normal people do not do this, just me.

The preplanned highlight of my trip was a few days at Victoria Falls, of Seven Natural Wonders of the World fame. It is so massive and stunning it is difficult and seems pointless to describe. But imagine a really, really long row of really, really tall staircases. But instead of stairs, water. It was really loud too, but didn’t quite drown out the sound of unauthorized tour guides getting shot at (but not shot) by park rangers.

Victoria Falls is populated by lots of baboon families. Have you ever seen a baboon up close? They are like small, ugly humans. Mama baboons cradle their babies as they nurse them, and while sweet in a creepy sort of way, it made me a tad nervous to be so close to mothers and their young. But what I really should have worried about was taking that orange Carissa offered me. Before I could finish peeling it, I had the baboon town hall meeting at my feet and they all came looking for oranges. Using my NYC brain (if someone is trying to mug you, throw your wallet away from you and run the other way), I chucked my orange at the biggest baboon’s hairy, old man head and speed walked the opposite direction (passing a sign that said, “Don’t feed the animals.”)

Victoria Falls straddles the Zambian/Zimbabwean border. There is a bridge along the falls connecting the two countries that people bungee jump off of: $130 per plummet. Despite all of the unfamiliar languages and countries and cultures I have come in contact with over the past several weeks, the one thing I have ultimately had the most difficulty understanding is the appeal of flinging yourself upside off a bridge between two countries which at the present time are not particularly noted for high quality construction nor stellar medical services. Watching person after person fall made my stomach drop and my heart pound in my throat, but I couldn’t stop looking- it was like rubbernecking at a car wreck. Bungee jumping is actually just one of many “attractions” at the falls. You can microlight and helicopter over them, raft and kayak and river board in them, and several other activities. But just watching them was more than thrilling for me, and when two rainbows appeared in the spray as if on cue, I couldn’t have been happier.

When my eyes got their fill of falling water (and humans), I headed to Bovu Island via pickup truck and dugout canoe. This tiny island in the Zambezi River is unpopulated except for the cook and night guard. There were no other guests while we were there and the owner was away so Carissa and I had the entire island etched with mazelike paths, library with termite eaten books, nightly batch of salt and vinegar popcorn, and David, the guide, all to ourselves. David told us to be mindful of the crocodiles and hippos on the shore. When I asked if there are any snakes on the island, David said, “only pythons, puff adders and spitting cobras.” Then he quickly assured me that these highly poisonous species are in hibernation. At night I could hear the hippos grazing a few feet from the tent, and in the early mornings I watched monkeys sneak into the kitchen, squat between the half-melted candles stuck in wine bottles and slurp strands of spaghetti from last night’s dinner.

Bovu Island was my last stop in my travels for heading back to the capital of Zambia and then to my new home. I drugged myself in preparation for the long, bumpy bus ride to Lusaka which was made memorable by running over someone’s hand and the endless stream of low budget Christian music videos. In Lusaka, I met a Peace Corps volunteer on vacation from his assignment in Malawi. While explaining to him my presence on the continent, he said, “Lesoo-what?!” I tried pronouncing the name of my soon-to-be country of residence the way it is spelled: “Le-SO-THOW,” but he still stared blankly. I am used to people from home not knowing where or what Lesotho is, but when people residing a few countries away not having a clue makes me a little uneasy. . .

Here I come, oh country of mystery and funky spelling.