Mzungu in South Luangwa Park

by Lore M Purroy (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Zambia

I decided to solo travel after having volunteered organising sports events for children in Lusaka for a number of weeks. I took a bus from Lusaka to Mfuwe village, in South Luangwa Park. There was no air conditioning so something as simple as the breeze bellowing through the bus’s opened windows seemed the biggest luxury. I conversed for a while with an extraordinary woman sitting next to me, named Nyamwali. Her eyes beamed with bemusement because I could speak basic Nyanja, one of more than 70 languages and dialects in Zambia. I was enthralled by her innate friendliness and hospitality. She made me feel like at home on the bus, kindly offering her shoulder to rest my weary head against during the bumpy 10-hour bus ride in the immense humid heat. She offered the crunchy and chewy traditional snack ‘Koki’ made from salted cow-beans. I approached my destination mid-afternoon, tired, sweaty but very satisfied to reach the start of my soon-to-be-adventure. “Zikomo, pitani bwino” I told Nyamwali whilst giving her a big hug. “Zikomo” she answered empathetically, with true care reflected in her dark loving eyes. When I got off the bus, a crowd of people in Mfuwe village encircled me offering a vast array of items, from not-so-frozen ice creams, sunglasses to old-fashioned summery hats. These locals were, as most Zambians, brimming with cheerful banter. I eventually managed to escape the crowd of ice cream and hat pushers and took refuge under the shelter of a subtropical tree to feel the humility of its shadow. I stooped and found the crumpled piece of paper in my purple backpack where I previously scribbled a list of potential hostels I could stay at. Blurry eyed, staring at my list, I looked up and admired the people in their daily lives. Their calm mannerisms were expressed in their laid-back strides; and their joy was mirrored in the women’s colourful ‘kitenges’ wrapped around their waists. “Mzungu!” (white person!), the children enthusiastically exclaimed. My gaze was suddenly interrupted when a young tall mixed-raced man approached me with a firm step and a wide smile. I was expecting him to offer me some kind of merchandise, but instead he asked me if I was lost. After some deliberation, the name of the first hostel on my list came to my mind and I asked for its location. He pointed to a certain direction with his arm, and added he was actually also going there. He was called ‘Chanda’. I doubted his intentions for a moment. I assumed this was just my Western paranoia when I saw another ‘mzungu’ flocking towards the horizon as pointed by his outstretched arm. We walked side by side silently. As the day was coming to an end, so was the heat. I was grateful to breathe properly and focused on the ubiquitous and exotic nature unfurling as the sun went down; we were slowly entering South Luangwa park. The diverse brown hues of the sand complemented the musty emerald green of trees and fauna. The monotony of our steps synchronised on the dusty path while the sound of the trees whispered in the warm subtropical evening breeze. When we arrived, Chanda smiled sweetly and said, “feel free to leave your backpack in the one of the two cabins to the left, I am the owners’ son and I help them run the place” “We are organising an evening Safari in half an hour, if you want to join”. I quickly nodded and threw my things in the cabin. When the 4x4 chuckled down the dirt road, I felt the journey was the adventure, not just the final destination. As the hostel lights distanced further, I suddenly turned to see the eyes of elephants illuminated by the headlights of the 4x4. Only then I realised I was in a wildlife heaven…