zambia

What could be more fun than a 48 hour train ride?  Lots.

From Harare, Zimbabwe, we had a 10 hour bus ride to get to our next destination...Lusaka, Zambia.  During our ride, we were stopped several (6?) times by road blocks (aka police trying to get bribes from people to pad their wallets).  Since we only stopped for ONE bathroom break, there was a woman who got out during one of the police stops in order to go into the bushes and relieve herself.  Not only did she get fined $20 dollars for doing it, but since she opened her mouth to explain what happened she also got fined an additional $20 for "being disrespectful."  Pathetic.

After a short stay in the nice and small capital of Lusaka, we took another short bus ride to Kapiri Mposhi where we stayed at the worst hotel we've been in yet.  Our room smelled so strongly of mold I could barely handle sitting in it for more than 5 minutes a a time.  Luckily we discovered the rug was soaked, so we were moved into a slightly more tolerable room.  The bedding was badly worn and stained, hardly any water coming out of the bathtub, and a toilet that barely flushed.  I was very grateful we only had to stay there one night.  We went to Kapiri Mposhi in order to get on a train that would take us straight to Dar Es Salaam, over a 48 hour period.  I was freaked out about getting on a train (period) after our last train experience, not to mention 48 hours long...at the shortest.

Guy and I had wandered around the train station, waiting for some sort of action to occur, given it was a few minutes past 2:00 pm (the time of our supposed departure) and hardly a passenger had boarded.  On the train we were boarding, the TAZARA, there were 3 types of accommodations: coaches with four beds (1st class), coaches with six beds, or sitting room only (nightmare class).  The compartments were usually only male or female, but the woman who sold us tickets for the train in Lusaka said there was only one remaining male compartment, with one male in it, his wife assigned to the female compartment.  She told us to find this couple and inform them that the four of us could share as a "family."  Fine by me, but would there be problems when we boarded, given that all we were given were puny tickets you'd get at Chucky Cheese and certainly no computer records to check?!  Would this couple even believe us?

So, at about 2:15, we begin boarding, looking out for the "mzungu" (foreigners) when we spot an older couple headed towards our car.  Guy hears them exchange words with one another and chimes in with a brief Russian phrase.  They respond, and it turns out they are the "mzungu" we are looking for.  As we step up, Guy turns to me with light in his eyes and beams "They're Russian!"  They both join us in our coach, no questions asked and here we find out they are in fact from Ukraine - even better, as far as Guy is concerned.  At this point Guy is visibly giddy (he spent time in Ukraine in the Peace Corp and is obsessed with Russian culture) while all I'm thinking is, when can I get off the train?

While we get settled in our temporary home, we discover our travel mates actually live in Zambia as doctors and have been here for about six years.  While they speak English, they much prefer to speak Russian, which is understandable, as it is their native language.  Two hours passed before the train actually began moving.  Our car was a little nicer (and cleaner) than our previous train ride in Zimbabwe.  But "First class" is taking it too far, if you ask me.

Just as I began to relax into this whole long train ride idea, the train stopped, for no apparent reason.  We had been moving only two hours.  After what felt like an eternity, someone finally informed us that a new engine/locomotive was being retrieved.  How far away was it coming from?  Anywhere from 2-10 hours away, no one could tell us a straight answer.

At this point, I could feel my heart starting to race.  A man passed by announcing it would be 16 hours before we left from nowhere land (albeit he was drunk, and possibly unreliable, or so I hoped). Our attendant couldn't answer any of our questions, but tried to appease us with dinner.  At least the food was decent, yet simple - chicken and rice.  Our bunk mates decided to try and get some sleep and we tried to follow suite before 9 pm.  The many people who were in the lounge car were getting drunk (oh, did I forget to mention that was right next to us?) and increasingly loud and rowdy.  The stench from the toilet next to us was getting unbearable as all the waste dropped directly on the tracks and wafted into our window...and we hadn't moved for three hours (at this point).  As I lay in my bed trying to keep myself from panicking about the whole situation, the electricity went out.  All of it.  Pitch black everywhere.  As drunk people knocked on the door and all three of my bunk mates loudly snored, I shoved my earplugs as far as I could into head to try and drown out the noise.  I prayed for the train to move, or morning to come.



Still rattled from the night before and sleep deprived I tried to ignore the incessant chatting of my travel companions and look out the window to enjoy the scenery.  We passed many small villages and each one, several small children would be there, waiting for the train, sometimes merely waving and smiling, others dancing, many yelling for money...for anything.  As the chattering continued, I felt like the walls were coming in one me.  How am I going to share this small space, and not get any peace or sleep for 2...no 3 days?!  As a person who needs time alone and quiet to function, I didn't see how I was going to get through this experience.

Guy read my need to escape and suggested we go play cards in the lounge car for awhile.  We do, and it helps.  I read my book for awhile and that helps too.  The train is still moving.  The day is almost done.  I start to relax.  As I lay in my bed looking out the window, I witness a beautiful sunset.  It looks like a moveable, framed work of art.  I finally surrender to the train (I think it was mostly exhaustion).

I head to bed knowing we have yet to pass the border, fully expecting to be woken up in the middle of the night.  I also expect to get no sleep.  Apparently, I did drift off at some point, as I woke to a man hovering over me with a headlamp shining in my face, asking for passports.  Luckily, Guy had suggested we get our visas for Tanzania in Zambia, so it only took a minute to get stamped.  By a miracle of God I then rolled over and went to sleep, while other people came to our door to change money, etc.  I was exhausted.  Sunday morning I woke up to a jovial woman telling us that we were now at the HALFWAY mark, and would arrive in Dar Es Salaam in 24 hours.  We were supposed to be there in 6.  I wasn't even certain we would get there THAT quickly.

We certainly weren't on Amtrak, or some luxury train.  This was rugged travel.  But Sunday was different for me, as I finally just took things as they came, read my book and decided not to worry anymore.  Traveling in Africa forces you to abandon timelines or planning ahead too far.  And before I came to Africa, I didn't consider myself a stickler for time or really worried about schedules (insert mother's knowing laughter here).  Despite that, my American sense of time has shown through, and Africa has begged me to learn patience, flexibility and living in the moment more than any other place I've been.  I also thought I had mastered the art of reflection, but been put to the test with hours at a time with nothing but a window to look out - no books, TVs, or gadgets to fiddle with. The children here amaze me with their ability to be calm for hours, with no toys dangled over their heads or nooks shoved in their mouths.  These amazing mothers strap their babies on their backs at all times and the children are always with their families.  I can't help but think these African women really have something to teach Westerners about babies.

The final confession is the one that's been hardest for me to come to grips with on this journey.  I used to think that I could deal with any type of living accommodations, that I was hardy and humble enough to withstand any conditions.  Sadly, I have come to grips with my desire for comfort, and I long for my plush bed sitting in storage.  But, I digress...

As much as the overly chatty Ukrainian drove me crazy, she was very kind to us, insisting we eat their food, making little book markers for us, teaching us a card game and sassily demanding boiled water with every meal...but handing little treats and gifts to everyone she made requests of.  He blunt boldness was most amusing is we ever got a stranger at our door - a flat "What do you want" was all she would utter.

When all was said and done, the train ride took about 65 hours; 17 hours longer than it was supposed to.  I practically sprang from the car to get out, thankful to finally arrive at our destination of Dar Es Salaam.  Guy tells me that the trains in Eastern Europe are better.  I sure hope he's right.