A rare treat

One of the things that attracted me to Zambia in October was the conditions. No electricity. No running water. Sleeping on concrete floors. Pit latrines.
I was curious how I'd do, because I'm kind of a wuss.

As it turns out, I was fine. Once you decide you're going to be okay, you are.
What I hadn't anticipated was the loveliness out there, the sense of being a part of something, of both remoteness and closeness.
Of the innate wildness of our planet.
Of the fraternity it's possible to find with near-strangers.

Kids from the village hung out with us by the campfire some nights. After most everyone had drifted off to bed, three in particular stuck around, singing in Losi and Bemba and English, drumming, dancing. It is a privilege to know such beautiful, open young spirits.

These are the three. Click here to listen.

The triumph of function over elegance

Location: gas station outside of Kaoma, Zambia. It's the only place for miles with a generator (and hence, cold sodas). The power has been out everyplace else for 3 days; an elephant reportedly stepped on a power line somewhere in Kafue National Park.
We send an emissary inside, order. Cold Coca-Colas are handed out. Since the Coke's in bottles, you have to drink it on the premises. This we know.
But alas, the counter guy states, they have no bottle opener. This we didn't know.
So, we prize open the bottles on the door latch, splintered from previous attempts.
Untidy. Not elegant. But, functional.

The one that's everything

I posted some pictures today from my trip. Much as I love looking at photos, I'm a negligent photographer when I'm having fun, but these turned out okay.
It's hard to write much about this trip yet. I'm still in shock, a little. Talking--writing about it--feels like spoiling something. I need to sit with the pleasure of knowing where I went, what I felt, who I met, what I did and ate and smelled.
Oh, and apologize for snoring, apparently.
Anyway, I've been looking for a photo that represents the trip. This one is from Independence Day in Kaoma, Zambia. Our group spent the day in town at a community celebration--a boring political speech at the football pitch (yes, District Commissioner, tell us more about the history of maize agriculture, please!), followed by dancers, a karate demonstration, then football. Four of us stayed later than the rest, reluctant to leave. We goofed around with kids we'd met at the Cheshire Care Center a few days earlier, watched men play gourd xylophones and women in striped t-shirts dance, ducked out of the way when the football strayed and soared our way.
At sunset we started the hot walk back into town, to Auntie Omega's pub for a cold drink and a taxicab. We looked down at our feet and had to laugh. A week ago we'd have been horrified at the state of our dirt-caked appendages, but knowing where we were in the world just then, it felt about right.