Clocks back an hour now we’re in Zambia so an extra hour in bed. Depart Lusiwasi station which is seemingly in the middle of nowehere. The public toilets are a wooden shack enclosing an earth pit.
A gang of local children on the platform to greet us. There’s a definite whiff in the air. A certain pong. The unwashed look. Not like Tanzania.
2hr drive along the Great North Road to Livingstone Memorial. Nothing but trees ranging in colour from autumnal reds and oranges to Spring greens. Punctuated by grey rocks. Police check points near the junction with the road to the Democratic Republic of Congo which we follow upto about 30 klicks from the border before turning off on to bumpy dirt roads to the Memorial site.
Passing villagers on their way to church dressed up in their Sunday best. Men wearing suits and ties. Everyone a lot friendlier here and happy, smiling faces that don’t stop waving. Lots of signs for the “Kingdom Hall of Jehovah Witnesses”. Each village has its own water pump and borehole and a gathering place consisting of a covered circular enclosure.
Pull up at Livingstone’s Memorial. In the woodland. Like the New Forest or Sherwood Forest. Calm. Serene. Peaceful. An appropriate place.
Young woman approaches. Her name is Barbara. She’s the caretaker for the site. There are two spots. The place where Livingstone died. Was a wooden hut with thatched roof. Now a simple plaque marks the spot. A short walk is the location where Livingstone’s heart, lungs and innards are buried in a biscuit tin. His body then being transported home.
These were buried under a tree but this has now been replaced by an obelisk.
Wander through the local village. Brick built homes. Very neat and tidy. Earth swept clean so the snakes can’t hide. Solar panels and satellite dishes. Young woman is washing clothes in a plastic bowl with a huge block of green soap. Ask if I can take a photo of her thatched enclosure and she deliberately moves herself so she can be in the shot. Speaks excellent English, as all the villagers do. Local women washing clothes at the water pump. One elderly woman pumps water into a gallon plastic container and walks off with the full container on her head.
The ice cubes we had to cool our drinks are handed out to the local kids who love putting them in their mouth and screaming at the cold sensation. A young girl licks her cube like an ice lolly.
Young man approaches and is the father of two of the children we’ve been playing with. He wants a photo of his children now so they can see what they used to look like when they grow up. He thinks we have Polaroid cameras but obviously don’t. Agree to post some photos to him. You don’t think about things like that. Children growing up with no photos of their childhood like we have.
Pass through Chief Chatumbo’s Palace to see if we can visit. Can’t as he’s not in. He’s the local chieftain and is on his Sunday walk. The palace is simply a bungalow in the woods.
Train has moved on to Serenje station and have to cross the tracks quickly as a local passenger train is about to arrive. Glad I’m not travelling on that. Cramped, dark, hot and sweaty by the looks of things.
