17 January Post

Today we left the Sherbourne Guest House in Kitwe. This morning I woke up early to the sounds of all the birds outside my window. Trees, shrubs, flowers, and other greenery surround the hotel. The grounds are beautiful, and definitely attract many birds and small lizards. It’s so peaceful to wake up to quiet sounds like that.

We had a leisurely morning, and then departed for the town of Chingola, which is about 25 miles from Kitwe. The road between these two towns is very busy, even on Sunday. Many people live in one, and work in the other, so they are constantly travelling back and forth. Chingola is not as big as Kitwe, but has many shops and several nicer housing areas. Chingola is primarily supported by those working in the copper mining industry. As soon as you leave Kitwe, you start seeing mines. The ones between the two cities are shaft mines. They mine for the copper underground, and bring it up through the shaft. The large pile of very black dirt I referenced in an earlier post was actually a dumping ground for the dirt that came out of the mining shaft. Between the cities, the mines are open pit mines. Basically, they are huge holes in the ground. The area around the mine does everything to turn the copper into a useable form for further export.

We are staying in the Plush Executive Inn in Chingola. You reach the inn via a dirt road filled with holes. Quite a rough road! There are eight rooms in the inn, 3 inside the main house, and five outside. Registration consisted of writing our name in a book. We then were taken to our rooms. I have one of the outside rooms. We left our suitcases, and then went to find our driver. He was making plans for entertainment for the afternoon. First though, we thought we’d have lunch. Unfortunately, the hotel doesn’t have lunch. We thought to ask about dinner. We were informed they don’t have a menu, but they can make dinner. They just need to know in advance. So, we asked them to tell us what our options were. They said they didn’t have a menu, because they didn’t have a chef, but could have dinner for us. This discussion continued for a few minutes, until one of us finally asked if they could make chicken. To which they responded, they could not make dinner because they didn’t have a chef, but they could have chicken for us at dinner. Then we asked what time dinner would be ready. They told us between 7 and 9pm. At this point, we ask them to have chicken and chips (fries) available at 7pm. Then we begin to plan the rest of our afternoon.

Turns out, there isn’t much to do in Chingola, so after a few minutes of discussion, our driver announces that we should drive to the next town to have lunch, and then drive up to the Congo border to see what’s going on.

Now I guess this all registered with me, but it wasn’t until we were about half way to the next town (about 10 minutes drive), that it dawned on me that normal people don’t go to the Congo border to “see what’s going on”. But our driver hadn’t steered us wrong yet, so we continued. We stopped at the Mt. Moria Guest House in Chililabombwe for lunch. Well, actually we stopped to order lunch. Unfortunately, we repeated the same scenario that we at the other guest house about dinner. “Do you serve lunch?”, “Yes.” “What do you serve?” What do you want?” “What do you have?” “What do you want?” and the circle continues. We finally agreed on sausage and chips. Once we ordered, we then left the guest house so they could make lunch.

We got back in the car and continued on to the DRC border. As you get closer, you see many people on bicycles that are loaded down with bags of corn meal, charcoal, and other items. These are Congolese people that walk or ride their bikes across the Zambian border so that they can buy staples that are either unavailable or too costly in DRC.

About 2 miles from the border, you start to see semi-trucks parked along both sides of the road. They are parked right on top of one another all the way to the border. I did some quick math, and estimate there were about 110 trucks parked on each side of the narrow two lane road. There were maybe another 30 or so trucks parked on a secondary road that parallels the main road. These trucks are all waiting to go through customs and cross into the opposite country. Basically, they park the truck, then have to walk all the way back to the customs office to turn in their paperwork. The paperwork is reviewed, and eventually the driver is allowed to leave. It can take three or more days for the customs official to approve the paperwork. Meanwhile, the drivers sit with their trucks along the side of the road. They cook in small charcoal stoves under the trailer. Some have strung hammocks between the sides and sleep under the trailer. Others just lay on the concrete. There are no restroom facilities, no guest houses, no restaurants. There are a few street vendors selling tomatoes and other fruits and vegetables.

As you get closer to the border, the road gets narrower, and the trucks are parked even closer together. Eventually, you reach the border fence, where there is a little police station to help keep order, and a small house where I assume the paperwork is checked and approved. The crown here did not look completely friendly. I guess if I had to live under my truck for three days waiting on someone to check the paperwork, I’d be unfriendly too. We tried to take a picture of the “Welcome to Zambia” sign, but people ran to the truck waving their arms and shouting “no, no”, so we chose not to take the picture, and turned around, heading back out the same road we came in on. We think the people thought we were trying to take their pictures, and they didn’t want us to, but I didn’t want to stop to ask.

When we arrived back at the Mt. Moria Guest House, lunch still wasn’t ready. We had been gone more than 1 hour, but I guess it takes a while to cook sausage and chips. So we waited another ½ hour or so. The house has satellite TV (more channels than we get at home), and when we arrived, the TV was tuned to Nickalodeon and Jimmy Neutron was on. Don’t know why, but I find that really funny.

Finally had lunch, and then went into town to buy a wrap to wear when we go into the field tomorrow. It is not common for women to wear pants in the rural areas. We wear skirts, but it was suggested we purchase the tchechenge (don’t know if I spelled that right) fabric to use as the wrap when we go out later this week. We went to a street vendor from Congo, who at first just wanted to know if any of us could speak French. One of my companions knows about 10 words, so that seemed to make us OK. We were told that the fabric comes from the Congo, but when we pointed out the hem said “made in Cote d’ Ivoire”, he said it didn’t matter because they had been in the Congo. Can’t argue with that logic!
So then back to the Plush Executive Inn. I don’t know what “plush” means here, but let’s just say it is something less than what you might find back home. I got to my room, flipped the light switch, and nothing happened. Turns out there is no light bulb. The TV does not work, as the office forgot to pay the bill, and today is Sunday. They are certain they will pay the bill and it will work tomorrow. The shower has no shower curtain. One of my companions has a window that won’t close, and I have the only mosquito net. You’re actually reading this late, as there is no internet connection here. Didn’t check for hot water yet, but I’m not overly optimistic.So now you know why this is so long. I’m sitting in one of my companion’s rooms, as there is a light with not much else to do. It is good to type all this, as you have to admit, the whole thing is pretty funny. Or at least will be when I read this after I get home. Right now, the plastic lawn chair I’m sitting in is getting a bit uncomfortable, so it’s time to end. Only at the “Plush Executive Inn” can you sit in a plastic lawn chair in the dark, with the rain pouring down, typing about your trip to the DRC border to “see what’s going on”. Have a great rest of your day! I’ll let you know if we actually get dinner tonight in my next post.