How did we end up here? We certainly knew where we had come from and where we were going, and we even knew how long it was going to take us to cross the National Park, however here we were in the middle of the Lower Zambezi National Park with our driver Ralph and his ‘no plob-blem’ attitude.
“Ralph” I enquire two hours into our journey that morning, “Are you sure the van is going to make it up this embankment?”, “Arrr, it is no plob-blem” he answers with a wave of his hand before attempting to maneuver the van up the sandy embankment.
After several unsuccessful attempts of reaching the top of the incline, we took the matter into our own hands and pushed and heaved that heavy and trusty van up that incline while getting sprayed with copious amounts of sand. For Ralph this appeared to add another situation which was ‘no plob-blem’ for him personally as his inner self laughed hysterically and his outward appearance merely smiled at our red faces and dirtier appearances as we stepped back into the van at the top of the incline. The phrase of ‘no plob-blem’ was now etched in our minds forever as we often found it to be the answer to every question, and realized we had taken it for granted that there was no problem, that everything was all right, only to find out it could actually mean anything!
Ralph was a nice enough man, quite tall and slender with a welcoming face and he presented himself with a neat and tidy appearance, but he was a man of very little words, except when he was speaking Zambian or reciting the normal response of ‘no plob-blem!’ He had this air about him that made it seem like he knew all there was to know and we were mere mortals trespassing on his beloved country but paying him well enough that he could accept it.
As a mechanic and driver Ralph came with the van that contained ten seats that I had arranged to take us around Zambia to understand wildlife and wildlife management in relation to a feasibility study. Although sturdy enough for an older vehicle its biggest downfall was that it had no air conditioning and this added to another problem we hadn’t foreseen. Arriving in October sounded like a good idea until we got on the ground and found out the locals termed it ‘suicide month’! The relentless heat during this month was over 40°C in the shade and was aptly named for its rise in suicides due to the unforgiving heat stress. I came to understand this condition very well as we drove around Zambia with the windows down choking on the blistering hot air with every other breath and drinking liters upon liters of water without having the need to go to the toilet. Ralph however never seemed to complain or be uncomfortable in any of the circumstances we faced; that laid back ‘no plob-blem’ attitude being a possible welcome relief from the normal trials of every day Zambian life. A life where 56% of people live in extreme poverty and the median life span being as little as 17.6 years of age. Being surrounded by a few volatile countries Zambia was also one of the most peaceful African nations and even in poverty its beauty and friendly demeanor was awe inspiring.
That natural beauty vibrated through every expanse of the country that we had visited so far and even in our current position of vulnerability while being lost in the middle of the Lower Zambezi National Park it gave our foreign eyes images to excite the senses. Winding around the escarpments that couldn’t be classed as a real road, patches of rock for miles were covered with crystals that twinkled brightly in the sun, an incredible sight to behold for any weary traveler. The contrasting scenes of dry creek beds blowing with swirling dust and the vibrant green grasses that smelled fresh and clean as it surrounded streams running with water also kept our senses primed for what might be found around every corner.
During that long day thoughts drifted to enjoying ice coffees brimming with copious amounts of cream and bowls of chips rendered us wanting to visit the café we had found in the new shopping center in Lusaka, its interior jammed with a rainbow richness of colorful art hanging from every conceivable space. Visiting the outdoor markets displaying a wealth of creativity (although overshadowed by its repetition in merchandise at every stall) gave us thoughts of shade, the allurement of finding the right gift or token of remembrance and knowledge that we knew exactly where we were and all those creature comforts we all crave weren’t far away. But here we were hot, dirty and tired, hoping beyond hope that civilization was just around the corner and this road wouldn’t go on forever, and now with the accompaniment of an additional three people in the previous empty seats beside us.
Those three additional people belonged to a family of Frenchmen, two adults and one child, stranded in a worse situation than ourselves, on the same devilish road that wasn’t, where road signs didn’t exist and mechanical breakdowns could result in death. Just three hours into our journey a vehicle came into view on the track ahead of us. ‘It has got a flat tire’ announced Ralph in his rich Zambian twang as we all jumped up from our seats to get a better look. In reality the vehicle had two blown tires and only one spare, so wasn’t going anywhere, and one of the adults was missing, having headed north on foot to summon help with one liter of water and the promise of turning back after drinking half his water with no signs of hope. After the child and his mother were placed safely into our vehicle we continued to head north hoping not to be confronted with gruesome pictures of one of Africa’s top ten most dangerous animals devouring an unsuspecting French tourist. A dumb French tourist we contemplated silently, who had quite willingly walked into the middle of a national park by himself in the hottest month of the year with only one liter of water and no protection against dangerous animals. Luckily, we came across a very red faced, heat exhausted, defeated and sweaty French male an hour later heading back in the direction we had already travelled.
Maybe it was so hot that all the wildlife were sleeping lazily in the shade somewhere, however our own experience with a bull elephant in Kafue National Park meant that surprises were everywhere. Driving in Kafue National Park on our way to an elephant orphanage was non-eventful until we mistakenly separated the bull elephant from its mate and baby. Ralph’s reserve for staying completely calm in the throes of what could be death was undeniable, and as we faced down that huge bull elephant, ears flapping wildly and trumpeting in warning, he was a rock. Ralph stopped the van and stayed calm while looking in his rear-view mirror as that huge bull elephant eyed our van with hatred. Although my heart was beating wildly and I wondered silently if he would trample us in a heartbeat, I secretly loved that it was a moment that I would never forget. Our Western instincts were impulsively to speed away, however Ralph waited patiently until those elephants were united again before moving us towards our destination. It was like he had done this all before however when asked if he had seen an elephant in the wild, his answer was a simple ‘no’.
Eight hours later, twelve hours in total, we came upon a sealed road and the stirrings of civilization. So relieved to be somewhere and anywhere that wasn’t where we had been for the last twelve hours, we all disembarked and kissed the ground in unison, laughing with relief and knowing we were all going to live another day. It was also here that we discovered we hadn’t gone across the national park but had looped back around and ended up closer to Lusaka than South Luangwa where we had hoped to be. Conferring with a group of wide-eyed locals Ralph established the nearest location of a police station to deposit our rescued Frenchmen and headed towards the main road.
As strangers in a third world country we continued on unaffected by the sights of mud huts and the poverty we couldn’t see lurking beneath the surface of what looked like everyday life. The smiles on the faces we met beamed nothing but pleasure in our meetings while believing us to be rich and worth a touch or the hopeful possibility of being given a token dollar for association. Yet after parking at the police station, dropping off our rescued Frenchmen, and entering a hotel our world differences caught us completely off guard, possibly accentuated by our relief, causing tears to roll down our faces in disbelief. On entering the hotel and being whisked away to check out the rooms of interest we faced old disheveled cast iron furniture, and dirt and grime laying heavy on all surfaces from what could have come from the 18th century. The bath, basin and toilet held stains and dirt that would be deemed unfit and unthinkable in our own country and above the reception counter a sign stated ‘Food and drink are not to be brought into this hotel or you will be charged a Cockage fee!’. This statement ended my day completely as laughter rolled through every ounce of my being and tears flowed endlessly. The relief of not having to face uncertain possibilities and budget explosions throughout that day could not be contained any longer and as we walked back to the van having dismissed the idea of staying in any of those rooms another sight both puzzled us and continued the onslaught of laughter. Looking towards the police station a line of marching male prisoners were doing their daily exercises, each prisoner holding the back waistband of the prisoner’s pants in front of them, with police officers placed at each end to ensure no prisoner escaped. This would have seemed fine in most situations however the pants on each of the prisoners seemed ridiculously large and with no belts holding them up they were now being held up by each prisoner from behind; held up at the back but exposing the prisoners genitals at the front, a sight to behold for anyone, but when laughter has already been unleashed there was no way of containing it further.
After those tears had been moped up and the laughter had subsided, we discussed the dilemma of where to stay and thus headed back to Lusaka for another night at our trusty backpackers. Of course, after a full day on the road and dusk setting in Ralph replied to our request of heading to Lusaka with his usual ‘no plob-blem’ before asking for a day to check and fix any of the mechanical workings of our trusty van, to which we all chorused ‘no plob-blem’ in reply.
Written by Myra Christine
