Left foot, right foot. Left foot,
right foot. I am trudging along the great north road in Zambia with my wife
Lizzy, trying to get home before dark. It’s our first month of twenty-seven
months in Zambia, and I’ve never felt so helpless. Normally there are enough
vehicles heading north that I can stick out my arm and grab a lift to my
village, but today for whatever reason there is nothing.
As
I peer to my left and right I see the wild African grasses stretching a dozen
feet into the air, creating an impenetrable wall that envelops both sides of
the road. I look up and notice the sun nearing the western hills of the Makonda
Valley where it makes its daily resting place. My heart begins to speed up a
bit, and it appears the sun is doing the same. I wonder what will we do in our
first night alone in the middle of the African bush?
An hour has passed and nothing has
traveled our way. Its not like we can switch roads at the next intersection,
because, unfortunately for us, there are no other roads for 300 miles. We both
try and remain calm, but the looks on our face shows not calm, but desperation.
Neither of us says it, but we are thinking of the snakes and insects, and even
about the Mylan Brothers, the murderous set which stalks this area of central
province.
Then just when we are about to give
up, Africa works its magic. A semi-truck comes barreling down the road towards
us. We nearly jump in the middle of the road to make sure this truck doesn’t
pass by us, and when we see it slowing down, we begin to breath just a little
easier. Before you know it, the driver’s brother gives up the passenger seat so
that my wife can sit in the cab, and hops up on the top of the tarped load with
me, as we cling to a rope and begin exchanging stories.
This is Africa. A land that is in
beyond despair, yet somehow, miraculously, keeps a silver lining and a glimmer
of hope.
