April 20 1999
I am a tour guide, on a motorcycle tour in Northern Zambia. My wife and I were herding 10 American and German clients, on eight BMW motorcycles through central Africa. It was raining heavily, and getting dark. We were all tired, and hungry. Two bikes were laying on their sides in the mud. We were 350 miles from the hotel. I desperately needed to “Make a Plan”.This day from hell had started in Mbeya Tanzania. The hotel there had had no running water or electricity. Our clients were not happy people. Just to make things worse, about 6 miles out of Mbeya we came across an accident - a bus had hit an elephant. The bus and the elephant were both damaged severely. The driver had used an ax to kill the injured elephant. Now there was a traffic jam of stopped cars. They were butchering the elephant right there on the road and loading the meat into their cars. We rode slowly past broken glass, a bus grill, and huge piles of elephant parts.
We were delayed at the border post out of Tanzania, and into Zambia by a Bucolic Bureaucrat who insisted that our import permit for the spare motorcycle parts we had brought with us into Tanzania, was only for import, and we could not take them back out of the country with out an export certificate. We were very behind schedule, and we still had almost 500 miles to go to the hotel in Lusaka Zambia.
My wife was driving the back up truck towing a trailer with all the client's baggage, tools and spare parts. She said that it looked like rain ahead, and suggested that I should go now leading the clients. She would “Make a Plan” with the customs guys, and catch up to us.
I set a fast pace for a few hours. Then we ran into a section of road that was very potholed. I was standing on the foot pegs “dancing” the bike between the potholes. Soon there were more potholes than road. I would drop down into a pothole, and swerve between the mountains of tar road. Some times the potholes were hundreds of yards long. Then it started raining. Soon the water filled the potholes making them invisible. This was getting real dangerous.
We had passed Kasama, maybe an hour ago. Mpika was still a long way ahead. I fell twice into potholes I couldn't see. It was raining very hard now. Two of the clients went down in potholes. My wife had caught up to us. I was impressed remembering that she must have hit twice as many potholes with the truck as we did on the bikes. We put one of the damaged bikes on the trailer, and got the other one up and running. I was hungry, wet and tired.
My wife said she had been on the HF radio for an hour trying to find a place to safely stop for the night before Lusaka, but she had no luck. We didn't know exactly where we were, but guessed were about 350 miles from the hotel in Lusaka. It was going to be dark soon. It was raining heavy. Everyone was very tired. We decided that we had to stop someplace. This was not safe. It was time to “Make a Plan”.
About 10 miles later I saw a small, wooden, shop off the side of the road. There was a large water filled parking lot. The shop had a large veranda. I pulled into the parking lot. All the bikes parked next to me, and my wife pulled the truck and trailer right in front of all the bikes to protect them.
We all got off and stood on the shop veranda. We were out of the rain for the first time in many hours. I was exhausted.
My wife and I went inside the shop. There was an old Chinese man with his wife, and a 10 year old girl. We chatted for a bit, and learned that he had owned the store for many years. We looked at the merchandise he had for sale. It was pathetic. We asked him how much he would charge for us to spend the night in his store. He said this was not a hotel, and he had to stay open for his customers.
We thought for a bit, and my wife said, “What if we bought everything you have for sale? Then you have no need to stay open for any customers.” The Chinese lady pulled her husband aside and they talked a bit. He then said “OK”.
I asked him what everything was worth. He pulled out an abacus and went to work calculating while the girl and lady started putting all the stock in a one big box. Everything for sale in the store was worth 20 US$. I handed him a 20, and the lady started to cry. He says that this was more than they make in a two weeks.
So we brought in all the baggage, and moved shelves around and made an ad hoc barracks. There was no electricity, only one outdoor long drop toilet and one water tap outside. We made a toilet schedule, and filled a bucket (that we had just bought) with water. We had also purchased a small box of candles. All melted together, but we “Made a Plan”, and soon had light. The tins of food were all swollen, or had no labels. Fortunately we always carry emergency food packets in the backup truck, so we all ate and then laid down on the floor exhausted, and slept. This was now two nights in a row with no running water or electricity.
Next morning was a beautiful clear day. I was up early and repaired the one motorcycle, so it was roadworthy. The sunrise was a spectacular event as only Africa can provide. We quickly packed up everything. This day was supposed to be a short day of riding between Lusaka and Maszabuka Polo Club, where we would sleep for the night. But we were still a long way from Lusaka.
We loaded up and as we were leaving, all the clients dug in their pockets and gave money to the Chinese couple. The lady was crying again, and the man had tears in his eyes. The clients gave him over 200US$ as a tip. He tried to give us all the stock from the store. We said he could keep all the stock, we didn't want it. So the lady started crying again.
We all mounted up, and just as I was about to leave the young girl ran up to me carrying a pig. She said the pig had been for sale, so I had also bought it. She handed me the small pig. That brought a lot of laughter from the clients. They were busy taking pictures of me with a pig, sitting on a BMW. The clients said that by the way I hugged the pig, I looked all choked up with emotion. I was actually just concerned that the pigs feet would scratch my gas tank.
I handed the pig back to the girl, and got off the bike. I explained to her that I couldn't carry the pig on the motorcycle. I asked if she would take care of my pig till I can come back and get it. I gave her 10 US$ to feed and take care of my pig, and that if I didn't come back in one year, she could keep the pig. She agreed.
We all roared out of a place that had no name, but would have memories. I spent the next hour “dancing” between potholes that I could now see, and thinking about living in a world, where I could buy a family's whole livelihood.... with some pocket change.
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