Zambia

September 11–13, 2006

The locals are very fond of barter. How they pounced upon the glassware, the brass buttons, the porcelain, upon everything within sight! They were amazed by our frock coats, they stroked the fabric, touched our boots. They readily handed over their giant hats made of sugar cane in exchange for an empty bottle. All of our company bartered for a lot of these hats. Von Faddeev bartered one for me, even though I pleaded with him not to do so, and hung it in our cabin. “All the gentlemen have one, your honour is the only one going without”, — he replied stubbornly and hung the hat up on a nail. It took up an entire wall. We also bartered for many brass pipes with shanks made out of sugar cane. They don’t have anything left to trade.

I. A. Goncharov. Frigate “Pallada”

Compared to South Africa Zambia hasn’t really given into the temptations of civilisation. At least the part I visited hasn’t — that’s the bit around Victoria falls.

You do get phone signal here, but it’s prehistoric — no data transfer. Cell towers masquerading as palm trees (like in Botswana and Mauritius).

Outdoor advertising is applied straight onto fences.

Or onto walls.

Behind these doors — highly dangerous low voltage.

It’s said that Mr Livingstone discovered the waterfall. He called it Victoria, in honour of his queen. The nearby town was then called Livingstone — all right, have it your way.

There’s absolutely nothing to do here.

Except for maybe visit the local railway museum.

Don’t think, just get a helicopter next to the falls. The safety instructions warn you to always approach and leave the helicopter downhill, because rotor blades are expensive.

Curiously, little planes are used in the helicopter’s turn and slip as well as heading indicators.

Summer hasn’t begun yet, that’s why there’s little greenery.

The animals are not separated from the humans in any way — they all live side by side. I’d thought that when you go on a safari you drive into a special fenced off area into which three elephants and one rhino had been marshalled well in advance. Turns out that the only reason you need a car is to spare you the walk.

We learnt that we’ve been lied to our entire lives (in Russian at least). There are in fact lots of waterfalls here, not just one as the Russian singular would suggest. They should really be called “Victoria falls” in Russian (Niagara falls also turned out to be in the plural). In English the word waterfall is already in the plural (falls), English speakers have it easier.

These waterfalls wash away the soil in interesting ways, creating a new fissure over one hundred metres deep (high?) every few thousand years or so. After the drop the Zambezi river zigzags. A look into the past:

The rainy season hasn’t begun yet, so there isn’t much water.

Time to come back down to earth.

And go for a dip.

Zimbabwe   Zambia
110m      Random idiot

Tourists on the Zimbabwean side couldn’t believe their eyes, pulled out their cameras, and thought to themselves “It must be photoshopped!”. A rocky ledge less than a metre wide stood between me and the waterfall’s edge. The water was very warm, by the way.

In the evening there was a stock photo sunset.

By the way, I took the trouble to triple- check — the water in the bathroom spins counterclockwise as it goes down the plughole. To be fair, I’ve seen the same thing in Moscow on occasion.

At nighttime you absolutely must close your hotel room windows. First, monkeys can get in (they’ll break everything and make a right mess), second, malaria is widespread here. The mosquitoes begin to bite like clockwork after the sun sets. It’s a good thing I remembered to start popping antimalarial pills before I even left home.

Zebras graze on hotel premises not because management chased them here, but simply because there’s grass.

I got up early to go and see a real live rhino — there are so few of them left in Zambia that they have armed guards stationed around them. Three guys with machine guns lose sight of their charges at nighttime, so every morning they have to follow their tracks to locate them and to graze nearby, scaring off poachers.

Here they are, the munchkins. Their wide mouths and thick lips are very funny.

An expert will have no trouble distinguishing rhino shit from elephant dung.

The village of Mukuni is on the way, behind the observation baobab.

Villagers live in thatched huts made with clay.

The houses are built some distance apart because they can go up in flames like matchsticks.

I was informed that this is a funeral.

And this is a kiosk.

They also have a rural cooperative.

Never mind the rural cooperative, they even have their own prison. Some saddo was doing time behind bars — one week.

The young generation will grow up with due respect for the law.

Some kids are already helping out their mothers around the house.

Here’s a layabout.

In the meantime, the fathers are at the bazaar waiting for foreigners so they can earn money for food by selling souvenirs, which are made right here.

Usually when I go on a trip I take clothes which I no longer need and which there’s no point lugging back with me — promotional t-shirts and trousers with holes in them, that sort of thing. I shed this ballast as I buy local wares. Last night the locals explained to me that you don’t have to spend money at the bazaar to acquire goods — you can barter. Give them a pocket mirror and they’ll give you a gold nugget. Or rather give them a T-shirt and they’ll give you a wooden tray, for instance.

I came to the market armed with a backpack containing old T-shirts and sandals, which had all already been sentenced to death back in Swaziland.

You’ve got to drive a hard bargain — accept no less than a mask for every T- shirt you give, and don’t pay any cash on top of that. (Just like at the market in South Africa, they’ll cut prices by at least fifty percent if you haggle for just five minutes).

I traded in my sandals for a carved jewellery box. Everyone was pleased with the white visitor, except those for whom there wasn’t enough of my stuff to go around.

In the centre of the village there’s a big tree under which they play games, peruse the papers, and hold discussions. Portraits of presidential candidates hang around the village, as well as an advertising poster promising a bar of soap to those who buy 25 kilograms of maize. It urges you to hurry — the offer is only valid until December of this year.