Coming Home

I read an article the other day about the stereotypes that are still being propagated about Africa.  A little study revealed  that a great deal of published material about our continent have very similar visual themes on their front covers.  Essentially, the world sees us as elephants on a flat plain, with a golden sunset in background and the token acacia tree in silhouette.  And this got me thinking about what I personally think of Africa.  I’ll admit my view of Africa is limited, limited to the few countries in the south that I’ve visited and or lived in.  As such when I do question what my image is of Africa, mostly I think of the two thousand kilometre road journey from Johannesburg to Lusaka.  A trip I’ve undertaken thrice in the past twenty four months.  This trip shows you quite an interesting slice of what Africa is REALLY like.  

  

One thing the world should know, in this part of Africa, one hardly ever sees wildlife.  Cows, goats, chickens, dogs and donkeys, yes.  In abundance!  But Elephants and baboons?  Hardly ever.  And the glorious hues of the sunsets they romantically extol in their literature?  Well, yes we do indeed have glorious sunsets.  But in reality, the colours you see most in Africa are boring brown and boring green and of course glorious blue sky.  In this part of the world, (depending on the time of the year) everything is either very brown or very green.  In our cities, its brown all year round (think Nigerian movie).   Dirt roads, the brown of the unpainted houses and the brown of the skin.

We begin our journey with the bustle and industry of Gauteng.  Despite having lived here on and off for the past seven years, I still have a hard time coming to terms with the sheer size of Johannesburg.  Cars, people, office block, houses, everywhere!  The disparities in wealth are very, very striking.  A squatter settlement here, a gated community there.  A beggar approaching the window of a Porsche Cayenne.  Its obscene.  But its life I suppose.  Our journey is smooth, the terrain flat through most of Limpopo.  A little escarpment and we’re at Beit Bridge, signalling our entry into Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe

What amazes me about Zimbabwe is how very big it seems .  it’s much, much smaller than Zambia, but when you’ve on a bus already for twelve hours and you are still a thousand kilometres from home it seems as though you are traversing the Sahara desert.  But it’s always nice to stare out the window and soak in the huge potential that the country has.  It truly is a fallen giant.  Despite the tough times they’ve had, their small towns are still bigger and more numerous than Zambia’s.  The farms on the outskirts of Harare are more impressive and feature greater herds of cattle and more massive granaries than what you’d see in, say, Chisamba. 

Finally, Chirundu.  Dog-tired after spending some eight hours waiting for all passengers and luggage in the sixty-seater to be cleared by customs and immigration.  Chirundu really is nothing more than a village, for as soon as you drive a kilometre from the gates of the border post facility you are met by the humblest of thatched dwellings.  An hour or so of twisting through the escarpment and you’re back on the flat land you’ve grown accustomed to throughout the journey.  To the right, Kafue Gorge.  A few more minutes and you’re in sprawling, uninspiring Kafue town.  But one’s heart quickens now, knowing that Lusaka is very very close by. Chilanga is soon upon us.  And then Lilayi and Makeni.  

Nothing says “Lusaka” like traffic.  But this particular gridlock feels great.  It means I’m back home.  I peer down and see motorists patiently inching their way forward towards Kafue roundabout, their final destinations unknown to me.  Lusaka residents like myself.  Their faces occasionally darkened in the shadow of an optimistic street vendor at their window.  Findeco House looms large and confident in t the afternoon sun, bidding me, the prodigal son from the south, a warm Lusaka welcome.