Zambia World Wide

With my most humble apologies to any friends and acquaintances who may have eaten at this social event….

One of the things I enjoyed most about being a member of Kitwe Playing Fields (besides depositing my monthly salary cheque with George the Barman) was being on the organising committee for fund raising events.

For one fund raising event we decided to have a casino night, a rock ‘n roll dance contest, and for the food we decided the easiest thing would be a pig on a spit and salads. Various folks were assigned duties in the different areas of the event, tickets were printed up, advertising what would be included in the event, and duly sold to anybody we could waylay or get drunk prior to the big day. We sold a lot of tickets…

One of my most favourite people on our men’s softball team at the time was a really great guy by the name of Ernie. I cannot remember his last name now, and perhaps never knew it to start with. He was from the Philippine Islands and his entire top and bottom front teeth were capped in gold, but had a slightly copperish tinge to them if the light was just right. We endearingly nicknamed him, “Copper Crafts” because he smiled continuously and flashed those teeth in a brilliant sparkle for all to see and admire. A very gracious person, always willing to step in and help, and very much liked by all who knew him.

Rather than have the usual pig rotating on a spit above the ground, Ernie suggested that we try a luau. For those not familiar with this, it involves digging a pit, lining the pit with hot coals, vegetation (usually banana tree leaves if available) putting the meat in the leaves, wrapping it up, covering it with coal and then burying it and smoldering the meat to cook it. Why not, we thought. It would lend a mysterious tone to the menu, what!

We put Ernie in charge of this since none of the others of us had a clue what to do. What we had not banked on was that Pilipino time is much like Zambian time. There is no deadline. He seemed to be taking his time for sure. Being a “ducks in a row” person to the max, I could feel the slight sense of urgency begin to rise in the pit of my stomach by 7pm, but swallowed the fear in all of the excitement of everything else going on.

The evening certainly was getting off to a great start. We had the casino tables bustling with activity, and waiting crowds hovering for their chance. The music was fantastic. I had no idea that so many people could dance so well.  The bar was overflowing and George the Barman had a smile from ear to ear as his tips began to bulge in his pocket.

And the time was ticking by with no sign of the pig… I kept going to check with Ernie and he kept flashing his Copper Crafts smile back at me. Don’t worry… no hurry… People began to get hungry and coming to the hutch by the kitchen enquiring when the food would be ready. We had everything else ready. Plates piled high with salad and bread rolls on every inch of available surface space in the kitchen.

Finally, around 9:30pm, I got word that Ernie needed to talk to me. I made my way through the gyrating dancers, out to the back yard and there stood Ernie, beaming his Copper Crafts smile, with a burning question. How were we planning to get this pig from the pit to the kitchen? I froze. In a blinding flash of panic, two things hit me. Not only could we not get it to the kitchen, but where would we put it when we got it there since we had plates on every square inch of surface space. My first thought was to smash Ernie upside the head with my 2X4, but I realized it was MY fault for not planning better. Appraising the situation with lightning fast acuity, I decided that the only way to get it to the kitchen was straight across the dance floor and in through the kitchen back door! I dispatched someone to fetch the half blind madala watchman that usually watched your car being broken into in the parking lot and between he and Ernie, they hoisted this pig up out of the pit and began to carry it inside. At least it had been tied to a carrying pole before being put in the pit to smolder. But I still had number two problem to resolve. Where the hell would we put it in the kitchen? So I stopped them in their tracks and ran back to the kitchen to ask any of the crew if they had any ideas. I don’t remember who came up with it, but someone said they had a tarp in the boot of their car and perhaps we could put the pig on the tarp on the floor and carve it up from there? Off they went and returned with a somewhat clean tarp, which was spread across as much of the floor as we could. Thank goodness the hutch had a sliding serving window that we had by now closed to the revelers, who were growing restless and hungry.

Leading the way, and muscling people to one side, I beckoned Ernie and Madala to hoist the pig up as high as they could and get across the dance floor as quickly as they could. What a sight! Fat dripping in a trail behind them, they made their way to the back door of the kitchen and then unceremoniously dumped the very heavy pig onto the tarp. Madala was dispatched with cleaning rags to take care of the dance floor as best he could, in the dark, with one blind eye. Thank goodness the drinks had been flowing for several hours by that point in the proceedings and most people made light of it, cheering Madala on in his quest.

So there we were, pig on a tarp, burning hot to the touch, faced with a monumental task of hacking it up onto all these plates of salad. No choice, but to get down on our hands and knees and do the dirty deed. Plate after steaming plate was quickly hustled through a small opening in the hatch, hiding our activities behind it. Throngs of people showed their ticket and grabbed their food. The line seemed never ending.  Did we have enough food? As the line continued to grow, it became apparent that we may have had enough pig, but we did not have enough salad. What to do now? Some bright spark made a comment about perhaps we should go out to the tables and gather up the plates and if there was any salad left, recycle it. We looked at each other, conspiratorially, and made a death pact never to divulge what we would do, and off a team went to grab plates from tables. Twenty minutes later, the food was finished, everyone had a full stomach and all was well with the world. We hoisted up the tarp and disposed of it, began to clean up the kitchen, when there was a polite knock on the sliding window. I opened it to see a really well dressed Zambian gentleman, who just as politely asked, “Do you have any hamburgers and chips, please?” It was one of those moments where you had to be there. After all that had just taken place with the food, to hear someone ask that, made us dissolve into laughter that we could not stop. It just hit us so funny. I told the hapless gentleman that we had no food left, to which he responded that he had paid for a meal and wanted his hamburger. Some money back to him took care of that little problem and we looked at each other with a sigh of relief. This story was never to be told to anyone…

The saga does not quite end there, unfortunately. My other responsibility was to take charge of the night’s proceeds at the end of the evening. I gathered it all up and took it home, and decided to count it all before I went to sleep. Lick the thumb, grab and count the Kwacha, lick the thumb, grab and count the Kwacha, until I had satisfied myself that we had a big fat honking pile of tomboolie for our troubles.

Around 4pm on Sunday, I began to feel quite ill, and also began to run a groove between my bed and the bathroom. By Monday, I knew something was really wrong with me and made my way to the doctor. The next five days I spent losing about 5Kgs with a bout of dysentery from licking the dirty bank notes. To all those friends who came to visit me during those five days, perchance to watch me kick the bucket…. I thank you. I have never licked my fingers counting money since then!!

And to the KPF softball teams (Angels and Pumas) that I loved with so much abandon at that time in my life, I salute you and hope that wherever you are, your memories of our times together are as happy as mine.

 â€œWe are the Angels, good girls are we. We take great pride in supporting our teams.

Our teams are PUMAS, PUMAS A & B. They are the best that you will ever see.

UP TEAM, UP TEAM, UP TEAM!! GO, PUMAS, GO!!”

When we were coming up with the lyrics to the song, at first someone had “We take pride in our virginity” but when some blushing faces (not mine, of course) began to look away, we changed the words to protect the guilty.