Zambia World Wide

October 2001

As a youngster growing up in Kasama during the early 1950's, I always welcomed the opportunity to ride along with my Dad in the prison's dark brown 1946 Hudson vanette. As the Prison Officer in charge of the Kasama Prison, Dad's travels would take us to Malema where the prison farm was located, Malole and Chilabula where the White Fathers had missions and to the leper colony that was about an hour's drive out of town.

That first trip to the leper colony has left a lasting impression on me, even after forty seven years I can clearly remember that day as if it was yesterday. After having loaded up the vanette with a load of sandals that had been made out of old tires in the prison workshop, we set of down the red dusty road to the leper colony.

After driving for about an hour, we left the main road and travelled a couple more miles until we were confronted by a white-washed barrier that straddled the road. We stopped and a guard rushed out of the guard house, and on recognizing my Dad, threw up the barrier, waved us on and gave a crisp salute. A few yards down the road, we made a turn and there in front of our eyes was the leper colony with its neat rows of white-washed houses with tin roofs that reflected the bright hot African sun.

We stopped in front of the administration offices, and then out of nowhere we were surrounded by a sea of smiling humanity. It was then that I noticed their disfigured bodies, some with fingers and toes missing, some with distorted faces, the children many as young as me reaching up to me as I sat in the vanette. Dad got out and shook hands with the elders, patting the children on the head, walked around to open my door. I was mortified, and confess to feelings of revulsion, but Dad took my hand, led me to the back of the vanette and asked me to help him unload.

Jumping into the back of the vanette, I started to pass out the shoes which were taken into administration offices to be later distributed. After unloading our cargo, the administrator invited my Dad and I to inspect the colony.

We walked along the paths outlined with the ever-present white-washed stones, past the houses, to the gardens where bananas and paw-paws grew as well as an abundance of vegetables, all the time accompanied by smiling young children singing and laughing.

After an hour or so it was time to make our way back to Kasama. Again the crowd gathered, Dad again shook the elders crippled hands, patted the children on the head and climbed into the vanette. As I went to open my door I was confronted by a young boy, whose fingers had been eaten away by this terrible disease, he smiled, put out his hand, I hesitated, then slowly, I extended my hand to him, we shook hands and smiled at each other. As we started driving towards the road barrier the children ran along the side of the vanette amongst them the young boy smiling as he waved goodbye with his tiny disfigured hands.