Zambia World Wide

From an Afrikaans speaking family where this was the only language spoken I, at the age of eight, found myself being sent to an English school of good repute. It was time my parents decided, that I became thoroughly bilingual.

Thus happily ensconced, my rapid learning of this new language so enthralled me that it was all I wished to speak. I took to it as a duck to water. This did not create a happy time at home for obvious reasons. I could speak English outside of the home and Afrikaans only within. My love of English though encouraged me to not only embrace books, but poetry also. Pretty soon, the far off places I read about became a quest I yearned to see and experience. I somehow felt I was rapidly outgrowing the small town I lived in.

After completing school and a year at college I refused to return for another through sheer boredom and constraint – last mentioned being the students’ place of abode. The horrendous archaic regulations imposed by the ‘house mother’ who not only looked like an absolute witch, was apt to dole out sermons on hell fire and brimstone should you be seen to go out on a Saturday night. She literally put the fear of God into us and in her opinion, this was the night of all evil for young girls when, without the glimmer of a doubt, we would all become fallen angels …

I returned home and my work became that of Assistant Librarian and read! Did I read! Into the early hours, often only managing three hours sleep before I staggered forth the following morning turning up somewhat bleary eyed. This fuelled my intentions of travelling all the more as I absorbed the work of English authors and the poem “Daffodils” by Wordsworth, the photograph included only fuelled my fervour further.

For my 21^st birthday I was given a choice. An overseas trip, or, a car. Finally, freedom gleamed brightly as I felt urged to accept the trip, but, on uttering the word car the look in my mother’s eye lingered longer over the word. I then realised that I could do no more than choose a trip than find the moon was made of cheese … Neither drove and I felt I owed it to them for saving enough money to offer me such a gift in the first place. The yearned for travel would have to take a seat, any seat. I must add that within a year of my driving parents round bends, mother decided it was time she bought her own car and at the age of 50, passed the test to take the wheel.

I felt betrayed, distinctly miffed by this turn of events.

But, all was not quite lost …

I then I subsequently became side-tracked by marriage and eventually had a baby in tow. Then a glorious opportunity arose! My then husband decided we should leave South Africa and head for Northern Rhodesia as he had seen a post advertised in our local paper. The salary was more than double he currently earned. For me this was not quite the travel destination I had in mind with London, Paris, Rome … still floating around in my thoughts. But as the idea of Central Africa became established I soon realised that this was indeed part way to those other places. The sense of adventure I was born with and which had led me from tree climbing and other tomboyish activities to that of adventurous rebellion, soon had me in its grip.

Job secured, husband in the company of three dogs and four cats, boarded the train from Grahamstown station, bound for Kitwe. The journey took a week with animal feeding being done by hopping from the carriage to the guard’s van when the train stopped at stations. At some point between Lusaka and Kapiri Mposhi, the animals could not be found. This caused a delay of some considerable time with the unloading of goods and chattels, chickens and charcoal onto the station platform. They were eventually located, having been buried under said items now on the platform … There was nothing but praise for the staff who were insistent that they be found – otherwise they would be deemed to not be doing their duty and so, their honour would be at stake. Ah, those must indeed be the ‘good old days’ in many ways …

I meanwhile, sojourned with my parents from October to December 1963, and then flew to Johannesburg to overnight with friends. I was to board a charter flight on Trek Airways, a somewhat dubious side-kick of an unknown and forgotten airline. On checking the flight for the next day, I found they had cancelled this and would operate it a week later. In those days communication was not what it is today. No fool proof telephone link, no e-mails but the sending of a telegram system was in operation as was, I am sure if paid enough, runner with left stick! I managed somehow to convey the delay.

I did not enjoy the flight. I remember this absolutely as it sticks in my mind as a complete blur. Port of entry was Livingstone. We exited the ‘plane and the humidity hit me like a sledgehammer. The ‘if you wait long enough, you’ll eventually be processed’ became proof of a very large pudding, one we all know so well. The baby literally threw up all over me and you can imagine the delight of the other passengers as I boarded a smaller aircraft for the onward flight to Ndola.

I arrived in a daze toward early evening to be met by husband and his colleague. We then journeyed by car to Kitwe and I recall my astonishment at the amount of trees and other vegetation converging on the road. This was the Tropics not only in heat, but the vegetation as described in so many books and articles I had read. I couldn’t believe I’d found myself in this green denseness and I felt like an explorer, bewildered and lost but, oddly excited and not at all fearful of what might jump out at us. Strange smells assaulted my nose. Perhaps I should say scents but then Africa always has that certain smell as soon as you land. Eventually blindfold you could tell where you were and when you are away, you long for it!

We had been allocated a house in what was then Lister Avenue. After such a journey I took little notice but was happy to drop into bed as was my poor tuckered out child. The following morning the adventure commenced. I had a male house servant to get used to, cement floors, a whole new neighbourhood and the wonderful colours of the Flamboyant trees. We were situated directly opposite Freedom Avenue Park and the town centre was a fair walk. My first thunderstorm was terrific and I loved every thunderous crash and dazzling lightning streak. I had never seen rain on this scale before and soon found out why there were storm water drains alongside the roads.

This was meant to be my temporary home for the dream still awaited … I didn’t bargain for falling in love with the country, nor my compatibility with its peoples.

The dream turned to dust as I happily began my years of residency …