Zambia

40. EPILOGUE

2011-11-18T21:47:00.000-08:00

Fifteen years have passed since we left Zambia, but memories are still fresh in my mind. During my idle hours while I recline at home, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city, I let loose my mind to wander along the streets and by-lanes of Mufulira where we spent a good part of our life: quarter of a century.

Pictures of the town depicting house No. 34 which was our home for fourteen years, as my starting point on Faraday drive which was later renamed as David Kaunda drive on either side of which stood the Rose Avenue (Pamodzi) primary school where my son studied and the Mufulira High School where my wife and I taught, the Mine flats at the Top shops where No.3, Mulungushi house accommodated us for another ten years, the Maina Soko road leading to the combined Kitwe-Ndola main road which passes through the edge of the town as Chatulinga road and goes up to the Zairean border of Mokambo giving off a branch namely Chachacha road at the corner of Mufulira Hindu Hall before reaching the town and which goes to the second class trading area passing by the side of Ray's Motti Rozzi garage, bus station and Zesco and then connecting with the road from the second class trading area to Kantanshi while the Jomo Kenyatta road which passes through the main residential area of the upper class miners cuts through the road to Mokambo and becomes the high street which runs in between the Civic centre and the Mufulira hotel leading to the town centre where the main post office and the Zambia National Commercial bank are situated on one side and the Barclays bank on the other, ZCBC shopping mall and Solanki's super market on either side, with a side road to the Malcolm Watson hospital and the posh residential area of the senior staff miners, the high street then giving rise to another road passing in between the second class trading area and the vegetable market, making a semi circle around the grounds of the Ronald Ross Mine hospital and going all the way to the Basuto Road Secondary school (Butondo) and the Kankoyo shaft while the main road from Kitwe-Ndola, after passing along the edge of the town, branching off to the left just before the railway crossing and going straight to the main office and the vast plant area of the Zambia Consolidated Copper Mines, are all etched vividly in my memory. The Eastlea primary school, the Dominican convent, and the Rose Avenue (Pamodzi) primary school where my children Lisa, Liju and Lindsey had their primary education and the High school where my wife and I taught for twenty five years stand up in relief on my mental map of Mufulira.

However, my thoughts always come back and revolve around the few acres of school grounds situated in between the Kafironda club and the Liemba road that goes around the Tennis courts, the Foot ball fields and the Teachers' quarters to join with another road near the Top shop high level water storage tank. This is where Mufulira Secondary School, popularly known as the "High School" is situated. The massive "IN" and "OUT" gates on the side of David Kaunda Drive, the semi circular drive way, Davidson’s metal workshop on one side, the cycle shed and car park area, the double-storey main building housing the Administration block, the Staff room, various offices, Jackson’s Technical drawing room, Casson’s Wood work room, Mrs. Costello’s Domestic science room, a number of other class rooms, Banerjee’s Physics lab. and my Biology lab., all built around the spacious quadrangle where morning assemblies were held, Mwambwa’s English departmental office, Mweshi’s Careers room and Asthana’s Science office on the sides, the foyer with its double glass doors on both sides, the show-piece school hall that was once the pride of the school as headmaster A.J.Pillay used to say, the swimming pool, Mrs. Masiye’s Art block, N.M.Pillai’s History block, Mrs. Rajadyn’s Chemistry laboratory on its own, and the new World Bank buildings that accommodated several class rooms are all part of this magnificent building complex. This is where we taught our classes, supervised sports and other activities of our pupils, mingled with them, joked and laughed with them, encouraged and praised them sometimes, reprimanded or punished them at times, played with them and even cried with them whenever tragedy struck the school community and lived for twenty five years. This is where we were loved and admired by our students, liked and respected by our colleagues, trusted and relied upon by our superiors.

The other day, a friend of mine asked me an interesting question: What career would I like to follow if I were given a second chance to do it all over again? I did not have to think twice before answering that I would like to be a teacher at my former school for another twenty five years, teaching the same subject to the same pupils I taught before and having the same old colleagues along with me.

39. GOOD BYE, FRIENDLY COUNTRY, GOOD BYE !

2011-11-06T06:57:00.000-08:00

The Kenya Airways flight to Nairobi was announced and the passengers started scrambling down the steep staircase from the departure lounge to the corridor leading to the pathway to the tarmac. The blue and silver Boeing 737 stood majestically in the bright afternoon sun. The date was 25th May 1996 and we were at Lusaka international airport in Zambia, just about to bid farewell to the country that was our home for the past twenty-eight years.
My wife and I were the last ones to leave the departure lounge. We had our bags slung from our shoulders and also one or two pieces held in hand. Once in the open, we looked back to have a last glimpse of the terminal building. We knew that our friends who had come to see us off were watching from the balcony on the first floor and waved at them even though we could not distinguish them in the crowd. Two or three hands waved back.

The Kenyan air hostess in a smart-looking uniform, on the platform at the top of the staircase, greeted us in Swahili (the language of East Africa) and directed us to our seats. In the limited space of the 737, we walked awkwardly to reach our seats. My wife took the window seat and I sat next to her after stowing our cabin baggage safely in the overhead lockers. Soon, the last passenger also got in and the door swung shut. The "No smoking" and "Fasten the seatbelt" signs stood lit up and soft music from the loud speakers had a soothing effect on us. Before long we felt the aircraft moving, leaving people and vehicles on the tarmac far behind. It moved away from the proximity of the terminal buildings to the starting point of the runway where it took a 90 degree turn and came to a halt. It stood still for a few moments as if taking a deep breath before the final onslaught. The Rolls Royce twin engines worked up to a crescendo and the aircraft started rushing forward at break-neck speed along the long stretch of the runway for the “take off”.

It was final departure for us from Zambia, the "Friendly Country" where we had spent the best part of our lives. While I watched for the last time through the double perspex window the Zambian topography falling away as the Boeing rose to new heights I felt a lump in my throat and my eyes clouded. I felt as if I were leaving behind a part of me and the thought that I would not be coming back to this beautiful country ever again made me very sad. Now that the aircraft had reached the desired altitude even above the thick canopy of waterless clouds, it hung as if motionless while moving swiftly along the dazzling blue expanse of the African sky towards its destination while my heart cried out silently the words "Good bye, Friendly country, good bye".

38. A PLEASANT SURPRISE

2011-10-12T21:14:00.000-07:00

We arrived at Lusaka international airport by the morning flight from Ndola and sat for the last time in the airport lounge awaiting check-in for the evening flight to Bombay. We had lunch at the cafeteria, looked around the duty free shops and watched the arriving and departing passengers by the provincial flights. Our suitcases and hand luggage stood stacked up near our seats. There were still about three hours before the flight would take off. It was almost time to check-in.

Some of our Lusaka-based friends had come to see us off. They were discussing about their future plans and giving us some advices for a successful retired life. They brought us some parting gifts as well, which served only to increase my apprehension about the excess baggage we had been carrying. As a matter of fact, each passenger was supposed to carry only one piece of cabin baggage, but we already had five pieces in between the two of us. Moreover our baggage to be checked in exceeded the permissible weight by a few kilograms. Formerly, a lady's hand bag and a lap top computer bag were allowed in addition to the regular cabin baggage, but that was during the days when we were traveling by Zambia airways' D.C 10 flights. Now that Zambia airways no longer operated on the Lusaka - Bombay sector and we had to depend on Kenya airways' Boeing flights, cabin baggage was strictly limited to one piece per passenger. In spite of our best efforts, we could not limit our hand luggage to one piece per person as some of our friends brought us some last minute parting gifts which we could not refuse. Now we were really worried about the excess baggage fare we would have to pay at the check-in counter and therefore could not participate whole-heartedly in the conversation. Our friends realized our predicament and advised us not to rush to the check-in counter too soon but to wait until a long line is formed so that there would be some laxity in the procedure.

While we were waiting for the counters to open, I was watching idly people moving about in the main lounge and the adjoining passages. A group of three men, engrossed in conversation in the local dialect passed by. Two of them were in the uniform of the ground staff and the other one was in casual wear. They just passed us and then the one in the casual wear stopped in mid-stride, said something to the other two and retraced his steps. He came straight to me and asked "excuse me, are you Mr. G. John by any chance?"
When I answered in the affirmative, his next question was whether I was a teacher at Luwingu secondary school. I answered him "yes" and added that it was a long time ago, in the early seventies. He then smiled broadly and extended his hand saying, "I am Abraham Musonda, one of your former pupils". Even though I could not recall the name exactly, I grasped the proffered hand, said something like "glad to see you" and asked "how are you?" After the exchange of a few more pleasantries, he left and joined his waiting friends.

Before long, the counters were opened and quite a number of people lined up at the three economy class counters of the KQ (Kenya airways) flight. The executive class and first class counters also were opened but there were no passengers to check in immediately. The ground staff at the first class counter was beckoning to someone behind me, or so I thought. I turned around to see the person behind me, but there was no one. As I looked at the officer inquiringly, he told me that he was calling me to check in. Sitting where I was, I showed him my ticket and told that it was for economy class. He then told me it was alright and he would check me in. We scrambled to our feet and went to the counter with our baggage trolley and tickets. He asked us to put our baggage on the scales, checked their weight and noted down on the tickets. Then he counted out the required number of tags for our cabin baggage, tore off the airways' coupons from the ticket books and handed me back the remaining part of it along with the boarding pass. To our surprise, he did not mention anything about the excess weight or the additional pieces of hand luggage. As we were just leaving the counter, he said "the supervisor Mr. Abraham Musonda has asked me to convey his regards. Have a pleasant journey, Mr. and Mrs. John".

37. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR

2011-09-21T04:29:00.000-07:00

Catherine Sepa was the head girl in Mufulira Secondary School during the year 1975. She was well-liked and respected by the students. The teachers found her as a very reliable person. She left the school at the end of that school year and there was no contact thereafter.

We left Zambia in 1996. During our stay of twenty eight years in that country, we had acquired a lot of stuff including books and many household things. Most of the old things from way back our stay in Luwingu were still stacked in our store room. We decided to get rid of most of them but to send the books, some crockery, kitchen utensils and gadgets as unaccompanied baggage to India. We got some special wooden crates from the traders, modified them in the woodwork department and packed the articles in those. We used a lot of packing material in between so that fragile items were not damaged during transit. Our home address and the name of the destination airport were stenciled neatly on each box. Arrangements were made with A.M.I (Agency Maritime International) to collect the boxes from our place and send them as air cargo. Accordingly they sent their truck to collect the stuff from our apartment in Mufulira and take it to their office in Kitwe. We accompanied the truck in our car to the Kitwe office where we signed the necessary papers and made the payment. They assured us that the cargo would be sent by road to Lusaka within three days but they could not tell us how long it would take for the Lusaka office to send it by air to my home city of Trivandrum. It may take many days before they could send them. As we would be leaving Mufulira within a couple of days and then staying in Lusaka for a week before our departure to India, we gave them as contact number, the phone number of one Mr. Thomas in Lusaka with whom we had intended to stay.

Two or three days after our arrival in Lusaka, Mr. Thomas received a phone call from the A.M.I office in Lusaka. The manager wanted to know whether Mr. G. John from Mufulira was staying with him and if so, she wanted to meet him. Mr. Thomas thought that it would be for something in connection with the unaccompanied baggage I sent and he gave the caller directions to reach his house where we were staying. After about half an hour, a white Toyota Corolla car came in through the gates and a well-dressed lady in her late thirties got out of the driver's seat. She was ushered in by Mr. Thomas' wife Molly and she introduced herself as the branch manager of A.M.I, Lusaka. She added that she had come to see Mr. G. John and his wife. Imagine our surprise and pleasure when we recognized her as Catherine Sepa, our former student. While we were wondering how she managed to trace us after all these years, she explained that she saw my name and contact number in the manifest of a recent consignment of goods destined for India and the rest was simple.

We talked for a while and then she said she should run along. However, she promised even without my asking that our unaccompanied baggage would be sent by the first available cargo flight even though there was quite a considerable backlog of cargo owing to the discontinuation of flights to India by Zambia Airways.

Catherine Sepa kept her word. Three days after reaching Trivandrum, we received intimation from the Airport Cargo Complex that our unaccompanied baggage had arrived. And sure enough, we found all of them intact and ready for clearance and collection.

36. THE LAST HURDLE

2011-09-21T04:14:00.000-07:00

I took the payment vouchers from the Finance Ministry straight to the south-end branch of the Zambia National Commercial Bank which handled all the foreign payments of the Ministry. I was accompanied by my wife. We were supposed to get the vouchers converted to the foreign currency of our choice. As there was one day only between then and the day of departure from the country, we did not have any time to waste.

We went up the elevator to the third floor where the bank's offices were situated. We were directed by the smart lady in the outer office to the person who handled matters related to the Finance Ministry. We found a lady in her late thirties behind the desk marked "Foreign Exchange" and took our seats. We told her the purpose of our visit and handed her the payment vouchers.

The bank official glanced through the papers and assured us that they were in order. She put the bank's date stamp on them and filed them neatly in a box file marked "pending". Then she told us to call back after a couple of weeks, but should phone her first to find out if the papers were processed.

We did not understand what she was saying. So I asked her politely what she meant by saying to come back after two weeks. Our flight to India was within two days' time and we were leaving the country for good.

She tried to explain by pointing to the "pending" file and saying: "There are about thirty-five people in the waiting list and we are treating each case in the order of priority. It will take at least ten days before we could process your papers and issue a bank draft or traveler’s cheques as you desire".

However, we were not prepared to leave the matter at that, especially after all the hurdles we had gone through at the Finance Ministry. We told her of our predicament and how crucial it was for us to have this money in our possession before we board the plane. She would not even listen, but after pestering her for some time, she told us to go and see the manager if we were not satisfied with her reply.

We walked to the partitioned off office marked "MANAGER" and knocked at the door. We were told to go in and found a very smart young lady in a well-tailored dress suit behind the manager's desk. We were rather surprised to see so many ladies in that place, but it was none of our business. Zambians are very polite people and this lady was no exception. However, she told us that she could not accede to our request as it would mean overlooking the priority of many others. As a last resort I told her that it would be a disgrace to this country if a foreigner who had worked here for the last thirty years had to go home empty-handed so that he would have to depend on the charity of his fellow countrymen once he returned to his own country. My last remark struck home and the manager told me that she would have to talk to her superior officer whether the rule could be relaxed a bit and she asked us to meet her at 9 a.m. on the next day for a definite answer. With an air of trepidation, we left the bank as there was nothing else for us to do.

On the next day we arrived at the bank a little earlier than 9 a.m. and rode up the elevator to the third floor. As we walked in through the main entrance of the bank, we saw the manager, as smart as ever, trotting out through a side door and walking briskly away with the 'clack, clack' of her high-heels. It was precisely 9 a.m. and we thought ruefully,” well, so much for her sweet promises!" There was no doubt that she was now going away in order to avoid us.

However, we decided to wait even if it was for the whole day for her to return. We found a pair of comfortable chairs outside the manager's office and sat down heavily. We did not even feel like talking to each other as we were engrossed in our own thoughts. Only when someone approached us after about twenty minutes or so with the words "Excuse me, are you Mr. and Mrs. John?" that we were awakened from our reverie. We answered in the affirmative and looked up inquiringly at the speaker. He had a sheaf of bank-slips in his hand. He asked us to indicate in those slips the type of currency required, denomination of traveler’s cheques etc. as well as the address of the overseas bank and signature of each person. He collected the bank-slips from us, scrutinized them and said the traveler’s cheques would be ready within half an hour.

We finished the business at the bank by 10 a.m. and came out with our "life's savings" tucked away safely in the V.I.P brief case I was carrying. Even though we wanted to thank the manager for what she had done, she was nowhere to be seen even by the time we left the bank.

35. AN ACT OF PROVIDENCE

2011-09-06T21:59:00.000-07:00

I walked through the massive glass doors of the Ministry of Finance building in Lusaka, out into the bright afternoon sun. I continued to walk slowly along the concrete drive way in between the spacious parking lots on both sides where most of the slots were occupied, into the tarmac road where a few taxi cabs waited for prospective fares. Soon, I would be traveling in one of those, to the intercity bus terminal where with luck I may be able to catch a late bus to the Copper-belt.

My heart was heavy. All my efforts of the past three months and the many journeys I had made to the Finance Ministry were in vain. During my previous visit, I was assured by Mr. Ndabala, one of the senior clerical officers, that the papers were in order and my name and my wife's name were already posted in the list of people who would be receiving their terminal benefits that month. However, it appeared that something went wrong and our names were struck off the list. Instead, two new names were added from the waiting list. We were pushed back to the next allocation of foreign exchange which would come only after three or four months. We would not be able to stay back in the country until then and the money would go invariably into the pipeline. In that case it would take a very long time, perhaps a couple of years or more, to reach me and all our future plans would go astray. This realization made me very sad. Even though I talked to Mr. M'hango, the Senior Accountant to expedite the matter, he said he could not do anything about it.

I was just about to board a cab when a thought flashed through my mind- Why should not I go and see the Permanent Secretary who was the over-all boss of the Finance Ministry and tell him of my predicament. Perhaps he would do something about it. Anyway, I had nothing to lose.

But to see the P.S was not that easy. I could not just go to his fifth floor office, knock and enter. I had to go through the various official channels before I could get an appointment to see him. It may take several days before he would accede to my request to grant me a meeting with him.

It was then that I thought of Mr. M.R.B. Nair, the Chief Auditor to the Finance Ministry of whom I had heard sometime back from Mr. Krishnan, one of my friends on the Copper-belt. Mr. Nair was a British citizen of Indian origin, whose native place was Trivandrum in the State of Kerala which happened to be my native place too. Even though, we had never met before.

I retraced my steps with new vigor. In the foyer I met a well-dressed lady whom I took for a Ministry official and asked her if she could direct me to Mr. M.R.B. Nair's office. She took me up all the way in the elevator to the fourth floor and along a long corridor to the door marked with golden letters: M.R.B. Nair, Chief Auditor. She did not even wait for my thanks. I knocked at the door, and was bidden to enter.

Mr. Nair was alone in his spacious office except for his Zambian secretary. He was very cordial to me and listened patiently to my narration. He told me that the Permanent Secretary was the only person who could do something about my problem. As he was out of the country, Mr.Chipuma, the Deputy Permanent Secretary was in charge. Mr. Nair said he would introduce me to him, in case he was available. He asked his secretary to phone the office of the D.P.S and request for an urgent appointment. The D.P.S was in his office and he would see Mr. Nair without any delay. We went up the single flight of steps and reached the office of the D.P.S. We were admitted immediately and directed to the inner office by the lady in the outer office.

I saw a very well-groomed Zambian gentleman with slightly graying hairs at the temples sitting behind a large glass-topped desk. He greeted Mr. Nair with a broad smile and nodded briefly to me. Mr. Nair introduced me to him and added that I had a problem that needed to be sorted out by Mr. Chipuma. He then left the two of us together and departed.

The Deputy Permanent Secretary listened patiently to what I had to say. He did not interrupt me or showed any signs of impatience. When I finished my narration, he talked to his secretary on the intercom and asked her to call Mr. Ndabala and Mr. M'hango to his office straightaway, and tell them to bring Mr. G. John's file along with them.

The two gentlemen arrived within ten minutes, with a look of apprehension in their eyes. As soon as they saw me sitting comfortably in Mr. Chipuma's office, their face darkened and their apprehension increased. Mr. Chipuma questioned them in such a manner that they had to admit their mistake. He ordered them to rectify the matter within three days' time. They said it would be impossible as the next allocation of Forex (foreign exchange) would come only after a minimum period of three months. At this reply Mr. Chipuma got very annoyed and asked them whether they expected a retired expatriate officer who had neither any job nor any house (the government quarters should be surrendered to the Works Department within a month or so after the last day of duty) to stay in the country for such a long time in order to get what was rightfully due to him from the Zambian government.

They had no reply. Finally Mr. M'hango, the Senior Accountant said there was one solution only. That was to apply for a special allocation of Forex from the Treasury. This procedure was adopted in extreme cases of emergency only and the Permanent Secretary had to make a special requisition for the same. Mr. Chipuma told them to prepare the requisition forthwith and get his signature. He gave them one week's time during which they should follow up the matter.

It was with clockwork precision that the matter was followed up by Mr. Mhango and Mr. Ndabala and thanks to the kindness of Mr. M.R.B. Nair and Mr. Chipuma, I received the payment vouchers two days before our final departure from Zambia. There remained just one day within which we had to get the Zambian Kwacha converted to foreign currency at the Zambia National Commercial Bank, Lusaka, but that was another story.

34. "I DON'T HAVE ANY, BUT MATHAI HAS"

2011-07-30T00:09:00.000-07:00

When Northern Rhodesia became the independent nation of Zambia in 1964, the UNIP (United National Independent Party) government decided to establish a number of new secondary schools throughout the country. They wanted to recruit from other African countries, people with many years of teaching experience in order to fill the vacancies in the new schools. As the Terms and Conditions offered were far better than those of the neighboring countries, there was a great exodus of serving teachers from Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Ethiopia, Somalia, Ghana and other African countries to Zambia. There were hundreds of Indian teachers among them.

Joseph and Mathai (not real names) were two Indians, from the state of Kerala, working as teachers in a school in Ethiopia. As there were no other people from Kerala in their school, they were very friendly with each other and did many things together. Their families went together frequently for outings and picnics and entertained each other on Sundays and on special days like Christmas, Easter and Onam. They always consulted with each other on important matters.

Through one of their mutual friends they came to know about the great opportunity in Zambia and that many of their acquaintances from Addis Ababa, Asmara and other towns had already secured jobs in Zambia. Joseph and Mathai felt that this was an opportunity that they should not miss. Accordingly they took the first step of obtaining from friends the address of the Zambian Education Ministry and writing to them for Application Forms. After waiting eagerly for about two weeks, to their great delight they both received by the same day's mail, a set of forms from the Ministry of Education headquarters in Lusaka.

Each application form consisted of four pages. Joseph and Mathai sat together and discussed the manner in which to fill up the form and how to answer the various questions contained in it. Thereafter they departed to their respective homes and embarked on the process of filling up their forms.

Most of the details to be given were simple and straight-forward such as full name, sex, date of birth, educational qualifications, and experience in teaching, so on and so forth. There were also some personal questions such as fluency in English language, speech impediment if any, etc. While Joseph was filling up this part, he suddenly remembered that his friend Mathai had an occasional problem of stammering. He thought it was unlikely that Mathai would indicate it in his application form. Therefore as a truthful and honest person, he thought that at least he should mention it in his own application form, in the best interest of the government of Zambia. So in the space against the question "Have you any speech impediment?" he wrote "I don't have any, but Mathai(full name) has". After completing the rest of the form, he enclosed it in a manila envelope along with other relevant documents, sealed properly and walked the short distance to Mathai's house. Mathai had already completed his form by this time. They went together to the post office in the town, mailed their envelopes and returned home with the satisfaction of a job well done.

A number of days passed. Mathai and Joseph waited eagerly for the return of the "mail boy" (the school worker who used to collect the mail from the post office) each day. Then on a fine day, the long-awaited official envelopes with the superscription "On Zambia Government Service" addressed individually to Joseph and Mathai arrived by the same day's mail. With pounding hearts, they opened their envelopes and studied the contents. Mathai found a letter from the Ministry of Education containing an offer of appointment stipulating the initial salary and other relevant details as well as the name of the officer whom he should contact in case he wanted to accept the offer. In Joseph's envelope, he found a single sheet of paper on which the following sentence was type-written neatly:
"With reference to your application dated.....(date), I regret to inform you that your application for the post of a secondary school teacher has been unsuccessful". Underneath were a signature and the words "Yours faithfully," "for the Permanent Secretary."

Mathai and his family left Ethiopia for Zambia within three month's time. Joseph remained in Ethiopia until the end of his contract and returned to India without leaving any forwarding address. And that was the end of a beautiful friendship.

None of us was aware of this incident until a few months later the matter was disclosed by an official of the Education Ministry to one of the expatriate teachers, during a friendly conversation.

33. "GOOD MORNING MR. THAEMAANI"

2011-06-05T21:17:00.000-07:00

My good friend Daniel was a man of great knowledge. He used to give unsolicited advices. There was no doubt that those advices were well-meant, but they didn't work well sometimes.

He was the one who mentioned about Temani. He pronouced that name as "Thaemaani" and I thought that was how it should be pronounced. According to Mr. Daniel, Mr. "Thaemaani" was the right person to be approached, in case you needed any assistance in expediting your terminal benefit papers at the ministry of education. My terminal benefit papers were submitted to the ministry sometime back and I wanted someone to give them a push. As there were more than a hundred people working in the ministry offices and it would be difficult for me to locate Mr."Thaemaani", Mr. Daniel gave me a brief description of his appearance and the approximate location of his "office" so that I could go there as early as possible and get hold of him before he got himself involved in some other serious matters at the ministry.

Accordingly the very next morning, I posted myself at the main entrance to the long corridor that led to many important offices within the ministry. As it was nearing 8 am, people started trickling in. Seeing an expatriate(term used for foreign nationals working in Zambia) standing near the entrance, some of the in-comers gave me a casual glance and proceeded. There were no familiar faces. Well-dressed ladies passed by, clicking their high heels on the polished wooden floor, chatting in high pitched voice with their counter parts and hardly paying any attention to me. I stood to one side, with my brief case under my arm and scrutinizing every male person to determine whether he fitted with Mr. Daniel's description of "Thaemaani". And while I was waiting patiently, someone just breezed in.

Even at the first glance, I decided that he must be the person I was looking for. He was short, stout, slightly bald and was wearing a dark blue jacket. Some official files were under his arm. On the whole, he had a very official look about him. I did not have to ask for any introduction. I just stepped forward and greeted him in a familiar manner, "Good morning, Mr. Thaemaani...."

He stopped abruptly in his stride and stared at me. Then he asked me in a severe tone "Do I look like Mr. Temani?" and walked away.

I did not know what to say, but one thing was certain. This gentleman was not the "Thaemaani" I was looking for. Then who was Thaemaani?

Soon I found out. Mr. Daniel's friend "Thaemaani" was none other than an office orderly (peon). His job was to carry files from desk to desk and his name was Temani. He did not have any permanent office, but found generally in the vicinity of the main registry. However, the description fitted someone else also, I thought wryly.

Later in the afternoon, I was told by the lady at the "Enquiries" desk to go and check with Senior Accounts officer Mr. Kasanda in room 24, whether my papers were ready. As I entered his office, I realized to my embarrassment that Mr. Kasanda was the person whom I mistook for Temani that morning. However, it appeared that he did not recognize me as he gathered some papers from a tray in front of him, glanced through them and handed to me. As I was just about to leave his office, he said with the ghost of a smile, "Mr. John, Mr. "Thaemaani" has done a good job for you, I hope”.

I thanked Mr. Kasanda for the speedy processing of my papers and apologized for the mix-up that morning. He said it didn’t matter and I just walked away, admiring his sense of humour.

32. A CLOSE SHAVE

2011-03-24T08:02:00.000-07:00

It happened during the pre-electon days towards the end of President Kaunda's regime. The country was going through a period of political unrest. The Movement for Multi-party Democracy (M.M.D) under the able leadership of Frederick Chiluba, the popular trade union leader was gaining momentum. There was no part of the country where its reverberations did not reach as they radiated from the the hub of the movement - the Copperbelt.

There was a lot of dissatisfaction among the local people. The country's economy was in shambles and the common man could not make both ends meet. Teachers, underpaid and overworked as everywhere else in the world, rose up in arms against the Kaunda regime. Exceptions were the expatriate teachers whose conditions were a little better than that of their Zambian counterparts and who were under contractual obligations.

The local teachers found it an opportune time to ask the government for higher wages and better terms of conditions. Meetings were being held at national, regional and district levels. The expatriate teachers were very much sympathetic to the cause of their colleagues but refrained from expressing their feelings in public for fear of disciplinary action or even deportation.

During this period of unrest on a Friday afternoon, as I was going out to the parking area after my teaching session, I happened to notice an unusual gathering in the school hall. I heard someone calling out my name and saw Mr. Muzeya, one of my colleagues, standing at the entrance of the hall and some others behind him. Mr. Muzeya told me that the teachers of Mufulira district were having a meeting in the hall and if I would step in for a few minutes as an observer, they would appreciate it. I thought I would just go in for a short while and then depart.

Soon the meeting started. There were about fifty people altogether. Half a dozen men were seated on the stage. One man whom I recognized as the teacher of a neighbouring school was addressing the meeting through a cordless microphone. A sheet of paper was being circulated to mark the attendance. The speaker went on talking about the present economic situation in the country and the necessity for a massive pay rise. After listening for about twenty minutes or so, I left the place, un-noticed.

On the next day when the headmaster summoned me to his office, I thought he wanted to discuss some school matter with me, as he used to do in the past. He bade me to take a seat and I noticed a trace of anxiety in his voice. Without any introduction, he asked me about the previous day's meeting. Even before I could say anything, he told me about two policemen from the Secret service who visited him last night at his home to gather the details of the meeting. They wanted the names of the people who organized the meeting and those who addressed. In addition, they specifically asked for the name of an expatriate teacher who was known to have participated in the meeting. The headmaster gave them a list of over fifty names, that of all the Zambian teachers in the school. As far as he knew, all of them were involved. He did not know of any expatriate teacher who attended the meeting. The S.S. men were not happy. They said they would come back for more questioning and left.

During the following days, many of the Zambian teachers of the three secondary schools in the district were questioned by the S.S. men. One thing they wanted to know very much was the name of the foreigner who attended the meeting. However they flatly denied the presence of any foreigner in their meeting. Even though many years have elapsed since that incident, I want to thank all my Zambian colleagues, who were at that meeting and who refrained from disclosing my name to those men. If someone had given even the slightest hint, they would have pounced on me and put me through the mill. Any way, after a few days of coming and going, the S.S. men stopped pestering the teachers as they too realized that the political trend was changing. By then, everyone in Zambia was almost certain that the Kaunda regime was falling apart and would be coming to its end within a few days' time.

And the rest is history.

31. EXCEPTION TO THE RULE

2011-02-23T20:09:00.000-08:00

Zambians are generally friendly people. That is why Zambia is called the "Friendly Country". They are very grateful to foreigners who assist in the development of their country and sometimes they go out of the way to show their gratitude. However, there could always be some exceptions.

When I met C.B for the first time, he was a non-descript person, working as a teacher in a township school. I noticed him because of his regular attendance in conferences that were held in the region by the Science Association. I was impressed by his keenness and in my capacity as the chairman of the Association for the region,I decided to give him a chance to go to higher levels in the organization. Accordingly, when the central committee of the Association asked me to recommend someone for a sponsored foreign trip, it was C.B's name that I put forward for consideration.

That trip was a turning point in C.B's career. He became well-known in the Association circle and also in the Inspectorate. Being an indigenous person, soon he was in line for promotions. Once he got established, he started to reveal his true nature by throwing his weight around.

It was about that time I decided to write a text book in Biology and a work book to go along with it, for the use of the secondary school pupils in Zambia. Most of the Biology text books available in the country were written by British or Irish authors and the examples of flora and fauna referred to were of non-Zambian nature. It was my intention to present a book that would be in strict conformity with the Cambridge O-level syllabus that was being followed in the Zambian secondary schools. Accordingly, I started working on it.

The work was interesting but time-consuming. I managed to get a number of reference books to assist me in my pursuits. The notes and diagrams that I had prepared for my teaching sessions became very handy. Now, all my available free time was being utilized in writing, typing and drawing. As a result, the work progressed very well.

It took nearly two years of hard work for the completion of the project. Bro. Kirk, one of the Catholic brothers working as a voluntary teacher in the English department did the proof-reading of the manuscript. Fr. Mc Kinney, a co-worker and book-writer, gave me many valuable tips that helped me a lot in my work. During this period, I happened to meet C.B at a conference and told him about my project. Contrary to my expectation, he did not appear very enthusiastic about it and tried to discourage me. However, I did not pay him any attention. Moreover, there were many friends and well-wishers who gave me a lot of encouragement in my project.

Once the manuscript was ready, I had to find a publisher. I knew there were some publishing houses in the country among which the most well-known one was the Zambia Educational Publishing House (ZEPH), formerly, the Kenneth Kaunda Foundation, in Lusaka. I wrote a letter to ZEPH about my book and soon the publishing manager of the company contacted me by telephone. He directed me to send them a copy of the manuscript so that their book committee could examine it and decide about its suitability for publication. Accordingly, I mailed them a photostat copy of the original.

Thereafter things moved very fast. The book committee scrutinized the script and gave their unanimous approval. ZEPH informed me that they would be pleased to buy off the copy-rights by paying me a sum of four million kwacha (equivalent to four thousand U.S. Dollars according to the exchange rate at that time). An initial payment would be made at the time of signing the contract, and the remainder would be paid immediately after obtaining the approval of the Curriculum committee of the Ministry. This would be just a formality.

I drove down to Lusaka early next week in order to sign the contract. I met the publishing manager as well as the M.D. After signing the contract and handing me a cheque for the initial payment, they told me that the book was accepted by their book committee and therefore, they were going to start working on it without waiting for the Curriculum committee's approval. The remaining amount would be paid to my bank account and I was asked to give them the details.

Three weeks later, I received a phone call from the publishing manager. He said that the report of the Curriculum committee had come. It was the most adverse report they had ever seen. There was no doubt that someone in the committee was trying to block the publication of the book. Later, I came to know that the committee consisted of four people and C.B was the leading member of that committee. The others were chosen by him from one or two schools in the capital. However, I do not want to say anything to the effect that C.B might have influenced the other members to give such a damaging report. In spite of such a bad report, ZEPH decided to go ahead with the publication of the book.

ZEPH kept their promise. My only regret is that I was not in the country to see the book in its printed form. It is my firm belief that the NEW SCHOOL CERTIFICATE BIOLOGY has been accepted by many Zambian secondary school pupils and is found useful to them at least in a small way.

30. ".......GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS"

2010-12-04T07:37:00.000-08:00

Soon after a robbery at my previous residence where we had stayed for more than 14 years, we shifted to one of the mine flats in the Top Shop area. These flats did not have any servant's quarters. I considered it as a good excuse for getting rid of Richard, my servant whom I suspected of having collusion with the robbers.

We employed a maid-servant who was sharing accommodation with another girl in a one-bedroom house in a nearby area known as the Mokambo compound. There were many such houses in that area, owned by the Zambia Consolidated Copper Mines for accommodating the servants of those mine employees who were staying in the flats. Many low-paid mine workers also stayed in the compound. It took almost six months for my wife to train the maid adequately for our purposes and she thought the maid was doing quite well.

Then one day she came and told my wife that she was leaving because of lack of accommodation. The girl with whom she stayed was getting married and asked her to vacate. She had no place to stay and therefore would have to go back to her village. However, she would stay back if “Bwana” (means ‘master’) could get one of those houses in the Mokambo compound for her.

I made some preliminary enquiries to a senior official in the mines and he told me that as I was a non-miner my servant could not be accommodated in the Mokambo compound which was reserved for the servants of ZCCM employees.

But being a very stubborn person, I decided to put in an application at the Estate office. The guy who was in charge of processing the application was very friendly. I filled up the application form and left it with him. He told me that he would give me a call within a couple of days.

But the call never came. After waiting for a week, I made another trip to the Estate office. The same person was in the office. He asked me "Why didn't you tell me that you are not a miner?"

"Well, that is what I have indicated in my application" I told him. "But since I am occupying a mine flat that has no servant's quarters, where am I supposed to accommodate my servant?"

"Look here, my friend, ‘that’ is your problem”, he told me. “You are just wasting your time. Your application has been turned down by the Estate manager".

There was no point in arguing. I left crestfallen.

The maid was supposed to leave her employment with us the next day. But in the morning, I received a call from the Estate office asking me to see Mr. Musonda in charge of housing. I met the same guy whom I had seen twice during the past few days. As soon as he saw me, he greeted me with a broad smile and offered me a seat. Then he took a neatly typed sheet of paper, put it inside an envelope and handed it to me. It was a letter from the Estate office, allocating in my name one of the houses in the Mokambo compound, for the use of my servant. He added that the keys should be collected from the Quarter master’s office.

I was greatly surprised at the turn of events but did not express it. Instead I thanked him for his kindness and bade him good day. As I was coming out of his office, he asked me "Mr. John, may I ask you something? What is your connection with Mr. Phiri?"

I did not know what he was talking about. So I asked him, "which
Phiri?"

"Mr. Michael Phiri, our boss in the General Office! Who else?" he said.

I asked him why he wanted to know. He replied that Mr. Michael Phiri was on a visit to the Estate office the other day and he found me leaving Mr. Musonda’s office and driving off. He wanted to know what I was doing there, and when he heard the story he told the manager, "You just give him what he wants". That was why he asked.

"Oh, we just know each other" I said as I did not know what else to say.

However, a few months later, I came to know from someone that Michael Phiri was one of my former students at Mufulira High School.

".........WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE FRIGHT"

2010-09-23T08:22:00.000-07:00

The Nairobi flight from Bombay arrived late. I was in transit on my way to the Zambian capital of Lusaka. As the connecting time was less than three hours due to the lateness of the AI (Air India) flight from Bombay, no hotel accommodation was provided. The passengers were made to sit and wait in the departure lounge of the Jomo Kenyata airport without any lunch. We were told that lunch would be provided onboard.

The QZ (Zambia Airways) flight to Lusaka was scheduled to depart at 1.50 p.m. There were no announcements about our departure until 1.45 p.m. On enquiry at the QZ checking counter we were told that our plane which was supposed to arrive from Lusaka at 12 noon had not arrived yet. Consequently, the return flight would be delayed.

I was returning from India after a short visit. My journey had commenced from Trivandrum on the previous morning. The Juhu beach hotel where I was accommodated in between flights was not one of the best. As a result, I was feeling tired and sleepy.

At 1.45 p.m. there was an announcement that the QZ flight to Lusaka was delayed by 90 minutes. That meant the plane would leave by 3.20 p.m. only at the earliest. I noticed that the Zambia Airways checking counter was deserted. There was no one to whom the passengers could complain about their plight or request for some lunch coupons. Those who did possess any foreign currency moved to the restaurants at the airport and got themselves some snacks while the others remained hungry.

The call to board the flight to Lusaka came around 3.30 p.m. There was a great scramble among the hundred and fifteen passengers to make a rush and get into the plane, lest it would depart without them. However, it was 4.15 p.m. by the time the plane took off. As soon as it was air-borne and we were well on our way, lunch was served but I was not feeling hungry. The only thing I wanted was to reach home as early as possible.

The first jolt came as we were just cruising over Mount Kilimanjaro. The pilot interrupted his scenic description over the public address system to warn the passengers about "a little turbulence". The "fasten seat belt" signs flashed on. It was followed by a second jolt, more frightening than the first one as the Boeing 737 aircraft plunged into another air pocket. It made some babies to scream and some grown-ups to become uneasy. Even though there were a few more jolts, the passengers got used to the pattern and the pilot managed to keep the plane on its course. However we all heaved a sigh of relief when it was announced that the plane would land at Lusaka International Airport within ten minutes' time.

It was with a severe jolt that the wheels of the aircraft touched down on the tarmac accompanied by a deafening roar of the jet engines as if it were going to pieces. Everyone thought that we had crash-landed and this was the end. However, we soon realized that the plane was taxiing smoothly on the runway while we heard a sweet melodious voice announcing through the plane's public address system ".......Captain Gilby and his crew thank all the passengers who have been frying with us and we hope you enjoyed the fright".

There was no doubt that we did!

THE BRIGADIER'S SON

2010-08-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

King George High School at Broken hill was one of the best schools in Northern Rhodesia during the colonial rule. Even though its name was changed to Kabwe Secondary School soon after Independence, the headmaster Mr. R. M. Brown did not spare any efforts in maintaining the high standards of academic performance and discipline for which the school had a reputation.

Broken hill was the provincial capital of the central province. Its name was changed to Kabwe soon after Independence. Before the formation of Zambia and the establishment of Lusaka as its capital, Broken hill was the head quarters of the Northern Rhodesian Army. Even after Independence, it continued to remain as the army H.Q. During the early days of Independence, there were still many "whites" occupying key positions in the army, railways and government ministries. The government's policy was to have zambianization done in a slow and steady manner.

Mr. R. M. Brown was from Britain. He was a good teacher and a strict disciplinarian. After serving for some time as the deputy head of Mufulira high school on the Copper-belt, Mr. Brown was transferred to Kabwe Secondary School as the headmaster.

There were many "whites" among the students. Some of them were quite arrogant and tried to "boss" over the African and Indian students. Even from the very beginning Mr. Brown made it very clear that he would not tolerate any racialism among the students or the teachers of his school. Soon it became evident that if anyone thought he would have any special privilege because of his racial superiority or social status, he was grossly mistaken.

One day during the morning assembly Mr. Brown noticed a few senior students with "Beatle-style" long hair among the population of nearly a thousand students. Mr. Brown did not want his pupils to look like "hippies" and he made it very clear during his announcements that day. He gave them three days' time to get their hair cut short in an acceptable manner so that they too would have a decent sort of look like the rest of the pupils.

Mr. Brown kept his word. After three days he made another inspection of the students during the morning assembly and found that all the long-haired students except one had complied with his orders. After the assembly, he summoned that one to his office and asked the reason. The student replied that he had spoken to his father and he allowed him to have long hair and as such he did not see any reason why he should cut it short. Mr. Brown told him that he would still have to comply with the rules and regulations of the school as long as he wanted to be a student of that school and he would not be allowed to attend lessons until he complied with his instructions.

Mr. Brown had a good view of the front court-yard of the school, from his office. Precisely at 9 AM the next morning he noticed a massive motor car bearing the flag and emblem of the Zambian army pulling up in front of his office and a man in the army uniform getting out of the car while another army man stood aside reverently, holding the car door open. After a few minutes, he heard a brisk tap on his door and bid the visitor to enter. A huge white man in full military uniform strode in. He introduced himself as brigadier John Smith of the Zambian army and sat down heavily on a chair even before being invited by Mr. Brown to sit down. Mr. Brown politely asked him what he could do for him. The brigadier told him in an authoritative manner that he should allow his son whom Mr. Brown had sent away the previous day on a silly charge of having long hair, to go back to the lessons. Mr. Brown, very politely told the brigadier that he could not change the school rules for any particular pupil, even if his father was a brigadier or even general of the army. Now that the father of the pupil had come to the school and talked in an offensive manner, the pupil would have to make an apology in public, at the school assembly when he returned to the school after getting his hair cut. Mr. Brown indicated that the interview was over and the brigadier left in a great fury, promising to have a word with the President so that Mr. Brown would not be sitting in that chair for very long.

Nothing happened for a few days. Then, about a week later, Henry Smith, the son of brigadier John Smith, returned to the school with his hair cut short in an acceptable manner and presented himself to Mr. Brown just before the morning assembly. The headmaster allowed him to say a few words of apology after which he congratulated him for setting an example to the rest of the school by complying with the school rule even though he was a bit reluctant about it at first.

After the above incident, Henry Smith became the most law-abiding student of Kabwe Secondary School and completed his high school education in due course with flying colors before returning to England for higher studies.

WELL DONE MR BROWN

2010-08-03T21:35:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Njovu (pronounced as 'Injovu') was a member of parliament. Even though she was not considered as a very popular person, she became M.P. through her activities among the UNIP (United National Independence Party) Women. UNIP was the ruling party and President Kaunda liked hard-working people.

Mrs. Njovu used to make some caustic remarks from time to time against the foreigners who worked in that country even though she knew fully well that her country depended very much on them and could not survive without their assistance.

During the colonial days the entire civil service of Northern Rhodesia was under the control of the British, but soon after Independence, top officials were replaced by competent Zambians. As a number of new secondary schools were opened under the T.D.P. (Transitional Development Plan) in many parts of the country, there was a great demand for secondary school teachers. Even though the Zambia government had a preference for British and Irish teachers, soon it became evident that the demand was so great that they had to look elsewhere as well. India could have supplied easily the required number of teachers, but the Zambia government did not want all and sundry. They put up advertisements inviting applications from those who had some experience in teaching in other African countries. They offered better terms and conditions than in most other African countries and as a result there was a great "exodus" of teachers, mainly of Indian, Pakistani and Sreelankan origin from east, west and north African countries to Zambia. Many of the newly recruited teachers were sent to the remotest parts of the country so that even the new schools in the "bush area" could function properly.

Of all the leaders, Mrs. Njovu was the one who apparently had some grudge against the Indians and she used to express her feelings from time to time, but nobody paid any attention to her utterances. However, things came to a head on one occasion when a scathing remark made by her appeared as a front-page headline in the prominent national newspaper, the "Times of Zambia".

It was a Monday. As soon as I reached the school along with my wife, where both of us used to work, I had a feeling that something was wrong. As we stepped into the staff room, we found our colleagues, especially the Indian teachers, standing in a group in the middle of the room and engaged in animated conversation. There were more than twenty Indian teachers among a total of nearly sixty, the rest comprising mainly of Zambian and some European personnel. It was one Mr. Varghese from Kerala who called me by name and asked whether I had seen that day's newspaper. I hadn't. He thrust a copy in my face and asked me to look at the main headline on the front page. It appeared in big bold letters as follows:

INDIAN TEACHERS HOLD FAKE CERTIFICATES says Member of Parliament.

The entire text of the M.P's speech was given below along with the picture of a smiling Njovu in her full Zambian gear. Her speech purported to say that fake B.Sc, M.Sc and Ph.D degree certificates were available in India and could be bought from the streets of Bombay, Delhi and Calcutta by anyone who wanted them at a very cheap price. She had even quoted the cost of each in Indian rupees and the equivalent Zambian kwacha.

Just then the bell was rung for the morning assembly. The pupils started taking up their position in the quadrangle. Our school, one of the biggest on the Copper-belt, had more than fifteen hundred pupils. The Indian teachers were considered in great esteem by them. As they were lining up for the assembly, we still continued with our discussion. We were debating what action we should take as none of us was prepared to face the students that morning. We knew that most of our students would have seen the morning newspaper by this time.

The headmaster Mr. R.M. Brown who also was an expatriate, poked his head into the staff room, on his way to address the school assembly. He said casually, "ladies and gentlemen, it is assembly time" and without waiting for any response, proceeded to the podium. It was unusual for the headmaster to remind us of the assembly. Probably he might have got wind of our hesitation to face the students that morning. We looked at each other and followed him silently to the veranda where we took our stand as usual.

The morning assembly always started with a prayer. This was the common practice in all Zambian schools, whether run by government or mission. Contrary to the usual practice, Mr. Brown spread out that day's newspaper so that everyone could see the front page and spoke: "I am quite certain that most of you might have seen today's Times of Zambia newspaper. It contains a serious allegation by a person no less than a member of parliament, against the Indian teachers who are doing an excellent job in this country. Every pupil in this school or elsewhere who has ever been taught by Indian teachers should know how incorrect this allegation is. As a headmaster in this country for the last fifteen years, I can say with all sincerity that the Indian teachers with whom I have come into contact during my career are the best teachers I have ever known. I therefore condemn this article in today's Times of Zambia whole-heartedly and advise all my listeners to do the same."

Everyone was stunned. There was absolute silence for many seconds and then Mr. Brown said "let us pray" and continued with the morning assembly.

There was no further hesitation on the part of the Indian teachers to go to their classes and face the students. Mr. R.M. Brown had spoken for us as no one had spoken ever before knowing fully well that he was not only risking his career but also would be liable to imprisonment and deportation. However, no such things happened.

Well done, Mr. Brown, Sir, we admire your courage and the way you stood for us. It is a privilege to have worked under you.

INSIDE A MILITARY CAMP

2010-06-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

The military camp of the Mufulira Engineering Corps was situated about a kilometre away from my school. During my stay of twenty five years in Mufulira, I had gone there two or three times on some business related to my school, but never had taken my vehicle beyond the sentry box at the main entrance as civilian vehicles were not allowed in without a special pass. I was always accompanied by a Zambian colleague who would talk in 'cibemba' (local language) to the sentry who would then allow us to go in after leaving the vehicle outside. There was a government primary school within the campus. It was mainly for the children of the military personnel. Some of the teachers of that school were our former colleagues who used to drop in to borrow some science equipments or for a friendly chat. Major Mwambwa, one of our colleagues who used to be in charge of the cadets in the school had acquaintances among the army people. Being a foreigner working in Zambia, I did not have any close contact with the army people.

It was my final year in Mufulira. About three months before my retirement, there was an 'end of the term’ party, at the school. Party times were when all staff members would come together and spend a lot of time singing and dancing. Some of us who were not singers or dancers would be merely sitting around sipping a Coke or Fanta and watching. As in most get-together parties in Zambia, a lot of beer would be flowing and those who were habitual drinkers would be having a ‘really good time'.

We could hardly make any conversation because of the music that was blaring. The volume knob of the amplifier was turned to the highest degree. The pupils were given a "free" afternoon because of the staff party. Even the clerical staff and laboratory assistants left their cubicles and joined the crowd of dancers in the school hall.

While I was trying to make some conversation with one of the colleagues sitting next to me, Mr. Mweshi came to me and said he wanted to talk to me. Mr. Mweshi was a good friend of mine. He was one of the organizers of the staff parties. I asked him what the matter was. He wanted me to go with him to the military canteen and bring from there a few crates of beer in my station wagon. I said I would talk to the boss and then accompany him. In fact it was a common practice among the staff that those who had their own vehicles would make trips for the school or for other colleagues if the need arose, as the school bus was not available most of the time due to one reason or other.

When we reached the camp, I was about to park my vehicle outside the gates as I had done in the past. Mr. Mweshi told me that we would have to take the car inside as the canteen was situated at some distance away from the main entrance. He talked to the sentry in the local language and mentioned the name of the officer whom he was going to meet. The sentry talked to someone on the telephone and then opened the gates for us to take the vehicle in. Mr. Mweshi got in beside me and gave me directions. We travelled some distance and reached an area where some large trees stood majestically. I could see many low, single storied buildings beyond the belt of trees. Mr. Mweshi told me to park the car under one of the trees and wait for a few minutes so that he could go in and organize the stuff. I settled down in the front passenger seat and started reading a book which I had with me in the glove compartment of the car.

As I was deeply engrossed in the reading of the book, I did not realize the passing of time. When I checked the time, I was surprised to note that almost an hour had passed since Mr. Mweshi left me for "a few minutes". Before I diverted my attention to the book, I noticed someone standing at a distance, without any movement. I watched him for a few minutes and realized that he was looking intently in my direction. He was in army uniform. Even though it was not uncommon to find a uniformed soldier in an army camp, I felt a little discomfort at seeing him there, probably watching me surreptitiously for how long, I did not know.

He might have stood there for another ten minutes or so and then walked away. By this time I had lost all interest in my reading and followed him with my eyes. He went inside one of the buildings and remained there for some time. Then he came out along with another uniformed soldier who had a rifle slung from his shoulder. They walked slowly in my direction and stood at the border of the belt of trees, presumably watching my vehicle and waiting to find out what my intention was.

I panicked. I have heard of stories of foreigners who had strayed unwittingly to sensitive areas having been apprehended and then disappearing without trace in some African and Latin American countries. Whatever the military would do to a suspected “spy” was their business and was beyond any routine enquiry. Occasionally we used to read in the newspapers about people of other nationality who were "found spying for an un-named foreign country" and taken into custody by the security men. Here I, a foreigner, had been inside an African military camp for the past hour or so with no legitimate explanation to offer and could easily be mistaken for a spy. There was no sign of the person whom I accompanied and I did not know even the name of the officer whom he had gone to see. In the meanwhile, I thought that the two soldiers whom I had noticed before were advancing slowly in my direction.

While I was thus engrossed in my thoughts in a panic-stricken state of mind, I hardly noticed someone coming from the other direction. He too was wearing an army uniform and glanced casually in my direction as he passed on. All on a sudden he stopped in mid-stride and came back to my vehicle. He looked in, addressed me by name and asked me what I was doing in their campus. He was smiling broadly. I got out of the car, still wondering who this person might be . In the same instant that recognition came to me, he said, "I am Mishek Musonda, your former student, now a captain in the Zambian Army" and caught hold of my hand in a firm grip as a prelude to a hearty shake-hand. He asked about my family and we spent some time chatting. Then I told him the reason for my presence there and added that I had been waiting for more than an hour for Mr. Mweshi who had gone in. The captain remarked with a smile that Mr. Mweshi might have been doing a little bit of "warming up" in the canteen and forgotten all about his errand. He promised to go and look him up. He also said he would find some "boys" (junior soldiers) to carry the crates to my vehicle and then left.

After the captain's departure, I remembered about the two soldiers who were watching me and who, in all probability, were about to pounce on me, but could not see any sign of them. They might have made a hasty retreat when they saw the familiarity with which the captain treated me.

I got into my vehicle and settled comfortably in the driver's seat, awaiting Mr. Mweshi's return.

AN UNFORGETTABLE EASTER WEEKEND (Part 2)

2010-04-04T08:30:00.000-07:00

While I was away, someone had telephoned the local police and I found an inspector accompanied by a couple of policemen on my return to the scene of the accident. By this time, many of the onlookers had dispersed. However, a number of people lingered around, most of them at a respectable distance. There were some eye witnesses among them. The police took their statements and cautioned them to be available for further clarification if necessary. As soon as I appeared on the scene, they turned their attention on me. I answered their questions and told them exactly what had happened according to my knowledge. It seemed they were satisfied with my answers. As they had already taken a statement from the driver of the vehicle involved in the accident and the eye witnesses corroborated his statement, they wanted the car to be moved to the police station for fitness examination by their experts and the driver to accompany them for other formalities.

With the help of the police and that of the on-lookers, we managed to push the Volkswagen up the gradient to the road. We noticed that the laminated wind screen had cracked all over but still the pieces held together. The right headlamp was shattered and its reflector with a broken bulb in it, hung out on a wire. The engine started easily and as the clutch was released, the vehicle moved forward smoothly. Obviously it was in running condition. My friend drove the car while a policeman sat in the front passenger seat and gave directions. The rest of our party crammed into my car and we followed the Volkswagen to the police station.

We sat on some benches and waited in a narrow hall for at least three quarters of an hour before the driver of the accident car was summoned to the presence of the officer in charge. I accompanied him without being invited. The officer waved us to a couple of straight-backed chairs and asked the driver to narrate in detail the events that led to the accident. He interrupted him at times to ask him a question or two, while making a note on a notepad in front of him. He asked the questions in a friendly manner and there was no threat or intimidation in his voice. Later he asked me also a few questions pertaining to my role in the whole affair. By the end of the session, it appeared that he was convinced that the cyclist was at fault and the motorist could not have avoided hitting him as he crossed the road so suddenly into the path of the oncoming vehicle. Just a few minutes before the accident, the red Volkswagen had overtaken my friend's vehicle and the cyclist might not have seen or even heard the car behind.

Now the big question in our mind was "what next?" As if reading our thoughts the officer said that the driver of the accident car would have to stay behind until certain formalities were done including the fitness examination of his vehicle by an examiner from the police headquarters in order to find out whether the vehicle was in a roadworthy condition at the time of the accident. The rest of us were free to resume our journey. At this point, I politely told him that we would not leave our friend alone in a foreign country under such circumstances but would rather stay around until he was allowed to proceed along with us. He replied that there was a government guest house nearby where we could find food and accommodation and gave directions to reach there. However, he wanted the driver of the accident car to return to the police station as soon as possible after arranging accommodation for his family at the guest house. In the meanwhile his passport, car keys and blue book (car's registration book) were to be left behind.

All of us piled into my Datsun and went in search of the guest house. Soon we found the place and secured a couple of rooms for our overnight stay. We had a bite of lunch after which we left the ladies and the children at the guest house and returned to the police station.

The officer in charge had gone out and the door to his office was found closed. Someone had moved the accident car to the far end of the court yard, close to the inspection pit. One of the policemen told us to wait in the same dismal hall were we had waited earlier. We sat down on a bench and soon got immersed in our own thoughts, presumably on our present predicament and how and when we would be able to get out of it.

By 6 PM, it was quite dark outside and we could see the headlights of a few motor vehicles moving on the highway nearby. It was Easter Saturday and the traffic was very sparse. Most people were enjoying their long weekend either with their families or elsewhere. We were told that a radio message had been sent to summon the vehicle examiner from the police headquarters but no reply had been received so far. May be he was out of town, enjoying his Easter weekend or out of range to the radio call. Any way we had to stay around until we were permitted by the O/C to leave.

At 7.30 PM the officer in charge breezed in. He was no longer in the police uniform but smartly dressed in a sports jacket and dress pants. He nodded to us and went in to his office. There was very little activity going on in the building. As the night progressed, the temperature dropped and we felt a chill in the atmosphere. The yellow light from a single electric bulb in the hall made the place appear all the more gloomy. Two or three policemen on the night shift were seen moving around and no one paid any attention to us.

All on a sudden we noticed the bright headlights of a vehicle coming in through the gates. The vehicle, a Peugeot 504, came up to the car port in front of the building and screeched to a stop. A tall stout man wearing a long, white overcoat came out of the car with a clip board in one hand and a Hunter lantern in the other. We realized that the vehicle inspector had arrived. After reporting to the officer in charge, he went out to the parking lot accompanied by one of the policemen and began his work. However, his inspection did not take too long. He examined the condition of the tires, brakes, steering mechanism and the general condition of the car and noted down his findings and comments on a single sheet of paper. After handing his report to the officer in charge, he got into his car and drove away.

After a while, a constable came and told us that the officer in charge would like to see us. We went in and he pointed to the chairs so that we may sit down. The case file was in front of him. He told us that the vehicle examiner's report was sufficient proof to the fact that the vehicle was in a roadworthy condition at the time of the accident which meant that the accident was not caused by driving a faulty vehicle. As all other factors such as drunken driving, careless driving, exceeding the speed limit etc. had been ruled out in the earlier report by the police, the only charge applicable would be "unintentional man- slaughter". He added that after giving a signed statement to the effect that he would appear at his own expense for the trial whenever he was summoned by the court, the driver was free to leave the country. Then he handed back the car key and the documents he had taken earlier from the driver.

By the time we finished the formalities at the police station it was nearly 10 PM. As it was too late and we could not resume our journey during the night, we wanted to leave the accident car on the station premises until next morning. Our request was granted. When we thanked the officer in charge for all the kindness shown to us in spite of what had happened, he pointed to a framed photograph of the President of that country and told us in a matter of fact voice, "it is the wish of our President that we should be as helpful as possible to innocent people, especially to foreigners, who get into difficulties while they are in our country due to circumstances beyond their control. Gentlemen, I wish you and your families a safe journey back home".

AN UNFORGETTABLE EASTER WEEKEND

2010-02-26T20:29:00.000-08:00

We were on our way to Lusaka after having a very pleasant holiday in the tourist capital of a neighboring country. It was the Easter weekend. Our party consisted of two families, travelling in two motor cars. The friend and family who were accompanying us were stationed at a rural area in Zambia near the border. Our aim was to reach that place before nightfall so as to have a good night's rest and proceed to Lusaka early next morning.

The tar-macadam road leading from the capital to the border was well-maintained and the traffic was not heavy. We came across an occasional truck or car moving towards or away from the capital. We overtook one or two slow moving vehicles hauling boats on trailers, probably heading to the well-known holiday resort at the lake-side.

By 8.45 AM, we passed through a fairly large town on our way. The town was in the process of waking up and a number of shops still remained un-open. We were feeling quite hungry as our early morning breakfast was very light. We thought we would find a lay-by somewhere in the outskirts of the town where we could stop for a few minutes and fortify ourselves with some coffee and snacks that we were having with us.

I was driving a Datsun 1600, with my wife and the two children along with me. My friend and family travelled in the beige Volkswagen that followed us. Even though there was some distance between the two cars, being the driver of the car in front, I made sure that the Volkswagen was always visible in my rear view mirror.

A few kilometres away from the town, I noticed in my mirror another car far behind. It was a red Volkswagen. It was coming at a steady pace and kept its distance. Sometimes it went out of my field of vision in the mirror.

The road rose into an incline and I thought my engine was dragging a bit. I stepped on the gas pedal and the ninety-seven b.h.p engine responded quickly. The car surged forward. By the time we reached the top of the incline, we lost sight of both the cars behind. There was some level ground to the left, sufficient to park two or three cars, and we decided to pull up and wait for the other car. We moved to the side of the road and I switched off the engine.

We might have waited for five minutes at the most when we heard the familiar sound of the Volkswagen’s air-cooled engine and looked back expectantly. It was the red Volkswagen with its lone European occupant that passed us at a brisk pace. We looked for the other car but there was no sign of it.

All on a sudden I had a strong feeling that something had gone wrong with the other car and its occupants. I started my car and took a U-turn. We had to go back and find out the cause of their delay.

From the top of the incline we had an uninterrupted view of at least a kilometre of the road. Far away, we saw a crowd on the road and no sign of the car. "Oh God, what could have happened?" We rushed to the spot.

I stopped my car just a metre away from the crowd and jumped out. At a glance I saw the disheveled forms of my friend and his wife and children standing on one side of the road, a little distance away from the crowd and their car in a shallow ditch below the road, but on all four wheels. It had a funny, lop-sided appearance. A number of people stood in the middle of the road, forming a circle.

The realization that my friend and family were unhurt, not seriously anyway, sent a wave of relief through my mind, but it lasted only until I pushed through the crowd and had a look inside the circle of people.

A man lay crumpled on the ground littered with broken glass, near the twisted remains of a bicycle. There was blood all over his body. His right eye was popped out and his left eye looked at me in a fixed stare. Even when I asked the onlookers to put the man in my car and at the same time my wife and children got out hurriedly to make room for him, I knew he was either dead or dying. However I had to take him to the nearest hospital.

At first the people around were not too eager to comply with my request but when I implored to them, two or three people obliged. I told someone to get into the front passenger seat and direct me to the hospital. A young man got in reluctantly. We had come a little over seven kilometres from the town. The district hospital was situated near the centre of the town. I drove back along the same way we had come just a while ago until the large sprawling structure of the district hospital was seen. We passed through the gates and travelled a few metres before I could see the red bold sign of the Casualty. I took the vehicle as close to the entrance as possible, jumped out and ran in to some kind of a waiting room where there was no one. I passed through another door and entered a hall where a number of people were seated and a man wearing a doctor's white overcoat was examining someone through a stethoscope.
"Doctor, there is a dying man in my car. Can you please come out and take a look at him?" I almost screamed.

The man in the doctor's coat came out to the car without any hesitation. He briefly examined the injured man and said, "But he is already dead. There is nothing I can do for him."

I was totally disconcerted. "Oh God, what do I do now?"

"You drive along this road and take the first turn to the left. You will see the mortuary at the far end. Leave the body there and report to the Police", he said.

I got back behind the wheel as if in a trance and drove in the direction indicated by the man.

(To be continued)

DAYS OF ANXIETY

2010-01-27T07:44:00.000-08:00

After twenty-seven years of undisputed leadership, President Kenneth David Kaunda was losing his popularity. The economy of Zambia was in shambles and the once prosperous African country was on the brink of bankruptcy. The Zambia Consolidated Copper Mines (ZCCM) which was formed after the nationalization of the mines to prevent the drain of foreign exchange proved to be a mammoth white elephant that contributed to the depletion of the country's economy as never before.
ZCCM along with a number of ‘parastatal’ companies went on such a rampage that they spent much more than what they could earn by digging deeper and deeper into the country's resources and left the nation literally penniless. It was the common man who suffered from the ill-effects of the economic decline. Food, clothing and other essential commodities became so expensive and unaffordable. Working class people found it impossible to make both ends meet. The rich man, to the contrary, became richer while the political leaders and their minions thrived beyond description. The realization by the people of Zambia that they needed something better than Kaunda's principle of Humanism and United National Independent Party's(UNIP) One Party Participatory Democracy led to the formation of the Movement for Multi-party Democracy (MMD) under the leadership of a trade union leader by the name Frederick Chiluba.

In spite of all the fringe benefits given and unfulfilled promises made, the people of Zambia were not willing to be satisfied with nothing less than a general election. Chiluba and his followers held meetings, rallies and demonstrations throughout the country in which thousands of people participated. The momentum increased and the pressure on the government was so great that a general election was declared towards the end of 1991.

Even though the thousands of foreigners working in the country had no voting right and had nothing to do with the election, they had become very apprehensive about the after-effects of the election especially as there was a lot of resentment among the local workers towards the expatriates who were earning more than ten times of what their Zambian counterparts were earning. There was a strong rumour of the possibility of a military take-over either just before the election or immediately after it. In either case it would have meant disaster for the foreigners, especially for members of the Asian community.

And with good reasons too. The Asian businessmen had the monopoly of trading in Zambia. They were exploiters of the worst kind. Even though many of them were citizens of Zambia by birth as their parents or grand parents had migrated from India long time back, they had all the savings stashed away in foreign banks and were in the process of working out the formalities of emigrating to Britain, the United States or Canada. There was no doubt that if there was a military take-over, the Asians would have been the first victims. In such case, there would not have been any differentiation between the expatriate Asian workers and the Asian business community.

Even the Indian High Commission, in their circular to the Indians in Zambia, outlined in no unmistakable terms the procedure they should adopt in order to make a speedy exit from the country in the event of a military coup. The circular contained guidelines on various precautions to be taken, the preparation of survival kits and emergency contact addresses. On the whole, the Asians in Zambia were the most frightened people on earth during the pre-election months.

As a result, many expatriate and resident Asian workers decided to leave the country for a "holiday" during the election month. To be on the safe side, many businessmen made arrangements to send their wives and children to Zimbabwe, East Africa or India just before the election. However, things were not so easy for the expatriate workers employed in the copper mines, parastatal companies and government departments. The authorities being aware of the Asian workers' intention to leave the country "en masse" made it clear that no leave would be granted except in emergencies. Some of the clever fellows managed to obtain telegrams from India saying that one of the parents died suddenly or was in the process of dying and managed to get compassionate leave but when it came to the attention of the Zambian authorities that too many parents in India were dying all on a sudden, they realized that they were being tricked.

Those expatriates who could not get permission to leave the country or those who decided to stay on come whatever may, made some preparations to stay strictly indoors for a couple of weeks or so, in case of a military coup or popular agitation. These included fortifying the doors and windows by means of iron bars, storing all sorts of provision to last at least a month and making alternate arrangements for cooking and lighting in case of massive power failure.

At last the much dreaded election day arrived. As it was a normal working day, we went for work as usual. One of our school buildings was taken over and converted into a polling station. We saw a long line of people waiting patiently for their turn to go in and cast their votes. There were two or three policemen lazing around and the atmosphere was quite peaceful. There were no party militants or "booth snatchers" and no surreptitious canvassing.

With thumping hearts we listened to the radio and television newscast at lunch time and also in the evening, bracing ourselves to hear the worst possible news but came to know to our great relief that polling took place peacefully in all polling stations throughout the country and there was not even a single incident of blood shed or violence in connection with the election anywhere in Zambia.

The days that followed during which the results were announced and a new government was sworn in, were equally peaceful and the transfer of power from UNIP(United National Independence Party) to MMD (Movement for Multi-party Democracy) was the smoothest ever seen. The days of anxiety were over.

The credit goes mainly to that great statesman of Africa, President Kenneth Kaunda, who ensured that the Zambian election would be free and fair and also to the peace-loving people of Zambia who did not interfere in any way with the procedures of the election.

ORDEAL AT THE AIRPORT

2009-11-23T08:12:00.000-08:00

Our flight from Ndola reached Lusaka international airport at 10 AM exactly. The Bombay flight was scheduled to depart from there at 5 PM. Check-in was at 2 PM and so my wife and I had about four hours at our disposal. Since our two suit cases were tagged for Bombay at Ndola airport, we had our hand luggage only along with us.

The date was 23rd December 1989. Christmas was just two days ahead. As the Bombay flight was a weekly flight, we knew the plane would be crowded. While we sat in the main lounge idly watching people arriving by flights from Livingstone, Kasama and other places, we could see suit cases labeled for the Bombay flight. The vast parking area in front of the main building which was visible through the glass walls had many empty slots that would soon be filled up.

It was not only the thought of going on vacation leave that excited us but also the fact that our daughter, the eldest of our three children, was getting married within 10 days' time. The arrangements had already been made and the people at home were waiting eagerly for our return. As my wife and I had many things to talk about, we did not notice how quickly the time passed. It was about 12.30 PM when we decided to have a bite of lunch at the restaurant on the second floor. Instead of taking the elevator, we used the stairs and reached the restaurant. We occupied two seats in a corner and ordered our lunch. After lunch, we spent some time in the duty-free shop, looking at the various articles on display. We found the prices were too high and refrained from spending our foreign exchange on such items that could have been bought from the second class trading area in the city at half the price. However, I bought some Duracell batteries for my 8 mm. movie camera that I used to carry with me during my journeys.

We returned to the main lounge and found most of the seats occupied. The clock above the check-in counters showed five minutes past two. A few people had already lined up in front of the economy class check-in counter of flight QZ 951 to Bombay. We waited until the initial rush was over to collect our boarding cards and hand luggage tags. There were a number of empty seats at the far end of the main lounge where we decided to sit and wait until the call for customs, immigration and security check came.

It was nearing 3.30 PM and we knew the call for immigration and customs would come soon. While my wife went to the wash room, I got busy installing my movie camera with the new batteries and pulling the trigger to see if it worked well. As my attention was on the camera, I did not notice the policeman who was approaching me. He came straight to me and asked whether I had taken some pictures of the airport. I told him the camera was not loaded with film and I was just trying if the new batteries worked well. He said I could explain everything to the magistrate on Tuesday (as the next two days, Sunday and Monday were holidays) and the device that I called a "camera" could be examined by experts to find out whether it was some sort of a secret weapon. In the meanwhile he was detaining me.

While we were talking, my wife returned from the wash room and was startled to learn what was happening. The policeman led us to a small office at the far end of the main lounge and asked for our passports and tickets. He placed them in a drawer and locked it. We told him again and again that we did not violate any rule and we should be allowed to proceed as we did not want to miss our flight which was secured by making reservations a month in advance. We told him about our daughter's wedding which was scheduled to take place within ten days' time and how important it was for us to reach home without being held up. He said that my wife was free to go as he had no case against her but I had to remain behind. Any amount of pleading fell into deaf ears. We were quite desperate.

While we were frantic with anxiety, the policeman was behaving as if he had all the time in the world. He decided to make a few lengthy telephone calls, speaking mostly in Cibemba (pronounced "chibemba") with some occasional words in English. It was quite evident that his fake calls were to prevent any further dialogue between us. I checked my watch for the umpteenth time and found it was nearing 4.30 PM. All the passengers would be seated by this time inside the plane. Now anything short of a miracle would not be sufficient to save us from our predicament. We prayed silently.

Then it happened. The policeman apparently concluded his phone calls and talked to me: "you said you are going for your daughter's wedding. There will be a big party and a lot of enjoyment. What will you give me if I allow you to go?" This was the opening I was waiting for. I told him to take everything we had in our possession except the tickets and the passports, but he was not interested. He asked me how much foreign currency I had in my wallet. There wasn't much, less than a hundred dollars or so. He did some mental calculations and said he would accept that money in exchange for our freedom and I gave him the whole lot without any hesitation. As we gathered our hand luggage and departed hurriedly, he called from behind to tell us to bring from India if possible, a pair of size ten shoes on our return and send them to the name and address he mentioned. We did not bother to reply but kept running to the Immigration & Customs.

There was not even a single passenger in sight. The immigration officer stamped our passports without wasting any time and directed us to go straight to the Security check, by-passing the Customs. The security man just waved us through his office to the Departure lounge which was quite empty. We traversed the whole length of it and reached the door opening to the staircase that led down to the tarmac. One of the ground staff stood there chanting the words "hurry up! hurry up!" and pointed to the aircraft.

At a distance, the Bombay flight stood on the tarmac, in readiness for take off. The "Nkwazi", the wide-bodied DC 10, wearing the green and silver colors of Zambia Airways appeared magnificent in the evening sunlight. Some ground staff standing at the bottom of the massive staircase were waving frantically at us to hurry up. We ran like some runners in a race and reached the top of the staircase. Air hostesses relieved us of our cabin baggage and showed us to our seats. The door swung shut behind us.

Soon we realized that the aircraft was moving and we could no longer control our emotions. Tears were streaming down our cheeks and we did not care if the other passengers were watching. The "Nkwazi" was air-borne, reaching to higher and higher altitude while the Lusaka international airport became a dot in the postage stamp scenery far below and soon lost from sight as the huge aircraft settled in its course to its final destination- Bombay.

IN THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME

2009-10-29T08:44:00.000-07:00

When the Zambian lady teachers of my school heard that the prime minister would be making an official visit in the district and addressing a public rally at the civic centre in the town, they approached the headmaster for permission to attend the meeting. The headmaster gave permission without knowing that the ladies had a secret agenda. They wanted to demonstrate against certain discriminations that existed in the newly-introduced housing allowance rule. The political situation in Zambia was in turmoil and the Special Branch (secret police) was on the look-out for dissidents. Had the headmaster known the intention of the ladies, he would have advised them not to stick their neck out.

As I was pulling out my Nissan station wagon from my slot in the parking lot with the intention of going to the post office in the town, a number of Zambian ladies came running out of the staff room, shouting for a "lift". Four of them squeezed themselves in to the rear seat and one got into the front passenger seat. Only then I noticed the placards in their hands with the words "STOP DISCRIMINATION, GIVE HOUSING ALLOWANCE TO ALL" written in big black bold letters. As soon as they got into the vehicle, they started talking aloud excitedly among themselves in cibemba (pronounced 'chibaemba' which is the local language) and I could not follow what they were talking about.

Soon we came to the main junction where we had to cross the Kitwe-Mokambo main road and go straight to the town centre. There was a police officer on duty. Even though I stopped at the cross roads, he indicated to proceed. The town hall was within sight and the place was overflowing with people. As we came closer, in spite of the chattering in the car, I heard the singing of the Zambian national anthem through the loudspeakers and pulled over to the side of the road. I told the ladies not to get out until the singing was over and they complied with.

I was just about to pull out of the curb after the departure of my passengers when a police man appeared in front of my car apparently from nowhere. He approached me and told he was going to arrest me for not honouring the national anthem. I tried to explain to him that I stopped the car as soon as I heard the national anthem and my passengers did not get out until the singing was over, but he insisted that I should go with him to the police station immediately. I was wondering whether he saw the placards in the hands of the ladies but he did not make any mention of that. However he was quite adamant that I should accompany him.

I was worried a bit. It was true that I had not committed any offence, but the police station was the last place I wanted to go. I have heard of people being treated like dirt once you were in "custody" and harassed unnecessarily by some sadistic elements in the police force. I, who always tried to be on the right side of the law, was now being confronted by this miserable fellow in uniform for no reason at all. But there was no choice and I had to go with him. The police station was not very far, but I did not want to leave my car on the main road. So I asked the police man to accompany me while I drive to the parking lot at the station. As he was getting into the car a senior police officer approached us. He probably was taking a walk from the police station to the prime minister's meeting place. He came to us and asked what the matter was. The police man smartly saluted the officer and told him what my offence was. The officer asked me for an explanation and I told him exactly what happened except the matter of the placards which had no bearing on the story. After listening to me he talked briefly to the police man in cibemba and then turned to me and said “It is alright sir, you may proceed". I thanked the officer, heaved a great sigh of relief and let in the clutch so that I may put as much distance as possible between me and the prime minister's meeting place.

IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE

2009-09-28T23:29:00.000-07:00

It happened during one of my trips from Ndola to my hometown of Mufulira. I had gone there that morning on official business and was returning in the evening after a very tiresome day.

Ndola and Mufulira are two towns on the "Copperbelt" at a distance of sixty-five kilometres. The Ndola-Mufulira road is one of the loneliest roads in Zambia. It stretches through an area of "bush land" very close to the Zairian border. During the early days of our stay in Zambia, we used to travel along this road very frequently without any fear of intimidation. However, in recent years there had been many incidents of robbery with violence in which lone motorists were attacked in broad daylight. Therefore I decided to travel by public transport during my Ndola trips.

I found a Mufulira-bound bus at the bus station and boarded it. It was four o'clock in the evening and the bus was slowly filling up. I managed to secure a comfortable seat in front and decided to wait. The starting time of the bus was mentioned by someone as four-thirty. In that case I should be able to reach home before night-fall.

It was almost five o'clock by the time the bus left the bus station. All the seats were occupied. A number of people came running towards the bus as it finally started off. The bus stopped for them to get in. I was wondering where the new-comers were going to sit. To my surprise, the driver's mate pulled out some "jump seats" in between the main rows of seats and seated them all. By this time there was hardly any space in the bus for anyone to sit without being crushed by his neighbours.

As I was occupying a window-seat, I could look out and watch the trees and shrubs on my side of the road. They looked alike and there was nothing else to break the monotony of the bush land.

After a while I looked at my wrist watch and noticed that it was more than half an hour since we started. Every one in the bus was involved in animated conversation. I was the only exception. In the background, there was the smooth roar of the engine.
Suddenly there was the noise of something tearing apart or breaking, and the bus went lurching for some distance. There was also the noise of some heavy metallic object being dragged underneath. Soon the bus came to a stop and many people got down to investigate. I thought the problem was that of a blown-tyre.

Before long, it was established that the propeller shaft was broken into two and the bus would go no farther. I got down from the bus along with the few remaining people, mostly ladies, and joined the rest of the passengers who were either trying to get their fare back from the conductor or looking out for some on-coming vehicle for a “lift”.

I asked someone how far we might have come and came to know that it was about less than halfway. There were no signs of any human habitation as far as I could see. It was getting late. Some of the passengers were already talking about finding refuge in some
Villages in the neighbourhood. I started wondering what a foreigner like me would do, if I had to spend the night on the road. Apparently I was the only non-African on the bus.

It was twenty minutes past 6 PM. Even though we had been waiting there for three quarters of an hour, no vehicle had passed either way so far. As the day gave way to dusk, the chances of getting a lift became more and more slim. Some of the passengers had drifted away, probably in search of a village. As I stood there with a heavy heart, a cold shiver ran through me. Obviously, the atmosphere was getting cooler.

We heard the sound of a motor. Some vehicle was coming from the direction of Ndola. People rushed expectantly to the middle of the road. However they moved to the sides when the vehicle came into full view. It was a police land cruiser.

The vehicle came nearer and screeched to a stop. About twenty-five people ran to it and tried to board through the wide opening in the rear. The officer in the front passenger seat ordered them to wait. He looked at the crowd and then told that as many ladies as possible who were travelling unescorted, could get in, but they should allow the 'usungu' (foreigner) to get in first.

There was just enough space for five or six of us to squeeze in. There was no other alternative but to leave the rest of the people behind.

While we were travelling towards our destination, I heard one of the ladies asking the officer in a not too subdued voice why he gave such preferential treatment to a foreigner while some respectable Zambians were left behind. His answer was "because he is not a Zambian and I doubt very much whether he would have survived if he were left behind and had to spend the night in the open".

When we reached our destination and as I got down, I had no adequate words to thank the Zambian police officer, but he waved me aside and proceeded on his way.

THE DAY AFTER THE ROBBERY

2009-08-30T22:37:00.000-07:00

After the gruesome experiences during the night, we might have dozed off for a few minutes before the house servant knocked at the back door. I was startled into wakefulness and realized that it was broad daylight already. I felt as if waking up from a nightmare into reality and the happenings of the night were just a bad dream. However, a shooting pain on my left shoulder where the intruder's iron bar had fallen, reminded me that the robbery was real.

I opened the kitchen door and found Richard, my servant, standing there. A large window-grill was lying not too far. "So, they left it here", was the first thing he said. A thought of doubt flashed through my muddled brain. What was he talking about and who were "they"? Did he already know about the robbery? Then why didn't he come to my assistance when the siren screamed its head off unless.....? My thoughts trailed off.

It was past seven in the morning. I decided to go to the local police station and report the matter. The sleepy policeman at the counter wrote down the F.I.R. When I gave him the list of articles that were taken away, he was asking me whether that was all as if a bit disappointed. However, I could not think of anything else. By the time he finished the F.I.R, a gentleman wearing a sports jacket whom I came to know later as the Officer in charge, breezed in. On seeing a foreigner near the counter, he approached me and asked what the problem was. After hearing my story he told me that it was a matter for the "Anti-robbery squad" and would be passed on to them. He further assured me that the culprits would be apprehended soon.

My next stop was at the office of the Ministry of Works. The windows that were damaged by the thieves had to be repaired. The maintenance officer promised to send his crew by mid-morning so that they could finish the job by late afternoon.

By the time I reached home, I found the police had arrived. There were three of them, including the finger-print man. He was dusting the window sill and frames, door handles etc. for prints and collected some. He would have to compare them with the collection of prints at the bureau. The other two were talking to Richard in a very friendly manner and smoking the cheap cigarettes he offered. As they were talking in bemba, I did not understand what they were saying. Anyway, it sounded like a friendly conversation, let alone any police interrogation.

The maintenance officer kept his word by sending his crew to repair the damaged windows and fix the protective grills. The phone line which was cut off by the thieves was also reconnected. In short things were back to normal once again.

During the lunch hour, the maintenance officer paid a visit to my place to see how the work was progressing. As the official vehicle was not available, he decided to walk, taking a short-cut through the town cemetery. He was walking along a well-defined path when he noticed a number of oblong objects on the ground nearby. He picked up one of them and found it to be a cheque book. He examined the others also and found them all cheque books of certain foreign banks. As my name was stamped on them, he concluded that the thieves might have tarried in the cemetery for a while in order to divide the proceeds of the robbery between them and the cheque books which were found among the spoils were discarded as they were of no use to them. The officer brought them along to me.

After the workers and some friends who had gathered at my place left, we felt very lonely. In fact we did not relish the idea of spending another night at No.34, David Kaunda drive. So we ate an early supper, gathered some clothes and rushed to the Top shop flats where some friends were staying. It was there that we slept for the next seven or eight nights until we left permanently the house that was our residence for the past fifteen years and moved to one of the ZCCM (Zambia Consolidated Copper Mine) flats with " round the clock" security.

Note: Securing a suitable alternate accommodation at such a short notice was not an easy thing. For this, I am indebted to a number of good people who sympathised with me at my predicament, like my colleagues Silumbu and Sakala, who were sharing one of the mine flats allocated to the housing pool and who agreed to swap with me, Mr. Zumani, my boss and Mr. Phiri, the district secretary of Mufulira who was also the chairman of the housing committee who both approved the proposal for the swap and made it possible for me and my family to move to the new premises within the shortest possible time. Undoubtedly this was another occasion of Zambian goodwill experienced by me during my long stay in that country.

THE NIGHT THE DOGS FAILED TO BARK

2009-08-03T23:46:00.000-07:00

It was the final day of the World Cup Football and the date was June 30th, 1986. I was recouping from a three week-long viral fever and the night was very cold.

Even though I went to bed at about 10.30 PM I did not know how long it took me to fall asleep. I was sleeping soundly when some strange noise woke me up. I was not sure what it was. I lay awake, listening for any further noise.

There it was again. It sounded like the creaking of a bed spring. I slowly got up from my bed and went to my son's bedroom to see if my ten-year old son had been turning in his bed during sleep. I found him sleeping peacefully. I returned to my room and found my wife already awake and looking out through one of the windows. I happened to note the time on the bedside clock as five minutes past two in the morning.

It was very quiet outside. There was sufficient light for us to see the plants in our garden, the wire-fence at the far end of the property known as No.34, David Kaunda drive, part of my drive-way, the double-gates and the trees on the other side of the road, in the compound of Pamodzi primary school. There was hardly any movement. The trees stood mute and motionless, bathed in the dim silvery moonlight and there was not even the distant hum of a motor car on the highway or the barking of stray dogs in the neighbourhood.

Suddenly it struck me very odd that my two guard dogs, Snowy and Sooty were nowhere to be seen. At night, they always used to be somewhere around, but not far from the vicinity of our bedrooms. I looked through one of the windows into the second garage where my Fiat was parked. The car stood bathed in the bright light of the overhead fluorescent lamp but there was no sign of the dogs.

The silence was ominous. I shuffled on bare feet through the narrow corridor in between the bedrooms and the living room to reach the door at the far end that gave access to the kitchen. That door was bolted on the inside with a heavy brass bolt. I did not notice the light that was filtering in through the small glass window at the top.

Without any hesitation, I pulled the bolt and opened the door. What happened during the next few moments took place so fast that I could not comprehend fully what exactly was happening. I had an impression of three or four people rushing in through the door and I felt at the same time as if some heavy object was falling on my left shoulder. However, I did not feel any pain but only heaviness. Then I felt being pushed backwards as if in the midst of a crowd along the corridor until I found myself in my bedroom and my wife standing at the far window, still clutching the pull-switch of the security alarm which I could hear wailing like a banshee from the roof-top. As its shrill cry shattered the silence of the night air, one of the intruders managed to grab the cord of the pull-switch and stop it. The apparent leader of the gang brandished a gleaming knife at us and ordered both of us to lie down on the carpet and we obeyed promptly.

There were four of them. One appeared very huge and wore a face-mask. He gave short, crisp orders and the others complied with. They forced open locked cupboards and ransacked shelves and drawers. They pulled out the contents and scattered them on the floor. The leader kept on asking for American dollars which we did not have any. They gathered electronic equipments, wrist watches, and anything else that attracted their attention, but very little money as we did not keep any large amounts at home. They looked into my son's bedroom briefly but did not take anything from there. Then they left, taking the house-keys and the car keys along with them so that we would not get out of the house immediately and follow them or go to the police. However, we were too scared to even move out of the bedroom.

As soon as I heard the front door bang indicating their departure, I ran to my son's bedroom and carried him to our bedroom. The child was shivering. In fact he was awakened by the wailing of the security alarm and had seen the thieves, but was so scared that he pulled the blanket over his head and remained motionless until I gathered him in my arms. After putting him down on the bed, I lifted the receiver of the telephone and found it dead. It was obvious that the thieves had cut the telephone wires before entering the house. There was nothing else for us to do but to huddle together under the same blanket and sit, waiting for the apparently never-ending night to end and the dawn to come.

There was one question that pestered us while we sat there, awaiting the morning: "Why didn't our guard dogs bark that night?" We got the answer the next morning: The dogs were poisoned by the thieves.

NOTE. We are very grateful to the Zambian officials for the sympathy they had shown to us and for rendering all possible assistance during the period that followed immediately after the above-mentioned incident. It was found out later that the crime was perpetrated by dissidents from a neighboring country who infiltrated into Zambia through a common border.

"AFTER THIRTEEN YEARS OF MARRIED LIFE....."

2009-06-09T23:14:00.000-07:00

As I was driving along Lusaka's Cairo road, I saw an Indian gentleman walking along the side-walk, with a brief-case in his hand. He had the appearance of someone from the outstations. I thought of offering him a lift to his immediate destination and pulled up near him. He looked up, saw a fellow-Indian behind the wheel and stood patiently for me to invite him into my Nissan. As it was one of the mid-morning lull periods, there were no "honkings" from behind while other cars swished past.

Soon I came to know that my passenger's name was Meendi Rattha (pronounced 'maendi rath-tha') and he was working as a teacher of English in the Luapula province of Zambia. He was from the uttar pradesh in north India. His immediate destination was the office of the Indian High Commission. As I also wanted to collect a few application forms from there, I assured Mr. Rattha that I could drop him there and he thanked me profusely.

After parking my car we went up the steps to the "Reception". There was a lady in attendance. She smiled at us and asked what she could do for us. To my great surprise Mr. Rattha burst out into a small speech which ran out something like this: "After thirteen years of married life my wife decided to go to India on account of her brother's son's marriage which is supposed to take place by the end of next month and as a result...." By that time, the lady behind the counter managed to stop the monologue and asked him what he wanted exactly. Without being interrupted, Mr. Rattha told her in so many words that the reason for his visit was to apply for a separate passport for his wife as they were on a joint- passport at present. The lady directed us to one of the inner rooms. It was a large room with three people sitting behind their individual desks. I saw the desk marked "Application Forms" and went there to collect the forms that I needed. In the meanwhile Mr. Rattha approached the central desk where a distinguished looking gentleman was seated. As he looked at Mr.Rattha enquiringly, he exploded into his monologue "After thirteen years of married life...." and went on about halfway through the story before the gentleman managed to stop him. He then told him very patiently that his wife would have to apply for a new passport and her name would have to be deleted from the joint-passport. He was asked to go to the next room and meet the Consular Agent who would assist him with the procedure and tell him what all documents would be required.

As I had already collected my forms, I thought I would now leave the office and go home. Mr.Rattha was in good hands and the teachers' hostel where he stayed was within walking distance. I made my departure as he was just entering the Consular Agent's room. While I went down the steps I could hear once again Mr. Ratha's voice echoing from somewhere inside the building "After thirteen years of married life, my wife..........."

THE SCHOOL FETE

2009-04-20T21:01:00.000-07:00

It was headmaster Pillay's idea that a fete should be organized in order to raise funds for the School Bus Project. During the previous P.T.A (Parent Teacher Association) meeting the School Bus Project was approved and the headmaster was authorized to raise funds using whatever means he deemed fit. The suggestion to conduct a fete was received whole-heartedly by the staff and a committee consisting of volunteers was formed forthwith. The headmaster and the deputy-head being the ex-officio members of this committee, it was empowered with the task of planning the details and forming various sub-committees for the execution of the plan.

It was decided to conduct the fete in the school-campus itself which was large enough for the purpose. A suitable date was fixed and various sub-committees such as the planning committee, the publicity committee, the seating and room-allocation committee, the entertainment committee, and the reception committee were formed.

Starting from the very next day after the formation of the committees, there was a flurry of activities as the various committees began their work. Workers got busy trimming the lawn, clearing the grass and weeds around the football field, painting the posts and railings around the tennis and basket ball courts as well as the swimming pool, putting a new coat of paint on the old buildings, the compound wall and other structures. Lessons were either interrupted or suspended as urgent meetings were called or pupils were pulled out for rehearsals. Various departments started organizing their exhibits for display during the fete. The Needlework section of the Domestic Science department concentrated on making dresses, baby-ware and dolls while the Cookery section made plans for baking cakes, scones, doughnuts and other eatables for sale on the big day. The Science department decided to put up exhibits of a competitive nature in all the three laboratories. Participants had to pay a small entry fee, but winners would be rewarded adequately. The English, Geography, History and Mathematics departments made arrangements for the display and sale of books, charts, maps, models, souvenirs, replicas etc. and for some competitions using electrical quiz boards on which coloured bulbs would light up when correct answers were given. The Art department built up a collection of magnificent paintings, clay models, statues and pottery. The Metalwork and Woodwork departments got busy making knives, shovels, tool-boxes, stools, cabinets etc. for display and for sale. In addition to what the departments put up, there were other interesting items like a jumble sale to sell hundreds of surplus items such as disused shoes, ties, caps, clothing, dolls, toys or any other useful article donated by pupils and teachers, a shooting range where you could try your luck by shooting with an air gun at paper ducks that were kept moving and also a "fish pond" where you could "fish" for gifts. It was also decided that an entry fee would be collected at the gates.

As the fete-day drew nearer, the air of expectancy deepened. The sub-committees started meeting almost every day to review the progress. In the meanwhile an advance amount was paid from the PTA fund to Toyota agents in Lusaka to book a 26 seat Coaster for Mufulira Secondary School and a huge poster bearing the picture of the mini-bus was posted on the main notice board with the caption, "Our School Bus- Soon A Reality".

At last the great day arrived. All the arrangements had been finished by nightfall of the previous day. There was multi-coloured bunting all around the central court-yard and on both sides of the paths leading to the amphitheatre, football field and gymnastics court. Hundreds of coloured flags were hung from clothe-lines stretched all over the place and massive multi-coloured umbrellas were placed in different parts of the main court-yard, with chairs arranged in circles. This is where people would sit and enjoy the refreshments that were on sale. As the fete would start at 2 PM only, the morning session was devoted for applying finishing touches. We could see the Cadets practising already their march-past in the football field and hear their band. The prefects in their smart uniform were at the gates and all over the school campus keeping an eye on the pupils who were moving about either on duty or on various other pretexts.

When the gates opened at 2 PM there was an onrush of people who were waiting outside for a considerable time. The prefects at the gates handled the crowd well and ensured that each one would get an entry ticket before being admitted in. The band at the reception foyer struck a welcome note and volunteers among the pupils led the visitors to the starting place from where they could follow the signs that were put up by our artists throughout the school campus which had been transformed into a wonderland of fun and amusement.

It took more than two hours for the spectators to pass through the departmental stalls, science laboratories, art, woodwork and metalwork rooms etc. Once they came out in the open, there were many other attractions such as Indian and African dances, plays in the amphitheatre, cadet march, gymnastics etc. which everyone was free to watch.

Soon it was 5 PM and people were still coming in. As the campus was overflowing with spectators, it was decided to close any further entry. The cadets allowed people who wanted to leave to use the exit gates, but the entry gates remained closed. However, those who were within the grounds were free to remain until 8 PM to listen to the melodious Indian music concert organized by the Hindu Association of Mufulira as a tribute to the school, which was scheduled to take place soon after the stalls closed at 6 PM.

It was a day of great enjoyment to the people of Mufulira, young and old alike. Not only that the fete was a very successful event, the takings of which enabled us to reach much closer to our target amount for the school bus project, but also was one of the most memorable days in the history of Mufulira Secondary School, under the able leadership of Mr. Arthur J. Pillay.

Staff Meeting in a Zambian Boarding School

2009-02-03T07:52:00.000-08:00

The very first full-fledged staff meeting that I had the privilege to attend, came up at the beginning of the new term after my arrival in Luwingu. It took place on a Friday before the reopening of schools. The meeting was scheduled for 14.00 hours Zambian time. Even though I wasn’t quite used to the 24 hour clock, I figured it out as 2 PM. In Zambia, it was customary in those days for teachers to wear a tie when they go to their classes. So, being a new teacher, I dressed up properly and reached in time for the meeting. The venue was given as the staff room. When I reached, I found the staff room in great disorder. Even though it was nearly the starting time, the chairs were not arranged properly and the room was very untidy. Some of the early arrivals had pulled up some chairs in a small circle and were involved in animated conversation. Most of them were British or Irish. The men were in their shorts and T-shirts while the ladies were wearing some very short skirt or frock. None of them appeared sufficiently well-dressed for a staff meeting. Mr. Syal, one of the four Indian teachers in the school, was sitting alone in a corner and staring at nothing in particular. He was wearing a clean shirt and tie. A huge Alsatian dog was seated very comfortably on a large chair as if presiding over the meeting. Later I came to know that it belonged to a teacher named Reid who looked like a high school student. The headmaster, Mr. Simposya, arrived very promptly at the starting time, but there were only ten or eleven people present and no one seemed to notice his arrival. However, by 2.15 PM more people were trickling in and soon the meeting was called to order. It appeared that the headmaster, being a very neat and tidy person, was a bit distressed by the general uncleanness of the place and mentioned something to that effect in his opening remarks. Mr. Campbell, the acting deputy head, growled something about the ‘master on duty’ failing to carry out his job and the headmaster checked the duty list on the notice board to find out who was on duty. Reid was on duty but he had ample excuses to offer. He had arrived from the Copperbelt only the previous evening. His servant did not look after the dog properly in his absence so that the dog became very sick and he had to take the dog to the vet that morning and had arrived from there just before the starting time of the meeting. That accounted for the dog’s presence in the meeting but he assured that he had instructed the dog to remain silent during the meeting. He was sort of hinting that the headmaster should be thankful for his presence under such trying conditions. Mr. Simposya did not make any comments but moved on to the next item on the agenda, which was the reading of the minutes of the previous meeting.

I thought the reading of the minutes was a simple affair. Someone who normally takes down the minutes of a meeting reads it out during the next meeting and the minutes will be passed with or without correction. The corrections are made only if some errors were noticed in the minutes. Any progress on the decisions made in the previous meeting or further actions based on the same are discussed during “matters arising”. In Zambia, reading of the minutes takes most part of the time in a meeting. All sorts of questions, discussions, suggestions and observations come up during the reading of the minutes with frequent interruptions of the reading. It appears that we are going on and on in circles. People talk not only about what happened in the previous meeting and what plans were made, but also about what should be our future plans and what some people noticed in some other places sometime back etc.
About half way through the minutes’ reading, three people walked in. They were the Pipers and their neighbor Longridge who were delayed due to some reasons of their own. Now it was the turn of Mr. Simposya to give the newcomers an account of all what happened and what we discussed in their absence, starting from his opening remarks and the general untidiness of the staff room. They too had some explanations to make for their delay, questions to ask and suggestions to make. Another period of discussion followed and no one seemed to be in a hurry to make any progress.

As a result of these lengthy discussions and repetitions, it was almost nightfall and the staff room was getting darker and darker by the time we were not even half way through the agenda. We had no electricity as the diesel tanker from Kasama had not arrived that week and the generator could not be operated as a result. Knowing this, I was very hopeful that the meeting would come to a close very soon and the rest of the items in the agenda would be postponed for discussion on a later date. But to my great dismay, one of the orderlies (‘peons’ are called ‘orderlies’ in Zambia) started bringing in some ‘Tilly’ lamps and placing them in different parts of the room. Soon the staff room was filled with sufficient light to allow the meeting to continue for an indefinite period. I also noticed that most of the people appeared very relaxed and no one seed to be in any particular hurry. Many were sitting with their legs drawn up on to the chair and chain-smoking. Reid’s dog was sitting patiently on its chair and wetting the cushion with its plentiful saliva. The room was littered with hundreds of cigarette stubs and ashes were sprinkled all over the place. The meeting went on unhindered.

By 8 PM I wanted a cup of coffee very badly but there were no provisions for that. I felt like screaming, but thought better of it and decided to go to sleep instead, as some people were already doing. As I was about to doze off, there was a lull in the discussions and a moment of silence prevailed. That was when it came – the sound of very powerful snoring from one of the dark corners. All the eyes were turned in that direction and the culprit was identified, but the sleeping person continued to sleep and snore away, blissfully ignorant of what was happening. It was Mr. M, the teacher of local languages who did the snoring. The headmaster knew when he was licked. Mr.M was a well-respected old man who could not be reprimanded in public even by Mr. Simposya. So he simply called the meeting to a close and I went home with a great sigh of relief, thanking Mr. M silently for the kind action unknowingly performed by him that day.

A Very Dusty Home-coming

2008-12-31T21:16:00.000-08:00

We were on the last leg of our journey, returning from a five-day trip to Chilubi Island and Bwangwelu swamps in the Northern Province in connection with the National Census in Zambia. During our voyage from the Island port of Santa Maria to the mainland port of Nsombo, we ran into bad weather and the waves were so high that we thought we were going to capsize. However, now that we were nearing the mainland, the surface of the lake became as smooth as glass and the boat raced evenly like an arrow released from the bowstring. The mid-morning sun cast its bright light on the lake and the port of Nsombo emerged out of the horizon.

However, a great disappointment was awaiting us at Nsombo. There was no government transport available to take us back the sixty kilometers to Luwingu. At the sub Boma they told us that the government “Land-rover” from Luwingu had been coming for us every day for the last three days and returning empty. The vehicle had come this morning also, but went back earlier than usual, i.e. just a few minutes before our arrival. The telephone system was out of order and there was no means in Nsombo to contact Luwingu. This was certainly not one of our lucky days!

We could see the ferry from where we were standing. The Moonraker, the boat in which we had come, was pulling out slowly from the jetty into the great expanse of water. The crew members were on their way to their base at Samfya, after accomplishing their mission. The blue lake, the bright sun and the gleaming white boat made a pretty picture before our eyes, but we were not in a mood to enjoy the scenery. We stood there racking our brains to find a way to reach our final destination.

Perhaps most of my readers may not be able to understand the seriousness of the situation. Like many other remote parts of Africa, Nsombo was a place where the only motorized transport that you could see was a government Land-rover or truck that would appear once in a blue moon on official business. The villagers in those parts never travelled far. The only places they frequented were the fishing areas of the lake and the “bush” from where they collected firewood. No one in a radius of fifty kilometres would have owned a motor vehicle, let alone a bicycle. We were in a ‘fix’ as some people would say.

I don’t remember how long we stood there, contemplating our next move. I thought Mr. Sichangwa, the District Secretary of Luwingu who was the leader of our party would figure out a way, but I could see helplessness written all over his face.

Even before we heard the laboured rumbling of an old motor, we saw a moving cloud of dust at some distance on the winding dirt road. We craned our neck to see what was happening, but could not see anything except a belt of trees on the road side and the dust cloud. Then we saw it, a box-like contraption, moving in our direction. When it came closer, we could distinguish it as what was left of a Land-rover, without any top or sides, a rusty chassis mounted on four wheels with some kind of a platform fixed on it and the engine sounding as if the whole thing would break loose at any moment. There were no seats inside. The driver was perching precariously on the metal skeleton of something which used to be the framework of a seat a few decades ago. But if I say our hearts lifted at the very sight of this moving monstrosity, you can just imagine how desperate our predicament was. The vehicle, if I can call it so, sped up to the jetty and stopped abruptly as the road ended there. The driver wanted to take the vehicle back. While he was making a number of unsuccessful attempts to throw the gears into reverse, Mr. Sichangwa approached the driver and introduced himself as the District Secretary of Luwingu before asking him anything about the vehicle. We learnt that the vehicle belonged to the Department of Agriculture and had been involved in a serious accident sometime back. The wreck was bought in an auction sale after many years by the present owner who was a former mechanic in the Ministry of Works. He rebuilt the vehicle to its present state by improvising the necessary parts from here and there. It was still in a very early stage for making a trial run on the public road, but he was taking a chance as the roads were fairly deserted most of the time. The DS asked him whether he could take the three of us to Luwingu in his vehicle to which he replied with an emphatic “No”. In the first place his vehicle had no road tax or fitness certificate. Then there were other reasons too, he may not have enough fuel in the tank, the engine was misfiring every now and then, the indicators and the hooter were not working, there were no seats and he was afraid that it would break down before reaching its destination. The DS told him that he would give him thirty minutes to adjust the carburetor and check the brakes. He added that he should not worry about the road tax or fitness at the moment as we were on national duty and it was an emergency. He said that he would make sure that the police would not bother him. As for the seats, he told him to organize some mattresses from his home to put inside the vehicle and we would take a chance with the other things such as a possible break-down or running out of fuel. He also promised to pay for his services as soon as we reached Luwingu and also to provide him with sufficient fuel for his return trip. After coaxing him for another fifteen minutes, he agreed finally but with a warning that no blame should be put on him in case the vehicle had a break-down on the way. Then he departed to make the vehicle ready for the trip.

He returned with the vehicle after about an hour and we set off sitting on a couple of old mattresses from which a very unpleasant odor was emanating and with a lot of unfamiliar noises coming from the engine and other parts of the vehicle. As there was no roof or canopy to protect us from wind and sun, we sat there in the scorching heat of the sun, clutching firmly on some part of the bodywork lest we should be thrown out by the repeated jolts or blown apart by the wind. Within a short while we noticed that a lot of red dust was settling over us, but could not do anything about it. The journey was pure torture by the combined effects of heat, wind and jolts. The many bumps and ditches on the road as well as the twists and turns of the road were all taken at such a high speed that we thought we could hear the rattling of our bones within the body. The driver did not utter a single word throughout the journey that appeared to go on for ever and he totally ignored our plea to reduce the speed. However, the vehicle did neither break down nor run out of fuel until we reached Luwingu late in the afternoon, tired and hungry, aching in all the joints and completely covered from head to foot in red dust so that we all looked like creatures from another planet and beyond recognition even by our own mothers. The Land-rover dropped me at my home and I could see by the expression on my wife’s face that she was panic-stricken on the very sight of this apparition before recognizing me as her beloved husband and the vehicle as the moving wreck of an old Land-rover. It was of great consolation to me to know that I was just in time to stop my wife from going to the police to file a complaint about her missing husband who left home five days ago on national duty. Some of the neighbours who looked up at the high-pitched whining sound of the vehicle and witnessed my home-coming expressed later their delight in seeing me back in ‘one piece’ even though in a very shabby and unrecognizable state.
.

Neither Too Early Nor Too Late

2008-12-26T07:29:00.001-08:00

We were on our way back to Luwingu from the remote village of Fube (pronounced "foobey") after an operation in connection with the National Census in Zambia. There were five of us in the boat, including the district secretary(D.S) of Luwingu and me, the senior census officer for the district. The Moonraker, a 30 ft. cabin cruiser which could do upto 35 knots in the open sea was now making about 6 to 8 knots in the treacherous Bangwelu swamps.

It was Thursday afternoon. In fact, we should have been back home by Tuesday evening. The reason for the delay was due to the fact that our skipper who boasted at the commencement of our journey that he knew the waterways of the swamps as good as the lines on the palm of his hands, lost his way miserably and got us all stranded, but for the help of some local fishermen. It goes without saying that we lost a lot of precious time, effort and fuel as a result. However, we accomplished our mission and were on our way back. Our going was very slow because of the many sand bars in the canal and also due to the presence of under-water weeds that kept on getting entangled on the propellers. Even though we were very anxious to reach home, we knew that we would have to spend the night at the island port of Santa Maria and resume our journey early next morning.

We were sitting on deck chairs and chatting. The D.S casually asked the skipper how long it would take to reach Santa Maria. He hesitated before answering and then said "may be two hours unless our tanks run dry".

We were startled. We never knew we were on the brink of running short of fuel. "What about the reserve tank?" the D.S asked. "We are almost at its bottom. May be another ten km" was the reply.

The D.S and I looked at each other. We were given to understand at the start of the trip that we had more than enough diesel. The boat had an extra fuel tank for surplus fuel and the skipper had been instructed to ensure that both tanks were filled up before commencing our journey.

Apart from losing our way in the swamps, we had another misfortune. The skipper's assistant who was new, fiddled with the boat's wireless set and made it inoperative soon after we started on our voyage. As a result we had no means of communication at present. There were no passenger boats operating through the swamps. Our food supply also was running very short and each one of us was longing to reach home and have a decent meal and proper sleep.

We travelled for another thirty minutes or so, and found ourselves at the mouth of the canal leading from the river. It was good that we were at last out of the swamps, but still we had to go far. Even though we were nowhere near the passenger-boat service lane, if someone came along in a canoe, the skipper's mate could go to Santa Maria and send a wireless message to Bwangwelu Water transport company in Samfya which owned the boat to arrange for some fuel. Even then it would take several hours before we could get out of this jam.

Now that we were in river Chambeshi, the skipper could have opened up the throttle and sent the boat at full speed. But as the tank would run dry at any moment, he kept the boat moving under minimum acceleration. As we cleared the turn-off, a lone bottle store from where we bought soft drinks two days ago came into sight. We decided to stop there and explore the possibilities of communicating with the outside world.

The bottle-store appeared empty and forlorn. It was nearly 2 PM. As there were no people around at this time of the day, our arrival did not create any excitement. While the skipper's mate made the boat fast to the railing of the rickety jetty, we noticed a 200 litre drum like the ones they use to transport petroleum products lying on the river bank, a little distance away from the jetty. It was rusty and appeared as if abandoned by someone a long time back. However, the skipper went and examined it. It was either stuck fast in the mud or filled with something, as it would not move easily. He went and made enquiries at the bottle-store. The man at the store told him that the drum contained some diesel that was dropped there at lunch time by a passenger boat from Santa Maria. The boat crew had instructed to give the diesel to one of their charter boats by name “Moonraker” which had gone to the swamps a few days ago as it would have exhausted its stock of fuel by this time. He showed us a written message scrawled on a piece of paper. It simply read "Diesel for Moonraker".

We did not know whether to laugh or cry for joy. There was no difficulty in convincing the store-keeper that we were from the Moonraker as the name was written clearly on the side of our boat. The man at the store came out to assist us in siphoning the diesel into the boat’s tanks and we proceeded on our way after thanking him profusely. We also felt so grateful to someone at Bwangwelu Corporation in Samfya who was thoughtful enough to visualize our predicament and ordered one of their passenger boats to deviate from its normal route and make a side trip of more than thirty kilometres to assist us even before receiving any message for help from us. Above all, we thanked God for sending this timely help that came neither too early nor too late.

A Therapy of Occupation

2008-11-30T21:51:00.000-08:00

There were no apparent reasons for the pain in my shoulder. It started one day when I lifted up my arm to write on the class-room board during teaching. The pain was so sudden that I put down my arm with a jerk. Some of the pupils might have noticed my action and wondered what it was all about. Even though, the pain subsided temporarily, it recurred each time I raised my right arm.

Back at home I had a hot bath after which some liniment was applied. Even though I slept well, the pain was still there when I got up next morning. I did not do much writing on the chalk board that day.

As the pain still persisted even on the third day, I decided to go to the hospital and consult a doctor. Accordingly I drove the 100 miles to Kasama General Hospital, even though it was a very painful exercise. The doctor had my shoulder x-rayed and then prescribed a few medicines. He told me that I should consult an orthopaedic surgeon if the pain did not subside within a week or so. He gave me the necessary papers. I was also advised to keep my arm in a sling.

I was very depressed. In fact I was supposed to go to Lusaka next week to participate in the metal workshop organized by the JETS (Science) Clubs. It was a week-long workshop to which I had been selected being the Advisor of Luwingu Science club. Now it was almost certain that I would not be taking part in it.

By the end of the week, my arm had become quite stiff and I realized that no time should be wasted in seeing the orthopaedic surgeon. The problem was how to reach Lusaka. I discussed the matter with my headmaster Simposya. By a mere coincidence it happened so that the headmaster was looking for a lift to go to the Copperbelt to buy some spare parts for his car. He agreed to take me up to Ndola in my own car if I would let him drive it. Accordingly we set out to Ndola on a Friday. I gave him directions to take me to a friend's house in Ndola where he left me with my car and departed. My friend Chacko took me to Lusaka the next day in his car and after dropping me at the UTH (University Teaching Hospital) returned to Ndola the same day, as he had to attend some urgent business at home.

By the time I reached the hospital it was about lunch time. On making enquiries at the orthopaedic department, I came to know to my great dismay that the orthopaedic surgeon Dr. Gold had his weekly clinic on the previous day and his next clinic would be on next Friday only.

My immediate problem was to find accommodation in Lusaka until next Friday. It was unlikely that I could manage to get accommodation at the Hubert Young hostel or the Long Acres hostel at such a short notice. Staying one week in a hotel would be very expensive and I did not have sufficient funds. The other alternative would be to gate-crash to some friend's house, but one week was a long period and I felt very reluctant.

It was then that I remembered about the JETS workshop. The Ridgeway Campus where the participants were to be accommodated was right across the road. As I knew I was expected for the workshop, I thought I would go and register there. So I removed my sling and walked over to the place, with my brief case in my "good" hand. The man in charge told me that he did not expect anyone so early, but he did not want to refuse accommodation as I had arrived already. He ticked against my name on a check-list and handed me a key to one of the rooms. The room number was on the tag and he gave me directions. He also gave me a name-plate to wear for identification purpose and a printed card showing the meal-times at the Campus etc.

The room was quite spacious and intended for double occupancy. Another guy whom I used to know before, joined me on Sunday. His name was Anthony and he came from a place called Mpika (pronounced 'empeeka') . He also had come for the workshop. While we were getting ready for the supper, he noticed that there was something wrong with my arm. I told him in one or two sentences about an unexpected pain in my right shoulder that was troubling me a bit and that I might require some help from him during the workshop. He promised all possible help and did not bother me with further questions.

The workshop started on Monday morning. Our instructor's name was Carpenter. I thought it would have been more appropriate if it were Blacksmith. There were about twenty of us. Many were personally known to me. All of us were provided with a large sheet of galvanized iron and a set of metal-working tools. Our assignment was to make a tool box using the sheet metal, paint it and stencil our name and school-address on it. The tools were to be placed inside the tool-box after making it. Mr.Carpenter would examine our work on Thursday afternoon and would allow us to take the tool-box and the tools along with us for the use of our science club. The participants would leave the campus after breakfast on Friday. I thought how convenient it would be for me to keep my appointment on Friday afternoon with Dr. Gold.

The crunch came when the session of instructions was over and Mr. Carpenter asked us to start the work. There was a great flurry of activities as everyone started measuring and marking the metal sheet. I found the sheet so heavy that I could not even lift it with one hand. I decided to wait until Anthony would come to my assistance. However, he was so busy with his own work that he hardly glanced in my direction.

Just before lunch break, Carpenter came round to see what progress we had made. Most people had finished measuring and marking the sheet, ready for cutting. He nodded approvingly to each person and then came to me. He was so surprised to see me standing there with the huge metal sheet lying on the floor and the tools in a heap beside it. He asked me for an explanation and I told him I misplaced the instructions. He asked me why I didn't go to his office and ask for another copy. I didn't say anything. He expressed some doubts about the authenticity of my intentions in being there and asked me to follow him to his office for another copy of instructions. I complied with.

When work was resumed after the lunch-break, Carpenter came round the workbenches, to see how things were going on. I could not stand lazing around any longer. I started measuring and marking the sheet, very awkwardly, as I could not use my right arm properly. When Carpenter came to my workbench, he noticed how I was struggling and asked me if there was something wrong with my arm. I told him about a pain that developed all of a sudden and got his sympathy. He told me to take it easy and do the job without any hurry and left.

When the work for the day came to a close I noticed that all the others had their sheets cut into the required measurements and shape. I somehow managed to finish the marking and left the sheet on my workbench along with the tools and departed. My arm was aching so much that I rushed to my room and swallowed a couple of “panadol”. However I decided that I would not seek anyone's help hereafter. If I could not finish the work on time, well, I would leave it unfinished.

Cutting the sheet was the job for the next day. This was found more difficult than I thought, especially with the pain on my shoulder aggravated by the previous day's efforts. As I could not lift my arm above waste-level, I decided to place the sheet on the floor and kneel over it while cutting. It was a very tough job but I managed to cut the required pieces and made them ready for soldering.

To cut a long story short, I finished my work by Thursday afternoon and submitted it for inspection on Friday morning. Mr.Carpenter expressed his satisfaction, gave me a course- certificate and a cheque for my travel-claim and I left the Campus after lunch.

I kept my appointment with Dr.Gold on Friday afternoon. He looked at the x-ray and the other papers that I had brought along with me from Kasama and asked me to raise my hand above my head, to lower it and to extend it. To my surprise, I found that I could perform these actions without much difficulty. Then he told me that he did not find anything wrong with me and I could just go home. I was a bit disappointed and tried to tell him how bad it was before, but he cut me short and asked me what I was doing since my first arrival at the hospital. I told him I had been attending a metal workshop and he replied with a smile that it was the best treatment for me under the circumstances. He handed me back my x-ray and other papers and called for the next patient.

I caught a lift to Ndola and collected my car from where it was stored. On the next day I drove back to Luwingu, taking along with me the tool-box that I had made, with the set of tools in it and my right arm no longer in a sling, but on the steering wheel of my car.

THE DAY THE RIOT BROKE OUT

2008-11-21T20:47:00.000-08:00

The riot broke out without any warning. Everything appeared normal on the previous day which was a Sunday. Fr.Deltern from the White Father's mission in Luwingu conducted Sunday service and mass in the school hall as usual and the attendance was quite normal. In the afternoon, drum- beating started as early as 2 PM and the Kalela dancers started lining up immediately thereafter. By 5 PM the drum-beating was at its loudest and the dancing was in full swing. The dancers stood swaying and gyrating, one behind the other, with each one's hands on the sweating shoulders of the one in front, boys and girls intermingled, the line starting from the clearing near the boys' dormitories and snaking through the entire length of the foot-ball field. The sound of the drums was accompanied by shrill whistles, cat calls and what not. We had been watching this spectacle on every Sunday except during the school holidays, ever since we moved to the boarding school campus. It was quite a fascinating sight. The Kalela dance was the forum for all pupils to get involved in something interesting, irrespective of their age, sex or other characteristics.

During supper-time, Manachongo, the boarding master noticed a bit of restlessness among the senior boys. He knew the reason. The supply of meat that was scheduled to arrive from Kasama the previous day had not arrived due to reasons unknown to him. As a result there was no meat for the Sunday lunch. Formerly on such occasions, it was compensated at supper-time. As the supplier did not send any meat even by Sunday evening, no meat could be provided for supper as well. The boarders were greatly disappointed. It was rumoured that the C.E.O's office did not make the necessary payment and that was why the supplier did not send meat. Some of the senior pupils were even giving a hint to boycott the food but the majority of the boarders did not take it seriously. By Monday morning, everything appeared normal and the pupils had their breakfast as usual. At the beginning of lunch time some of the senior pupils went into the kitchen to find out whether there would be any meat for lunch. The cooks reminded them that the kitchen was out of bounds for the pupils and they would know whether there was any meat when the food was served. The boys were greatly annoyed and they stood at the entrance of the dining hall, asking each and everyone to boycott lunch as there was no meat. A number of juniors were intimidated from entering the dining hall that they went back hungry. As a result, a lot of nshima (cooked maize-meal) had to be thrown away.

As the boarding master knew what to expect at supper-time, the cooks were instructed to cook less food for supper. In the meanwhile the headmaster had been in touch with the C.E.O and was given assurance that his office would contact Shawn's butchery in Kasama and arrange with them to make an immediate delivery of beef.

Supper-time arrived and still there was no meat from Kasama. This time the girls also joined the boys in boycotting the supper. Some senior boys stood guard over the entrance of the dining hall so that the juniors may not sneak in. In addition, they procured a few tins of some detergent powder from the kitchen store and sprinkled it all over the cooked food so that no one would be tempted to eat the food even though hungry.

In the meanwhile the headmaster called an urgent meeting of the prefects (a selected body of senior pupils who were authorized to assist in maintaining law and order among the pupils) and explained to them the situation. He sought their help in restoring peace in the campus and they assured their support to the authorities. However, there was a strong feeling among the members of staff that some of the prefects themselves were involved in causing the agitation among the pupils.

There were two M'hangos among the prefects- Vivian and Bruce who were identical twins and were exactly alike in appearance. It was difficult to tell them apart but for the smile on Bruce's face and the scowl on Vivian's. We received an unconfirmed report that Vivian was one of the ring-leaders of the present unrest among the pupils which later proved untrue.

The situation became worse by Tuesday morning. All the boarders appeared for the breakfast, but no one seemed to be in a hurry to get back for the lessons after that. They were standing here and there in small groups and discussing matters. Even though the bell for the morning assembly was rung, no pupil took any notice of that.

In the meanwhile, the boarding master brought news that some pupils had started fighting in one or class rooms causing damage to the furniture and light fittings. The headmaster ordered Mukuka, the caretaker, to go round and lock up all the class rooms, laboratories and the generator shed.
By mid-morning while the pupils were still roaming about the school campus, about half a dozen senior pupils went to the headmaster as a delegation. They had a number of grievances written on a sheet of paper. It was not just the matter of having no meat for food, but there were other things also. They said that the boarders had taken a unanimous decision to boycott lessons until their grievances were redressed. The headmaster said he would look into the matter.

As there were no lessons going on, I decided to go to the main shopping area for a few purchases. I drove to Patel Syndicate, the shop where you could get most of your requirements and made my purchase. I chatted for a while with Mulenga, the manager, and returned to the school.

As I approached the school, I decided to drive on to my house and leave the car in my garage. I saw Bruce M'hango standing at the turn-off to the school and he waved at me to stop the car. He came to me and told that there was a bit of a problem. There was an open space beyond the school buildings, in between the girls' dormitories and the staff houses. All the pupils had gathered there, chanting some slogans and some of them were instigating the others to stone the staff-houses and cars. The headmaster, the boarding master and the boarding mistress were with the pupils, asking them to disperse, but no one was paying any attention. The headmaster had asked some of the prefects to inform all the expatriate teachers to stay away from the vicinity of the pupils' meeting place.

In order to reach my home, I had to drive round the corner of the place where the pupils were gathered. Somehow, I had a feeling that as I was popular with the pupils because of my science club activities, they would not hurt me. However, I forgot the fact that in situations like this, it was the mob-psychology that prevailed and their actions were not controlled by the head but by the heart. I thanked Bruce for the warning, but decided to keep going. I slowed down at the corner of the meeting place for a better look when I saw the boarding master coming towards me. I heard him telling me in a tone of urgency not to stop but to go home quickly. The situation was so tense that even the presence of a foreigner could provoke the pupils to behave in a totally uncontrollable manner. I hurriedly went home.

There were no further happenings on that day. By late afternoon the pupils became so tired and hungry that they dispersed one by one. Many of them were very disappointed that they could not go into a rampage. Later we came to know that it was Vivian M'hango whom we suspected of being one of the ring-leaders who prevented the pupils from going into a rampage. As he was very influential among the prefects as well as among the pupils, no one could act contrary to his strong stand against any attack on teachers' houses and property.

The meat truck from Kasama arrived in the evening and the pupils decided to call off the agitation. The incident had a happy ending by the headmaster making an announcement in the assembly next morning that all charges against the rioters were dropped.

We all heaved a sigh of relief as peace was restored to the campus once again.

THE PRESIDENT'S VISIT

2008-11-12T07:58:00.000-08:00

It was with mixed feelings that we received the news of the President's visit. Our headmaster Simposya announced in the staff meeting that the President of the Republic Dr. Kenneth David Kaunda was intending to visit Luwingu within a period of two months and he would be addressing the pupils, teachers and parents during that time in the school hall.

Even though we had heard a lot about President Kaunda, we did not have the opportunity to meet him. In Africa, President Kaunda was not only well-known but also well-respected. He had the vision of a Unified Africa. He knew very well the importance of education in a developing country and he wanted all Zambians in the on-coming generations to be fully literate. With this view, his government in conjunction with the World Bank, formulated a plan called the Transitional Development Plan (TDP) under which new secondary schools were established in all the districts of Zambia. This was in addition to the existing "high schools" of the Colonial days. Luwingu secondary school was one such school.

The district governor called a series of meetings of the heads of various departments in the district to make preparations for the Presidential visit. The schools in the district, especially the one and only secondary school had to play a very important role. Pupils and teachers were briefed adequately on the procedures involved and the part each had to play. The Ministry of Works did their best to give a face-lift to the town and its surrounding areas. There was a week-long campaign of cleaning activities within the school campus. The atmosphere was filled with an air of expectation. The teachers also got busy making the classrooms under their charge as well as the laboratories and departmental offices to look spick and span.

In the midst of all this excitement, there was some apprehension also. The reason was that the teaching staff consisted mainly of expatriates (foreigners) only. Many of us still remembered what another prominent African leader commented about his capital city a few years ago. He said that he wanted his capital city to look like an African city and not like "Bombay". When he visited some schools in his country he remarked that he would like to see "more African faces than the faces of expatriates". Even though there is ample justification in what he said, it could hurt very much when such "truths" were hurled in your face when you were recruited by the very same people and given a contract. We did not know what would be President Kaunda's reaction when he found out that the entire teaching staff consisted of expatriates.

Being a very enthusiastic amateur photographer, I wanted to take some pictures of the President's visit. To my dismay, I found out that I had no films in my camera. The nearest place where I could get some 35 mm film was at Norman Kenward in Mufulira, about 250 miles(400 km) away from Luwingu. The President's visit was now due in three weeks' time and it was unlikely that anyone from the campus would be travelling to Mufulira during the above period. As I knew how much a film would cost, I decided to send the necessary amount plus postage by registered post requesting to send a roll of film urgently.

Just two days before the President's visit, I received a registered envelope from Norman Kenward. It contained some money and a note telling me that the film could not be sent as my payment was short of 15 ngwee (about 15 cents). I felt very bad but could not do anything about it. So I put my camera safely away.

We had a science club at the school comprising of a number of students. They wanted to record the President's speech, but the school had no tape recorder. The headmaster gave us a broken-down tape recorder and told us to repair and use it. We opened it and found a couple of loose connections which we soldered up. We found that the tape recorder worked well.

At last the great day came. All the students and the teachers lined up at the airstrip to welcome the President. There were the governor, district secretary, heads of departments, party militants, members of the public and a lot of police personnel. The Mercedes car for presidential use was brought from Lusaka two days ago and kept at the district governor's place. As we stood there straining our eyes, someone spotted the plane even from a very long distance and cried out in joy. The Zambia air force jet landed smoothly and rolled to a standstill. There was a make-shift rostrum near the place where the dignitaries sat and a red carpet was spread from the step of the plane up to the rostrum. As we looked on, the door of the plane opened and a smiling President, as well-groomed as ever in his Savile Row tailored safari suit emerged, waving a white kerchief at the crowd. No sooner than the President climbed up the rostrum the military band started playing the national anthem. The President addressed the crowd briefly, then got into the Mercedes and departed for the guest house accompanied by a number of police vehicles, and other vehicles containing heads of departments, party officials and other dignitaries. We returned to the school to continue with our preparations for the presidential visit in the late afternoon.

The school and its surroundings were decorated with colourful banners and Zambian flags. The banner at the main entrance to the campus read "WELCOME YOUR EXCELLENCY DR. KENNETH DAVID KAUNDA TO LUWINGU SECONDARY SCHOOL". Seats were arranged in the main dining hall to accommodate over 500 people. The Zambia Information Service (ZIS) put up their public address system with a number of loud speakers all around the place. There were many security men among the crowd that had gathered already. One of them was asking questions to the students who placed the tape recorder under a table for recording the President's speech.

At 5 PM the Presidential motorcade arrived at the entrance of the school campus. The teachers and the pupils in two separate groups lined up on both sides of the path. The President waved at the pupils and shook hands with all the teachers with a smile and one or two words in Cibemba (pronounced "chibemba" which is the prominent language of Zambia).

When the President stood up to address the crowd, there was thunderous applause from the people for many minutes. The loud speakers carried the President's rich voice all over the place. He made a special mention of the expatriate teachers by saying that he was greatly delighted to find so many people from other friendly countries who were there to assist the Zambian people and he was extremely grateful to those people and the countries from where they had come. He wished all the expatriates in Zambia a pleasant stay as long as they desired.

After the President and his entourage left, we wanted to replay his speech. The tape had already run out but we were sure that most of the speech had been recorded. It was then that we noticed that someone had pulled out the microphone cable from its socket. As we had checked and double-checked everything before the arrival of the President and none of us could go anywhere near the dais thereafter, there was no doubt that one of the security men could have played this mischief thinking that our old-fashioned machine was some kind of a voice-operated time bomb or something. Needless to say that we all felt very disappointed.

In spite of such disappointments, the visit of President Kaunda, who is considered as one of the greatest statesmen of Africa, and his encouraging words still remain fresh in our memory even after so many years of leaving that Friendly Country.

Appointment With Death

2008-11-07T04:31:00.000-08:00

APPOINTMENT WITH DEATH

They had met never before. In fact they even did not know about the existence of each other before they met quite accidentally that day. However, fate brought them together on an appointment with death at a rendezvous on the Kawambwa- Mansa highway about two and a half miles away from the town of Mansa.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the late 60's and early 70's, Goldring Motors in Mufulira were the sole agents of Skoda cars in Zambia. The East European Skoda was a far-cry from today's luxury models. Zambia had many makes of cars, out of which the most prominent ones were Ford, Peugeot, Fiat and Volkswagen. Japanese cars like Toyota, Nissan and Mazda were already in the market, but most buyers were unsure of their performance in the long run in spite of their elegant appearance and attractive price index. In the midst of all these new models and different makes of cars, the rear-engined, modest-looking Skoda was in very little demand. However, Goldring Motors were offering easy hire-purchase terms, handsome discounts and extended warranty to encourage people to buy their vehicles.

Vijay was a teacher in one of the newly opened government secondary schools in a place called Mporokoso (pronounced m'porokoso) in rural Zambia, about 120 miles from the sleepy little town of Mansa (formerly Fort Rosebury). Before coming to Zambia, he had been teaching in Ethiopia. He was from the state of Kerala in India. Vijay was young, smart, energetic, well-liked by his colleagues and pupils and had a keen interest in outdoor activities. He was a bachelor.

During the school holidays soon after his arrival in Zambia, Vijay made a visit to the Copperbelt where he had some friends. He was badly in need of a car. His plan was to go to Lusaka to get a government loan and to buy a car from there. However, finally he decided to go for a Skoda from Goldring Motors as new vehicles were readily available and could be bought on easy instalment scheme without going through the hassle of obtaining a government loan.

Vijay made a down payment with some money he had and took possession of the vehicle. He said he would make arrangements with his bank in Kasama for the payment of the on-coming monthly instalments. After reaching his station, he wrote instructions to his bank and sent through the mobile bank when it made its very next monthly visit.

In spite of its unimpressive appearance, the Skoda proved to be a good car. It had very good road-holding, especially on the treacherous gravel roads of the northern province. Vijay enjoyed driving his car. As soon as the school term came to an end he left for the Copperbelt in his car. His intention was to spend the whole vacation with friends in Lusaka and the Copperbelt and return just before the reopening of the school.

His first port of call was Mufulira. He wanted to get his car serviced at the dealer's. In fact the dealer was waiting very anxiously to see Vijay. The bank had not paid any instalments and Vijay was at default. The dealer had sent one or two notices to Vijay but there was no reply. Vijay could not explain what went wrong. He tried unsuccessfully to convince the dealer about the poor communication facilities in the rural area which he attributed to his failure in receiving the dealer's notices. He even tried to contact his bank by phone but the connection was bad and he could not get a satisfactory reply. The only alternative was to drive the four hundred miles to the bank at Kasama and sort out the problem. The dealer insisted that he should leave his car behind until all dues were cleared. Vijay had no option.

While Vijay was walking back to his temporary abode, contemplating about his next move, he came across a friend called Eugene from another rural school who also was on vacation. He too was a bachelor. Vijay explained his predicament to Eugene and as Eugene was intending to spend a number of days in Mufulira, he lent his Volkswagen beetle to Vijay to go to Kasama and come back within two or three days. Accordingly Vijay set out to Kasama very early next morning.

Vijay managed to reach the bank before closing time. He found out that his letter had not been received by the bank. However, there were more than sufficient funds in his account to pay Goldring Motors. After arranging to send the necessary amount by telegraphic transfer, he took a longer route to Mufulira, via Mporokoso instead of through Luwingu, as he had to see the headmaster of his school on the way.

There was a place called Kawambwa on his way from Mporokoso to Mufulira. Just before reaching this place the engine of his borrowed Volkswagen came to a stand-still. In spite of his best efforts, he could not get it started again. He left the car on the side of the road and walked to the shopping area, looking for a mechanic. Then he came across a small garage where he found a mechanic who offered to help. However, he could not get the engine started. As he could not do much on the side of the road, the car had to be towed into the garage where it was checked thoroughly. Soon it was established that the engine had seized.

Now Vijay was in a fix. He was stuck in a strange place in the middle of nowhere, about a hundred miles away from any familiar place and with the added liability of a broken-down car. Leaving the car with the garage people, he explored the possibilities of getting a lift to the Copperbelt. It was imperative that he should reach Mufulira as early as possible and inform Eugene what happened to his car. Then he should get back his Skoda from Goldring. Once he was mobile, he would be able to go to CAMS (dealers of Volkswagen in Zambia) and get the necessary spares to repair Eugene's car. As the engine had already been dismantled, it would be just a matter of fixing the rings and bearings and reassembling the engine, provided the crank shaft was not damaged.

In the meanwhile he realized that he was terribly hungry. In a place like Kawambwa, he did not expect to find any star hotel or even a decent restaurant. After looking around he came across a place from where he could hear some loud music blaring and where people were found going in and coming out. It was a tavern.

While he was having a drink and some snacks, he saw another Asian in the bar. He made his acquaintance and soon came to know that he too was a teacher, teaching at Kawambwa secondary school. His name was Victor. He was from Madras. Vijay told him about his predicament and asked him whether he was aware of someone going to the Copperbelt. By a mere coincidence, Victor himself was intending to go to Ndola, another town in the Copperbelt, early next morning. He said that Vijay could go with him in his new Toyota car as he was alone and could drop him at Mufulira, on his way. He invited Vijay to his house to spend the night there so that they could start very early in the morning. They left the tavern by 8 P.M. for Victor's house.

No one knows exactly what happened thereafter. Someone at the tavern who overheard their conversation said later that they were talking about leaving for the Copperbelt as early as 4 A.M. Between 7.30 and 8.00 o’clock next morning, some passers-by on the Kawambwa- Mansa highway noticed a car in the "bush" a few metres away from the road, not very far from Mansa town. Someone went to investigate and found indications of the car having gone off the road and hitting a tree head-on. Its bonnet and front part were extensively damaged. The place was littered with broken glass. There were two people in the car. One look was sufficient to realize that the man in the front passenger seat was dead. The driver was showing some signs of life. However, he was trapped in the crumbled part of the vehicle. It was quite evident that more men and materials would be required to get him out of the car. There was nothing they could do except to rush to the nearest police station and report the matter.

Vijay was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Later in the day Victor died on the operation table. The doctor who operated on him at Mansa General Hospital confirmed his death to the few people, mostly Indians, who had gathered together at the hospital on hearing the news of the accident.

Vijay and Victor kept their appointment with death even though they both were unaware of it when they met for the first time, only a few hours before it really happened. Fate wrote down their names also in the never-ending list of people who are being sacrificed on the altar of Road Carnage in Zambia.

An English Wedding in an African Village

2008-10-18T08:37:00.000-07:00

We had a chronic bachelor in our school. His name was Longridge. He taught English and Geography and stayed alone in the first house in the second row of staff houses.

Delkins Construction Company built all staff houses in the campus alike except the first and the second houses in the first row. These were meant for the headmaster and the deputy head. As the post of the deputy head was still vacant, the house for the deputy remained unoccupied. Campbell was the person who acted as the deputy but he stayed in a house similar to that of Longridge in the same row. When we moved in, the next house in that row was allocated to us. We stayed in that house for three years until we moved to the Copperbelt.

Longridge was what you would call a typical English gentleman. He mingled with the other members of staff, but sparingly. He would go to school punctually just before the first bell and stay there until the school was over. During his free periods he would stay in the staff room and do some reading or catch up with the school work. He was never found indulging in any idle talk. During the weekends he was found tending the flowering plants in his garden or working on his Volkswagen, while the other bachelor teachers frequented the bars in Luwingu. Mwenso bar in the shopping centre was a well-favoured place for teachers as well as for some senior pupils. Longridge was not in the habit of visiting the bars, but used to enjoy an occasional beer in the privacy of his home.

When schools closed at the end of every term all the expatriate teachers used to leave for the Copperbelt or Lusaka. They would spend the month-long school holidays there and come back a day or two before the reopening day, in time for the staff meeting. Longridge was no exception. However he was not in the habit of bragging about his holiday adventures as the other bachelors used to do.

It was at the end of one of the school holidays that Longridge returned from the Copperbelt with his girl friend. Until that time no one knew that he had a girl friend. The impression we had about him was that he did not want anything to do with the members of the opposite sex. However, on one morning soon after the reopening of the school, as we went past his house to the school, we had the glimpse of a lady in a house-coat standing in Longridge's yard. Later we came to know that she was Longridge's girl friend Liz who had flown into Ndola a few days before the reopening of schools. Longridge met her on arrival and they both had been visiting Kafue game park and Victoria Falls at Livingstone before heading to Luwingu. It was rumoured that as she had come all the way from the U.K., she would be staying for a month or so before retuning.

After the arrival of Liz, we could notice some changes in Longridge. During his free periods he no longer stayed in the staff room but would rush home. Even though his house was within walking distance from the school, he started using his car even for such short trips. At times when he remained in the staff room he was found taking part in the general conversation and sometimes even laughing. On the whole, his demeanour had undergone a very remarkable change. In the meanwhile Liz made a number of visits to the school, got acquainted with the headmaster and the staff members and was accepted as a member of the community. She was found to be an attractive person with a pleasant disposition and the fastest typist we had ever seen.

The school term had almost come to the end and Liz was still in Luwingu. Two days before the closing of the school Longridge made an announcement that he and Liz decided to get married and that the wedding would take place in Luwingu during the third week of the school holidays. As he wanted all the members of staff to take part in the wedding, it was his earnest request that those who go out of Luwingu during the holidays should return a week earlier than usual to participate in the wedding. His announcement was accepted by a thunderous clapping of hands and someone shouting at the top of his voice "I knew it, I knew it". Longridge just smiled at everyone.

Liz took the other ladies in the campus into her confidence and they did all the planning for the wedding. They decided to conduct the wedding on a grand scale even though the resources were limited. A church ceremony was ruled out as there was no Anglican priest in Luwingu. Both Longridge and Liz preferred a civil ceremony. The district secretary agreed to conduct the registration of marriage in his office at the Boma. The reception was arranged to take place at the school hall immediately after registration. The daughters of some of the teachers in the campus would dress up as flower girls. My daughter Lisa was among them. Food arrangement were done by the Pipers who were the oldest members of staff in Luwingu.

The wedding dress for the bride was a problem. No suitable fabric could be obtained in the shops in Luwingu or Kasama. We did not know of anyone going to the Copperbelt within the next two or three days. The ladies in the campus came to the rescue. My wife said she would give her white sari for making the wedding dress out of it. The pattern was obtained from a fashion book and the dress was stitched on a hand-machine. On the whole it looked presentable.

The wedding reception was a grand affair. The school hall was decorated with balloons and multi-coloured paper flags. All the dignitaries of Luwingu were present. The bride and the groom appeared splendid in their wedding garments. The presence of the flower girls was an added attraction. Reid, one of our colleagues acted as the master of ceremonies. Headmaster Simposya in his new three-piece suit made a speech in his flowery language, on behalf of the school community and Longridge gave a suitable reply. There were refreshments for all and thereafter a ballroom dance for those who wanted to join. In short, Longridge's wedding remains as one of the most memorable events during our stay in Luwingu.

A "Waterless Month" in Luwingu

2008-10-06T09:41:00.001-07:00

Luwingu had its own water supply. Even though this supply was basically meant for the government offices, hospital and shops in the town, a number of residential houses also were included in the system. With the coming up of the new boarding school in Luwingu, the pipeline was extended another two kilometres to the school campus which stood about one km. away from the Kasama- Fort Rosebury highway. The six-inch pipeline was connected to an overhead tank which supplied water to the school kitchen. The administration block, school toilets, staff houses and dormitories had direct connection from the main line. Each staff house had its own water tank which had a capacity of about 500 litres, built into the roof.

The waterworks had an overhead tank to which treated water was pumped from a low-level tank. Water was brought to the treatment plant from a river situated about ten km. away from the town. The massive diesel pump at the waterworks pumped thousands of litres of water into the overhead tank daily to keep up a steady flow of water to our taps. With the coming up of the boarding school, the demand for water increased so much that the pump had to work overtime to keep up the flow. As all the toilets in the campus were provided with European type closets, it was essential that running water should be available at all times.

Everything went well for some time. Once in a while the pump had to be shut off for servicing and experts from the Works Department in Kasama came to do the job. The school kitchen had enough water in its storage tank for the preparation of food and the staff houses also could hold on for a day on such occasions. In fact, our water supply was fairly efficient so that we at the school campus did not experience any serious problem of water shortage even in dry seasons.

It was during one of the dry seasons that the diesel pump at the waterworks broke down. We came to know about it at the school campus only when the pupils complained that there was no water in the ablution blocks. As the kitchen tank contained some water, there was sufficient water in the kitchen and dining halls even at the time of supper. In the staff houses, we felt the pinch next morning only. At that time, we did not know about the breakdown of the pump, but thought that someone had overslept and failed to turn the pump on. But as the taps remained dry even by lunch-time, the thought that something might have gone wrong at the waterworks occurred to many of us. It was when we phoned the council that we came to know that the pump had broken down and experts were working on it. It was expected that pumping would resume by the evening.

By late afternoon, the school campus was without a drop of water. There were nearly 700 boarders at that time, about 300 girls and just over 400 boys. The ablution blocks were locked up and the pupils were advised to go to the “bush” for certain primary necessities. The school truck was sent to the river to fetch some water for the kitchen. At home, we found some bread and corned beef with which a “waterless” supper was procured. Then we drank some coca-cola as we had no water to drink.

I did not sleep very well that night. Whenever I woke up, I lay listening for the thumping sound of water falling into the overhead metal tank but was disappointed greatly. The morning came, still there was no sign of water. Patrick, my servant arrived promptly at 6.30 AM and knowing my predicament volunteered to bring some water from a “water hole” somewhere in the “bush”. With the water that he brought in two plastic containers, we performed our morning ablutions. After a breakfast of bread and “coke” we proceeded to the school.

At the school we found almost all the teachers gathered in the staff room. Most of them looked bedraggled and untidy. Everyone was talking about the water crisis. More than twenty-four hours had elapsed since the breakdown of the pump. The pupils were roaming about the campus as if on holiday. The bell denoting the commencement of the lessons had been sounded sometime back, but went unheeded.

We heard the sound of a motor cycle. The boarding master Mr. Manachongo who had gone to the waterworks to find out the situation had just returned. He brought bad news. The pump was dismantled and the main bearings were found worn out. As spares were not available anywhere nearby, someone had to go to the Copperbelt or to Lusaka and get new bearings. That would take three or four days if spares were available from ready stock. It would take at least another day to put the pump back into working order. The Rural Council would be holding a meeting that afternoon to discuss the matter.

This news shattered all hopes of getting the water supply resumed in the immediate future. It was with heavy hearts that we went to the classrooms to commence the lessons of the morning session. We found the class rooms half empty. Moreover, those pupils who remained in the class rooms were not at all in a mood to learn anything. We stayed in the class rooms for a while and returned to the staff room when the bell rang for the mid-morning coffee break.

There was no coffee as it could not be prepared without water. Instead, we had some soft drinks brought from the school tuck shop. When we returned to the class rooms after the break to resume lessons, we found most of the class rooms deserted. Even though almost all the teachers stayed around until the bell rang for the lunch break, there were no lessons taken as the atmosphere was not conducive to teaching or learning. However, the kitchen staff managed to prepare lunch for the boarders by sending the truck to the river to fetch a few containers of water.

Late in the afternoon we decided to visit the waterworks to get some first-hand information on the situation. My wife had the bright idea of taking a few empty plastic containers along with us. We put half a dozen five-litre cans in the trunk of our car and proceeded. When we reached the place we found a small crowd there as some other people also had the same thought. We found one or two people sitting under a canopy of heavy canvas and cleaning some machinery. A number of Zambians, mostly women
had lined up with their pots and buckets to collect water from the settling tank. There was a man in charge who was controlling the crowd, but there were no other restrictions. With the typical Zambian hospitality, the crowd parted for us and allowed to fill our cans without making us to wait in the line. In fact, some of the men-folk helped us not only to fill up but also to carry the cans back to the car. Since the water came from the settling tank, it was rather clean and could be used safely for cooking.

Things went on in this manner for the next few days. By the end of the week, the majority of the boarders had left on their own accord. We, the teachers could not do anything about it. Practically, there was no teaching taking place. However, the teachers were not supposed to leave the campus as the school term had not come to an end.

There had been unexpected problems with the repair job. It took more time than they thought to get the spares from the Copperbelt. The bearings were found to be of a different size when they tried to fit them on the pump. As a result someone had to go again and look for those of the right size. To cut a long story short, the pump could not be repaired nor supply resumed even by the end of the second week.

In the meanwhile, soiled clothes piled up in the “washing basket”. There was no way to get them washed. It was Patrick’s idea that we should make a trip to the river. On next Saturday we put all the dirty clothes and sheets in the trunk of the car along with buckets, basins, soap etc and drove to the river. As the river was quite far from the town, there were no people around. We spent a couple of hours at the river, washing the clothes and giving ourselves a decent bath in the not too cold water of the river. Then we ate the food which my wife had thoughtfully taken along with us and returned home fully refreshed.

By the middle of the third week, my servant reported that the waterhole had dried up. That meant we had to depend solely on the water brought from the waterworks for all our needs. As a result, we had to make trips to the waterworks on a daily basis. By this time, the waterworks authorities imposed restrictions on the quantity of water that could be taken from the settling tank as the demand had increased greatly. The pump was not repaired yet as the mechanics had gone back to Kasama after waiting several days for the spares. In fact, the situation had become worse.

The days were getting hotter. There was no indication of any rain in the near future. However, I decided to put up a make-shift rain channel by cutting open a few five-litre oil cans and hammering the sheets together. I managed to nail up this crude thing on to the edge of the roof, slanting slightly to one end and put an empty oil drum underneath hoping to collect some rain water in case it rained.

Then it happened one day. It was the Friday of the fourth “waterless” week. The school was closed officially that day and the few boarders who had still remained behind faithfully left the campus already. I heard the rain pattering on the roof and jumped up from my bed to see whether it was a dream or not. The rain was real and I could see my oil drum filling up fast. I stood there watching the rain for a long time while it cooled my body and mind. I did not even realize that my wife had joined me to watch the rain.

Thereafter we had rain almost every day for a number of days, even after the pump was repaired and put into operation. Even though the “waterless month” at Luwingu was an unforgettable experience, it is with gratitude that we remember the help rendered by Patrick our servant and also by the authorities of Luwingu Waterworks who allowed us to enter their restricted area at any time and to fill up our containers throughout the “dry season” so that the misery of our predicament could be alleviated to some extent.

A Gift From The Sky

2008-09-10T23:29:00.000-07:00

We heard the drone of the engine even before we saw the plane. It was the mid-morning break-time and the pupils were spread all over the school premises. They looked up, saw the plane and started shouting to each other in great excitement. The sight of a plane was a very rare occurrence in Luwingu.

The plane flew in a low arc, almost touching the tree-tops. Something was dropped from it in a clearing not very far from where we stood. The aircraft then gained altitude and disappeared beyond a cluster of trees. Someone ran and picked up the object. It looked like a parcel wrapped in brown paper. The headmaster came out of his office and the parcel was handed to him. He took a look at it and brought it to me where I was standing, watching all the commotion. “It is for you” he said. “I think someone from Lusaka is at the airstrip. Perhaps you could go and pick him up” he added.

The parcel was addressed to the Head of Science and the contents indicated as “Science Equipment Catalogue”. On the brown paper wrapping it was scrawled with a felt-tip “Please come and pick us up – Syme”.

The airstrip was not very far, about 3 km. away. I jumped into my car and drove fast. By the time I reached, the plane had landed and the pilot had come out of the cock-pit. He was still wearing his goggles and I recognized him as Mr. Syme, the inspector of Science. There was another gentleman along with him whom I had met before, at the Regional Science Fair in Kasama. He was Mr. Huxley, who also belonged to the Science Inspectorate. They had come all the way from the Ministry Headquarters in Lusaka.

After the preliminary greetings, Mr. Syme told me that he had brought something for me from Lusaka and pointed in to the plane. I looked in and found something for which I had been pestering the Science Inspectorate ever since I took over the Science Department- a brand new Honda generator!

In this present age of computers in class rooms and laptops in school bags, a Honda generator may sound silly and too trivial. However, during the 70's it was a precious gift for a secondary school in rural Zambia where electricity was a rare commodity. Luwingu was not on the main grid and had no supply of its own as in Kasama or Mansa. The school, dormitories and staff houses had a limited supply, from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. provided by the massive diesel generator housed in the generator shed.
As this generator was shut off during the normal school hours, most of our electrical equipment in the science laboratories remained idle and practically useless. What we needed was a small generator which could supply electricity for the various gadgets in the laboratories whenever we wanted to use them. A 2400v generator was the answer and my request was granted at last. Even though the normal practice would have been for the school to make arrangements for the collection and transport of the equipment, in this case, the science inspector decided to make an official visit to Luwingu and deliver the equipment as it would give him an opportunity to visit the school for the first time by taking advantage of his newly acquired pilot’s licence.

We brought the Honda in the trunk of my car and set up in the physics lab. One of our teachers, Mr. Proctor who had some knowledge of generators assisted by the laboratory assistant started working on it. As the arrival of the inspectors by plane and the bringing of the generator had created a lot of excitement, a large crowd had gathered in and around the physics lab. to watch the procedures. The generator had a “pull-start” mechanism. After filling up with petrol, the lab.assistant gave a tug on the pull-cord, but nothing happened. However, on the third pull, the generator roared into life, with the emission of a small cloud of smoke from its exhaust. There was a great shout and clapping of hands from the onlookers.
The lab.assistant procured an electric bulb on a holder and connected the wires from it on to the A.C terminals of the generator and the bulb lighted up promptly. There was another shout and clapping of hands from the crowd even though not as vigorous as the previous one.

After a tour of the laboratories and a brief meeting with the science staff, the inspectors decided it was time to return. The “Cessna” was waiting at the airstrip unhindered, even though there was no one to keep watch. The inspectors got in. Mr. Syme put on his goggles and raised his thumb. Soon the engine came to life and the single propeller started turning as if reluctantly at first and then gained speed. Slowly the aircraft started rolling to one end of the field where it took a U-turn and then surged forward at full speed. Soon I could see it lifting off from the grassy runway and climbing higher and higher smoothly and effortlessly until it disappeared from sight.

I do not know where Mr. Syme and Mr. Huxley are at present. However I acknowledge the fact that they both contributed a lot to the teaching of science in Zambia by their untiring efforts in encouraging the science teachers and pupils throughout the country by organizing science fairs, seminars and workshops and also providing the necessary teaching materials even to those schools in the most remote parts of the country. There is no doubt that their efforts will be remembered with gratitude by the pupils and teachers of Zambia who had come into contact with them during their stay in the “Friendly Country”.

A day of dismay

2008-08-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

We left Kasama in my Volkswagen at about 8 PM on that Friday after the Regional Science Fair in Kasama. We were on our way to Luwingu, about 100 miles away on the Kasama-Fort Rosebury road. There were five of us in the car, Lasford, Smarts, Abraham and Joseph, students of Luwingu Secondary School, and I, their science club advisor. It was after a very hectic and colourful day at the Regional Science Fair and we were on the top of the world. The Luwingu science club had scooped four out of the six first prizes and two second prizes in the competitions. In addition, we were declared the over-all winners and Abraham, one of our junior students was given the title of the "most promising young scientist of the region". The students were having their trophies and certificates with them. They were discussing among themselves how glad everyone at the school would be and also about the oncoming National Fair in Lusaka in which all the first-prize winners would be participating, all expenses paid. I concentrated on my driving.

The Kasama-Fort Rosebury road was a gravel road all the way along. As there were many places of loose gravel on the road-surface, a car could skid easily if you were not very careful. There had been many accidents on the Zambian gravel roads resulting in to loss of lives. However, I was very confident and did not have any qualms about driving on these roads even during night. Moreover, I too shared the enthusiasm of the students and was eager to get home. That was why we even declined the invitation of a friend to stay over-night at Kasama and to proceed to Luwingu next morning.

There was good reason for our high spirits. As a matter of fact we did not have great expectations of attaining any remarkable achievements in the fair. Ours was a fairly new science club and we had no previous experience of taking part in any science fairs. However our students were very enthusiastic and they lacked no imagination. The projects were of their own creation. During the prize-giving ceremony, the leader of the judges mentioned that they were very impressed by the originality of the Luwingu projects and that had been a very important factor in deciding the first prize winners.

Once on the main road, I maintained a steady speed of 50 mph or about, as the road was fairly straight and not having a lot of "corrugations". The twin beams of my headlights cut a silver path through the sheer darkness that surrounded us. There was not even a glimmer of light in the darkness that stretched on both sides of the road. The road was completely devoid of any vehicular traffic or other movements as far as we could see. In fact, there was no sign of human habitation, but as it was not an uncommon phenomenon in rural Zambia, we were not bothered. The blue light on the instrument panel gave a soothing glow and the steady drone of the air-cooled engine was quite reassuring.

All of a sudden, I felt a tug on the steering wheel to the left. I tried to correct it by turning the wheel to the right. In a moment I realized that the car was out of control as it skidded and careered off the road, running on two wheels. There was nothing I could do, but to cling on to the steering wheel as the car rolled over its side two or three times before it came to rest on all four wheels. We felt being thrown about within the car, hitting here and there until all movements stopped. The engine had stalled and there was utter silence. The headlights continued to project their light, but on a very uneven terrain with many trees and shrubs in it.

I called out the name of each of my students and heard the answering "yes" . I was greatly relieved to find out that they all were there and none was hurt seriously. However, when we tried to open the doors we found that the doors were jammed and we could not open them. We thought we were trapped.

It was Smarts who discovered that the wind-screen as a whole, had come off leaving a large opening in its place. We extricated ourselves through that opening and stood on solid ground. It was then one of the students fainted to the apprehension of all of us, but the cool air revived him soon and we all found ourselves in reasonably good health.

After the initial excitements, we tried to assess our present situation. As the headlights were pointing in the wrong direction, we could not see much. However we realized that unless we get outside help, we would not be able to manage ourselves. One look at the car was sufficient to tell us that it would not be running for a long time to come. We noticed that we were at the bottom of a large ditch and the road was somewhere high up. We had to climb up a steep slope in order to reach the road. As we tried to climb, we found the loose soil underfoot giving way making us to slip down every now and then. By the time we climbed up and reached the road, we all were utterly exhausted.

We looked eagerly up and down the road for any sign of movement. Even though we could not see much in the pitch black darkness around us, we could make out the faint outline of the road stretching back and forth. It was totally deserted. The glowing dial of my watch showed the time as close to 9 pm. There was nothing we could do except to wait for some vehicle that may come along. We all knew fully well that we may have to wait until the next morning and anything could happen to us in the meantime.

By 10 pm we were feeling very tired. The initial numbness had gone and each person was feeling some aches and pains from the hither to unnoticed cuts and bruises that we received during the fall. The night air made us to shiver even though not violently at first. The night was turning much colder than I expected. We had no warm clothing. I yearned for a cup of hot coffee and a warm bed but our personal safety from wild animals and other hostile beings was my main concern.

Time passed on. It must have been past 11 pm when we heard the distant rumbling of some heavy motor. After a while we saw a certain part of the night sky getting paler at a distance. Soon it was apparent that some huge vehicle was approaching from the direction of Luwingu as powerful beams of light cut their way through the surrounding darkness.

Soon we could see the bright twin beams that were approaching fast. We knew well that no vehicles would stop in such a desolate place during night-time for fear of robbers, especially dissidents from neighbouring countries who encroached to Zambia to kill and plunder but we had no option other than trying to wave down the oncoming vehicle. We stood in the middle of the road for the driver to see us clearly and waved frantically. The vehicle kept on coming at us like a huge monster with two glaring eyes while the driver gave a mighty blast on his airhorn that sent us scampering out of his way for dear lives. However, before our shout of dismay died down fully, we heard the hissing of the hydraulic brakes as they were applied and saw the bright brakelights blooming out of the darkness. Sure enough, the vehicle was stopping. It came to a standstill some fifty yards from where we were standing initially and we ran up to it.

It was a massive trailer truck, the type which is commonly known as the "road-train". There were two people in the cabin, the driver and another person, probably the mate. They glared as if real mad at us and the driver asked furiously whether we wanted to commit suicide. However, he cooled down when he saw a foreigner among the "locals" and asked us what our problem was. I explained to him what happened and requested for a lift to Kasama where they were going. At first he hesitated saying it was company orders not to give lifts to hitch-hikers, but later relented and said he would take the "usungu"(foreigner) with him. I pleaded with him to take Smarts as I preferred to stay with the rest of the gang. I gave him directions to reach the house of one of my friends in Kasama by name Santhan Pillay and to seek his help. Smarts hopped into the truck and they left.

It was well after midnight that we saw a car approaching from the direction of Kasama. It stopped near our little group and Smarts and my friend Santhan Pillay got out. No vehicle had passed in either direction during our long vigil and we were much relieved to see them. We all piled up in to Santhan Pillay's car and went back to Kasama, leaving the wrecked car and other articles behind as nothing else could be done until day-break.

Even after many years, it is with gratitude I remember those good people who came to our rescue, especially the unknown Zambian truck driver who stopped his trailer truck for us. Perhaps it was his action that saved our lives that night from whatever perils awaited us on that desolate stretch of road. Who knows?

Chambeshi River Incident

2008-08-01T13:02:00.000-07:00

There were five of us in the "Moonraker" which was a 30 ft. cabin cruiser belonging to the "Bwangwelu Water transport Corporation". The people on board were the district secretary of Luwingu, his orderly, the skipper of the boat and his assistant, in addition to me. The boat was on lease by the Department of Census & Statistics for their operations in the district in connection with the oncoming National Census. Being the senior census officer of the district, it was my duty to visit various parts of the district and inspect the arrangements made so far.

The Moonraker was a fairly new boat fitted with a 300 hp. Perkins diesel engine. Its blue and white paintwork gleamed in the bright African sun as the boat glided effortlessly through the dark blue waters of the Bwangwelu lake. However it took more than three hours to traverse a distance of forty-five miles from the port of Nsombo on the mainland to the port of Santa Maria in Chilubi island.

By the time we reached the island, it was late afternoon. The sky was overcast and the skipper insisted that we should spend the night at Santa Maria and continue our journey at daybreak. We moored the boat and settled down within the boat for the night. Even though the place was swarming with mosquitoes, the nets fitted on to the cabin windows gave us adequate protection. We all got up at daybreak, but it was almost 8 am by the time we pushed off from the island.

Soon we left the broad expanse of water which was part of the lake and entered the river Chambeshi. The boat slowed down as we travelled upstream. The river snaked its way through the infamous "Bwangwelu swamps". Crocodiles by the dozen basking in the sun on the river banks were seen jumping into the water as the boat came around each bend of the river.

While we sat on deck chairs and chatted on, the sights and sounds of the river and its banks warmed our hearts and we felt relaxed. I might have dozed off on my deck chair lulled by the cold wind from the river and the drone of the engine. I woke up with a start at some grating noise . I felt the boat shuddering and inching backwards. Soon I realized that the boat was stuck in shallow waters and the boat crew was trying to pull it out backwards into the main stream.

The time was about 2.30 pm. We were supposed to have reached our destination before noon. Soon it became obvious that the skipper had taken the wrong turn into one of the many canals connected to the river and we were lost in the seemingly endless swamps.

Once in the main stream, we moved forward with increased speed until we came to another turn-off. But before we travelled a few hundred yards along this new canal, we got stuck again.

We looked around as far as eye-sight would permit but could not see a single human being throughout the length and breadth of the swamps. Now we were quite certain that we were lost and our escape would not be an easy one.

We backed out into the main stream once again, but not without great difficulty this time. The boat increased speed and we proceeded further until we found ourselves in a certain part of the river where the water appeared quite still. We noticed many trees with thick foliage on both sides of the river as if we were in the middle of some forest area. There was an eerie silence that prevailed all around us, and darkness as if it was going to rain. Even the birds, if there were any, kept unusually quiet.

Suddenly it came to our attention that there was absolute silence prevailing in the boat also. The engine had stopped without any apparent reason. Even though it was cranked several times, it failed to start making all of us very apprehensive. A cold shiver ran down my spine and I could see that everyone was under the grip of some unknown fear.

It was then that we saw a boat at a little distance upstream. We all saw it together as it was not there one minute ago, but it was there now. It was a canoe with a lone paddler standing upright with a half-raised paddle in his hand. The canoe was coming towards us at a terrific speed. The paddler appeared motionless and his paddle never touched the water. Even though we hailed, he neither looked in our direction nor uttered a single word. The canoe slid past us at a distance of barely ten feet with hardly any ripple and we saw the paddler distinctly. He stared ahead with yellow eyes and his face was expressionless as that of a corpse. The canoe went on as if gliding on the surface of the water and disappeared from sight while we all stood transfixed as if under the spell of a terrible nightmare.

We do not know how long we stood like that. Suddenly we realized that it became very dark all around us. The boat was made fast on a tree trunk and all the port holes were closed.
We turned in for the night. None of us could sleep that night. The fear of the unknown had gripped our hearts and the hours of darkness dragged on.

At daybreak the skipper got up to work on the engine and to the surprise of us all, it started at the first cranking. Rays of sunlight filtered in through the foliage and we heard the cheerful cackle of the birds. It was the start of another day and we continued on our journey looking out for the right canal that would lead us to our destination.

(Note: We reached our destination late that evening with the help of two friendly fishermen who gave us proper directions and one of them accompanied us all along the way).

Destination: Kasama

2008-07-23T10:36:00.000-07:00

Kasama is the head-quarters of Zambia's Northern Province. There was a flight to Kasama from Ndola international airport three times a week which used to go up to Kasaba Bay in the northern border.

On that day, the Kasaba Bay flight arrived rather late and was nearly full. We had no confirmed bookings. However, the airport authorities were very sympathetic and allocated three seats to us even though there were many others in the waiting list. Probably it was due to the fact that we were "new arrivals" in the country and this was the next available connection flight to our destination.

The Fokker Friendship aircraft was not flying very high. Most of the time during the flight, we could see the landscape far below as a map in an "Atlas". Even though a bit "bumpy", we enjoyed the flight. After about an hour and a half, the "fasten the seatbelt" sign flashed on and the aircraft started its descent. It landed smoothly on a grassy airfield and taxied along the runway until coming to a standstill.

The airport building did not appear very impressive. It was a small, low, single storied structure. There were hardly more than two or three vehicles in sight in the parking area. Our baggage were the only ones offloaded from the plane. There were no porters in sight. As a matter of fact, there was no one from the Ministry of Education to welcome us. Some people with long fishing rod in their hands, probably holiday makers in Kasaba Bay, boarded the plane and it taxied away for the take off. Even the few cars in the parking lot have disappeared. We realized that we were the only ones remaining behind. Our baggage stood in a heap where it was put down from the plane.

We were feeling tired and hungry. My five-year old daughter had started complaining already. Leaving my wife and my daughter at the baggage, I walked to the airport office and asked if I could use their telephone. I looked up the number of the Provincial Heaqdquarters from the phone book and the operator got me connected.

A disembodied voice asked in a monosyllable "yes?" and I said in one breath " I am a new teacher recruited by the Ministry. I am waiting at the airport with my family. Can someone come and pick us up?"

The answer came in another monosyllable "wait" and the phone was hung up.

Barely fifteeen minutes elapsed; a maroon Peugeot 404 station wagon pulled up to the parking lot and a man came out of the driver's seat. He was having the dignified appearance of some high ranking official. He came towards our small group and with outstretched hand introduced himself to us " I am Mayondi, the Chief Education Officer, Northern Province. I apologize for any inconvenience caused: Lusaka (Ministry H.Q. at the capital) did not inform us that you were coming today". After shaking hands with each of us, he walked towards our baggage and started picking them up.

I was totally embarrassed. Instead of sending one of the drivers from the motor pool, the CEO himself had come to pick us up. This was something unheard of in the country from where I had come. Not only that, he even apologized for the delay in meeting us, even though it was not due to any fault of his. In addition, this provincial chief was picking up my heavy suitcases and loading them into his vehicle in spite of my vehement protest. I felt ashamed. We were then whisked off to the Guest House where we would stay until we were ready to proceed to our station.

It was our "Day Two" in the "Friendly Country" where we were destined to spend nearly 30 years of our life.

Lost and found

2008-07-16T10:13:00.000-07:00

On my first arrival in Zambia we had to spend a night in Ndola as the connecting flight to our final destination would be on the next morning only. The hotel where we spent the night was right in the centre of the town and the intermittent sound of speeding motor vehicles gave us some discomfort. The breakfast which consisted of toast with butter and marmalade, bacon and eggs washed down with a generous pot of African coffee enabled me to have a cheerful disposition by the time we left the dining room and came to the foyer. The suitcases were stacked in one corner, ready for transportation. I asked the European lady at the "Reception" to ring for a taxi. While waiting, I thought of calling the airport to ask whether the flight was on time. The receptionist connected me to the airport and my wife and daughter waited patiently while I talked.

The flight would be on time. Soon the taxi arrived and the bell boy put the suitcases in the trunk. We all got in and the cab took off. I was running a check list of my baggage- three suitcases and a 5 gallon tin of cooking oil (someone in Tanzania had told us that cooking oil was a rare commodity in Zambia, and hence the 5 gallon tin. We soon found out how much mistaken we were) in the trunk, my wife's hand bag and her overnight bag just beside her on the car seat, my brief case.... where is it?

It should have been with me. I looked down. It wasn't there. I turned round and looked on the back seat where my wife and daughter were sitting., asking my wife at the same time "where is my brief case?"

She looked left and right and also in the space between the seats and asked me "Is it not with you?" which meant she could not find it. It contained all the money, travellers' cheques, passports, air-tickets and other important documents.

I told the African driver to turn the car round and go back to the hotel. Fortunately he could understand English. While he managed to make a U-turn I told him about the brief case. He muttered something about too many thieves hanging about in Ndola. I was panic-stricken.

Even though it took only another fifteen minutes to reach the hotel, it felt like ages. Even before the cab came to standstill, I jumped out and ran up the steps to the Reception. The European lady looked at me enquiringly.

I simply blurted out " my brief case..... did you see a brown brief case?"

Without answering, she bent down and picked up a brief case and put it on the desk beside her. I realized with a great sense of relief that it was my own brief case which I thought as lost for ever in the foyer of Ndola's Savoy hotel, even before she asked with a smile "Is it the one?"

I had no words to thank her. She said "you are very lucky because I saw it on the telephone table immediately after you left. It would have disappeared within another five or ten minutes". Then she reminded me to make haste so that I would not miss my flight.

This was one of the many incidents of friendliness I experienced during my stay of nearly thirty years in Zambia- the Friendly Country.

The Warm heart of Africa

2008-07-15T19:12:00.000-07:00

Zambia (formerly Northern Rhodesia) can be called the warm heart of Africa as it is one of the friendliest African countries. It is situated in Central Africa, surrounded by Zaire (formerly Congo-Kinshasa), Angola, Zimbabwe, Malawi and Tanzania. As a result it is a land-locked country and has no sea-port of its own. However, Zambia has access to the Tanzanian port of Dar es Salaam, the Angolan port of Lobito and to the Mozambican port of Maputo through its rail links. During the period of the Ian Smith regime in Southern Rhodesia (the present Zimbabwe) after Smith's Unilateral Declaration of Independence (U.D.I) from Britain, the TAZARA railway line was built with Chinese help for the express purpose of connecting Zambia with the port of Dar es Salaam as Zambian import/export through Southern Rhodesia came to a standstill. Under the able leadership of Dr. Kenneth David Kaunda, Zambia came out
with flying colours through the most difficult times of that country's history.
The writer and his family lived in Zambia for 28 years, from 1968 t0 1996. Even though they live now in Trivandrum, India, they cherish many happy memories about Zambia and wish to return to Zambia once again, sometime in the future.