Livingstone Shenanigans PART III

Towards the end of the week a wave of lethargy overtook us all simultaneously and we contented ourselves with lying around the lodge’s pool and doing a whole lotta nothing. It was wonderful. We didn’t make it over to Namibia or Zimbabwe, but I knew I’d make it over to them both eventually so I didn’t sweat it. Besides, it felt too good being lazy.

We did make it out on a boat cruise (of the Dunder Mifflin variety) on the Zambezi river on our last night in Livingstone, which was nice. Being the fisherman that I am and having been out on Lake Kariba with my crew for many-a-night it wasn’t so new and exciting, but it sure was pretty. And it was nice to be out on the water without a diesel-guzzling generator pumping noisily in the background for once.

Other than the members of our group there were mostly tourists on board, around 30 in all, I’d say. I spent the majority of my time chatting with a chain-smoking fat guy from Poland. He was very jolly and very cool and I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather be cruising on the Zambezi alongside. To be honest, I probably only understood around 35% of the words coming out of his mouth, but that 35% was hilarious. Good times.

We got back and docked just after the sun had gone down. The vacation was almost over and I was looking forward to it ending it with a nice, relaxing night with my good friends, Ndandula, Mwenya and Mucho.

Little did I know that I would soon find myself in the middle of a heated tribal dispute, or that I would be forced to play the role of mediator.

Ndandula had to run off to meet a friend in town, so, in the meantime, while we waited for her to return, Mwenya, Mucho and I decided to stick around at the outdoor bar of the hotel that provided the boat cruise. The Zambezi was well within view and the early evening weather was warm but comfortable. We planned to get some food and drinks and hang around for a bit.

By sheer coincidence, Mucho’s boss happened to be staying at that very same hotel and was sitting by the bar. He was staying with his family, but they were all off somewhere and he was at the bar alone. He was a nice older gentleman, outgoing and easy to talk to. He was, shall we say, a bit tipsy.

So, we sat around at the bar, Mwenya, Mucho, Mucho’s boss and I, chatting about this and that, enjoying the scenery, the weather and the frosty refreshments.

As we talked, I noticed that just down at the other end of the bar sat a group of Zambian women of all ages. They were all there together, talking and laughing and enjoying themselves as much as we were. They looked like fun. I, being a fan of fun women, started up a casual conversation with the few closest to us. It turned out my assessment had been correct. They were very fun.

So, at this point, it was basically like we were one big group. One big happy group. And I was right in the middle, one single white face in the middle of it all. I remember looking around and thinking, yeeeeah, I am so happy that my life has led me here. This is excellent.

At one point we settled into a pretty standard conversation. Where are you coming from? They’d asked. Siavonga. Oh, that’s nice, for how long have you stayed there? About 10 months. Have you learned any of the languages? Yeah, you know, I’m in a Tonga area so I’ve learned some of that. I dropped some Tonga on them and they just about lost their minds.

Then, in the midst of all our jovial laughter, one of these ladies, the Queen Bee of the group, in fact, decided it was a good moment to go on a tirade against Tonga men. I mean she went off. Tonga men are the scum of the earth, she said. They treat women poorly, they drink too much, etc. etc., she spouted. Clearly she had had a bit to drink as well. Suddenly the mood of the group began to turn.

And what tribe do Mucho and Mucho’s boss belong to, you might ask? You guessed it. Tonga.

So they start raising their voices a bit and defending their honor, so to speak. Who is this women to say such things? How can she look down on them like that? What tribe is she from? How are they any better? Blah blah blah.

She raised her voice and gave it right back to them, venom shooting from her mouth and fire from her eyes. I thought she was going to reach across me and scratch out their eyeballs.

So, there I am, stuck in the middle of a full-on Zambian tribal war of words. Right in the middle. What was I to do?

At first, I sat enjoyed the show. It was pretty funny. Then, as things got more and more heated, I knew I had to get out of there. I excused myself and walked over to the men’s room.

Something had to be done, I decided. I took a deep breath, pumped myself up, and headed back to the group. Things had calmed down a bit, but there was still tension in the air. I regained my place in the middle of the groups and prepared myself for the speech of a lifetime.

Listen up, everyone, I said loudly. I had their attention. You’re a Tonga, you’re a Bemba, you’re a Losi, so what? You’re a Zambian, you’re a Zambian, I’m a Zambian (for the purposes of my speech I didn’t go into the details by explaining that I am technically an American citizen in Zambia on a Business Visa). We’re all here tonight. We’re together now. So why don’t we forget all this crap and just have a good time?

I raised my glass in the air, looking around for affirmation.

I got it.

I heard shouts of approval from both sides as everyone raised their glasses. We all drank and continued with our merrymaking, the tension, for the most part, dissolved. While we never got back to our original state of glee, we all had a good time.

I know what you’re probably thinking. You’re thinking there’s no way that this actually happened, that it was just a delusional daydream. I’m telling you, it happened exactly like that. Exactly.

I’ve failed many times and in many ways here in Zambia, but when it’s all said and done I’ll always have this moment, one that I will cherish forever. The day I stopped a Zambian tribal war.

The next day we packed it up, said goodbye to our lodge friends and headed out of Livingstone, none of us quite ready for the vacation to end.

I arrived back in Siavonga the next day, tired from the travel but glad to be back amongst my friends and Namumu family. That night I ate dinner, nsima and kapenta, on the ground and under the stars with my neighbors. The dogs howled in the background and the crickets chirped. Oh, and then one of my neighbor’s roaming cows peed on the ground right beside where I had placed my backpack, sprinkling it thoroughly.

Welcome back to the bush, Sam. Welcome back.