At five o'clock Esau was waiting at the Lodge Mukambi. Then we began the long road that took us to the grave of Livingstone, and Chitambo (actually died when the Scottish explorer named the nearby town Chitambo, but today the town closest to his grave is Chipundu).
The road, to sunrise, became an explosion of life. It is the first day of school in Zambia and observed children who travel alone or in groups the paths of the road and hanging with their wallets, some, with English-style uniforms (funny how in many developing countries children go to school like they do in London city center). Do you have to go far?, Esau asked. "It tries, in populated areas, there is a school every two miles, but on occasion up to five and six km ". I see tadpoles lost in the way, yet when the day is almost, out of humble villages built of clay and dry wood.
While, before my eyes, markets begin to happen the impossible; bikes loaded up with three people; smoke from fires first
While, before my eyes, markets begin to happen the impossible; bikes loaded up with three people; smoke from fires first (is huge amount of fire I've ever seen 16 days; the sides of the road are a constant black spot) and jams on arrival in Lusaka (Lusaka always). From the capital we got way down the T-2 to the north. Conversations with Esau were nice and not without difficulties. Do you have family?, I said "Yes, en España ". How many children? "I have no children", tell. "Then you have no family. You marry and have children, is very important. Who's going to care when you get older?”, reply me. He had ten children and 16 grandchildren so far. Made me wonder. "When I come home and gather my family I realize I've done something important in life", concludes.
As, the journey began to become hard. It was very hot and the air conditioning worked at a pace that Esau was fine down the windows. We passed the town of Kabwe and Kapiri Mphosi, where I saw the train station that should have come to go to Dar es Salaam. "Just as it should have caught", thought. Typical questions of travel in places where the roads twist. Had to choose, and my feeling told me it was time to return for two weeks in Cape Town. I do not know, that train or similar appears on my way on another occasion.
After more than nine hours of travel, and only three small samosas in the stomach, we left the Kasanka National Park and see a small sign indicating that right is the Livingstone Memorial. A small sandy path with some bumps in which awaits only expected to dust and oblivion, but not the tomb of the famous explorer of Africa. The path is narrow and the sides, in over 30 There are miles from the detour, we leave small villages where children run to greet exhaustion. “!White, white! (white man)”, scream while shaking hands and smiling with his whole body. They hear the car in the distance and mass are thrown to the road.
A small sandy path with some bumps in which awaits only expected to dust and oblivion, but not the tomb of the famous explorer of Africa
We see the bike that holds up to now the record load: carried a loveseat, great, man that left him two pedals and stand to push (How long would such loading the couch?). Everything in this path has a literary point, not hard to imagine the arrival here of Livingstone. The tops of the trees bend to the top hindering the passage of the sun; small streams are drawn on flimsy wooden planks; men sit in the shadows to check that the days are consumed and, as always, others walk for hours without any destination. At the end of that wonderful and disconcerting way, we see a big sign announcing a school and a small hint, left, which marks the grave of Livingstone.
There was. It seemed incredible that the heart of this browser is in a place so desolate. The path to the monolith is covered by shadows. No one, not a single person. The road makes a cross. On the right side of the board is a small plaque in memory which is the exact place he died Livingstone. In the left, two very dirty bathrooms where toilet is a hole in the ground. Head, monolith, no great shakes either, which has replaced the tree where actually buried the heart of the missionary and explorer (the real Scotland has been). Yet, for my, the place was full of magic. I decided to sit, light a cigarette and watch this strange space (Chitambo knew was a lost place, but I imagined him covered in dust and dry leaves). It's funny, I do not know the reason, but I can not take good photos. Actually, I guess I do not want to stop feeling with my own eyes Chitambo.
I decided to sit, light a cigarette and watch this strange space (Chitambo knew was a lost place, but I imagined him covered in dust and dry leaves)
Then came Barbara, guide, which strives to teach place. Follow her, taught me the area, including the mansion of the tribal chief who helped Livingstone in his last hours (now demolished). He points proudly to a plaque in memory of Chuma and Susi, the two black assistants Livingstone took his heart and guts to be buried there and his body embalmed and transported him to walk to the coast of Tanzania, more than 1500 km, to rest in his native Scotland. Actually, both made an epic at the height of its famous chief.
I, for my part, I point with pride to a curious: the monolith is a single plate of a foreign country, and Spanish. It is the municipality of Barcelona, year 1973, on the first anniversary of the death of Livingstone. I ask to stay a little lonely again, I need to savor the feeling of triumph trip. He wanted to reach and here I am Chitambo, in a place full of symbolism for those who love travel and history. I'm really happy.
Barbara asks me for help. He complains that "the government does nothing for us, give it all City of Livingstone (Victoria Falls, the most touristic country). Help us writing about it. We just need to build a small hotel and a small house to have some books and explain his life. We should be proud to have this here and we have abandoned ". "I'll do what I can, I promise ", the context. “Mándeme información”, tell me. "Dame tu email (bobo time of day)”. "I have sir, but I write an email address where you can send things (is the direction of National Park hotel Kasanka). Be careful, sometimes send me money and I only get 1000 kwachas. Can it be believed?”, tell me. I take out a book recounting visits. Six days ago they did not sign anyone.
Finally, while I was hanging around the area, Barbara and I again said that his brother is very sick and if we can bring to hospital Serenje. "There is no bus and get there costs a lot". “Claro, Esau ask is the driver ", answer. "He said that you send". "Then your brother is coming with us". Sister, is also beginning to make me a thousand bows, while the type, that can not speak and has yellow skin, get to sit in the seats. We leave, 90 minutes after, next to hospital
That night we slept in the Inn Mapontela, and Serenje, unable to take my stupid mouth smile. The next morning, in the long run back to Lusaka, I lived all Zambian experience with Esau who used to buy beans Serenje and I to enjoy the African market. On the way stopped to buy sweet potatoes and several bags of coal for the fireplace (potato, 25 kilos and carbon species, 75). "Lusaka is e very expensive", I explained. It was fascinating to return, each stop, every time I try to understand what, sometimes, incomprehensible.
After I slept in Lusaka last, to return to my "home" for two weeks, before going to Tanzania and Uganda: Cape Town. Zambia has been, certainly, best and worst of my journey through this land. I will never forget this place where, in the end, I found Livingstone.
