Red Tape

Photo of the week

Highlight of the week: 9 elephants cross the road in front of us on our commute home 

Lowlight of the week: A bad road traffic accident. 1 teenager dies. 2 others fighting for their lives. 

Maximum temperature: 37 degrees Celsius

Rainfall: None but it was a bit cloudy today

All countries have rules. Websites with endless lists. Passport rules. Visa requirements. Work permits. Residency permits. Zambia is no exception. We have been here twice before. We know the hoops we have to jump through. Just to have the pleasure of volunteering here. Without a work permit, of sorts, we are not allowed to do any work. And of course, these things cost money. The red tape is frustrating. But as we jump through hoops we step away from our regular duties. And make the most of a trip to the big smoke.

Last week, we had our long-awaited trip to Chipata. A town which sits just 136 km south of us. On the Great Eastern Road. Not far from the border with Malawi. Whilst still on call. We venture beyond our 30 minute boundary. Cross the line. The Rubicon. We bend our rules to follow the rules. The worried well and mortally wounded will have to bear with us. As we dot the “I”s and cross the “T”s.

WhatsApp permits us to triage and to temporise. Video consultations bring our caseload to Chipata with us. But the perilously sick will just have to suck it up.

Chipata Immigration Office is the headline act. Our Mfuwe immigration office, the poor relative. The Mfuwe office unable to fully sanction our cause. Despite Mfuwe nominally being an international airport - two flights come in from, Lilongwe, Malawi each week. The Mfuwe office can only give us a stay of execution. But to stay for 3 to 4 months we need a proper permit. And another illegible stamp in our passports.

On arrival in Zambia in June, we were given business visas. Valid for 4 weeks at no cost. Entry visas became free of charge with the new government. To encourage visitors and tourists. We no longer have to fill in endless slips of paper. Stamped and filed in large cardboard boxes. Never to be seen again. But those 4 weeks were not quite long enough for us to get approvals for our Temporary Employment Permits (TEPs). So, our local Immigration Office stamped our passports and put us on report when our business visas ran out. It’s a bit like being on the naughty seat at school. More bits of paper. Plenty of stamping.

I spent the week before our Chipata trip incubating a shopping list. Chipata has proper supermarkets. Shops with more than 3 aisles. With a choice of foodstuffs. Chilled and frozen food. Fruit and veg. Booze. Although we can survive on what is available in Mfuwe, Chipata has more choice. Now is a chance for us to stock up on items that will make the next 2 months less monotonous. Our taste buds crave for what we don’t have. My shopping list is not long. Topped by mushrooms. This might surprise my family. I spent the first 15 years of my life picking them out of anything that Mum cooked. Disliking their slimy texture and their earthy taste. But now they are up there. We dream of mushroom omelettes, mushroom risotto, mushroom quiche. But how will we keep them fresh for as long as possible. We investigate freezing them. And then research how many to buy. 

Fast food has a tiny historical niche in our normal diet. But travel has occasionally weakened our resolve. Motorway service stations. Airports. Railways. A guilty pleasure. No-one likes to admit to having a sneaky KFC. Or a Macky-D. Nowadays, we join in the nay-sayers. Ugh. Who would eat that? I can’t even remember the last time we succumbed. In the UK, it's hard to go anywhere without seeing the bright lights of the purveyors of fast food. The Golden Arches never far away. Resolute, we withstand the pull and drive by. Not through.

Somehow, out here, in the back of beyond, fast food outlets hold more sway. Us country hicks even boast of our plans to binge. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I guess. And we risk the absence of our heartbeats. The craving irresistible. We talk about our upcoming trip to Chipata with a different verve. We plan our Chipata lunch stop. The Hungry Lion usurps all other offerings. Zambia’s answer to KFC. Greasy, deep-fried chicken. Crispy French fries. Copious amounts of salt. Our anonymity in Chipata hides the indiscretion. A big town. Nobody recognises these Mzungu. We can visit the Hungry Lion incognito. We have spent the last 2 months educating our neighbours about healthy eating. Extolling the virtues of less salt in the diet. Fewer healthier carbs. We have exercised every day. Wanting to return to the UK lean and fit. But at the first hurdle we fall. Chicken and chips and make it snappy! The first opportunity in the big smoke and we are queuing up for our chicken and chips.

The first rule of Africa is to expect disappointment. I say that without negativity. Merely realism. I love Africa. Its charm. Its beauty. Its attitude. But Africa is full of challenges. Plans are rarely realised in the way that they were conceived. Expect to meander, to adapt, to regroup.

Let me cut to the chase. After a week of planning. After all the expectation. Did reality measure up? Was our trip to Chipata a satisfying hit, or a damp squib miss?

Not surprisingly, it did not all go to plan. But as far as trips to Chipata go, it delivered on most fronts.

Up at 05:00 for a long and bumpy drive. Chipata is said to be 136 km away, along a potholed tarmac road. By the time we have weaved our way around the largest potholes, 140 km is tallied on our odometer. I drive. Keith blogs. Catches up with emails. Fires off WhatsApp messages. It’s a frustrating drive. Mzungu is a solid drive. But whenever I get to cruising speed and engage 5^th gear, a large hole appears in the road. I slam on the brakes. Hoping to preserve our axles and tyres. But often the holes swallow us. And we bump our way through the holes. Huge sink holes envelop us.

We are not green to this journey. This is our 4th Chipata mission. Although the road gets ad-hoc repairs, it seems that chaos theory is at work. The tarmac erodes. The sink holes take hold. Just like painting the Forth Road Bridge: as potholes are filled at one end; they open at the other. Natural forces attempt to return the terrain back to the bush. Occasional vehicles also take a toll. But cars are outnumbered by goats. Chickens. Cattle. The searing sun and occasional flash floods reek more harm.

This is not the A1. There are no signposts. Nor way markers on the way to Chipata. But we clock the landmarks. We pass through dirty village and church village. The former graced with rubbish strewn asunder. No one seems to care that plastic bags and glass threaten to suffocate or lacerate their minors. But our favourite place is church village. For a meagre population of 500, there are 7 impressive churches. All side by side. With their own name boards. The churches trump the simple brick and mud houses. Each extended family seems to have their own place of worship.

Chipata materialises. Our first port of call is the immigration office. We are relieved to note that the electricity is on. We are met with smiles. And an amazing degree of efficiency. In previous years, we have spent 1-2 hours sitting waiting for our permits. The permit system is all computerised. The computer has to talk to a printer. The printer has to listen. Then it has to print off our plastic TEP cards. Each TEP card has a photo and a signature. Last year, it took each of us 5 attempts for this talking and listening exercise to bear fruit. The immigration officer kept rebooting the computer. Switching the printer on and off. But as the card printer whirred into action, the ink was dry. So, we started again. Hot and frustrated. This year, the messages are clearly enunciated and well heard. No cursing. No harumphing. We are in and out in 20 minutes. By 09:00, our first objective is in the bag.

Now on to the fun stuff. But not the fungi. We regroup to shop. But fall at the first hurdle. All my dreams of mushrooms are thwarted. Out of season. Not a single fungus to be had. Instead, we have to be content with strawberries. Not like for like. Hardly suitable for an omelette or a risotto. No substitute. But still a prize. We fill our supermarket trolley with milk, porridge oats, bacon, cheese and wine. Important stuff.

Back on the street: the street prices tempt us to fill Mzungu’s hidden niches with fruit and veg. The fruit and veg sold on the street. Next stop the pizza parlour: 3 huge pizzas to take away. We have a date to share these with friends for dinner tonight. Penultimately, we swing by Abdullah’s pharmacy to stock up on drugs for the medical kit. It’s such good value. Ceftriaxone in my book has always been an expensive antibiotic. Yet here, now, it’s about 50p, per injection.

And finally, we head to the Hungry Lion. The place is full of Azungu. White people. Mainly tourists. It is as though we have all lost our imagination. Is this really the best place to eat in Chipata? Or are all the tourists just like us? Craving the unobtainable.

Homeward bound. We leave by 13:00. Another record for us. Not only do we have time for a medical consultation on the way home. But we even manage to meet our friends for sundowners. To share out the pizza. To drink wine. And to toast a splendid day out.

Holy Shamoly

Two hungry lions

Legal again

Hippo party