Playing Trumps

Published on 5 April 2026 at 15:58

A toad guards his spawn

Highlight of the week: Our to-do list looks like a winning bingo card

Lowlight of the week: We leave just as our garden springs forth

Maximum temperature: 17 degrees Celsius

Rainfall: Plenty

I play my best card with a flourish. An ace of spades. But Keith trumps me with a two of hearts. It’s only a game, but Keith’s smile says it all. The winner takes all. My competitive trait runs strong. I don’t want to just take part.

We know the way to Mfuwe. Even better than we know the way to San Jose. But getting to Mfuwe involves a few twists and turns. Choices, options and decisions if you like. We have just about tried them all. There are no direct flights to Lusaka unfortunately. So we pass through airport hubs. The hubs funnel us in, and out again. The glitzy terminals in Dubai and Qatar. The European efficiency of Paris and Amsterdam. The functional Addis Ababa. And the shambles of Nairobi. This year it’s Heathrow and Johannesburg. Fortunately, British Airways were offering the best deal. So we have managed to out-trump Trump and avoid both the missiles and the uncertainty of the Gulf states.

Last year our journey was properly Tangoed by the Orange man. One card was played after another. Nuclear facilities in Iran became unclear. Badly spelled, or wiped out with a well-aimed missile. The Ayatollah chose to throw away a dud hand and Doha was targeted with a parried lob. Our timing was off. Our flight from Manchester to Doha was waylaid. We played patience in Manchester airport. The skies off -limit.

Again this year the major league players are gambling big-time. The stakes are high. The Gulf has become a saloon bar, where cards are played and guns are toted. We are happy to avoid the OK Corral. Happy that our flights haven’t been cancelled. Happy that our fares predated the hike in jet fuel prices. Happy that BA has enough jet fuel to fill our tank.

This year we deal out the cards for another hand of patience. We adapt to the expectations of officialdom. One card played last year meant that we had to follow suit with a series of cards to get our new 2 year employment permits. The last card of that series is to be played this week in Lusaka, as we collect our shiny new permits. Lusaka central immigration office our card room. Laying that last card should be a slam dunk, if you can forgive me for mixing my metaphors. Lusaka, like many big cities, is not a place where we would ordinarily choose to loiter. But needs must, and 3 nights in Lusaka will allow us to hedge our bets with the immigration office, as well as giving us an opportunity to meet our boss.

In getting a 2 year work permit we sacrifice a few non-faced cards. Surrender our mid-tour trip to Chipata to collect our usual diet of traditional work permits. The drive to Chipata a burden happily forfeited. Meanwhile our diet both wins and loses. We lose our strawberries and mushrooms from the Chipata market. Our unhealthy Hungry Lion chicken dinner and a pizza stash for our freezer is conceded too. Keith is frantic about where our wine supplies will come from this year. But I still have an ace hidden up my sleeve. Nature abhors a vacuum.

Our one week departure count-down has a familiar feel. Lists are written. The tea-point¹ steadily fills. Amazon deliveries arrive daily. Essential equipment comes in big boxes. Decanted into smaller boxes. Or no boxes at all. Clothes are sorted. And re-sorted. Washing washed. Ironing ironed. And somehow everything squeezes in to four big bags. No stone is left unturned. We clean and tidy. Kwetu is readied for visitors. Cars are SORNed. Batteries disconnected. Garden gardened. We walk the paddock daily. Admiring the newly planted trees. All 60 of them. We watch as the daffodils appear. The tree blossom is blown off. The magnolia generously flowers before we leave. Along with the Camelia. The pond is full of frog, toad and newt spawn.

Leaving Kwetu in Spring seems crazy. We will miss the tulips and the alliums. But at least we caught a first crop of forced rhubarb. Enough for a clafoutis. Fraser and Keith celebrate the early harvest. Yet the garden will still be in full flow on our return. Fruiting and a little nutty too. Ample rewards to tempt us to tackle the jungle growth.

Easter Day arrives. Our D-Day. Our combined bags weigh in at 150kg. The airport commute. With typical uncertainties. Passports checked and re-checked. Plenty of time left for mishaps. What ifs. But there is no crash. No calamitous delay on the M62. No break down. Storm Dave a damp squib. Our taxi deposits us 4 hours before departure. Our friend Nina, AKA Mama Chelewa, would bemoan our punctuality. But punctuality calms my jitters.

Once we are checked in, we check out. Check out of UK life. At this point what will be will be. It’s now out of our control. British Airways can take on my time worries. Transition has started. As we fly south for the summer, we go against the grain. And ready ourselves for the next chapter of our African adventures.

Keith keeps a poker face. I call his bluff. He knows that we have stacked the decks in our favour. I follow suit. We expect to be able play our next hands in South Luangwa well. But let’s hope that we don’t fold en route.

1 A tea-point. We have a room at Kwetu where you can drink tea without disturbing the occupants of the kitchen.