ON THE OCCASION OF MY OVERNIGHT INCARCERATION IN LUANSHYA, ZAMBIA
Chronological Age 74. Mental Age – ?
Identification.
Zambia derives its name from the Zambezi River. The river runs across the western and southern border and then forms Victoria Falls and flows into Lake Kariba and on to the Indian Ocean.
Location and Geography. In size, the country is roughly equivalent to the state of Texas, about 290,585 square miles (752,615 square kilometers). The unique butterfly-shaped boundaries are the result of the European scramble for Africa’s natural resources in the early 1900s. The capital is Lusaka. Bordering neighbors are the Democratic Republic ofthe Congo, Tanzania, Malawi, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Botswana, Namibia, and Angola.
When I arose this morning, I had no inkling that by the end of the day I would find myself inside a Zambian jail cell with several local prostitutes and other assorted female incorrigibles. Under different circumstances such is the stuff of male fantasies. But I wasn’t entertaining sexual vagaries or flights of imagination. No sir, not me. I was more concerned I might miss the assigned time for my blood pressure medication. Which became increasingly more likely as the hours slipped away, and, I was not certain anyone would come to assist me. Panic attack.
The day began innocently enough, awakening to the shrill cry of the housekeeper as she hurried past our bedroom door wishing us (my partner and me) a good morning. I rolled over, squeezed a 40 DD tit, yawned, and struggled to locate the floor with a bare foot. With feet firmly planted I pulled on my gray Fruit Of The Loom sweat pants and ambled down the hallway to the back porch sans shirt. This is where the day, every day, begins and ends. The outdoors kitchen. The center of activity for Copper Lodge. My home, project, work for the next nine months.
Luanshya, Zambia. Copperbelt Province. Founded in the early part of the 20th century after two
prospector/explorer, William Collier & the Wapakwenda brothers, shot and killed a Roan Antelope on the banks of the Luanshya River, discovering a copper deposit in the process. A hot, dusty, heretofore
prosperous mining town of now about 100,000 blacks and a smattering of whites; tourists, profiteers, and low income locals who struggle to eke out a meager existence amongst economic chaos, corrupt politicians, tribal squabbles, droughts, AIDS, and presently, locked down in the midst of a pandemic.
Copper Lodge is a one half acre walled compound that consists of a four bedroom main house , receptionist area in the front, back porch cooking and dining area, 10’x30’ swimming pool, 15’x30’ thatched roof grass hut entertainment room with television and piped music, tables and chairs for 30 to 40 diners, eight rooms with single and double beds. Single row, motel style. Multiple water gardens, cactus gardens, palm trees, flowers, shrubs and bushes. Well water. Kidney shaped swimming pool.
I saunder over to the Coke-A-Cola cooler that houses the numerous bottles and cans of different brands of beers, wines, and whiskies that are sold to the guests that occupy the eight cabanas rented usually on a nightly basis for fun, sex, food, and entertainment. Grabbing a beer without mentally noting the brand name, a twist on the cap unlocks a cold, golden liquid that flows effortlessly down my dry throat and brings relief to a dehydrated body in search of nutrients. Fuck, that’s good! A silent statement made to assuage a throbbing brain in revolt against copious quantities of lager the previous night.
Mosi Lager
Named after the mighty Mosi oa Tunya (Victoria Falls) Mosi Lager is the iconic Zambian beer. Brewed for over 30 years it’s Zambia’s number one thirst quencher. And mine, by choice. ‘Mosi-oa-Tunya’ comes from the Kololo or Lozi language and the name is now used throughout Zambia, and in parts of Zimbabwe. … Its local name, Mosi-oa-Tunya, translates as the ” Smoke That Thunders “. The native people here call it Mosi oa Tunya(the smoke that thunders).
Zambian law states that no man will use insulting language against a woman.
Local men do precious little other than drink themselves into various states drunkenness, gamble, and beat their wives and girl friends – so say the wives and girlfriends of the local men. The idea of work is foreign, and hardly ever crosses their mind.
The hot, sun drenched, cloudless day slips away as I go about my chores that include filling the requests of guests, pool chlorination, watering foliage, planting flowers, veggies, palms. Capturing the two mongrel dogs that escape each time the compound gate is opened to permit entry to guests. To their credit they are excellent watchdogs. Two white bitches – mother and daughter. And, an obligatory Mosi every hour to prevent my 73 (coincidentally, the number of languages spoken in Zambia) year old brain from boiling.
Shadows grow longer, twilight turns to blackness, and the night swallows Copper Lodge.
END PART 1
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