PART II
THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY
Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
Barrel-house kings, with feet unstable,
Sagged and reeled and pounded on the table,
Pounded on the table,
Beat an empty barrel with the handle of a broom,
Hard as they were able,
Boom, boom, BOOM,
With a silk umbrella and the handle of a broom,
Boomlay, boomlay, boomlay, BOOM.
The Congo: A Study of the Negro Race
BY VACHEL LINDSAY
In Africa, the Big Five game animals are the lion, leopard, rhinoceros, elephant, and Cape buffalo. The term was coined by big-game hunters, and refers to the five most difficult animals in Africa to hunt on foot. All are found in Zambia.
Music blares from my JBL Bluetooth portable speaker as the delightful smell of char grilled chicken, beef steak, pork and other assorted meats fills the warm night air. The laughter of beautiful black women, the guests of men who pay for their company by the night. Policemen, local businessmen, politicians, teachers, all here to forget their troubles and enjoy a woman for a few hours. As evening turns into early morning and laughter fades as couples retire to engage in copulation and fornication. Satisfaction guaranteed.
Satiated , with food and beer, I stumble off to our bedroom, Charity is arguing with a male family member about his alcoholism which prevents him from properly caring for his childrenI. Tired and drunk, I wish to sleep.
“Damn! I am bored sick, tired, exhausted from listening to this shit. “ Stumbling into the hallway where the loud, disagreeable noises originate I, quite agreeably, and in complete control of my emotions, explain to my girlfriend. “Charity, this is not the time to argue with an alcoholic about his drinking problem.” Made sense to me, and agreed to by her friend who nods in agreement giving me his unsolicited approval. I mentally pat myself on the back for rendering very sober reasoning for someone who, at the time, was as drunk as the active participants in this social discourse. This should be enough logic to quell the impending storm. Right? No, the odd sex member decides to pull rank on those of us who were born without a vagina. Even though I distinctly remember being called a ‘pussy’ many times, and a “cunt” on rare occasion. I had the irrepressible urge to ‘man up. This whole evening is about end badly.
“ Damn it, Charity, if you don’t shut the fuck up I will be forced to slap you silly!”
“Go ahead,” said she. All bluff on my part. Instead, I unleashed my coveted treasure trove of obscenities. How am I to stop this from escalating? Charity is not one to back down from a good fight. She abruptly brushes past me, flies into our bedroom, and undetected by my addled brain, fastens and latches the door. Stupid me, I think this has ended a terrible evening and I can go to bed, pat her on the ass in a daring display of bravado, pass out, and everything will be alright in the morning. Sounds good to me. A plan. Slowly, I try to open the door. Twist. Left. Twist. Right. FUCK! She locked the damn door. “Charity, open the door, please. Baby?” No answer. “Charity?”
From behind the closed door: “Go to the receptionists room (a lodge remember) and sleep on the couch,” in a strong, emphatic voice that conveyed to me that she was accustomed to being obeyed unquestionably. Immediately.
Let sleeping dogs lie.
“Charity, open the door or I will beak it down!” Mike Hammer would not have requested entry, nor will I. Anyway, BAM, Bam, bam. Often a piece of wood is as good as steel. The latch gave, but did not break. Exertion has caused me to pause to rethink my position. In a most menacing tone, she screams “get away from that door or I will call the police!” Time to rethink my plan What would Sun Tzu suggest were he here to advise me? Quite a day, to this point.
“Charity, no need to call the police.” I humbly admit the superiority of women. Vaginas rule.
“ I am tired, baby. I only want to sleep.” The time is one a.m.. Grabbing a sheet off a chair in the reception room I dutifully head for the couch, plop. Exhausted, I lay awake and replay the days events in my mind.
Headlights, voices, men pounding on the metal sliding door to the compound, and the sounds of several men talking amongst themselves announces the arrival of la gendarmerie.
Police travel in armed groups aboard old military vehicles. Six to ten troopers armed with AK/47’s in the open back of the vehicle, clearly visible to all, I suppose as an intimidation tactic as much as anything else. Young, physically healthy, strong men in their teens or early twenties. Dressed in camouflage. Duly impressed. Guns always command my attention.
The team captain approaches the room I occupy . Knocks on the door several times. He cannot see me on the couch with my security blanket, the sheet. My mind races, how do I get out of this? Are you stupid? You can’t get out of this. A few more raps on the door, then silence. Maybe they are leaving?Bang, bang, bang, louder, with authoritative impatience. “Hello, hello?”
In my white Haynes briefs, I unlock, and open the door, granting entrance to the armed band of official intruders upon whose mercy I must throw myself. A huge man, 6’ 5”, 280 pounds and fat free, by his actions, the leader of this crew, says: “ Good evening, sir. What’s the problem here?” I, feeling more confident with passing of each minute, reply: “ nothing officer, we are all sleeping. We settled our differences and are calm now.” I think this will appease him and settle the matter.
“Really?” The official language of Zambia is English. “How old are you, sir, how old is your wife? “ I’m 73 and she is, I think, 38.’ A shake of his head expresses his disbelief. He now thinks he has discovered the reason for this evenings misunderstandings. “You will have to come with me, please.” Permitted to dress, handcuffed behind the back, and guided to the waiting truck by two armed officers who helped me into the bed of the vehicle. A short ride in the cool early morning air was somewhat sobering and as my mind began to clear I was turning my attention to trying to anticipate what comes next.
Upon arrival at the station. “Empty your pockets, sir.” Cell phone, house keys, wallet containing maybe $200.00. I was treated kindly at all times during these events. Because of my age, I was not put into the general population of drunks, drug addicts, rapists, and other assorted Luanshya law breakers. Where I was ushered to a concrete room maybe 15’x20’ with continuous running bench on four sides. I chose a a space large enough to accommodate my tired mind and body. Then, as my eyes slowly adjust to the semi darkness I begin to visually note the other inhabitants. All the occupants
are women! Eight or ten women varying in age from 18 to 50 picked up for prostitution, fighting, public drunkenness, etc.
Let me say this, if you think the experience of an old white man locked up in a cell with several black women in a Zambian jail ranges emotionally on a scale from the humorously absurd to stark terror, think about the thoughts coursing through the mind of the ladies.
Pungent smell of piss from the male cellblock prevents me from napping, so I concentrate on keeping my heartbeat in check . Slowly, the hours pass and night turns to morning. Late morning the guard beckons me, and escorts me to the discharge area. My valuables are returned, including all the cash. An voluntary admission of guilt, payment of fine, 50 kwacha (approximately 3 dollars) receipt with official stamp, and, finally, my exceptional night in Luanshya comes to an end. I am released.
My ride back to Copper Lodge with Charity was uneventful—and silent.
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