African Rule #1

Hallo! I have arrived in Zambia and I am safe, but of course, not without a good story.

Africa has it’s own set of rules. I think even gravity works different here. My plane landed in Lusaka an hour late and everyone climbed down the steps into warm African nighttime air. I followed the crowed of people to the airline terminal and into our respective immigration lines. There were four lines with signs that read: Zambians, Permit Holders, Diplomats and VIPs, and Visitors and Tourists. After a heartfelt and tearful see-ya-later 24 hours earlier in Omaha I was tired, jet-lagged, and completely unsure about what I had gotten myself into. I placed myself near the end of the Visitors and Tourist line mindfully watching the other foreigners ahead of me, trying to figure out protocol. Near the front of my line stood two heavily bearded men who appeared to be Islamic. One of the men was holding a huge bundle of foreign currency and the other holding a pile of passports. Each man looked flustered and frustrated arguing with immigration. As time went by all the people in the three other lines had their passports stamped and were on their way into the city while my line was still waiting on Muhammad and Osama. I was waiting in line next to Jeff, an Irish/South African/Zimbabwean. (All non-black Africans that I have met seem to have some sort of long complicated story of a nationality). Jeff and I made small talk about why we were in Zambia and hoped that our rides on the other side were being patient.

I eventually made it up to the immigration counter and I had my first interaction with “African rules”. The immigration guy checked my passport carefully and made me explain my purpose in Zambia. Apparently, my $100 student visa wasn’t enough and I needed some other authorization and blah blah blah… Is this when I’m supposed to hand over $20 and let the guy pocket it? I did my best to appear confident and talked my way into getting the guy to stamp my passport. Yay! I learned my first African rule. Rule #1: Always give off a confident air and if someone is hassling you act like you’ve got more time then they do to talk things over.

Happy that I got myself through the pickle I noticed that the only other people at the airport were workers. I have decided no matter where you are in the world, even in America, airport workers are rough looking people. I picked up my luggage and headed toward the exit. The bounce in my step quickly turned into a halt as I realized there wasn’t anyone there to pick me up. COME ON AFRICA! Give me some sort of break here. I have never been so scared in my life. All the sketchy airport people were staring at me. Then, Jeff approached me. He had noticed when he leaving there was nobody waiting to pick anyone up so he and his buddies that came to pick him up decided to wait for me. They told me they’d give me a ride to where ever I needed or I could stay with them. I could hear my heart beating. I had to make a choice: sit on the curb in the pitch black of night and get hassled by more airport people or get into a car with three male strangers. I chose the latter. The three guys had a female roommate, which made me feel only slightly more comfortable going to their house. They could tell I was very scared though and did their best to make me feel at home. I didn’t sleep much that night because

1. I was scared
2. I couldn’t find the light switch to turn off the lights
3. There were mosquitoes buzzing about
4. Dogs talk to each other at night in the form of howling and barking and cocks crow from 5:30 AM-7:30 AM

In the morning the guys dropped me off at a Rotary meeting and I got myself situated. I move into housing at the University on Monday and until then I’m staying with an Indian Rotarian and his mother. They make me delicious Indian food for every meal and they have wireless Internet in their home (which is almost unheard of in Lusaka). I’m spending my days sitting in their garden, journaling, and going on trips to the market. It’s nice to have a little tranquility and stability before I’m let loose again, on my own, on Monday to learn more “African rules”.

Captions: I am continually reminded that I am more afraid of spiders then they are of me. The second picture is of one of the workers mowing, but if you look closely you'll see that they plug the lawn mower in to the house.