Hitchin' is Bitchin'

“Be curious. Read widely. Try new things. What people call intelligence just boils down to curiosity.”- Aaron Swartz

When I first stepped foot onto African soil, I had quite the long list of anxieties that I thought could potentially be the death of me. And as I learned more, many were proven silly and some were heightened. Black mambas, man eating lions and tigers, malaria and a comprehensive collection of blood leaching parasites were only some of the troubles that had me less then calm about living in Africa. Something Peace Corps has taught me, since being in country, is the truth on things I could only speculate upon from my sofa back home eight months or so ago. And those speculations were mostly based on bogus sources; Hollywood and those sad depressing donate-to-a sick-African-child foundation commercials (you know, the ones where flies are blanketed over sick and starving children's faces and they make you want to cry afterward). It didn't take long to recognize how dense and ignorant I was.

It turns out though that despite the presence of some of the most poisonous snakes in the world (which I've only seen one since being in country), and the fact that lions and wild beasts have been segregated to game parks, the most dangerous anxiety that I should feel threatened about is transportation. Transportation has been the cause for the most injuries and harm to all Peace Corps Volunteers, in most cases by car accidents. There are only a few roads that are paved and run through vast regions of the country and many times these roads have hidden pot holes that sometimes run deep into the ground and can cause life threatening damage to a vehicle and passenger, especially when traveling at 150km/hour.


To reach the majority of the rural PCV sites, you usually must travel on rough dirt roads that take a much larger toll out on a vechcle then just draining the gas tank. The rough roads wear out the tires, shocks and shorten the longevity of vehicles in general, in many of the same ways Africa does to most of the gear you own and try and preserve. Resistance to this is futile.


Not only are the roads dangerous but the sobriety of drivers can also be absent among cab drivers, citizens and even bus drivers, which has a heavy hand in car accidents and fatalities in country. So it becomes crucial that one must carefully assess situations while traveling such as 'is the vehicle safe?', 'do I trust this driver?'. While biking is recommended, some of the far distances are all to often too cumbersome and exhausting to perform on a constant basis, so travel by vehicle is many times the only option. The three options you have by vehicle are either paying for a taxi, which is entirely to expensive for a volunteer on a tight monthly stipend. Travel by bus, which usually takes hours longer then it would if you were traveling by car due to leaving at extremely late times, and often stops that have no reasonable explanation. Or lastly, hitchhiking.

As negative as this blog is starting to sound I'm actually just giving you the setting. After trying the first few options, I find their to be no contest in comparison to the latter of the three. Hitchhiking in the states is, FYI, illegal. Both Hollywood and the evening news has taught us that their are entirely too many weirdos that could do god knows what to people who try and hitchhike back in America and its, simply put, too unsafe. Hitchhiking in Zambia is an entirely different story though. As a matter of fact to me, its an art and a lot of fun when done properly.


White people are rare and Americans are among the most rare of all the none African Americans in country. We are practically celebrities. Stared at wherever we go. Some like to say greeting to us in English, others interrogate us for as long as we reciprocate the attention. Everybody wants to learn a little more about America the land of entertainment, Hollywood, pop music and culture.


With that being said, understand that we offer a lot for drivers considering picking up some random stranger on the side of the road, we can share with them that piece of entertainment that they are so curious about. A description of baseball, an opinion of our president, a story of our country which, in their eyes, is as thrilling and memorizing as a tween going to a Jonas brothers concert in comparison. It seems that all it takes sometimes is a few words and the accent does the rest.

The art of hitchhiking entails the knowledge of knowing a sort of sign language that is universal among pickers (those that pick up hitchers) and hitchers. I can think of about eight signs that all communicate a phrase or destination to a driver in an instant as he drives by. These usually give the driver a good idea of where you are going and weather your destinations intertwine.


After you've gained some know-how of the hitching signs, getting them to pull over is easy and then the real negotiations begin. Its always a good idea to greet with a huge smile and an energetic friendly greeting to communicate 'hey, im a nice guy and harmless'. Then find out where they are going and finally negotiate a price. Naturally, I start low and work my way up to my limit price. The trick is to be patient, If the picker is asking for more money then what you're willing to pay, wish him a nice day and tell him you're just a poor volunteer who makes very little money. Stress your situation, (or exaggerate) and see if he goes for the pity card. 8 times out of 10 he will then ask you how much you have. A technique that I've been turning to with a high rate of success lately is removing all the money from my wallet beforehand, putting it in one of my front pockets, then when he asks, I pull my wallet out and say 'look see, this is REALLY all I have'. 80% of the time, it works every time. If not it won't be long until the next car pulls over and you can work your magic again. Patience is key.


After you've negotiated a price you're happy with, you sit back, do a little brown noising and entertain and get to know your driver for the duration or your stay. If your good and you've made friends, 9 out of 10 times he'll forget the travelers fee all together. I also find that giving him a business card also goes a long way. Sometimes you'll even get refreshing food and drinks if your really good. It liberates you from the high over prices fees of the cabs, and the stuffy overcrowded always late bus rides, and you get to meet a new person and hear someone else's story. It is in fact a Peace Corps goal that we are encouraged to accomplish, which is teaching other Zambians about American culture. With every successful hitch you're not only getting a free ride, but you're putting another picker back on the road who will more then likely pick up another PCV again.


So far from what I know there have been very few instances where hitching has lead to dangerous situations, and in each and everyone of these cases that I've heard about, the PCV exercised poor judgement (or at least it could have been better) on their part. Getting the right hitch is an intuition call. You must not only use logic and careful judgement in choosing a ride, but you also must have a gut feeling that gives you that OK. In a book by Malcom Gladwell, he discusses this instant judgement call that we all possess yet don't all recognize a 'quicksnap' judgement that in most instances after practicing it over and over can really end up being a proven skill that works.

Some of my favorite times of being in country has been on hitches, learning about peoples lives, explaining about my own and really taking in how wonderfully kind most of the people in this third world country can be despite their lack of wealth. If you would have asked me a year ago if I'd be hitchhiking to get around in Africa, the answer would most definitely be no, but after only a few rides with random strangers, that are so different from me in so many ways, I'm finding that the humanity in us is what really matters. What all of the kind exceptional individuals that have pulled over to pick up an American such as me, with long curly hair and a backwards dirty yellow cap is that our humanity is very much aligned far beyond our origins or the color of our skin. Hitching isn't just fun, its bitchin!

Luapula and Ntumbacushi Falls

“The first to apologise is the bravest. The first to forgive is the strongest. The first to forget is the happiest.” - unknown

Being that I had been stationary, excluding a week, within my province, I felt the time had come to venture out and take an affordable vacation to the other side of Zambia for a relaxing retreat. I had been in my village for the past six months and felt that some much needed R&R was in order. The destination; Luapula. A province just south of the Congo on the north side of Zambia much more lush and wet then Eastern. I was looking at a combined total of a 20 hour trip and after calculating and comparing, I found If I was to take a plane straight from Zambia to America, it would be a shorter trip then what I was about to endure. I wasn't looking forward to the travel.

I started off the trip immediately after my hosting of first site visit (new volunteers fresh off the boat from America staying to experience their first taste of village life), which marked my graduation from freshman peace corps volunteer to sophomore The few days that I had with the new volunteers reminded me of what it was like when I had freshly arrived in Zambia and had my first dose of village life. They were anxious, nervous excited and had lots of questions which I did my best to answer. When their short stay at my village ended and it was time for them to head back to Lusaka to being their training, I hitched a ride with their cruiser and began my long journey. First to Lusaka bus station, then to Luapula on the night bus.


The Lusaka bus station was a hectic dangerous place. It is well known that it is a focal point for affordable transportation around the country so it harbors an array of beggars pick-pocketers and opportunists all seeking some kind of advancement. After successfully purchasing my bus ticket and boarding the bus I found that our time of departure had long come and past before our bus had set out. The original scheduled time was for 4 pm with an expected time arrival of 2 am. However our bus didn't start out till around 5:30 pm and it wouldn't be the only delay along the way.

My seat, I had thought, was suppose to be a window seat, but to my disappointment, I had a center seat (bitch) in between 2 unusually large Zambians. Our body parts we initially tried to keep to ourselves for the first few hours, but just like flexing a muscle we grew weary of trying to hold such and uncomfortable posture and by the middle and end of the venture our arms, shoulders and legs began to intertwine and become each others arm, leg and head rest as space aboard these buses was rather scarce. It was quite the long ride over night with only 2 stops for the restroom and food which we were told were to last 20 minutes, but in reality were only a little over 5 minute stops and if you weren't around when the bus drivers was ready to set off, your seat on the bus would be forfeited as it had happened to a few passengers sitting only a few seats away from me. Seemed like they were trying to make up for lost time for their late departure.


After a night of dozing on and off complete with cramping muscles, stuffy air, and sweaty bodies rubbing against one another, we had arrived at our destination in Mansa. I proceeded with another volunteer (who was partaking on the ride with me) to the provincial house where I showered and past-out in seconds after hitting the pillow some time around 4 am.


After sleeping in, I met with my friend and we proceeded to our first destination on the agenda. A camping trip to Ntumbacushi falls. A Zambian national monument which I had heard was one of the most beautiful places in all Luapula. That statement, I doubt wasn't far from the truth. After a short (at least compared to the first bus ride) hitch in the back of a truck to the Congo boarder, we arrived at out destination, and a short hike took us to our camp grounds to which we found to our chagrin was completely desolate. The lone ranger that was in charge said that we were the only ones, and would most likely be the only ones throughout the duration of our two day stay as the grounds normally remain empty for most of the rain season. He lead us to our camp ground (the best one) and we found ourselves next to a roaring stream within a short distance to several picturesque waterfalls and rapids. We set up camp and began to explore.

Throughout our entire stay the weather remained clear aside from a very light shower on our first night. The rapids went up stream for about 2 km through amazing African scenery and beautiful terrain. Downstream were four waterfalls side by side all roughly 50 feet high. We swam all day, wading in the water, finding different places to sit and let the waterfall shower us with its cool waters. They were clear, fresh and it felt good to come in contact with fresh water not saturated with fish feces. We spent the day lazing about the streams only stopping to cook meals or take a break from the sun to play cards or nap. It was an ideal time where we made plans up as we went. Not being disturbed, not on anyone's watch, with no where to be.


The next day we went below the larger waterfalls and, because no on was watching, went past the spectator view point and headed underneath the giant falls to partake in something that we both have lacked since coming to Zambia. A real shower. The entire trip was marked with no problems, discrepancies or issues that troubled us. We had a wonderful time and upon our departure, the only thing we regretted was not planning a longer stay. We left with high spirits and with unforgettable memories and vowed that we would both return sooner then later.


It was now time for a few days of leisure at my friends site to see how she was living. Being that Luapula was a Bemba speaking province, my use of my Nyanja, though attempted, was in vain and most people just gave me confused glares instead of returning my greetings. Despite the language barrier I enjoyed my time away. I met many friendly neighbors who never stopped bringing me food, got to coach and participate in a school track and field day where I'm happy to say I won every race (however I was only beating six graders and perhaps a few older gentlemen but hey, Im old and have never run track and field before), and finally won a game of Rummy, which I find very enjoyable though I can't normally match with my winning success on normal occasions We watched movies, did some house repairs and for the most part relaxed and enjoyed one another's company. It was all to sudden when it came time to go back home.

I wasn't too thrilled about making another long bus trek back home so I decided to take my chances with a hitch back to Lusaka. After striking out over and over I began too loose hope and thought I was going to have to stay another night in Bemba land. But at the last minute a ride decided to take a chance on me. I was riding with three entertaining Bembas who enjoyed making each other laugh and playing their music deafly loud.


The ride was well worth it. After disclosing to them that I was a fish farmer, they began to open up drastically to me, telling me their personal life, plans for the future and what their profession was all the while the driver was doing about 160 km per hour weaving in and out of traffic like he was trying to time travel. We were in Lusaka in 6 hours as opposed to the 12 from the ride on the bus. I'm not sure if they were following all of the traffic rules or speed limits along the way, but I'm happy to say we all arrived in one peace unscathed and myself free of charge due to our new found friendship, though they want me to measure them a fish pond when I return to Luapula.


After one night in Lusaka and a quick stop for some supplies and groceries I headed home on a hitch with a preacher who loved American gospel and tried to convince me the entire way that witchcraft was real. When I arrived back in my village, a finally cherry to top off the vacation was that everything was in order at my hut. No pigs had breached the perimeter, my cat and dogs were alive and my house hadn't been ransacked by thieves in the midst of hunger season. I have to admit that I fostered a bit of worry about the state of things during my entire vacation. It was a huge sigh of relief.

It had been a successful vacation. My impression of Luapula had been that it was much more of a fisherman culture and a RAP volunteer like myself would have much better luck up their in keeping fish ponds year round and finding interested farmers. The people were very giving, similar to those in Eastern though their seemed to be more beggars and individuals looking for handouts then what I was use to. It had its advantages but also its draw backs but I found it to be a refreshing change from the dry mountainous regions from where I am posted. I look forward to my next visit.