ZAMBIA

A crossing of the Zimbabwe-Zambia border is made into Livingstone mid-day on a Saturday after saying goodbye to Mama and her incredible welcoming staff.  At first, an attempt is made to rent a car to travel on a truly freestyle basis throughout Zambia from west to east.  But renting in these parts is most difficult.  Once beyond South Africa, the price per day triples.  Cars are not as available.  And “dropping off” after a one-way trip is almost unheard of.

The trip through Zambia is rapid but not exactly uneventful.  Two things stand out.  The first is my impression of the capitol city of Lusaka, a six hour ride from Livingstone.  Arrival comes at 3 AM.  The lighting was dim.  I attempted a bathroom break, weaving my way around stacked piles of luggage and merchandise on its way to nowhere in particular.  Intermingled amongst the goods, were recumbent bodies … on top of benches, laying on blankets directly on the ground in family clusters, singly in oddly contorted positions, and dominating the waiting room.  One could barely make it to the loo without tripping over another sleeper .  It looked and felt like a refugee zone.

The other is a money changing incident at the end of a seven hour bus ride immediately following the first.  Arriving to the far east at 10 AM in Chipata, adjacent to the Malawi border, the possibility of going to South Luangwa National Park still offered great promise.  I was looking for “something new under the Sun” and hoping for lions.  But this was rapidly quelched when it was learned the trip was 3.5 hours long one-way over four wheel drive high track roads.  A guarantee of lions would have to be on the table for that.  And one should know early on, sighting Big Game is not the same as ordering a la carte off the menu.

The taxi driver offers to have a friend change kwacha from the Zambia form, to the Malawi form.  Unlike rand in South Africa and Zimbabwe, the two are not interchangeable here.  The rate is not nearly the same, either.  In Zambia the rate is very close to 6 kwacha to the dollar.  In Milawi, after a recent devaluation, the rate is 420 kwacha to the dollar.  The changer takes  patient care to explain instead how the Milawi monetary unit is worth 25 times what the Zambian unit is. 

Ordinarily, I would have rejected this outright and walked away.  But knowing something of relative economies in Africa, I indicate it is necessary to consult my prep book.  Your prep book is a matrix of necessities expected to be found on the road – cost of visa, where visa is to be obtained, name and ratio of the local currency to the dollar, and a list of major attractions and then miscellaneous notes attached to each potential country along the route.

The reason there is no outright rejection is that those who seek to curry your favor or gain your business along the travel path, in times of conflict, inevitably fall back on “perhaps you misunderstood me.”  Taxi drivers are famous for this.  Not wanting to be misunderstood, my book confirmed: Zambian kwacha at roughly 6:1 and the Milawi kwacha at 420:1.  I show them my prep book.  They accept it at face value, almost as if it were a government document.  And we make plans to change 804 Zimbabwe kwacha into Milawi notes.

The first part goes smoothly.  We all agree on the math.  We divide 804 by 6 to get dollars and arrive at 134.  Then we multiply that by 420 and arrive at 56,280.  The changer counts out from a very large wad of 500 Milawi kwacha notes 112 of these paperbacks.  And some change.  He is careful to count slowly.  And twice.  But his hands are moving like an Italian puppet master.  He keeps each of us looking in different areas, and attending to different tasks.  He touches and re-touches the money but always offers  soothing verbal reassurance of a slow count.  We finally part and I head for the border, happy to not have to immediately visit a cash machine and also have useless Zambian notes in my possession.

A mile away, the gut twisting feeling of the final wad of money not being as thick as that first counted won’t go away.  True to form, it is 44 of these 500 kwacha notes short, with some notes in the middle double-folded to make the bankroll appear thicker.  The taxi driver is asked to return.  Surprisingly, he is able to locate the money changer.  Now there is finger pointing.  Recriminations.  Threats of involving the police.  He falls back on the “perhaps you misunderstood” gambit.  He offers to count the money again.  My counter is a directive to now keep his hands off the money at all times.  We count out the stacks again, this time with witnesses.

Wounded pride clearly in evidence the changer creates wild scenarios that I had pocketed the 44 notes myself and was “taking advantage of an honest businessman.”  A crowd gathers.  He tries to reach for the money.  I slap his hand away.  Neutral parties will do the counting now.  He moves in, and I put my body between his and the new counter.  Shouting ensues.  He tries to play to the crowd with gestures of helplessness.

Recognizing that the taxi driver is also against him and that he is now cornered, he attempts to trade back the abbreviated stack given me for the 804 Zambian kwacha given him originally and at least break even.  He just wants out.  The dynamic shifts.  I am now in a position to claim almost any number combo I wish and take advantage of him.  He continues to attempt to hand me the 804 Zambian kwacha I’d originally exchanged with him and is shoved backward when I discover he has shortened that stack, also, though loudly proclaiming it complete.  I threaten to call the police.

The situation is resolved when I in turn slowly count out a full 112 Milawi 500 kwacha notes (and the 280  kwacha in minor change) and take them directly out of his hands.  Then hand him back the 804 Zambian kwacha.  He protests that he is being robbed, and now wants the police involved himself, but the taxi driver is shaking his head that he won’t be supported and quickly escorts me to the car.  We reverse out.  The crowd is quite ainimated.  Many give me the thumbs up sign and offer huge supportive grins as we make the return to the Milawi border.  Few had seen a changer on the losing end of a money exchange before.