Does you boyfriend have chickens?

I know I have told you all about the buses of Lusaka before but this week has brought with it further experiences that I need to share, potentially to deal with the trauma of it or maybe because I am now obsessed with buses. I am not sure. So to recap the buses here are blue mini buses which look like they have been cut and shut or have not been serviced for ten years or both. They are supposed to seat 12 or 13 if someone is unfortunate enough to sit next to the driver, which I was this week but that is something I shall get too later, instead they seat 18 and the driver and the conductor.

So this Monday morning I had the overwhelming joy of sitting next to the driver or waiting 20 minutes for an empty bus to fill up before it would leave. Already late for work I took a gamble and rode up front with my driver. I am yet to find a vehicle in Lusaka without a crack in the windscreen but the beauty I was faced with on Monday morning was a marvel. A marvel at how the whole thing had not caved in. I pay my 3 pin for my exhilarating near death morning experience and nervously play with my St Christopher as we set off into rush hour traffic at a ludicrous speed, as if the driver knew I was late for work. It was then that I noticed the stench of booze, I knew it was not myself as I had skipped the England defeat the night before for a sensible early night.  So as subtly as a musungo on a blue bus can, I leant into the driver for a good sniff only to confirm my suspicions. He was as drunk as a skunk pre 8am. There was little I could do at this point but reminisce about the joys of London public transport and internally promise to never moan about it again. Only one stop from work the driver decides that it would be better to drive on the track at the side of the road to avoid traffic and at the last minute did a stunning manoeuvre up a steep verge, over a bollard and pulling into the bus stop. After two cigarettes and a few Take That songs on the iPod did I stop shaking and make it to my desk.

I have had some interesting conversations with Zambians of late. One was on a bus on the way home.  An older chap, I would suspect 45 years of age was wedged between myself and the window. Now on this journey a mini miracle happened. The bus was so full that it was not stopping at every stop and therefore my reaching of home was likely to happen within ten minutes rather than 30. I was revelling in this thought when the chap starts a conversation, at first it was a pleasant chat about what I was doing in Zambia then out of nowhere he divulges that he has a piece of land, some chickens and a goat and if I wanted it could all be mine as well. I politely explained I had a boyfriend to which he retorted ‘well does he have chickens?’. As much as I realised I was turning down a life changing opportunity I was delighted when the conductor shouted Zesco and I knew I was safely escaping the cartoon land of ludicrous opportunities.

You get these awesome nuts here called ground nuts which are like monkey nuts but not quite the same. I try and frequent the same vendors here so that I am investing in their business. I stop at Esther’s groundnut stall about twice a week on the way home to stock up. I did not need to purchase any nuts that day but stopped to say hello. After concluding I did not want to purchase any nuts that day the conversation went as follows:

Esther- ‘I like your dress, can I have it?’

Me- ‘erm I am wearing it.....’

Esther- ‘ So?’ as if I was the most selfish stupid person on the planet

Me- ‘No’ Promptly move along street feeling confused at how I was supposed to get home in just her underwear and shoes. Needless to say I have now found another route home and a new groundnut vendor who has not yet asked for the clothes off my back.

There is some irony in working in water and sanitation at present as I have a rather dodgy supply of water at home. The plumber has been out to investigate the issue of either no water or just no hot water 4 times in 10 days. On one visit he just stood and stared at the tap without touching it for 10 minutes. It is pretty chilly here in the evenings so cold baths are not a joy. I can now pretty much wash my whole body and shave my legs with one small basin of water. Washing my hair is a whole other issue which I fear I may need to get counselling about along with my dirty feet on my return to England.

To add insult to injury I received a water bill 6 days ago dated 15^th June. As there is no postal system here bills are hand delivered and it seems only when the delivery person can be bothered. On the bill it states the account must be settled within 14 days. This morning I was rudely awoken by a knock on the door, I discover two men standing there announcing they are there to turn off my water. I explained the bill was late and that if I have 14 days to pay then I was still within my 14 days to pay. This logic avaiding them so I then explained that musungo’s need water particularly to wash their hair everyday. Almost in tears at the prospect of further water trauma I thrust my VSO volunteer card at them (with my name spelt incorrectly on) to demonstrate my good work in their country. Thankfully this appeased them and I currently still have a water connection, even if it does not come out of my taps.

Finally to end on a little piece of news from the Zambian Times, it was today reported that single people are not freaks but in fact are just unlucky and sad as they had not yet found their perfect person and instead of being chastised and mocked they should be sympathised with and encouraged to settle with someone, anyone.

(Please do not mistake my musings as grumblings, I am strangely in love with this country and its strange ways!)