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The Long Road Home
Having taken 3 of the 4 allocated days to reach our destination, we
were well aware of the fact that we were not going to make it back
to Lusaka on Monday. But I guess we knew that before we left Lusaka
at the beginning of the weekend. What was important was that we had
reached Sumbu which was our goal, although there was nothing
specific that we wanted to do in Sumbu except ‘take a look around’;
see what had changed since the last visit there.
Having camped on the beach at Ndole Bay, under the enormous
Winterthorn trees, we dragged ourselves up in the morning knowing
that we had a long day ahead of us. The fire was already blazing and
it was not long before the tea was ready. What a lovely way to start
the day watching the sun slowly rise over Lake Tanganyika. We could
easily have sat there all day, but then reality kicked in : there
was breakfast to be made, tents to be taken down and packed away,
the car to be repacked, the bill to be settled, the area to be
explored (even if only on the surface) and the long road back.
We
did all the mundane ‘after camping’ chores and set off down to get
some ice and then on to Sumbu.
Looking out over the town from the top of the escarpment, one sees
the thatched roofs of the houses and from the distance, one can
almost see the boats arriving over the lake, carrying Arab slave
traders, coming to pick up their human cargo. And one can feel the
terror these boats must have put into the hearts of the bulk of the
population, as those that could, fled into the bush. And weigh this
against the glee which the headmen who sold their people to the
slavers felt; they would be paid well for their efforts.
 We
meandered down the hill to Sumbu, or rather the area in which the
ZAWA camp, the harbour and the village square are found. Previously
the village square had a large covered area in which there was a
market and this was surrounded by shops, selling an assortment of
goods. Today, the covered area no longer exists although no one
could tell us why it had been demolished. The shops still exist,
selling the necessities of life in Sumbu.
From
there we trundled down to the harbour where we were warmly greeted
by Blessings Mulenga and his friends, who only wanted to tell us
their names and ask how we were. Sadly the harbour is in a state of
disrepair, the legacy of three or four decades of no maintenance;
another example of Zambian investment being lost. Wouldn’t it make
the life of the lake dwellers much better if the fishermen or those
boarding water taxis had easy access on and off the lake? And
wouldn’t boat owners sleep easier at night knowing that their wooden
boats were tied up solidly and sheltered by the breakwater from the
storms which blow on that lake? This used to be possible, but sadly
no longer.
By
this time, the sun was reaching its peak in the sky and we needed to
hit the road. We had been reliably informed that the road via Kaputa
was good, so we would be taking that road rather than the way we had
come, via Kawambwa and Mporokoso.
Back
up the escarpment we went, wondering when we would see the lake
again, turning right at Bulaya and then we were heading for Kaputa,
cutting across the top of Lake Mweru Wantipa, the lake of mud. As
one proceeds, much of the road is raised above the level of the
surrounding area which is a swamp with water levels rising and
falling with the different seasons.
At
one of the many culverts under the road, we found a group of
fishermen pulling out the tiniest fish with their net made of
mosquito netting. I wonder what happened to the law governing the
size of nets which can be used? I wonder of anyone has explained to
these people that if they catch the fish at this stage, that soon
there won’t be any fish to catch. I wonder if anyone cares? Probably
not.
 Between
when Bulaya and Kaputa, we experienced something that I have not
experienced for many years : a genuine dinkum road block, like the
ones of the 70’s and 80’s. These are security checks and being so
close to the Congo border are, I believe, justified in this
sensitive area. So be prepared to get out of your car, let them take
a look around, have your identification ready and you should be
fine. But also be aware that there is nothing telling the unwary
driver that this is a road block : it is only a couple of wooden
stands staggered along the road, and if you take a look under the
tree, well off the side of the road, you will see the officers
relaxing in the shade.
Kaputa is a dusty little village, indistinguishable from most others
and of course it has its Council Levy Checkpoint complete with
enormous padlock. From Kaputa the road deteriorates, so don’t be
persuaded that it is a good road. It starts off with fairly light
corrugations which eventually turn into potholes, ruts and the many
forms which bad roads take. Of course there are some good parts, but
these are few and far between.
By
the time we reached Mununga, the sun was low in the west and we knew
we would not see anything of Lake Mweru and again, we would not
reach Mbereshi in daylight. But we kept going, negotiating the very
bad road between Mununga and Nchelenge and then we were back on
tarmac. It was completely dark and all we could see were the lights
of the
fishing boats on Lake Mweru. How sad. Now we will have to take
another trip up there to see what goes on although I don’t think
Nchelenge would be classified as a tourist destination. We took a
brief detour into the centre of town, a mass of people, minibuses
and cars being driven badly on the potholed roads which are lined
with ditches and gullies on either side.
Pressing on, we aimed to make Mansa that evening where we would stop
for the night and were making fairly good time until a few
kilometres north of Mwense, our lights flickered on and off a few
times. It looked as if it was only the battery terminal which had
shaken loose on the bad roads, but rather than risk losing them
completely between towns, we decided to pull into Mwense to sleep.
But
where to sleep? Accommodation establishments of a reasonable
standard are few and far between on this routes and camp sites
non-existent. We would have to call on Zacaria Phiri, which we did.
He is always quite happy to let you park your car and at least
you’re assured of a safe, although not necessarily comfortable,
night.
The
next morning, we were on the road at sunrise, and apart from being a
day late, there was an infected hand and what (correctly) looked
like a dose of malaria, so there was no meandering along, stopping
for photo’s or to explore. Another reason we will have to go back.
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July
2007