Cornishman in Cornwall: Contdown to Hometown.

Five of the reasons I put myself through all this.

It is now fifteen weeks and five days and eight hours since I waved a tearful goodbye to my family on Camborne station. To disappear half way round the world to work and build something for our futures.
The sight of my families saddened, tearful, faces gazing up the platform after me as I disappeared from their lives for four months, haunted me then, as it has every night I have been apart from them.
It made me want to get off the train at Redruth station and come straight home again. But I just kept going further and further away knowing I was not going to see them again for far too long. It was horrible. The one thing that kept me going was the fact that I knew I could make things happen in Africa, I could change lives, build futures and deliver the goods, and by doing so build a better life for my family too.
Sharon and I had discussed it all at great length, involving the children in as many of the decisions as we felt fair. It was going to put a tremendous strain on Sharon, holding down a full time job, looking after four children and having to deal with me being away. (Which may have been the one saving grace, but I’d like to think not) We also realised that it would also affect the children in ways that we would not see at first. We did not realise just how close and tight we were as a family, until we took it apart. We had decided that whilst this was going to be a ridiculously difficult year, if things worked as we hoped they would, it should all be worth it. So we buckled down and got on with it.
For me it has been easier, my life has been full, with new challenges every day, new experiences to keep me busy and a nose to keep firmly to the grindstone to prove my worth. Sharon has had to battle on through the same routines that she has faced for the past two years, in a house too small and weather that only seems to know shades of grey. Now though she did not have the support she used to have, and to compound it, she also had twice the workload.
It’s funny looking back at it, when I first left to come out I thought that things were pretty well cast in stone and I knew what I would be doing and where based. Since that moment things have been turned on their head, changed around I have taken on much more diverse and interesting roles, Greater responsibilities. I am travelling much more than I imagined and as such am seeing more of this country and its people, I would also to mention the plethora wildlife, but I can’t, as they appear to have eaten it all.
I feel that I am now winning, the first three months were a fairly relentless banging of one’s head on the proverbial wall, but in the last month the foundations that I laid in the first three have finally held firm and we are now building, and it feels good. I now know that we made the right decision, I know that we are building a stable future for the family and it was not just a final fatal ego trip before I gave up hope and sank into the abyss of menial work in grey England.
I have learned probably more about myself this past four months than I have learned about Zambia, I have had many good times and a few shit ones. Most of the shit ones however have been down to me not being prepared, or me just missing my family too much than I could cope with at the time. The good ones however have been spectacular, only tainted by the fact that I am experiencing them on my own and not sharing them with those I love most dearly. I have tried to put down my experiences down in print but I am unable to communicate fully the true magic I feel and have experienced. I also did not start from the beginning. It’s too late to go back now as the moment has passed and the details have faded.
There is however much more to come as it going to get a lot more exciting as things escalate and more than likely get a bit more out of hand.
Within five days the hurt that I have been feeling over the past months will all evaporate, to be replaced by the overwhelming joy of seeing and holding my family again.
We will make the most of every moment that we are together not wasting a word by making it a harsh one, or a thought that may turn into a bad one. For all too soon the festive period with be over, the children back to school, Sharon back at work and I once again will be standing leaning out of the carriage window hating the moment when we are torn apart again.
At least it will not be for so long this time as I really don’t think I could bear that.

Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa: Shocking Realisation.

I am forty six !

Why this thought chose to be the one that woke me this morning, I have no idea. I thought there must be a reason so I dwelt on it for a while as the sun rose in the sky and the invisible bird sang its tuneless song to the whole neighbourhood. That reminds me a friend of Charlotte’s mentioned the other day that this invisible bird may in fact be a frog, so for the past few mornings as soon as the day has given enough life to my legs to operate in a fashion that resembles walking, I have been dashing around the chalets in my underpants gazing up into the trees trying to find the invisible bird. Which in itself is no mean feat because at the moment with the rains, the ground around here is like lightly greased Teflon in Slipperysville. And well worn Crocs are not renowned for their adhesive abilities. I have on more than one occasion ended up on my arse with my feet in their bright yellow Crocs wrapped round my ears looking rather foolish, as I slip virtually naked down the hill to the dam. But all this effort was not in vain. I can now categorically say that the invisible bird, is a bird, and is not always invisible, but jolly good at hiding. My next challenge is to Identify it properly so I know what name to put on the endangered species list when I get hold of it.
Anyway back to my thoughts of where I am in life’s unceasing countdown. I realised that I was probably thinking of all this as I was feeling so rough having thoroughly over done it last night, and have been careless enough to have given my entire system a right old kicking on all fronts lungs liver and stomach. I was now feeling all the ills from what seemed like a perfectly good idea last night.
So as of today, I am not drinking during the week, I will cut down to one cigar a day and I am going back on the diet that jumped whole heartedly out the window this weekend.
Being forty six means in the great scheme of things that for a reasonable innings I have only got another twenty four more years left. And I am sorry but that really is not enough. I have so many things to do that will require more time than that so I am going to have to eke out at least another thirty five years more. Now I have good reason to believe that I can do this as my great grandmother lived to one hundred and three and only gave up smoking when she was ninety nine. On the flipside my grandfather only made it to fifty seven so maybe I won’t draw too much comfort from that.
Then there is the whole retirement issue, what a nightmare. I sincerely hope that when I reach retirement age I will not be working for anyone else, but will be able to continue doing my own thing working for myself as long as I am physically able. My father retired at sixty five and basically from a man who was full of life and fit in both mind and body, suddenly had nothing to fully occupy his mind, he now suffers from chronic altsheimers and does not know what was going on one hour ago, how or what is going on around him and who anyone is apart from my mother. It’s tragic to witness and I really don’t want to end up like that.
When I am at retiring age I want to be living in Africa with lots of space and my children around me, at the first signs of mental decay I want them to send me out into the bush to go and feed the cats.
I have decided as of now, I am going to make sure that I never regret a day. And live each one to the full.
At the age of forty six it’s time to start growing up.....................

Nah there’s enough grown up people in the world already and they still manage to cock it up.

Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa: Too Serious.

Picture of the Bar at Kalima Camp. (where I live)
Getting too serious.
Over the past couple of weeks, you may have noticed that the humour and life was trickling rather than gushing, and to be honest That is how I have been feeling. The good news is the light has been relit the weight lifted and the bottom well and truly kicked.
Last night I had invited some friends round for a barbeque, I call it a barbeque and not a braai as it would normally be called in Africa, because it was pissing down with rain. A phenomenon normally associated with English outdoor cooking rather than African. Luckily about an hour before my guests were due to arrive the skies cleared the sun burst out from behind it’s grey sarong and the day was transformed.
Anyway we had a splendid evening chatting, eating and drinking with the backdrop of the dam, the trees and the wonderful variation of grasses that grow so abundantly around the dam.(and burn so ferociously when they dry up in July) At about eight we became aware that we were all having to raise our voices to be heard over the background noise that had been slowly but steadily being building up.
Frogs, there must have been thousands of them, they start with a gentle ping, which is answered by another’s ping, then their mates join, until the din that ensues drowns out virtually all other sound. And it is such a high pitched ping it goes right through you. You know the level of sound just before pain where the sound makes your ears ring. Well last night it was at that level, it was incredible. We went to see if we could find them but to no avail, and that game was cut short anyway when we stumbled across a rather large snake that we did not hang around to identify but from its girth I would imagine was a cobra. We decided that wandering around in the dark in long grass near a lake whilst half pissed was probably not the cleverest of things to do, so we went back to the bar and continued our conversations at a slightly louder level. My guests left at about eleven and I was left to the clearing up to the accompaniment of ten thousand pinging frogs.
Fortunately they had all gone horse, or were too busy doing other things to go ping by the time I got to bed, so It was just the sound of the crickets and the nightjars to gently lull me into sleep.
This morning I woke late as the sun was not blazing in through my bedroom window as it normally does at five thirty so I laid in till six. (luxury) I had to go to town to meet a local silversmith who I had commissioned to make a silver bangle for me. He made the first to my design and after a couple of minor adjustment he came up with the piece I was happy with. Great, so I asked him to make another five all exactly the same. It had taken him two weeks and he rang me earlier this week to say he had completed them all and would bring them over to me. He duly arrived and brought from his pocket a piece of paper wrapping the said articles and he unwrapped it in front of me. I was speechless. You may recall me mentioning the African curved ball a little while ago. What he bought along that day is living proof that it is alive and well and operating in Lusaka.
From the first piece that he made, I was baffled when I tried to work out what the resemblance could possibly be to these lumps of scrap metal he held in his hand before me now. Now I am a patient, calm and well mannered person normally, but this gentleman really did push my patience this day. I looked at him, showed him the piece that he, himself had made but two weeks previously, and asked him if he could spot any slight differences. Spookily enough he could and after about ten minutes more talking he finally conceded that he had made a mistake. I corrected him, that what he had made in fact was a total load of crap and that he really ought to go back to his bush workshop. Empty his pipe of the strange substances that he had been smoking for the previous two weeks and start again.
He had rung yesterday to ask me to meet him this morning at nine. I rang before leaving just to make sure he hadn’t forgotten our meeting and that he had got the new bangles. He assured me that all was fine and that he was there already waiting.
I arrived and he was his normal jolly self and he produced from his pocket a screwed up piece of paper containing what I was hoping would be five perfect copies of the one he had previously made for me. Well we were getting closer. He had three, they weren’t perfect but they would do, you have to allow a bit for these arty types I suppose. I asked him where the other two were, and he promised me faithfully they would be ready by Wednesday this week. We will just have to wait and see. My worry is that these are presents for the whole family, and I fly back to the UK for a couple of weeks on Saturday.
I am just hoping above hope that we do not see the sudden resurgence of the dreaded African Curved Ball.
Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa : Another Week in Paradise.

Alone I sit tonight, no power and little for company but Strumble, Mumbles and Derrick the forlorn Zambian. Unfortunately they are all made of wood and we sit here together in the poorly illuminated room that is home. Strumble is a beautiful oak rocking horse who has travelled the world with us and all the children have grown up with and ridden until they had their own horses. Mumbles is a grey back seagull who had lost his beak at birth, so we bought him cheap in Chichester. Luckily for Mumbles, we had a very good friend who made lutes for a living and who had the empathy with wood that only a man who made perfect 14th century musical instruments would have. (I bet he had never been asked to make a seagull’s beak before.) Derrick on the other hand is a new edition. I bought from a local craftsman in Lusaka and who has an expression that epitomises the issues in modern Africa.
Anyway the four of us are sat in the “living room” with nothing for light but an oil lamp burning citronella oil in the vain hope that it will keep the mosquitoes at bay. (It doesn’t, but it smells marginally better than paraffin.) The power went off again at 19:00 again as it has done every night I have been home since Saturday. It seems it is some sort of power shedding as they call it, Though it only seems to affect the capital and surrounding areas.
Power is a funny thing. We spent six months in Zimbabwe with about four hours power a week (and that was in the middle of the night) but we managed. Everything from the morning cup of tea to all the meals were cooked on the open fire, yes we moaned, especially in the rainy season but it was somehow special. About eight weeks after being booted from Zim, I will never forget Sharon saying as she got frustrated with the small electric cooker.” I miss cooking on an open fire” That is something I never thought that I would here her say. The thing is this was hardship for us but its everyday life for the majority of Africans.
And I think that is it. Being out here you prepare for and are able to put up with the idiosyncrasies of Africa and all that it throws at you. In England, life is very comfortable and everything works and you become complacent.
If it snowed in Africa tomorrow for a month I can almost guarantee that the place would not grind to a halt. People would still go to work. They would build snow ploughs, drink even colder beer and sell the stuff to the Congolese and make a plan. Yes they would moan a bit but they would get on with it.
So why isn’t Africa a superpower? It has the most fantastic resources.
Because when it comes to doing anything more than putting the next meal on the table, the wheels fall off. And please don’t get me wrong I am not a racist. My friends and I have discussed this at great length (and yes I am talking about my local friends here.) and they will admit the same. They will plant enough maize for this year to feed their families. Not a bit extra in case it is a bad year or if it is a good year for them to sell on. They live for today, because that is here. Tomorrow is another day, and we will sort that out, when and if, it comes.
I am not saying that everyone in Africa thinks this way but the majority of people do.
On the up side they have something that is fast disappearing in the West and that is to consider those around you. Family, family values. Due to circumstances that have conspired to be prevalent here. A family is no longer you your wife and your children, but a family unit can cover three generations, cousins second cousins and beyond. And within that group there may only be one bread winner. Nine times out of ten, through that sort of adversity they make a plan and gear up. Though unfortunately only until the next harvest.
I think where I am coming from here is that we have a tremendous amount to offer Africa and there is even more than we can take away. And I don’t mean oil, diamonds and wood. But giving business, economic conservational and agricultural acumen. And learning the true values of what we are and how our decisions and actions affect others around us.
We have to get out of our self centred ruts and help others see the bigger picture too. You will be surprised just how much you learn. Mostly about ourselves.
So, me sitting here moaning in the dark while my friend moves his family 700 km on the back of an open lorry down treacherous roads in the rainy season sort of pales into insignificance in the bigger picture.

Denzil Bark (On his soap box)

I hope this was not too depressing. (remind me not to write when I am pissed and lonely)

Cornishman in Africa : Dog and Bone Moan.

Sorry about the picture.
Communication has always been one of my things. Where ever I am in the world I need to be in touch. When I had my first house I had two phones in every room, both separate lines and in the bathroom four. Two by the bath and two by the loo, so I would not miss a call.
Then there were the mobile phones, when they first became available I got my first one, it cost £1850.00 they were car phones then, they had not become mobile. Once they did however, I had to be the first to have one and was the size of a reasonable sized family house. It was a daft price and that was just to buy the phone, the calls were another story. I never will forget my phone bills they were the equivalent to the debt of some third world countries. And of course as technology moved on so fast I was buying a new phone every two months trying to keep up with the shrinking size of handset and the increased performance. I am not nearly as bad now, but still need to have comms.
Recently, Zain (a major airtime company in Zambia) who I happen to be with for my airtime, decided to do something to their transmitters that rendered them as useless as a wet tissue when you have a runny cold. My phone signal went from a strong six bars down to a sporadic two, but only when it was stood up on its end, in the window, on the transmitter side of the house. I tolerated this very ungraciously, for two days then threw my toys out the pram, dashed out and bought an MTN sim card, whilst at MTN head office I noticed that they had a very cheap phone on sale, and it was cheap ZWK60,000. (which is £7.66) I thought at that price you can’t go wrong, it’s also endorsed by the airtime company having their logo blazoned all over it. I’ll give it a go I thought, then I at least can have one phone on each network, so hopefully I should get signal. So I bought one.
When I got home I opened up the box and threw away the packaging, (you know the one with all the writing on that says instructions.) and proceeded to assemble the phone, first I was staggered by the lightness of the phone, then by the fact that it did not have a separate battery, but this was in fact an integral part of the unit, and the only way to get it out was either with an angle grinder or an axe. This was not a problem as the phone had a charging port. Anyway I inserted my new sim card and put the phone on charge.
Within two hours the phone was charged and I went to make my first call. Much to my immense surprise it actually worked and I got through to the destination I required, the sound was ok, all be it a little wobbly and quiet, but it worked, and those problems can often be put down to atmospherics. So I was suitably chuffed, ended the call and went on to try and programme the phone with all my numbers and settings. I have probably programmed more phones than I have had cold breakfasts. But I did actually have to go and dig the instructions out the bin, to check that the phones capabilities were as it initially seemed. I know without fear of contradiction that my first Motorola I bought twenty years ago had many more features than this phone. As a direct result, the settings that had been programmed into this phone at birth were somebody’s or some working groups decision. All I can say is I would like to meet the fellow or fellows and find out just what it was he was smoking at the time.
I have now lived with this phone for fifteen days, six and a half hours and it’s driving me nuts.
It has a ringtone that could wake the dogs of hell, not only because it is so ridiculously loud it has broken all the windows in the office, but also because it has the single most irritating excuse for shitty noise that you can possibly imagine. It does not even come close to constituting a tune and barely comes under the description of sound. Best of all though, because it is the poverty model of cheapest phones in the market place today, it has no bloody volume control. Can you believe that any phone would come without a volume control, I use my volume control on my other phone about five times a day, depending on whether I am in the office, out in the fields or in a meeting. It only has one tune, it does not have a conference mode, in fact the only mode it does have is embarrassing, you cannot even turn the irritating sounds off. The tune is embedded so deep in its silicon heart it cannot change. As if that was not bad enough, it makes more than one sound. Whenever you touch any of the keys it sounds like a cat being stamped on, and at similar volume too. Then another area they have scrimped on is the earpiece speaker. It has got all the opposite traits to the ringtone speaker, it is ridiculously quiet, and has a range of sounds that could put dear mother nature herself, to shame. (It wasn’t atmospherics when I first tried it.) The downside being they don't resemble any of the sounds that were initially conveyed to the mouthpiece of the corresponding apparatus at the other end of the line.
And the final thing that gets me, that is no fault of the phone, is that two out of three people in Zambia have bought these phones because they are so cheap. So every time someone in Zambia receives a call two thirds of the population take their annoying yellow phones out of their pocket to shut the bloody things up, before anyone notices. But of course no one will notice, as everyone else is doing the same themselves.
I has reached the stage where If I don’t strangle this phone someone else in the office will.
Yes it was cheap and yes it does serve a purpose for the masses. But to me it is the most annoying thing since the crazy frog.


Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa: Working Weak.

A week in Zambia.
It has been an interesting week. I returned from Chirundu on Saturday when it rained a lot. I pulled into the yard on my return, only to slide sideways towards the trees and to sink up to my axles in gloop. Oh dear I thought. No actually I didn’t. (I thought lots and lots of bad things that are not strictly, politically correct out here)
It seems the guys had been asked to dig drainage ditches either side of the track, but they had piled the topsoil and silt up on top of the drive. A bit like smearing 30cm of lard across a main road on a bend, then sitting to watch the ensuing mayhem. (The sort of trick I would have loved to have done as a child)
Sunday I spent quietly at home just catching up with jobs and getting the last of the Christmas presents. While the guys dug out my car and scraped the mud and silt off the drive then went with wheelbarrows to go and get rocks and gravel to make it passable again. Oh yes, it rained a lot. Sunday night, it was bed early, but I did not sleep particularly well because it rained a lot and I mean a lot.
Monday morning I set off to work in Lusaka, it was raining a lot, but by now I hardly noticed. On my way to work I cross a bridge over a small stream. The bridge is about 3 meters high and the stream constantly flows under it about 5 to 10 cm deep. It’s about 50 meters long 4 meters wide and is bereft of handrails and architectural flair.
As I approached the bridge, I was first surprised by the large number of people standing on either side (about 150 in all on both sides) most had umbrellas and those that did not had rather fetching yellow and red hats made of plastic. On closer inspection it became apparent that these were in fact Shoprite supermarket carrier bags being used for the purpose of keeping heads, hair or wigs dry. About 70% of the women over here wear wigs or hair pieces, which did surprise me. It’s a huge market with most women favouring straight hair.
Anyway the hair is totally irrelevant to anything I was talking about.
As I got a bit closer I was staggered to see that the tiny normally insignificant Ngwewere River had turned into a raging torrent second only in spectacle to that of Vic Falls. It was gushing about 70cm over the top of the bridge, a huge seething serpent of brown muddy water. I must admit I did think about driving through as the prospect of going round the long way did not thrill me. But after closer inspection I decided against it as it was too early in the morning to go rigging fancy safety strops and securing the car between trees so as not to get washed away. And whilst the car could have waded through if it was still, or slow flowing, I really did not want to end in the river upside down bobbing away downstream like a sausage in a water park. So I turned the car round and an hour and a half later I was at work.
I spent the day catching up, having been away the past week. Then had to brief on the situation in Chirundu, the problems the opportunities the challenges and the potential end gain. We had the opportunity to grasp a huge contract if we could act fast, and have fool proof systems in place to operate it. The customer had been badly let down by their largest operator, and were seriously in the soft and smelly. We had to move quickly and deliver if we were to get it. By the end of the day I had a new baby to look after and to control. This was going to be interesting. I left the office at 18:00 and was home again by 19:30 after having done some shopping on the way back.
Tuesday morning at 05:00 I was on my way back to Chirundu and I was actually quite looking forward to my new challenge. The drive up was without incident, but it still is a spectacular drive when you are not is a hurry, crossing the Slow but strong Kafue river then running along the flood plains before slowly climbing into the hills. The hills get steeper and the roads get wider (Thanks to a vast road building project by the Chinese) then before you know it you are on the escarpment and you work your way down into the Zambezi Valley. The scenery is breathtaking, my only sadness whenever I travel this road is the shocking lack of wild animals, the habitat is perfect. It’s just man’s greed that took away the rights of these animals to enjoy it too. Don’t worry I am not going to climb onto my soap box now. I’ll save that for when I’m having a real I hate Africa day. (They don’t happen often)
On Monday I had explained that I would need a whole host of equipment to take on this new contract and I was assured it would all be in place Wednesday or latest Thursday. I was instructed not to start anything until we had all the equipment and everything was in place.
Wednesday I had a call to say there were some delays in getting hold of the equipment and it probably was not going to happen this week. The manager for the contract company was joining me for lunch. By the time we had finished I had agreed that we could start that afternoon and everything was in place and would run like clockwork.
In truth with the systems I had set up there was no reason for anything to go wrong, it just would have been extremely handy to have all the hard and software so we did not have to do everything manually.
It was 17:30 before head office found out that I had started and then the phone calls started. Unfortunately both my phone batteries died simultaneously and we had a power cut ?
If we had not started that day the contract would have been awarded to another and we never would have got it back.
Thursday morning 05:00 the information was in their inboxes to prove that everything was in hand and running smoothly. We had at least started and got through the first phase of which there are four. By the time the next orders came through Phase two of the first orders were complete, and by 17:00 the first order was through phase three for now and temporarily out of our hands. Order two was at Phase one. So the cycle had started and it was only going to get faster and more furious. I was loving it, a real buzz.
By Friday we were into a rhythm and we were pumping, things were advancing under controlled pressure. I had to go back to Lusaka in the evening and was not looking forward to leaving the coal face.
It has been a good week, achieving a lot but always being wary for the inevitable “African Curved Ball”. I know full well that whatever happens next week will be totally different from this one no matter what I do to influence it.
That’s why I love living in Africa.

Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa; Land of hope ends poorl.y.

I am not sure what it is in my genetic makeup that causes it to happen. It’s not that I look for a fast buck, want to have more than anyone else. I just want to have enough, and the things I want are normally a bit different to what others desire. To start with at least.
My father was always very careful and calculating, saved for everything before he bought, never overstretched himself and never really has had to worry too much about money.
My brother the same, always done fantastically, worked very hard, saved and got what he wanted, he has done particularly well through it. Even my children seem to have a better grasp on financial reality than I, they are all carful people.
So quite where did I go wrong. When I see something I want I don’t want to wait for it I want it now. I can always see the vision of what the thing (for want of a better word) has the potential to turn into, create or help me achieve and it will only be to the detriment of all if I should have to wait.
Now I am in a situation where I need somewhere to live, as I am working away from home for a while. Most people would probably go out and rent themselves a nicely furnished modest town house for easy access to work and close or in town for a social life. But to me that is a waste, why rent an average place where there is no real long term benefit. When you leave it, you have nothing to show but a wallet as empty as a Zambian litter pickers meeting.
For those who know me, alarm bells will be ringing at such volume as to deafen Beethoven. You see I have a bit of a history of being stitched up like a kipper when it comes to land deals. I have lost so much money and land that I probably could have retired by now if I had taken better advice. But never mind that is water under the bridge now.
Now talking of water and bridges, I have found a piece of land no more than 20 minutes slow drive to work which I think would be perfect. It has upsides and down sides. I am a great believer in concentrating on the upsides (which is why I am where I am and my brother is where he is) and giving a little less time to the downsides.(Which is where Adrian concentrates and what he is particularly good at spotting.)
Now I am going to break all habits and look at the down sides.
1) It has no electricity.
2) It is too big. (why would you want with 25-50 Acres anyway?)
3) It has no running water. (Well it does but that is another twist)
4) It is over a mile from the nearest dirt road.
5) You are thinking of buying it from a chief. (last time you did that you lost a house a borehole, 100acres of land and a fantastic dream along with about £100,000.00)
6) It has no house.
7) Your neighbours are Crocodiles, Hippos Elephants, Lions, Bush pigs millions of birds, Fish, Billions of insects and a village of locals about three miles away. (So you will probably get eaten if you live there.)
OK. Now the bit that I listen to:-
1) No electric bills, no power cuts or overhead power lines. (I will use solar and wind) Only need Fridge, freezer, lights and low power usage sockets.
2) It has enough room to build a main House and if we feel like it later some lodges to bring in extra income. All this without being crowded or spoiling the environment.
3) It DOES have running water (About 400 billion litres per second) it’s just in the river, and that forms the southern boundary all 500 metres of it. Oh yes and that river just happens to be the great Zambezi. So solar or wind pump up to a settling tank, gravity feeding through 1 micron filter then finally U.V. filter for drinking water. But direct to grey water system.
4) I can build my own road. It might get a little sticky in the rainy season but we can always make a plan and if the worst comes to the worst, I can go to work by Boat.
5) Ok so we got burned before. This time after hearing the deal from the chief, I will personally go to the minister of lands and check that it is all above board and legal.
6) Ok yes you have a point here, But building is very cheap here and if I spend on building what I would spend on Rent, the house would be paid for in a year.
7) That’s why the place is so special, where else in the world can you live with all this and still be in work in 20 minutes.
8) I have the opportunity of owning a place in a setting virtually unrivalled in the world. Even if I moved, it would be the holiday place to die for, you can rent it out. It’s two hour’s drive from the country’s international airport. (One, if you use the local Mini Busses. And you thought the Lions were dangerous) It lies totally secluded apart from that which is natural, in beautiful virgin bush. When the sun rises in the morning it comes up over the river, dancing fantastic warming colours over the surface. The calls of the wild animals go on long into the evening adding to the feeling of seclusion but not solitude.
So you see, to me there is no doubt this is the best plan going forward. I am going to pursue it and work out how much it is all going to cost. And if it does not stack up or not make good financial sense.
I will probably do it anyway because it’s just so nice. (I’m doing it again aren’t I)

Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa.I’m glad I’m not a cat! (I’d be dead by tomorrow afternoon)

Over the past twenty four hours I have had my fair share of adrenalin rushes, In fact if I were to have another heart stopping moment in the next five minutes I think it would do just that, because the gland that produces the adrenalin has just gone on strike. He only normally has to work about once or twice a month unless I am on holiday or something, then he has his work cut out a little more. But over the last twenty four hours he has had to produce enough for my fight or flight on no less than six occasions.

It all started quite innocently enough whilst I was sitting at a bar on the banks of the Zambezi having a few drinks and a chat with some friends when I decided to answer a call of nature. Off I trotted, just out of the fall of the lights and was about to go, when the undergrowth that I was about to pee into moved off sharply to my right for about three metres, then I could see the full size of the crocodile I was just about to pee all over. He was not a particularly big one only about six to seven feet, but enough to give you a very nasty nip. The croc had stopped in the middle of the lawn and the guys at the bar had seen him so came out with torches sticks and pans and gently encouraged our friend back into the river. I returned to join them at the bar, where that little episode was the topic of conversation and the jokes got progressively worse as the evening went on.

I don’t know what it was about that evening, it seemed that everything wanted to come and join us. It was raining very hard as it had been for the last couple of hours. About eight thirty the bar began to fill with flying ants, they are about two inches long including wings. Unless you have ever experienced it you cannot believe the magnitude of the spectacle. Every square foot filled with at least six flying ants and around the lights one for every square inch. Millions and millions of them. The owner of the bar said I hate it when this happens, all the mess to clean up. Then she handed us each a beer mat to put over our drinks so that we did not have to share with our little flying friends. I mentioned that when they were clearing up in the morning I would dearly like to have some for my breakfast. (No seriously, they are very good and if you get the chance to try them, do it)

The evening came to a close as tiredness set in and we all wandered our weary way back to our tents, three of us went off in one direction and the rest went in the other. We were chatting animatedly as we made our way back. When all of a sudden there was a crashing, snorting and sound of much watery movement about 4 metres to our right coming out of the river. I had my torch with me and shone it to where the noise was coming. Three huge, no I lie bloomin enormous, Hippopotami hauled themselves up over the bank, I flicked my torch off immediately and backed quickly back to a clump of bushy trees we had just passed. I dragged Karen and Steve back too as they just seemed to have frozen petrified. Now I have never been up close and personal with a hippo before, let alone three, all I know is don’t get between them and the water No one ever told me what to do if you bump into a trio of them on the way back from the pub. It doesn’t happen that frequently in Troon.

I had no idea how they were going to react whether in fact they had actually seen us, but I can’t see they would have missed the torch, or maybe it just blended in to the flood lights of the bar. I have no idea. All I know is that we stood there motionless for about, well to be honest I have no idea, at the time it seemed like forever but in retrospect it seems like seconds, we waited until the hippo’s had moved off around the other side of some other tents and trees and moved swiftly towards our tents, I said cheerio to the others and shot inside my tent, with great relief.

I thought the incidents would keep me awake all night, but I went out like a light and slept right through.
I woke at 06:00 in the morning and checked carefully around the camp before venturing out. I laid my clothes out for the day and went and had a shower, fantastically refreshing. I dried off and started putting on my clothes, I cussed hard when I realised my nice clean ironed white shirt had fallen on the floor, I picked it up and put my arms in the sleeves and pulled it on, Then I thought that I had better check it was not too dirty having fallen on the floor, I flipped it off to examine it when I noticed a three inch long scorpion just below the collar on the inside. I am petrified of scorpions. This was number three, when the adrenalin kicked in I knew the taste, I took the shirt and contents outside and flicked it into the reeds by the river. I regained my composure and went for breakfast.

I love my English Breakfasts and at this place they do a very good one (as long as you don’t mind what time you get it) This morning I was in no rush as I did not have to be in work at any specific time. Sod’s law, breakfast arrived bang on 07:00 I looked down and I must say I was a little disappointed. Then the waitress came from the kitchen with a cereal bowl of what I was looking for, Flying Ants. Well they were flying no more obviously. At night when they come out and go careering around chasing stationary bright objects, they get tired and fall to the ground, loose their wings then amble off with the first partner in the same predicament to find a new nest and colonise it. Only about 0.001% succeed the others just go and find a light to get mesmerised by, drop their wings and just die, only to be scooped up in the morning by some eager humans popped in a pan and cooked. Anyway they were fantastic, a little more cooked than I would do them myself, these were crispy all the way through, I prefer mine crispy on the outside and more gooey on the inside. But they were very good and put an interesting slant on my English Breakfast.
I packed up the tent, then set off home, briefly calling into the office on the way out to pick up some files.

The rain had eased off and it looked like it was getting brighter though the clouds hung on the peaks of the hills of the escarpment making it look all the more imposing.
The road was quite deserted though I did pass a few lorries labouring up the steep climb in what must be near to first gear as they hardly seemed to be moving though their engines were working hard as the black smoke that belched from their stacks intimated.

As I neared the top of the escarpment I was on a piece of road that had two lanes going up and one coming down, I was doing about 80kph on the inside lane round a sweeping bend when suddenly around the corner came a huge long bonneted American style truck, pulling an empty flatbed trailer, doing about 100kph + and entirely in my lane,(two whole lanes away from where he should have been) There was no point in braking, it would have only put me less in control at the time, I took straight for the drainage ditch and the truck missed by no more than a foot, I got straight back on the road without slowing, and thought how jolly lucky I had just been. If I had been in a more cumbersome vehicle, it would have been goodnight Denzil. It was not till after another couple of km that I started to feel a bit shaken up as my latest adrenalin buzz subsided.

Whilst on the escarpment I had come across a surprising amount of wildlife, mainly primates. I came round one corner to find a badly injured dog half on and half off the road, on the other side. As I got closer I could see it was just moving so I pulled up close wound my window down to get a better look and see if there was anything that I might be able to do.

Good grief !!! The thing leapt into the air half toward me half towards the road and I realised it was not a dog at all but a large baboon, and it was not injured. What I thought was a nasty injury with the skin removed turned out to be its aroused and ripe bits looking every bit like a bad car crash. Well the sudden movement towards me through an open window of what I thought was an injured dog, just about finished me off. I was off down that road like a Zambian taxi driver.

As I came down the other side of the escarpment the road turned back to a normal one lane in each direction type of affair. The rain increased to such an extent I slowed to 40kph lights on with wipers on flat out. Visibility was down to about 50m. It was about now that I cast eyes on the third being that day that deemed it their duty to remove me from the face of the planet. Quite why he thought that it was his divine right in his huge freightliner flat nosed juggernaught, to straddle the white line so thoroughly that everything else should be forced off the road, I have no idea. He was not going to slow down for anything. I could not believe the ignorance of the driver.(I use the term loosely.) Once I had picked myself out of the ditch for the second time in as many hours. I thought how lucky I had been. (Again)

Trust me, I do not go out courting danger, I may not lead a particularly quiet or normal life, but this was a particularly scary 24 hours, and the weird thing is that if you put it in as a film script it would be thrown straight out for being too farfetched.

You may think that I have exaggerated or made this up but I am telling you this is just as it happened.

I am thinking of running totally unscripted adventure holidays for bored Cornish folk with Denzil Bark. You never know what will happen next.

Denzil Bark.

Cornishman in Africa. Not what it says on the tin.

There are many wise sayings that tell us that we should not judge a book by its cover, and I am sure every language and culture has their own slant on it. The trouble is we just can’t help doing it.

Chirundu is a place of which I have had many experiences, albeit brief, experiences, I thought that was the best way to treat Chirundu. Get through and out as quickly as possible.

When asked if I would like to go and spend a week down there my immediate reactions were mixed. Yes it would be great to spend a week near the river and all its wildlife, but in Chirundu, I really could think of many nicer spots.
I arrived in Chirundu and made my way up the dusty, litter strewn track to the office, even the sign with its peeling faded paint exuded the feeling of neglect and despair.

I had come here with a purpose and was not going to get sucked into a depressive state of mind by the environment. I pounced on Chirundu like a tick on a dog. It did not stand a chance, I engaged everyone and grasped every opportunity to see more, find out more and try and learn, just what made this place tick. I travelled back and forth over the bridge between Zimbabwe and Zambia, I met officials from the top brass in Customs and immigration, to children begging from the passing trucks. I watched and helped as they stripped down vehicles and rebuilt the loads. Talked to store holders, and the fish selling ladies, and others who sold everything, including themselves, it was a fascinating insight to the hopes, fears and aspirations of these very genuine and kind people.

As the week continued I began to see the real Chirundu opening up before me and I began to have a warm feeling towards this place and its hard working people.
In the evening I drive out along the dirt track for about 10 km to a riverside camp. My home for a week is a large two bedded tent erected on a raised platform under a tin roof with an en suit bathroom, an odd mixture really, but very functional and comfortable.

At this time of year the place is almost empty, the last overland truck (A large 4x4 lorry, converted to carry passengers on Safari) left the day that I arrived and apart from that, there have only been another two couples in the whole week, apparently it livens up at the weekend. In the evenings I sit on the veranda of the tent listening to the nightjars lamented song, the hippo’s, snorting and chuckling to themselves, and the constant swirling of the great river just 5 meters from where I sit. In the dark of night the hippo’s come up and graze around the camp, sometimes joined by the not so welcome crocs that come up to see if there are any unsuspecting dogs or humans lying around outside. It’s not a good idea to go wandering around the camp after midnight without a good torch and an even better pair of running shoes. I must admit I was glad I chose an en suite tent.

The sunrise in the morning about 05:30 is worth waking up for every time. As the sun pokes its head up over the horizon it illuminates in fantastic shades of orange and reds the mountains of the Zambian escarpment. Picking out in shadowy silhouettes the valleys and contours of the terrain. As the sun rises further the reds turn to green as the true colours of the trees become real, and the shadows cast by the low sun disappear as they are bathed with the sun’s rays as it rises ever higher in the sky. Beneath all this, the great river relentlessly surges on, its surface never still as the undercurrents and eddies constantly swirl to come up and disturb the shiny surface.

I could sit and gaze in wonderment at this panorama all day, as elephants, hippo’s crocodiles and a plethora of exotic birds cross this living canvas, but I know I have work to do.

Since the first day here I have had the same full English breakfast every day. It’s a good breakfast well cooked, with good portions of real smoked thick bacon with just the right amount of fat left on. 4, lean pork sausages, a good dollop of baked beans, an inch thick slice of fresh tomato, lightly fried and two bright yellow, soft yoked, turned fried eggs with toast and all the trimmings. I ordered my breakfast on the first day about 06:30 and it arrived about 07.30, I complimented the chef on his great breakfast and asked if I could have exactly the same the next day at 07:00 prompt. No problem sir. So the next morning I got there at 06:45 and waited, the waiter came out and said good morning then scurried back into the kitchen, I sat and wrote a few emails and waited, and waited.

At 07:05 the waiter came out of the kitchen again and came over to my table I was expectantly anticipating him delivering my steaming hot perfectly cooked breakfast, but no, he came to the table and asked politely, what would you like for breakfast this morning sir.
I asked if he remembered the conversation we had, had the day before, he assured me that he did, but he just thought he would check, it did not dawn on him to check 20 minutes earlier when he had greeted me in the first place. But never mind my breakfast duly arrived at 07:45 and was if anything even better than the day before’s. Again the waiter came to whisk away the plates and I asked if he could get the chef. They both came back, and again I complimented him on his culinary wizardry and tipped them both well. I then asked if there was any danger that I might be able to have my breakfast at seven o’ clock the following morning so that I would not be late for work for the third day running. I was assured in none to uncertain terms that it would be no problem at all. They always start at 06:00 so I could have my breakfast at 06:30 if I wished. I told them this would not be necessary and 07:00 would be perfect if they thought they could manage that.

That night the heavens opened, a terrific thunder and lightning storm and torrential rain all night (Its incredibly loud on a tin roof) it was still raining when I woke the next morning. It was not worth getting up early as there was no visible sunrise. I arrived at the dining area dead on seven unfortunately twelve minutes before any other of the kitchen staff, it seems that rain renders all alarm devices in the Zambezi valley totally useless. I have subsequently given up asking for my breakfast at a precise time, and just have it when they feel it would be a good time for me to eat.

Sorry, I went off on a bit of a tangent there about breakfast, the thing is I really want to get into Chirundu in the mornings now, to get stuck into the day and get things cracking. Once you get into the swing of the place it is addictive, you can make things happen, build things, change things. I think that is all to do with the fact that if you want to do something, you walk over to the man who makes the decisions, knock on his door and talk to him, come to a conclusion, he may need to make some phone calls while you are there, and it’s done. If you need to see anyone else about it you walk to see them, and repeat the process, until you have achieved your aim. And I think that is it with Chirundu. It is like its own little principality, everyone is there within walking distance from the highest to the lowest, everyone knows everyone, you can get anything, you can do anything, (as long as it is legal of course) you just have to be determined and have the right attitude. I can honestly say that I really like Chirundu now and if I was told that I was to be working here permanently from now on, I would be delighted.
I still wouldn’t live in the town though.

Denzil Bark

Cornishman in Africa; Into the Valley.

Coming from Cornwall there is an automatic attraction to water, albeit normally the salted type with big waves.
There is however a distinct lack of coastline in the two countries that I have chosen to make my new home. Funnily when applying for my work permit I had to include all certification to back up my application, I could not resist putting in my Offshore survival training certificate.
I reckon that clinched the granting of the permit myself.
Recently I was offered the opportunity to go down to a place on the Zimbabwean and Zambian border called Chirundu, for a week to look into a few issues that were arising down there. Of course for the chance of a challenge and a glimpse of the Great Zambezi again, I jumped at the opportunity.
After the issues I had last time I went away, with fuel, I decided to get well kitted up, so I went out and bought two new jerry cans and filled up the car tank and the two cans, just to make sure I had plenty. Its only one hundred and seventy five km to Chirundu but I would be staying well out of the town, and travel back and forth each day.
You may think that is a little odd if you have not been to Chirundu, but I have been through there on many occasions and it is a place to make you shudder, whist the setting itself is stunning. The town is clinging to the steep sides of the river then spills out over into the surrounding bush. Unfortunately it is not a town of substance, it has no shops just ramshackle stalls, it has no hub, it has no soul. (or so I thought) The only thing that breathes life into this town are the trucks that pass through it. Wheezing their black carcinogenic fumes into the town too.
A whole industry of freight forwarding and freight clearing has grown up all around, in offices that range from comfortable stone built ones to ones that are made of cardboard and that move closer to the river each time it rains. The biggest industry in Chirundu however is prostitution, with nearly 50% of the inhabitants being involved in this trade one way or another. The town is filthy, dirty with litter occupying every square foot of the place and the smells of burning refuse, dust and drying fish fill your nostrils for most of the day. (am I painting a bleak enough picture for you here?) On the other occasions I have come to Chirundu I have been passing between countries and have had to face the harrowing ordeal of the whole customs and immigration process, thus making the Chirundu experience many times worse. I’ve always just wanted to get through and out as quickly as possible.
So that is why I was not going to be staying in town.
The day I was planning to leave I happened to wake at 03:00 and could not get back to sleep so decided have a leisurely breakfast and make an early start. I searched the fridge to see what was there, that probably would not resemble food by the time I got back in a week’s time. The breakfast menu was suddenly looking like snails in a butter, sorrel, garlic and bacon sauce, with chicken gizzards liver and bacon, with fresh asparagus on the side. Before long I decided just to go for just the asparagus, and take my chances with the rest when I got back. The asparagus was fantastic with butter and a hint of garlic, swiftly followed by fresh orange juice and 2 mugs of espresso. I was on the road by 04:45 out of the bush and into the city. There is something magical about driving through a city in the early morning when it is just pulling itself, into life again. I have never passed through Lusaka so quickly and quietly before, it was a pleasure. Out of the city and into the outlying areas becoming more and more rural until at last I got to the foothills of the escarpment. The escarpment is a truly magical place with breathtaking scenery and hundred foot drops off the side of the road, the hills are steep and the roads and countryside are littered with the carcases of fallen lorries. As with the animals who die here, the trucks too are stripped to the bone of anything that may be of any use. Reminiscent of the olden day Cornish wreckers, hundreds of people live in these hills eking out a living from the unforgiving terrain, animals were hunted to extinction years ago so they have to survive on what they can grow or find. It is rumoured that if you break down in the hills, and unguarded, a truck and a forty foot container can be stripped to its bare chassis, container emptied in one night, There will not be a sign of any of it, by day break.
The morning I came through I saw many women walking, all in the same direction along the road, once I had travelled about fifteen Km I came across an upturned lorry, carrying what seemed to be seed maize. The hill tribes must have thought all their Christmas’s had come at once. At the scene of the crash there was a group of some three hundred people waiting to liberate the cargo while a single guard stood trying to keep them at bay.
I drove on by wondering how long he would be able to hold them back, noticed the hundreds of people coming along the road from the other direction. I realised then it would not be long. There were another six broken down trucks on the way through the hills, two side by side on the brow of a hill on a sharp bend, I just had to go by and pray as I did. If anything had been coming the other way I would not have stood a chance.
I arrived too early, as I had hoped. I decided to go and have a little explore. I took a dirt track off to the left and just kept driving deeper and deeper into the bush, the terrain changed as did the bush, lines of trouser ants crossed the path, these were big ones so I decided to stay in the car not stop to observe. A couple of km further in I found what I was looking for DUNG, yes dung, you cannot believe how excited I was when I saw it. (I never thought that a pile of pooh would ever have this affect on me.) As you have more than likely guessed it was elephant pooh, I stopped got out and studied it, One of my best friends used to be a big game hunter and taught me all about, and how to age pooh. A skill I have not had reason or desire to use in Camborne or in fact any part of Cornwall, and in fact it would be a completely different science as pooh in Africa tends to dry up and eventually blow away where in Cornwall it just gets wetter and wetter then dissolves and eventually flows into the sea. (Appologies for those who are eating, and Sara who hates even the mention of the “P” word.)
Anyway, after much prodding, poking, breaking, squeezing and sniffing, (you don’t have to sniff, that’s optional) I established that this elephant had been through the day before and not that morning. I drove on and on finding more evidence of elephants, but unfortunately not the actual fantastic creatures.
I arrived at a clearing and came upon one of the most spectacular sights in the world. The great Zambezi river stretched out in front of me, fast flowing hugely wide and incredibly powerful, how the elephants had managed to cross I don’t know but they had, and there was evidence of them travelling in both directions from the angles of their spoor, unless they were just messing me around by walking in backwards, But I don’t know if elephants have a sense of humour.
I sat on the banks of that river for about an hour in total seclusion, lost in the magic of the whole scene, the birds the animals the insects the fish and the river, all coming together to create an amazing haunting ambiance that will stay with me forever and always pull me back to this part of Africa.
I could have stayed all day, in fact all my life, but I had to pull myself away and carry on to Chirundu. A place I was not looking forward to visiting but discovered another type of magic which rather surprised me. I’ll tell you about that another time.

Denzil Bark.