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
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