Set Free

Our flight from Lusaka to Capetown, South Africa was scheduled to leave early morning on Thursday, April 21.  I couldn’t wait.  I had been told of Capetown’s beauty and charm and would soon get to experience it for myself.  We arrived at Lusaka International Airport sleepy but excited.  We unloaded our luggage, went inside, got our tickets, checked bags, and passed through security.  All was going well and we still had an hour before our plane was scheduled to depart.  The only thing separating us from South Africa was immigration.  No big deal... it is all procedure.  Marsha McBride... stamped.  Marc McBride... stamped.  Dustin McBride... stamped.  Lauren Fulmer... stamped.  Vaughn Spethmann... stamped.  Andrew Zarda... sta... wait a minute, “Sir, your visa was approved for 30 days but it has been almost 3 months.  Where are your extension stamps?”
“My what?”
Oops.
It turns out that when you get a tourism visa it is valid for up to 3 months, which I knew coming into Zambia.  What I didn’t know is that they only approve it for 30 days at a time.  So I had paid for and received a 3 month visa, but I was supposed to go get a fresh stamp every 30 days which had not happened.  Just a technicality it seemed.  The immigration officer passed me off to go speak to her boss who would hopefully hear the misunderstanding, warn me to not do it again and stamp my passport.  Unfortunately, the boss lady must have been having a bad day.  Upon hearing my explanation for why I had no stamps (I did not know I needed them), she informed me that ignorance was no excuse and she was taking me to jail.  I assumed that she was just saying this to give me a scare and then she would let me go.  So I apologized over and over and asked if there was any other option.  She persisted in saying that I was going to have to spend a week in jail.  Eventually, she pulled out a form and started filling out information.  I asked her what she was doing and she said, “I am going to force you to leave my country.”  She handed the paper to me and said, “Sign this.”  It was a deportation form.  She was going to deport me as an illegal immigrant.  She said this was my best option but I would not be allowed back in the country.  I refused to sign.  “Then I am taking you to jail,” she said.  After about 30 minutes of going back and forth and only making matters worse, I convinced her to call her boss so I could speak with him.  Perhaps he would be merciful.  About that same time, I saw Dustin and waved him over to help me.  Meanwhile, all the rest of the group was on their way to go board the plane praying that I would be let through.  We got the big boss on the phone and he also threatened that I would have to go to jail.  Then he wanted to speak to Dustin.  He told Dustin he should throw him in jail too for housing an illegal immigrant.  After about 5 more minutes of threats from him and apologies from us, he finally agreed to let us go.  The immigration officer reluctantly stamped my passport and said, “when you come back, you are going to do time.”

Some sea lions chillin outside our hotel

I made it on the plane just in time.  I’d like to say I knew that it would all work out, but I was honestly not sure whether I would end up in South Africa or a Zambian jail at the end of the day.
Once in Capetown, Marc and Marsha again made sure that we received the royal treatment.  We stayed at an unbelievable hotel (the mini bar was comped!), had mouth-watering meals (including one of the best steaks I have ever eaten), toured a vineyard, experienced a South African braai, had a whisky tasting, watched the sun set over Camp’s Bay, and climbed a Lion’s Head (a small mountain).  We fit more into 3 days then most people can do in a week.

View of Capetown from Lion's Head

Vaughn flying Baby Bauer

We met up with two of Marc and Marsha’s friends, the Gary and Marnell Helling, who have an amazing ministry in the slums of Paarl, South Africa.  They provide help for the homeless, food for the hungry, healthcare for the sick, homes for orphans, safe houses for communities, and more.  Gary gave me a tour and left me wishing I could stay for a few weeks.  We also spent time with Morgan and Cari Cathey, who went to university with Dustin and Vaughn.  They recently had a beautiful baby boy, Thomas Bauer, who provided us with endless entertainment and smiles.  It was a blast getting to hang with all three of them.
In the end, we had to part ways.  We hugged Marc and Marsha goodbye.  We headed back to Lusaka, and they headed back to the States.

Camp's Bay at sunset

When we arrived in Lusaka, I was greeted at the immigration stand by my old friend, the female officer who threatened to throw me in jail and deport me.  I took a deep breath and acknowledged that if God wants me in Zambia, I will get into Zambia.  To my surprise, she was in a good mood.  She scolded me again, but she approved me for a 30 day volunteer visa.  So, I am back in Zambia and not in jail.  That made for a good Easter.

Lusaka to Livingstone

I intended to post last week, but my internet connection decided otherwise.  So I need to catch you up on a few things.  Dustin’s girlfriend, Lauren Fulmer, is now here in Zambia and will be staying for 2 months.  So far, she has been spending most of her time teaching at a nearby school, practicing her Zambian accent and conquering her fear of large bugs.  It has been fun to have her around.  The other big event is that last week, Dustin, Vaughn, Lauren, and I went to Livingstone, the home of Victoria Falls.  But we didn’t drive there.  No... that would have been too easy.  Instead, we joined up with some insane cyclists that were passing through Lusaka.  These cyclists are in the middle of a 4 month bicycle race/tour called Tour D’Afrique which goes from Cairo (Egypt) to Capetown (South Africa).  We decided to do our own abbreviated version of the tour and join them from Lusaka to Livingstone.  We rode about 500km (315 miles) over the course of 3 days.  We slept in tents, met all sorts of interesting people on the tour, and cycled until we could cycle no more.  To be honest, we didn’t all cycle the full 500km to Livingstone.  We had a truck with us and took shifts driving/riding in the truck.  But I did manage to ride my bike 183 km (approx 115 miles) in one day (and I was on a mountainbike that only had 3 gears working).  In fact, I think Lauren, Dustin, Vaughn, and I all reached new levels in our cycling careers in some way or another.  When we finally reached Livingstone, we met up with Dustin’s parents (my uncle Marc and aunt Marsha) at the airport.  They had flown in all the way from San Diego and were probably as exhausted as we were.  Thankfully, Marc and Marsha had organized a place for us to stay that was the epitome of relaxation- The Islands of Siankaba.  This resort was built on several islands in middle of the Zambezi River just upstream of Victoria Falls.  We spent 2 nights there enjoying amazing meals, sunset cruises, and bubble baths.  And on top of all that, Marc and Marsha paid for us all to go on a tour and an ultralight (small airplane) flyover of the Falls.  It was unbelievable!

Lauren cruising over Vic Falls

Yesterday, we arrived back in Lusaka.  And now Marc and Marsha are getting introduced to all the changes that have taken place since they were last here 2 years ago.  On Thursday, we will all head to Capetown for several days and then Marc and Marsha head back to the states.  I will be sure to post when we return!

My cousin Dustin and his parents, Marsha and Marc

Roads Less Traveled

Joe- He was not as amused
as I was with the helmet I
brought for him to use.

You can see more photos on my Flickr page.

I recently returned from my Zambulance research expedition.  And as promised, I am going to do my best to share with you some of the major events over the last week, but I am afraid simple text and photos will mostly fail to convey the depth of each experience.  Regardless, I will do my best.  Joe Stangl, a Peace Corps/Zambikes volunteer and I began our journey on March 23rd, at 11am.  We mounted our trusty Honda 200cc Bushlander motorbike with Zambulance trailer in tow.  We had a tent, sleeping bags, a few changes of clothes, some food, spare parts, tools, and camera equipment loaded up on the trailer.  We began our quest into the Eastern Province of Zambia to visit 20 rural health centers and/or small villages that had been given zambulances.  The purpose of our trip was to determine if and how the zambulances were being used, how they were working, if they were helping people and saving lives, what made for a successful or unsuccessful placement, etc.  In addition, we were going to video some of the individuals we interviewed to make a zambulance promotion video.  But before we could concern ourselves with those tasks, we had to make it to Petauke, a town located over 500km from Lusaka.  We rode through mountains and beautiful scenery until nightfall.  We just made it to Petauke and managed to get dinner and set up camp near a guest lodge.  The next morning we woke up and started off to visit the first 4 sites on our list.  To our surprise, we easily found the sites and the interviews went smoothly.  So later that afternoon, we pressed on to Chipata, a city about 200km northeast of Petauke.  We were making great time, but rainclouds began to close in on us from both sides.  The blue sky was becoming a narrow strip straight in front of us.  I was determined to outrun the storm.  And I succeeded in doing so for quite a while.  Joe and I were marveling at the fact that we were still dry even though we could see sheets of rain on all sides of us.  But eventually, we could avoid the rain no longer.  It began pouring down and our progress was slowed drastically.  I was convinced we should press on to Chipata so we could arrive, find were we are staying, and get dry.  Joe voted to stop and wait for the rain to die down.  I obliged Joe (after all, I had a visor on my helmet to keep out the rain and he did not).  We took shelter in a church and waited for about 30 minutes. The rain calmed slightly but showed no signs of ceasing.  We asked a boy nearby how far it was to Chipata.  We had no idea because the speedometer and odometer on the bike didn’t work.  He told us we were 5 to 10 minutes away.  We knew better than to trust one opinion (time and distance are all relative in Zambia and often vary a lot from person to person), so we asked another boy as well.  He confirmed that we were very close to the city.  So we hopped back on the bike, braved the cold rain, and made it into Chipata.  We stayed at the Peace Corps house there.  It was great.  We took warm showers, dried off, and slept well.

I was invited to play the drums during a tribal ceremony

Now this is where I really am going to do an injustice to my experiences over the following three days.  Joe and I split up the 11 zambulance sites around Chipata.  He visited the close ones by bicycle and I visited the far ones (20-60km) by motorcycle.  To arrive at those sites I had to take winding dirt roads that occasionally cut through villages populated by Zambians, goats, pigs, and cows.  And it was to and from these sites that I was able to watch breathtaking sunsets behind the mountains, visit a tobacco farm, see African wild dogs (they look like a mix between a large coyote and fox), encounter native birds that come in all kinds of unbelievable shades and designs, participate in village soccer and netball, and keep rhythm with a tribal dance drum line.  Whew!  Now at the sites themselves, Joe and I both managed to get great feedback on the zambulances.  I am happy to report they are saving lives and being put to good use.  We were able to hear stories of and even meet some people that had used the zambulance and may not have been alive had it not been available to them.  Things were going great...

After conquering the Chipata sites, Joe and I headed back toward Lusaka.  We stopped in Katete, a town half-way between Chipata and Petauke to visit the last 5 sites.  We pitched a tent and fell asleep underneath a billion stars.  Upon waking, I learned that KU had been upset to make it to the Final Four.  I should have known then that the stars we had slept under had chosen to align themselves against us, but I paid no heed.  After all, we only had 5 sites left.  But we quickly discovered that these sites would be our greatest challenge.  They had terrible roads and were all located in the middle of nowhere (which actually happened to be near a national park and thus turned out to be some of the most beautiful places as well).  It is not likely that there was another white person within at least 75km.  We only managed to get to 3 sites the first day.  We tried for four but gave up on the last one entirely after riding for an hour and arriving at the rural health center at nightfall and being told the zambulance was located at another village at least 30 minutes further into the bush.  The day had taken its toll on us.  At dinner, Joe confessed that he was defeated.  He did not want to try to go for the last site, Msoro, which was around 100km from Katete and of which locals kept warning us had “the worst road.”  I, however, was not willing to throw in the towel so close to the finish line.  We decided that Joe would take a bus back to Lusaka the next morning and I would go to Msoro, finish the interviews, stay the night with a contact there, and return to Lusaka the following day.  In the morning, Joe and I parted ways, wishing each other a safe journey.  He headed for Lusaka.  I headed for Msoro.  I loaded my backpack with my camera equipment and enough clothes for a day and left the trailer at our campsite.  I left early having been told that the trip takes 3 hours by car (sometimes more in the rainy season- which we are currently in).  I reached the turnoff with no problems and 30 minutes into my ride I was wondering what made this road any worse than the roads we had faced the day before.  Don’t get me wrong, it was bad- loose gravel, ditches, flooded areas, etc- but it wasn’t anything we hadn’t yet encountered on our site visits.  It was about this same time that a large black pig was walking toward the right side of the road.  Again, this was nothing unusual and I gave it little thought.  Like all the other pigs we had met on the road, I knew it wasn’t likely to stop walking until I was right in front of it so I slowed down a little and hugged the left side of the road.  The pig heard me coming and in a panic (or in an evil scheme) decided to run... right in front of me.  I braked and turned to dodge it.  I successfully avoided the pig, but both the bike and my body had a hard fall followed by a 20 foot sliding stop.  By the time I got up, villagers had gathered along the roadside and were trying to piece together what had happened.  Meanwhile, I got the bike upright again and took inventory on the bike and myself.  My palms were both bloody from sliding in the gravel, my left wrist was sore, and my head was still ringing.  My helmet visor had broken off and was lying in the road.  The left side panel on the bike had come loose and the shifter, which is normally shaped like an “I”, was bent into a “U”.  One of the village women brought me water to wash off some of the blood and dirt.  I found that the bike was still ridable and I could manage to shift using the heel of my boot.  I decided to try to ride back to Katete (where I had just come from) and try to repair myself and the bike.  So with the help of some village kids I jump started my bike and headed back.

This photo was taken just before I left for Msoro the first time.
(Clothing provided by Standard Style)

I made it back safely and slowly.  I found a guy to repair my bike in Katete for dirt cheap and went back to the guest lodge we were camping by and washed out the wounds on my hands again.  The bike was repaired within the hour, and I was feeling a little better myself.  There was still plenty of daylight left, so instead of heading back toward Lusaka where I could recover properly, have a shower, and eat a large plate of bacon (to get back at that stupid pig), I threw on some biking gloves and turned once again toward Msoro.  This time, I progressed more cautiously and had no problems with farm animals.  About an hour and a half into the trip, the road began to demonstrate why it had earned its reputation as the worst road.  Narrow, one to two feet deep ditches began to appear.  They intersected all throughout the road.  I successfully navigated these for quite awhile.  But eventually one formed right in the middle of the road and forced me to choose a side to go around it.  I chose left.  I chose wrong.  The ditch also decided to cut left just as the road began downhill.  I cut back to the right to try to cross it.  I fell.  My helmet and right shoulder slammed against the ground.  Again, I picked up my bike and took inventory.  My shoulder/collar bone was in a great deal of pain.  Villager gathered around me for the second time.  I told them I was ok but my shoulder really hurt.  They took it upon themselves to grab my arm and test my range of motion.  Ouch.  They informed me that I was only 15km from Msoro.  So I loosened the right shoulder strap on my backpack and pressed on.  After what seemed like an hour, I reached Msoro.  I met up with my contact there and he led me to the community health worker (village physician) so I could conduct the interview.  Upon opening my bag to retrieve my camera, I discovered that one of my camera lenses had not survived the falls.  As I looked at the broken lens that cost as much as my round-trip flight to Africa, my heart sank.  Thankfully, my other lens was in tact and I could still use it to video the interviews.  I managed to suppress the pain of my shoulder long enough to do the interview.  Afterwards, the community health worker cleaned the wounds on my hands again using disinfectant.  In fact, she even taped a cotton swab doused with disinfectant to my hands.  My hands were on fire.  But at least I wasn’t noticing the pain in my shoulder anymore.  I could hardly sit still and the pain would not decrease.  I managed to eat dinner with the villagers in this condition.  But when I could take no more, I removed the swabs.  Seeing that I was still in a great deal of pain, they arranged for me to go to the rural health center, about 15km away.  The one villager who knew how to ride a motorcycle drove me and my bike to the center.  Once there, the main physician allowed me to stay at his place for the night.  He gave me 2 much needed Ibuprofen and drew a bath for me.  And as I sat nursing my wounds in a shed with two chickens, “bathing” with a bucket of warm water and a sponge, with the sound of the village girls’ choir practicing songs in the background, I thought for the second time since arriving, “This is Africa.”

The next morning, I was treated to grass tea and corn porridge for breakfast.  I rode my bike back to the village and was given a second breakfast of n’shima and pumpkin leaves.  I said my goodbyes, collected my things, and apologized to the villagers that I could not stay longer so they could prepare a goat or chicken for me.

I survived the ride back to Katete, enduring a fractured collar bone on a rough road while wearing a 40lb backpack.  I paid a trucker to load up my bike and trailer and drive me back to Lusaka.  Now, I am back in Lusaka.  I am safe, and I am healing.  And I think I am going to cook some bacon.