Getting to Chimfunshi

Chimfunshi Chimpanzee Orphanage is on the northern edge of Zambia, just across the Kafue river from the Republic of Congo. We knew it would be a long drive, but Kate has a huge love of all things primate, and after reading Sheila Siddle's book about the orphanage (In My Family Tree: A Life with Chimpanzees), it was the one place in Africa she was determined to get to. And Judith, fervent granter of wishes, was determined to get us there.

So our first evening in Africa, while Judith was at a school board meeting, Mike installed new brake pads on the Toyota Land Cruiser. He pulled me aside for a tour of the emergency equipment. Here was the hidden compartment with flares and jumper cables (which would actually come in handy). Here's how to work the tire jack. Here's the first aid kit complete with splints and plaster bandages. Taking up most of the back were three huge tanks of deisel that he showed me how to prep for pouring. Extra jugs of drinking water. For good measure, he threw in a 5-foot, 50-pound jack "just in case you get stuck in sand or mud."

"Are you worried about us?" I teased. But sweet, low-key Mike, who would never openly hover or fret, just shrugged. "It is Africa, you know."

At 7:30 the next morning, Judith, Kate, and I set out for what turned out to be a nine-hour drive. Before arriving in Africa, I had offered to help with all the driving we'd be doing on this trip (Chimfunshi, Chengola, Livingstone, and Namibia). But five minutes after leaving the Lusaka airport, I reneged on my offer. African drivers are too crazy, the roads are too crowded, the directions of the lanes are switched, and there's just too much going on. So our dear, tireless Judith was our trusty driver throughout.

Along the Way

As long as the drive was to and from Chimfunshi, it was a fascinating way to see the countryside of Zambia. What struck me first was the amount of activity on the roadside, even far from cities. Women with babies tied to their backs, balancing huge bundles on their heads. Uniformed schoolchildren. Old men teetering on bicycles heaped high and wide with bundles of sticks or charcoal. Ox carts full of thatching grass. Goats and cattle roaming free. Children darting. I had to train myself not to press my right foot on the floor every time I saw a child or chicken edging too close to the pavement. This is not a country of cautious drivers, and apparently pedistrians and chickens adapt.

Not only does the only north/south highway double as a pedestrian thoroughfare; it is also an impromptu marketplace. All along the way were roadside "stands." Mostly, these were thatched roof shades with produce or other goods stacked neatly by the road. Sometimes it would just be an item placed on the road's shoulder: a chicken nesting house made from sticks, a jar of honey, a basket of eggs. A few times, we passed a young boy holding a live chicken high over head. A man dangling a fish on a line. A pile of gravel next to a man with a hammer and chisel.

Whatever people had extra of they would sell. And they would wait all day in the 100 degree heat to sell it. We stopped at one of the larger stands for a watermelon, and laughed and chatted with the women and children there. A pot-bellied baby cried from a mat in the shade. Judith, after so many years in African health care, immediately recognized his malady. "What is the baby's name? George? George needs medicine, for his belly. To get rid of the worms. Is there a clinic? Can you get the medicine? He will get sicker if he doesn't have the medicine." She gave the mother some money and made her promise to get the medicine, but Judith doubted she would. "I see it all the time," she said in the car, shaking her head. "Such a simple cure, but it won't get treated. It doesn't kill them, but they live their childhoods feeling sick. Their minds are dulled, and they're developmentally delayed."

Further north there was a gigantic copper mine, which looked more like a nuclear power plant. It is owned by the Chinese, and although they've provided many Africans with jobs at the mine, the fact that they are stripping away Zambia's largest natural resource is controversial to say the least. Wtihin 100 miles of the mine, the road was clogged with triple-trailer semis, creeping and spewing black deisel clouds. There are no lines on the road to suggest safe passing, but we didn't want to arrive two days late with the beginning stages of lung disease either. So Kate and I closed our eyes while Judith floored it around trucks.

We stopped for lunch in the only city along the way: Ndola. We had pizza and spaghetti at an Italian restaurant that a friend of Judith's had recommended. Judith, who seems to know everyone, ran into one of her African coworkers, who was on holiday with his wife.

From Ndola, we took a less traveled road east toward Chingola. Although the road was paved, it had more potholes than pavement -- some of them the size of craters. That didn't slow Judith down though. She was tired and determined to get to our destination by nightfall. She drove like Mario Andretti, veering to the shoulder or opposite side as necessary.

I sat in the front seat gripping the hand rail, alerting her to danger with a hearty "Whoa!!!" which she apparently misunderstood as a "Yee-hah!" So we plowed down the road like a couple of drunken cowboys in a barrel race, dodging potholes and people and oncoming cars, who were just as likely to be in our lane as theirs, laughing when our heads bashed against the roof.

By the time we reached the turn-off for Chimfunshi, it was nearly 5:00 and we were beat. "Thank God!" we all said. And then we saw the rough dirt road and the sign that said "Only 17 more kilometers." Oh, well, the tops of our heads were calloused by now, and the shocks were already shot. A little bit more wouldn't hurt.

The Drive Home

Our way back was shortened slightly by a suggested shortcut, but the trip felt even longer because of the circumstances. Early on, Judith mentioned that it looked like her monkey bite had broken the surface after all, because there were several scabs on her arm. "Do you suppose that monkey had been vaccinated for rabies?" she wondered. I can't believe it didn't occur to us to ask that question while we were at Chimfunshi. In Africa, rabies is rampant, and just two weeks before a student in the kids' school had had to get rabies shots after a puppy he'd played with died of rabies.

We called the Chimfunshi office, but there was no answer, and we knew that Sylvia had gone with several workers into the village for supplies. Judith called Mike at work, who didn't take her predicament so lightly. ("Didn't I tell you to get that life insurance?" he teased.) He called the nurse at the Embassy Health Clinic and called us right back. The nurse had said that unless we could prove that monkey had been vaccinated, Judith would have to get a rabies shot. Unfortunately, the nurse had called every clinic and hospital in Zambia and there were no rabies shots in the country. Judith would have to fly to South Africa.

No, this couldn't be happening! We were supposed to go on our canoe safari the very next morning, and we had worked so hard to find an outfitter that could book all three of us together. Surely that pesky little vervit was vaccinated. They let it jump all over every visitor who came to the place. But just as I was giving Mike the contact info for Chimfunshi so he could keep trying them, Judith's cell phone battery died. And the charger was broken.

So for the next four hours, we tried hard not to perseverate on Judith's fate. Would we be canoeing together down the Zambezi for the next three days? Or would Judith give up the non-refundable trip and go to Johannesberg instead? Would Kate and I still be able to go? And was poor Mike going crazy not being able to reach us?

We hit Lusaka in time for terrible rush hour traffic (and long gas lines pouring into the streets). By the time Zimba opened the gate for us, Mike was standing in the driveway with Judith's shot records in hand. "The nurse is waiting for you." Turns out little Jacko was not vaccinated (although Sylvia assured us that he was perfectly healthy). The nurse wanted to see Judith immediately and start her on a rabies vaccine series. But she'd still be flying to Johannesberg in the morning for the antidote.

"Do you have to?" I asked. "Maybe we could just keep a close eye on the monkey."

"This is the Embassy," Judith explained. "When they tell you to do something, you do it."

So our Chimfunshi trip ended on a sour note as Judith bravely went off to the clinic. And I didn't dare say it, of course, but I was ever so grateful that it wasn't me or Kate.