Lusaka, Zambia

Lusaka is the capitol city of Zambia. It has a population of over one million, but only a handful of skyscrapers. Most of the city sprawls out over flat land, with lots of flowering trees and bushes. We were there just in time for the blooming of the Flambouyant trees, whose bright orange blossoms jolt the eye.

On the drive to Mike and Judith's home from the small airport, we got stuck in morning rush hour. The traffic was bad for several miles, but what really struck me was the amount of activity on the sides of the roads. There were nearly as many people walking and riding bicycles on the shoulders as there were cars in the four-lane thoroughfare. At stoplights, peddlars wove through the cars hawking all manner of things: cell phone chargers, dress shirts, even bags of roasted caterpillars. And the roadside was fair game for anyone wanting to sell something. Makeshift stands sold everything from furniture to oranges.

Driving in Lusaka, and all of Zambia, is crazy. The roads are filled with slow, smoke-spewing trucks overloaded with cargo. Blue van-buses pack people to the ceiling and stop without warning. Impatient drivers don't hesitate to veer into oncoming traffic or detour onto sidewalks. Before arriving, I had offered to help out with the driving on the road trips we'd be taking. After that first drive back from the airport, I had to revoke my offer. It seemed to me you would have to have four sets of eyes to drive safely in that city, but Judith and Mike handled the traffic like pros. I laughed, reminding them of what driving back in Eugene was like. When two cars pull up to a four-way stop at the same time, it's often a politeness standoff. "Go ahead." Both nod and smile. "No, after you."

Judith and Mike's neighborhood is much quieter, of course, with tended lawns and flowering bushes. But houses are hidden behind tall cement walls, topped with broken glass or barbed wire. When we arrived at the McCords', a uniformed guard opened their gate. They introduced us to Zimba, the day guard. Another guard comes at night. "Is it really that dangerous?" I asked, eyeing the padlocked bars on the windows and doors. But with such a disparity between the "rich" and impoverished, theft is very common. Lusaka is a fast-growing city, with many foreigners taking up residence. New malls and department stores are springing up. But the majority of the local population is impoverished, and 25% of them have AIDS/HIV. Crime is fed by desperation.

On our last day in Lusaka, Kate asked Judith where she could buy some African fabric. She had been admiring the colorful skirts (chitenges) that African women wear, and wanted to take some of the material home for sewing projects. Judith supposed that the best deals would be found in the local shopping district, Kamwala, and that's where we ventured.

Now there's no law that says white people can't shop in Kamwala, but I don't think it happens very often. Going there in Judith's Range Rover was akin to a rich debutante grocery shopping in a Detriot ghetto. We stuck out just a bit. But locals were happy to give us directions to a chetenge store, and a young man welcomed us into a parking space and watched the car for us.

The chitenge store was a seamstress's dream. Hundreds of bright-colored samples hanging on the walls. You're supposed to stand behind the counter and just point out the goods you want, but Judith, with her usual charm, said, "This is just torture for Americans, not to be able to feel the fabric." So the very nice Pakistani owers invited us behind the counter to shop American style. Kate had a hard time choosing (keeping in mind our small luggage space), but she ended up with several yards of fabric for just about $10.

Interestingly, most of the chetenge cloth was imported from India or Pakistan, a small amount from other African countries. Judith explained that there used to be a booming textile industry in Zambia, but Goodwill Industries single-handedly put it out of business. They simply could not compete with the tonnage of used clothes shipped over from America. So traditional garb has given over to faded Bronco shirts and Dockers. But women still use imported cloth for chitenges and headdresses.