it is about 10km from the edge of Livingstone to Victoria Falls. most of the girls spend ~20,000 kwacha on a taxi ($5US) to get there. today i decided to walk.

i set out from Mambo Way shortly after 7am and stopped at ZigZag for breakfast. one of our housekeeper’s recognized me on the way and shouted “hello” to get my attention. it was nice to see a friendly face. ZigZag’s WiFi was working (yay), so i uploaded a couple of blog entries and a few photos. the over-easy egg with toast and bacon (and vanilla nut coffee, of course) was delicious as usual. the morning was cool and slightly overcast, so i didn’t linger at ZigZag too long. their restaurant is very open and can get chilly if you’re just sitting there doing nothing (browsing the Interwebs).

i set off for the edge of town around 830am and left the last stores (Spar – a grocery store in a “mini mall”) behind soon after. i briefly considered changing my plans to walk and thought about flagging a taxi. Janice had warned me that the road was quite narrow and drivers go very fast. but there was a wide grassy ditch with a foot path, so i figured other people must walk out here. emboldened by a boy pushing a wheelbarrow in front of me, i forged ahead.

billboards began to litter the side of the highway, encouraging us to “Succeed the Right way, not Illegally” and telling us that Parmalat milk was good for “Long Life” and “no Powder Added!”

eventually i reached a point where there was definitely no one else walking. but the small footpath on the shoulder continued and i didn’t want to turn back. the sky was still slightly overcast and i was cool in my short-sleeved t-shirt. walking warmed me up and it was a good time of day not to worry about sunburn or dehydration.

a man across the road called to me and asked if i was walking. i said “yes”. to the falls? “yes,” i called back, smiled, and carried on. i walked on the right side of the road facing traffic. coming toward me (traffic drives on the left, as in the UK) was a man on a bicycle. he stopped beside me and also asked if i was walking to the falls. he was much older than anyone else i had met in the last week, his short beard and hair grizzled with grey. his eyes shining with love for his grandkids.

again, i answered this man “yes, i was walking to the falls” and started to think people were assuming i was crazy. instead, the old man gave me a dire warning about elephants on the road ahead. his English wasn’t very good, but i understood that the elephants were in the grass on the other side of the road. if i stayed where i was, i would be fine. i double- and triple-checked saying “it’s okay to go this way?” and he nodded eagerly, “yes yes, that side is fine.” i thanked him and carried on.

the man who had first called across the road to me caught up to my pace (still on the other side of the road) and said, “i am walking to the falls too, madame.” i smiled and we made small talk across the busy highway as our steps fell together. dozens of tour buses and vans and taxis and open safari trucks zoomed between us. we would pause to let the noise and dust settle before asking another question or making a small comment.

along the way, i learned that his name was Kenny. his wife had passed last year and he had two young children. he was a carver and seller at his older brother’s curio shop at the falls. he was looking for a way out of Zambia. anyone, anywhere — he just wanted out. he could carve and do security, he told me. when i told him that my sister was a pilot in Canada and very mechanically inclined, he nodded eagerly and said he could learn that too. he was dressed well in a faded denim-looking button-up shirt, black dress pants, and dusty black loafers. i couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable those shoes must have been to walk in.

i know Kenny had overhead my conversation with the old man on the bicycle, so i asked him about the elephant warning.

“yes, there are elephants coming. but they are friendly.”
“friendly elephants?”
“yesyes!” his laugh was high-pitched and genial. i smiled and said, “elephants are too big for me to be friends with!”

he told me that as long as you weren’t wearing bright clothing and not making any loud noises, the elephants would ignore you. i looked down at my light khakis and dark t-shirt and asked if i was okay. Kenny laughed his high-pitched giggle and said “yesyes!”

with another 7km or so to the falls (by Kenny’s expert estimation), our little entourage grew to three. an African man wearing tinted sunglasses returned my “good morning” with “buenos dias”. i asked him if he spoke Spanish and he said he had worked in the USA with President Jimmy Carter, translating for the Cubans. when i asked him if he liked America, he said: “ah, the States? do i like? it’s complicated. one day they are your friend, the next they throw you into the street.” i’m not entirely sure he was sober, but he was on the other side of the road with Kenny, so it was okay.

he accosted Kenny with such a non-stop monologue that i felt bad for him. the man was headed over the falls border to Zimbabwe to get his wife. he latched onto our group because he was worried about the upcoming elephants. his pace didn’t match ours though, and Kenny and i soon left him behind. i saw him pick up a half-empty water bottle from the ditch and exclaim with delight.

for passing tourists and tour guides, we must have looked like a strange group: a tall white woman on one side of the road with two black men directly on the other side either traveling with or following her. at one point, a small new truck slowed down into the ditch in front of me. i ignored the driver and went to make my way around the intrusion when he rapped on the passenger side window to get my attention. the older British man behind the wheel asked me if i was alright and if i wanted a ride to the falls. i said i was fine walking, thank you. he said: “but what about those two men?” and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Kenny and our talkative not-quite-sober friend had continued walking. not feeling much like a damsel in distress needing any rescuing, i again insisted i was fine, thank you.

the British man actually creeped me out more than any other locals i had met so far.

Kenny later commented that “you whiteys really love each other.” i couldn’t quite figure out what he meant and asked him to explain.

“i notice, when they are driving by, all the whiteys look at you.”
i laughed and said they probably weren’t worried, but just thought i was curiously crazy for walking.
“nono,” he said. “i can tell. there is much love between you and it is good.”
“do Zambians love each other too that way?” i asked.
Kenny shook his head no and said, “black skin is too jealous. there is no love there. we can’t even go into the bush because then your friends will ask you for money. it doesn’t matter if you have a little or a lot. too much jealousy if you succeed.”

i listened to him, nodding, as he told me how village elders are in possession of certain “charms” and are able to put “black magic” on you. “like, if you are a good carver and you are doing well, and other people are jealous, they will put a charm on you so that when a person comes to your shop they will not buy. they will say ‘oh, i’ll come back later later.’ but they will not come back. those charms are bad. and they don’t teach anyone else how to use them.”

i had nothing to say except that i thought it was sad that family and friends didn’t love each other and support each other. Kenny pinched his forearm and said “it’s this skin. it’s so complicated.”

we crossed two small bridges and went past the place where the elephants cross the road midday. i saw some elephant droppings, but no sight of hulking grey in the trees across the road. Kenny crossed to my side of the road when we neared the river and there was a break in the trees. he pointed out two elephants on the far shore, lumbering up the bank. i could barely see them and used my zoom lens to get a better look. i was delighted. it was my first glimpse of elephants in the wild. other than the plane ride from Jo’burg, it was also my first direct view of the falls.

for several kilometres, we had been able to see the huge cloud of water above the trees. the smell changed perceptibly and i could feel cooler air coming from the direction of the river far before i could see it. “thunder” is a common (overused) word that describes Victoria Falls and its’ deafening noise reached us even over the rumble of the tour buses.

with Kenny on the same side of the road as me — and the footpath still very narrow — we had the opportunity for more intimate conversation. he even stopped at one point to show me his deceased wife’s photo on her resident voting card. he wanted to give me his passport photo so i could come to Dambwa neighbourhood and ask for him, showing the photo and saying “where is this Kenny?” i smiled inwardly at the offer, but declined the proffered photo and said i would take one with my camera instead.

after nearly two hours of walking from the edge of town, we were almost upon the falls. my fingers on both hands were as fat as sausages, so swollen with blood draining down my arms that i couldn’t make a fist. wide security gates for the Zambezi Sun and Royal Livingstone hotels opened on our right. i would later learn that this was were all the “whiteys” were hiding. the parent company that owns and operates the hotels is called Sun International.

“did you know Michael Jackson – Mike Jack – owns the largest portion of shares in the Sun International?” our quickly-sobering-up friend had caught up with us again. his sunglasses were smudged and there was still a drop or two of water left in the bottle.

“oh?” i said, hoping to encourage another entertaining monologue.
“yes, Mike Jack, Mike Jack, owns most of it. but he never comes here.” he stated matter-of-factly.
“why not?”
“because you know all that plastic surgery we give him? Mike Jack? his nose, his eyes, his face? it would just melt off in the African sun!”

Kenny and i could hardly contain ourselves. we were doubled over laughing — his high-pitched giggle matching my outright guffaw. i actually haven’t had a good laugh like that in a long while. it felt so nice.

we left our friend at the gates to Victoria Falls and Kenny told me he wanted me to come see his curio shop. i obliged readily. i didn’t have any money to buy things, but i wanted to know where to return if i wanted to purchase something later. he led me through the maze of stalls and stands overflowing with African carvings and drums and toys and artifacts. having Kenny as an escort helped me avoid most of the cat-calling and barter offers that are common in such markets.

in a cool back corner, Kenny introduced me to his brother Robin and we shook hands warmly. Robin was much older, but i could see that they were from good people. finally it was time to say good-bye. Kenny said he would not be at the shop if i returned later and i thanked him graciously for accompanying me on the lovely walk. i was really happy we had met and had a wonderful morning talking to him about his life. he nodded and smiled and i said i thought he had a strong and bright future. i wished to see him again.

before leaving Kenny, i asked to take his photo. he still wanted me to have something that would help me find him in Dambwa neighbourhood if i went looking and readily obliged. standing in front of a chain link fence at Victoria Falls, Kenny held his chin up and looked unsmiling into the camera. he had wanted to give me his passport photo and, even though i had declined the tattered image from his wallet, i had ended up with an almost identical picture of him:

i know it sounds ridiculously naive to talk so much with a stranger and trust them so inherently, even on a busy road in the middle of the day. all i can say is that i am (very often) ridiculously naive.

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