Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Christmas Eve -- and Santa Lands Me in Custody:
December 24, 2006
(Our bush hut at Bovu Island Lodge, upriver from Livingstone, Zambia)
Our innkeeper has promised us a goat dinner for Christmas Day but the Lodge's bar has been seriously depleted along with the larder. His "beat" ways and insights charming even though he insists that I must be a CIA agent and dubs me "Putin" -- perhaps it's my insincere grin. We do have a major task to undertake today -- it's "Operation J-Day": we must pick up my other son (Jeff) at the Livingstone airport. Brett agrees to let us help him with some necessities and we depart with the shopping list for the Lodge provided by Annie. Of course we got stuck on the mopane portion of the road -- but not as badly as our French compatriots -- a 45 minute delay at most. A villager happening by with his brush ax helped out by stuffing branches under the rear tires bogged down in the thick mixture of riverine sand and black mud. It was hubris -- we had gotten in the previous day without getting stuck so my overconfidence played a part.
The rest of the drive to the airport was uneventful and we arrived early (of course) plus the jet arrived late (just like in the US). Back in town I overshot the driveway of the Lodge office in Livingstone as my family shouted "Stop -- there it is!" Pulling up at the curb, they jumped out to give the shopping list to Hazel in the office so that the groceries and liquor can be purchased. I decide just to stand at the curb noticing that the car park across Mosi-Ao-Tunya Road is full of many laden and maneuvering long distance trucks bound for northern Zambia and the DRC. It is also full of touts -- just like the ones we have fought off at the nearby ATM.
Just then two boys appear and leap onto the truck tapping the glass: "Mister, better move your car... the police are coming!" Too late. A policewoman dropped off a pickup truck replaces the boys on the truck step and announces my arrest (illegal parking). I try to explain but no matter. She must have believed part of my story because she agrees to wait to let my family pile in along with Hazel and all six of us trundle off to the Central Police Station. It was great: I sat in detention under the portraits of the current and past presidents, police superintendents, and various other patriots and filled out the charges against me and my details on a blank sheet of paper. I can't recall whether it was a police ball point pen or my own. And it was arrogant of me because I saw a quiet, tree lined street and they saw me squatting in a traffic lane on their main thoroughfare. And I will pay too: there is no intermediate step between the charge and the fine. 135,000 kwacha (at 5,000 to the dollar this is $27).
I argue nevertheless and finally Hazel intervenes suggesting that I should ask "for forgiveness" of the police commander. The desk sergeant duly went to another chamber to receive a ruling and after a decent interval reported that "forgiveness" had been granted but not to let it happen again as I will be dealt with in some sort of summary fashion (jail I think). My arresting officer asks for a lift back to her duty post at the Total Station and we drop off Hazel back at the Lodge office (I don't miss the driveway this time). We spend some time picking up extras for other guests, looking for the "crying baby" music we heard at Katima, ice for the jolly South Africans and the Lodge bar, and with Jeff and -- finally -- fully loaded with liquor, groceries and sundry we rumble off out of town.
Hazel, Annie, and Brett have graciously sent the Lodge truck to rendezvous with us but we manage not to get stuck on the mopane road. Brett amused but a little miffed that we "wasted" Hazel's influence with the police commander: it turns out she is an aristocrat. I should have known -- she is even more beautiful than Annie and has that regal bearing. It's OK as I must be providing a lot of amusement (wearing my cap and bells) for all Zambians (white and black) that I encounter -- especially on Christmas Eve. I think the holiday is the reason the police commander let me off.
(Early morning view looking south from the veranda of our bush hut at Bovu Island Lodge: the Zambezi River with Zimbabwe on the opposite shore, near Livingstone, Zambia)
We have another wonderful evening at Bovu -- all have bonded and our Danish guests provide a Christmas complete with treats and candles in their hair. The spotted genet returns to us too.
(Our bush hut at Bovu Island Lodge, upriver from Livingstone, Zambia)
Our innkeeper has promised us a goat dinner for Christmas Day but the Lodge's bar has been seriously depleted along with the larder. His "beat" ways and insights charming even though he insists that I must be a CIA agent and dubs me "Putin" -- perhaps it's my insincere grin. We do have a major task to undertake today -- it's "Operation J-Day": we must pick up my other son (Jeff) at the Livingstone airport. Brett agrees to let us help him with some necessities and we depart with the shopping list for the Lodge provided by Annie. Of course we got stuck on the mopane portion of the road -- but not as badly as our French compatriots -- a 45 minute delay at most. A villager happening by with his brush ax helped out by stuffing branches under the rear tires bogged down in the thick mixture of riverine sand and black mud. It was hubris -- we had gotten in the previous day without getting stuck so my overconfidence played a part.
The rest of the drive to the airport was uneventful and we arrived early (of course) plus the jet arrived late (just like in the US). Back in town I overshot the driveway of the Lodge office in Livingstone as my family shouted "Stop -- there it is!" Pulling up at the curb, they jumped out to give the shopping list to Hazel in the office so that the groceries and liquor can be purchased. I decide just to stand at the curb noticing that the car park across Mosi-Ao-Tunya Road is full of many laden and maneuvering long distance trucks bound for northern Zambia and the DRC. It is also full of touts -- just like the ones we have fought off at the nearby ATM.
Just then two boys appear and leap onto the truck tapping the glass: "Mister, better move your car... the police are coming!" Too late. A policewoman dropped off a pickup truck replaces the boys on the truck step and announces my arrest (illegal parking). I try to explain but no matter. She must have believed part of my story because she agrees to wait to let my family pile in along with Hazel and all six of us trundle off to the Central Police Station. It was great: I sat in detention under the portraits of the current and past presidents, police superintendents, and various other patriots and filled out the charges against me and my details on a blank sheet of paper. I can't recall whether it was a police ball point pen or my own. And it was arrogant of me because I saw a quiet, tree lined street and they saw me squatting in a traffic lane on their main thoroughfare. And I will pay too: there is no intermediate step between the charge and the fine. 135,000 kwacha (at 5,000 to the dollar this is $27).
I argue nevertheless and finally Hazel intervenes suggesting that I should ask "for forgiveness" of the police commander. The desk sergeant duly went to another chamber to receive a ruling and after a decent interval reported that "forgiveness" had been granted but not to let it happen again as I will be dealt with in some sort of summary fashion (jail I think). My arresting officer asks for a lift back to her duty post at the Total Station and we drop off Hazel back at the Lodge office (I don't miss the driveway this time). We spend some time picking up extras for other guests, looking for the "crying baby" music we heard at Katima, ice for the jolly South Africans and the Lodge bar, and with Jeff and -- finally -- fully loaded with liquor, groceries and sundry we rumble off out of town.
Hazel, Annie, and Brett have graciously sent the Lodge truck to rendezvous with us but we manage not to get stuck on the mopane road. Brett amused but a little miffed that we "wasted" Hazel's influence with the police commander: it turns out she is an aristocrat. I should have known -- she is even more beautiful than Annie and has that regal bearing. It's OK as I must be providing a lot of amusement (wearing my cap and bells) for all Zambians (white and black) that I encounter -- especially on Christmas Eve. I think the holiday is the reason the police commander let me off.
(Early morning view looking south from the veranda of our bush hut at Bovu Island Lodge: the Zambezi River with Zimbabwe on the opposite shore, near Livingstone, Zambia)
We have another wonderful evening at Bovu -- all have bonded and our Danish guests provide a Christmas complete with treats and candles in their hair. The spotted genet returns to us too.
Labels: Bovu Island, Livingstone
¶ 11:06 AM
