The roads are looking shaky even for a run. The copper belt is on fire again with commodity prices soaring. Infrastructure doesn't sing the same tune though as I get into my Zambian stride.
The streets are lined with people - saying "Hello" to each of them gets monotonous but the smile and wave back slightly addictive. The occasional privileged few on bikes whizz by as they flash a proud glance at their attained speed with a casual wave from the handlebars.
Cellphones blaring with all the popular genres of the Western world and LA gangster look-a-likes with phat flat hats (these kill me...) look on strangely as this sweaty "Muzungu" cruises by huffing and puffing...
Trees and overgrown dense bush on the side of the road hide the gems of the past, a tennis club, rugby club, bowls club - funnily enough heaving with players today - and as I reach the turn around point at Chibuluma Golf Course you begin to think what this pace must have been like.
TIA. This is Africa...
Dodging potholes, minding my ankles and breathing deeply on the uphill straight toward our guest lodge, the red dust and blue oil laced smoke kicked up by yet another Japanese car, as it overtakes, fills my lungs. A classic concoction that jogs (excuse the pun) other African memories.
My run ends with a high five from the guard at the gate, a welcome thrill as the shaky legs carry me through to the lodge settling down at dusk for a quiet GnT on the verandah.
enjoyed that piece a lot ... very nice brother !
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