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Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Livingstone, Close Up and Personal

Sunday

Getting up early, we left the compound at 7 AM with two local young men, each of us on a bicycle. What a great way to see the city and surrounding area. These young men are part of a job training school, with the income going to the school and the students learning different trades, like being a guide.

We cycled through one part of town, then across the railroad tracks to another. Even saw a train from Lusaka chugging along, people leaning out of the glass-less windows. Trash blowing everywhere. 



The two guides took us to see the local rock quarry where people work all day long, in the blazing heat, to pound rocks into gravel. Small children sit in the dirt, helping their mothers. 

A mother might have a two year old strapped to her back while pounding, and more children around her, all working away. For a wheelbarrow full of gravel that might get one dollar, if anyone needs gravel that day. Young boys haul the large rocks out of the pit and throw them up on top. Heavy, terrible work. But it is work and makes an income of sorts, with which they can buy corn and other food.  We saw one boor hole in the area where people came with jugs of all sizes to collect water.
Everyone is lovely as can be, smiling and saying “Hello, how are you?”
One smiling grandmother came over to us with her screaming 2 year old and held out her hand to us, saying to the child "See, there are just like us, just people!" The kid was scared of seeing white people...


We cycled on along dirt roads lined with tiny houses and rackety shops. Crossed over a railroad bridge and went to a market. Many stalls offered fish, fresh or dried, spices, fruits and all sorts of other wares. Others offered used clothing and shoes. It is amazing to see how clean people are, often wearing white clothing. I feel dusty and grubby much of the time.

Children came running, calling “Hello!” and waving. "Mzungu!" we kept hearing, going from child to child, "White people are coming!" And the kids would run up, wide grins on their faces, waving as hard as they could. I chatted with mothers and grandmothers, everyone with beautiful smiles.

We were home just when the temperatures got too high for cycling. A cold coke never tasted so good.  

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