To Chipata

Okay, so this is another bus ride story (and it won't be the last).
My bus ride across Zambia from Lusaka to Chipata was... well... bad.
Even by African standards. Of course it could have been worse (AS I
KNOCK ON THE WOODEN COFFEE TABLE IN MY HOSTEL).
In Lusaka, took a taxi to the bus station at 7am (early because I was
looking at an 8 hour ride). At the bus station one of the three men
pounding on the window of my taxi led me to a Chipata bound bus. On
board there were fifteen other people in the 50 seats. I've learned
that African buses never leave until full so I sat down figuring on
about an hour an a half wait. As I sat down in the front of the bus,
the bottom of my seat came off. I carefully placed it back on and took
some time to dig out a seat belt caked with dirt. A few of the windows
were broken and covered with masonite boards wedged in place with
crushed Fanta cans. The bus had been built with cords to single the
driver to stop, but the system was malfunctioning. There were constant
long "beep" sounds around the pitch of someone sending Morse code in a
movie. This would be constant for the remainder of my time on the bus.
After about an hour, the bus was 2/3s full and 10 women got off and
never came back. I later learned that they were paid by the bus
company to sit on the buses to make it look more full to lure people
on (by people I mean Matt Posorske).
Directly in front of my seat was the windshield of the bus so
occasionally a random person in the station would walk on to meet the
white guy at the bus station. I took the opportunity to learn a couple
words in the local language.
At around 10 am we left the station, but didn't leave Lusaka for about
an hour as we drove around dropping off packages around the city and
picking up random people.
Once we got on the road I closed my eyes and actually went to sleep. I
woke up in a tiny town on the border of Zambia's Eastern Provence. We
stopped for 20 minutes and everyone got off to stretch their legs. I
paid a kid 20 cents to go to the bathroom in a straw hut he built next
to the road on the side of a cliff.
Back on the bus I checked the time: it was 2pm. "Wow! Four hours in!"
We drove into the hills and I watched the bus weave around the sloping
curving roads. The government doesn't get out there too much and there
were a lot of pot holes. Serious pot holes with red bottoms because
they had broken through to the earth below.
I ate a cliff bar, munched on some crackers and drank about half a
liter of water. I felt alright. We were making good time and it was
fun to watch us drive through rural Zambia.
Then the tire popped.
...
Luckily, when the bang happened we were on a straight road and we
coasted along until the driver finally pulled over. There was no
announcement on the bus, everyone knew what it was. We dismounted the
bus to wait while they changed the tire. I sat on a small hill with a
little shade across the road from the bus. I mentally checked it off
on my "African Bus Experience" list. Barefoot children appeared to
watch what I'm sure was the highlight of their week.
After about twenty minutes they still hadn't gotten a lug off. Every
part of the bus was being searched for the correct socket.
I thought about how much water I had left and carefully judged passing
cars as I debated how long I would wait before I had to hitchhike.
My mental savior came in the form of a vacationing police officer who
was riding my bus. He sat down and asked where I had come from and
where I was going. He pointed to his hometown on the little map of
Zambia in my guidebook.
The next time I looked up they loosened the first lug.
We talked about the local children around us and he noted that the bus
hadn't passed a school on the road yet. We wondered how far these
children had to walk each day.
The next time I looked up the wheel was off.
He taught me how to say "Hello, how are you?" "I'm fine" in Chewa.
The next time I looked up we getting back on the bus.
Back on the road the bus moved slower and I held the entire vehicle
together through the sheer concentration. Knowing that if we screeched
to a halt I would go flying through the windshield, I tried to buckle
my seat belt, but found that it was too short to buckle in a 2 liter
bottle of coke.
When darkness fell at 6pm we were nowhere near Chipata I asked around
and the consensus was that we would arrive about 8pm.
For diner I finished a box of crackers.
At 9:30pm we pulled into Chipata.
I found a taxi driver who knew where I way staying and took off.
He didn't know where I was staying.
He took me to a lodge down a dark dirt road. According to the drunken
guard the lodge had been closed since last season.
Miraculously, my lonely planet gave specific directions "after the
welcome arch, take the first right before the TOTAL petrol station"
I arrived after the kitchen was closed and only the guard was still
awake. He found me some water and patiently listened as I told him
about the day.