A Tale of Two Cities

A friend, quoting a guidebook, once described Lusaka as a city that “does not easily lend itself to superlatives.” I can see where they were coming from. Nothing about this place screams “look at me- this is Lusaka!” Nothing is overly big, loud, impressive or intense. There is no iconic monument, landmark or scenery. Hell, when a new mall opens, that’s big news here. In the most affectionate way possible, I would call it a tame town. However, there is one uniquely interesting thing about this place, something that sets it apart from anywhere I’ve ever been. In truth, it’s actually two cities sidled up right next to each other; more “twin cities” than Minneapolis and St. Paul. Sure they share infrastructure, government and a porous border, but that’s where the similarity ends. They are a metropolitan odd couple; two towns with two very different, though constantly intersecting, stories.

On the one hand is the city in which I usually find myself. A glorified urban sprawl revolving around strip malls and shopping centers. It stretches for many times the area of its neighbor, full of spacious residences and unclaimed land. Its roads are well maintained and the traffic lights work. There are shade trees, manicured lawns and gate after wall after gate, all crowned with razor wire. The people you see are usually in vehicles, and on the road you pass 4x4s one after another. Its restaurants have names like Portico and Plates and serve up delicious meals alongside cappuccinos and milkshakes. Within its shops, you can locate just about any appliance, convenience or luxury you could desire. Of course, this is sometimes a metaphorical city as much as a literal one, as its limits do not always follow strict geographical boundaries.

The other city, the one I rarely visit, is a fraction of the size but infinitely more dense. It's located to the west, straddling the largest north-south roads, and was once the center of all Lusaka. It is full of cars and people and stores and people and concrete and people. Every square inch of every block is utilized. There are shops within restaurants and restaurants within shops. Sidewalks double as merchandise displays, parking spaces and eateries. Cars are double, sometimes triple parked and roads back up behind slow moving buses. Even the walls are full; painted edge to edge with shop names and products images. All around there are people. You are swept along in a current of life, business, movement, color, noise, smell. You could wander this riotous labyrinth endlessly, always discovering something new.

To be honest, in one of these cities I feel comfortable and at home; in the other, I am a total stranger. I can blame my detachment on the miserable traffic, the lack of parking, the many convenient alternatives closer to home. Perhaps, though, it could be that where I live and spend most of my days is not too different from where I once lived, and where I avoid is the honest truth about where I live now. Walking around downtown today, I realized I need to find a better balance. Even after seven months, I’m just beginning to learn what it means to live in Lusaka.

Copper Bullets Strike Gold

Late Sunday night, in a bar in northern Lusaka, we watched history take place. Wrapped in Zambia-patterned fabric, faces painted red, green and black, we held each other tightly, hardly breathing as the African Cup of Nations final went into penalty kicks. We could hardly believe it had come to this. Zambia had held off a more experienced and heavily favored Ivorian side for 120 minutes. They had survived a penalty in regular time (typically a certain goal) through the grace of Drogba's faulty nerves. And now here they were, going shot for shot in penalty kicks to determine the outcome. Even that couldn't be decided in a normal way though; after neither side missed any of the five, it progressed into sudden death penalties. Ivory Coast was the first to miss, we could barely believe it, but tragically the next Zambian kicker couldn't seal the deal. Then, a miraculous second chance when the Zambian keeper managed to save the following penalty. This time, Zambia didn't miss. For the first time, the trophy did not elude them. Completely unbelievable, totally unexpected, and utterly relieving after one of the most stressful games I've ever watched. The bar was a blur of green energy jumping dancing excitement. Hugs, vuvuzela blasts, people on shoulders, dancing on the bar; it was wonderful madness. 

The next day became an unofficial holiday. The team would be returning to Lusaka with the trophy and it seemed like the whole country turned out to watch. By the time we made our way to the stadium where the ceremony was taking place, there were already thousands of people filling the stands. Because we were carrying our cameras, my roommate managed to get us onto the field, right in the epicenter of the action. It was an unbelievable opportunity to take photos. People were decked out in Zambian colors, absolutely bursting with energy, and couldn't wait to pose for pictures. After a few hours of that, things got quite a bit crazier when thousands of fans stormed the field. It was all the police could do to clear a small square for the upcoming presentation. After about six hours I succumbed to my heat exhaustion, thirst and hunger and started off home. Getting out of the stadium and surrounding area was no small feat; every road, sidewalk and roof was teeming with people. After getting a bit lost trying to avoid the crowds, some kids showed me a wall I could scale and I managed to get back to the main road. The crowds here were equally impressive as everyone lined up to see the players as they traveled from the airport to the stadium. Not the burning heat of the day nor the fact that the players were running four hours late could dampen the mood of the city. Everyone was greeting each other warmly, cheering every vehicle brave enough to pass through the crowds, and, unceasingly patient, awaiting the arrival of their national heroes. It was a great day for Zambia, and I count myself very lucky to have been here to share it.

(Some scenes from the day - all photos coming soon)

(With the Zambian coach, Herve Renard)

Football and Football

Déjà vu: I’m in Southern Africa, the Pats are in the Superbowl and we’re playing the Giants. This time was going to be different, though; this time I resolved to stay up and watch it live in hopes of creating some butterfly effect that would break the curse of four years earlier. Luckily there were like-minded Americans (and one brave Dane) willing to do this with me. The game started at 1:30 here and lasted until almost 5 am. We kept ourselves awake with homemade guacamole, mango juice popsicles and a selection of Youtube videos (as we were sadly deprived of all the American commercials). It was a hair-raising, nail-biting experience, but not just because of the action in the game. Halfway through the 3^rd quarter the power went out and we were left sitting, stunned, in darkness. Would our determination be for naught? Would we have sacrificed our Monday productivity for no reason? Two … three minutes passed with only a flicker of light at one point to tease us. Finally, after about four minutes it came on and stayed on. It was bittersweet: if it had stayed off I wouldn’t have seen the multiple dropped passes, the inability of the offense to keep possession or score when they truly needed to, or the Hail Mary bouncing around in a sea of players with single digits on the clock. I guess our efforts were too small to change things, but I definitely prefer watching it happen to waking up to the bad news.

In the realm of what the rest of the world calls football, things were looking a lot brighter. In the Africa Cup on Nations, Zambia’s relatively untested and unknown side was doing serious damage in the group stages. They gave Senegal a good thumping (leading to numerous harassing messages from friends in Dakar), managed to draw with Libya and edged out the co-hosts Equatorial Guinea. In the quarter finals they thrashed Sudan 3 to 0 and then steeled themselves to take on the dangerous Black Stars of Ghana last night. The more stubborn of us managed to get in an hour of frisbee before the match started but as soon as we heard the waves of cheering coming from all sides of town we quickly called the game and booked it to the nearest bar. It was a ton of fun watching in a crowded bar; the spirit and excitement was infectious and compounding. It was a close game and Ghana looked like they were slowly breaking Zambia down. But, with about twenty minutes left, Emmanuel Mayuka curled in a beautiful ball from outside the box and gave Zambia the lead, as well as the confidence to keep Ghana in check. When a Ghanian player was sent off with a second yellow card, the win seemed within our grasp. Counting down the last seconds of stoppage time, we cheered Zambia onto their first final since 1994; less than one year after a plane crash off Gabon took the lives of almost the entire national team. The excitement level is growing higher and higher here; I imagine by Sunday’s game it will be at fever pitch. Vuvuzelas sound their distinctive call late into the night and cars everywhere are adorned with flags and Zambia-patterned cloth. I can only imagine what Lusaka will look and sound like if the Chipolopolo boys can pull off the upset over Ivory Coast this weekend.