Whither Mongu?

by Bill Nelem
April 2008


The road to Mongu, heading 600 kms due west from Lusaka, is characterized by two unusual features.

First, on the Zambian scale of pot-holed roads of 1 to 10, it scores a low 1, very few potholes. Most unusual, and almost for sure, this road has 'worn well' because it lacks the heavy transport truck traffic that has ruined the Great North Road that links Livingston to Lusaka and the Copperbelt. As one drives this remarkable road, another reality emerges from the subconscious mind. If this road is so well preserved, it's lack of traffic portends that perhaps the destination of Mongu is 'far from the beaten path', so to speak. Isolated, one might surmise. No great tourist Mecca this. Don't expect any 5 star hotels at the end of this road.

The second unusual feature of this road is that it is so 'Germanic', so un-British.

Roads built in Africa in the German colonies such as Namibia or

Tanzania, for example, runs in absolute straight lines for hundreds upon hundreds of kilometres. This is unlike those built in British colonies where the roads simply meander haphazardly back and forth, modelled as if they looked like the curvy unplanned back roads of south London. Here you have a road to Mongu in a former British colony that must have been built by German sub contractors!

Along the road I pass clusters of children and I wave. Enthusiastically, they wave back.

A woman squats at the roadside to void, breast-feeding a contented infant. Strapped to her back, a second infant screams uncontrollably, impatient for his or her turn at the breast.

A man wears a rugby jersey with the number 13 on the back. Above the number, incongruously, is embroidered the name 'Smith'.

Two boys push toy wheel barrows made out of wire coat hangars.

I pass mud houses with crudely thatched roofs. Eight-foot high corn crops grow, planted besides villages. Nourished by this year's heavy rains they bear healthy cobs of corn that will be needed during the dry season that follows.

A diesel truck spews out clouds of black smoke, completely oblivious of its impact on global warming.

Sticks of sugar cane, bananas, mangos and live chicken are for sale at the roadside.

Some ride bicycles, some ride tandem on the back of bikes, but most of the people walk.

A young man proudly holds the only motorcycle seen today, surrounded by a crowd of admiring and envious bystanders. In turn they respectfully touch the orange painted beauty.

A bus is stopped at the roadside, broken down, no doubt. The passengers stand aimlessly by waiting for something to happen. Who knows how long they will wait.

More ominous is the fully loaded freight truck, also stopped at the roadside. There is air in the tyres, but the crankshaft has been removed. Forlorn and forsaken, it lies on the ground alongside the stranded truck. Now this is a major problem.

The road to Mongu passes through the Kafue National Game Reserve.

Clusters of monkeys and baboons scurry into the long side grass to avoid the car. Vultures scavenge on a road-killed jackal. Impala stand in herds at the roadside, furtive and pensive. Their lives depend, literally, on their instinct to bolt on a nano-seconds' notice.

A tree pushed over by an elephant covers one of the road's two lanes.

Like giant pancakes, elephant dung litters the road. With all of this elephant activity, one senses that a large body of water nears, recognising the elephants' proclivity to bathe in water during the heat of each day.

Sure enough, over the next hillock lies the Kafue River. It is a large river, it's water moving slowly, tranquil.

At the river's edge, aware of lurking crocodiles, women cautiously wash clothing.

On leaving the reserve, I'm stopped at a checkpoint. The guard advises that a sister needs a ride to the next village. Now a sister's need is a request to heed. For the next ten minutes my front seat passenger sits motionless, respectful, silent.

Perhaps I was a bit hasty in suggesting that there may not be good accommodation to be found in Mongu.

Arriving in town, I notice the 'Cross Roads Lodge - good accommodation'.

Aptly, it's located near the cross roads between the road to Senanga and the road to Lusaka. Nearby are the Mongu General Butcher and Mini Mart.

What more could anyone want?

Next I see a sign for the 'Majesty's Lodge - Best luxury rooms – where guests have the opportunity to relax in peaceful surroundings'. Well, that says it all. Who could argue with that?

I'll make sure that Joe knows about this one when he sends people to Mongu.

At noon I approach a sign that says 'Mandanga guesthouse - accommodation - restaurant - bar'. Aah, a good spot for lunch. I pull into the drive to find the front door and the windows boarded.

I settle on the 'Cheshire Home for Physically Challenged Children' run by the Presentation Sisters. Rosemary put me onto them. I'm greeted at the door by Sister Cathy, she of Irish accent. I'm given a warm handshake and a key to my room. There's no need for registration or for any payment. 'Come and go as you please', I'm told, but they insist that I join them for meals.

This is where Jessica and Lianne will stay when they teach at the nursing school. It's spartan, clean and safe. It's perfect! There is no way that they will be staying at the nurses’ hostel adjacent to the nursing school where none of the above parameters hold.

Gene will be pleased to know that the disabled children at the home all have mosquito nets. The Sisters say that there has been widespread distribution of nets in Mongu. They've even had an insecticide re-impregnation programme for older nets. The biggest problem now that all have been given nets is that of compliance failure. The nets do make the hot nights hotter.

I don't have time to go to Senanga, but I drive south along the Zambezi flood plain for a short distance. The road has a Zambian pothole score of about 7 or 8!

For kilometre after kilometre along the road to Mongu, I see telephone posts loyally suspending three flimsy wires, presumably the power source for all of western Zambia. Yes, there is electricity in Mongu, but how effective is their communication network?

Waiting for dinner and holding a glass of wine offered by one of the

Sisters, I startle when my Blackberry phone rings. Unaware that I'm in Zambia, a friend in Kelowna dials my local cell phone number just to chat. Here I am in Mongu and the call comes in loud and clear.

I send myself a test e-mail message on my Blackberry. Within three minutes the message returns!! Now that is impressive. I wasn't able to do this in Beirut.

I later learn that Mongu is on the satellite telecommunication network grid linking Africa north to south.

Here's another pointer for Jessica and Lianne. When they go to Mongu, they will take with them a trusty Canadian Blackberry. This way they will be in constant communication by both phone and e-mail without needing access to an Internet source. Even here in Mongu, the Blackberry does it all!

The hospital is basic but remarkably functional. Two operating theatres have been recently refurbished. Despite the presence of 11 doctors and 108 nurses, they are severely manpower depleted. They are constantly short on medications and dressings. Out of oxygen last week, they 'borrowed' the last remaining O2 cylinder that they try to keep on hand at Cheshire Home. They don't expect that it will be returned or replaced. The Health Partners Canada supply kits will be most helpful here - so too would oxygen concentrators.

Always looking for the opportunity and not the problem, I see that this place has significant unused capacity, potential for third world development initiatives - think fistula programmes, community surgery, circumcision, prevention plans, palliative care etc. This site is typical of at least a dozen other regional community hospitals scattered around Zambia, all offering the same opportunities. The need is overwhelming.

I spend two hours at the school of nursing, and I come away with two impressions. First, they are very dedicated to doing the best they can, and second, this place will never be the same after Jessica and Lianne have come and gone. The Principal, one of the teachers, is away today and so I will have to return before I leave to set up the details for Jessica and Lianne (JL). Alfred Mandona's absence allows me to spend time with the other two teachers, Pelena Phiri (she wants to do a Master's- I suggested UBCO) and Mumbuwa Silumba, a fine young man. They will welcome with open arms two Canadian sisters (!) to their teaching ranks. They are short of teachers. They also have 4 clinical instructors. They have a two-year diploma course, graduating about 45 per year. School year starts first semester July - December, 2nd term January - June.

'What are your needs?' I ask.

Curriculum development - Action Jessica and Lianne

Library completely outdated - Action Jessica and Lianne (JL)

Teaching aids almost non-existent - Action JL

As I said, this place will never look the same once JL strike!! It's a great opportunity that awaits them.

Leaving Mongu for Lusaka, I'm stopped again by the same guard at the entry to the game reserve. On this occasion, I see no silent sisters standing still. The guard's request; 'Please take a carton of fish to the market in Lusaka'. I look down and next to him I see four fly-swarmed cartons of smelly fish rotting in the noonday sun. From the cartons ooze rivulets of clotted blood and slime that mingles with the red rusty African sand transforming the mixture into a yellow – green slag. Much to the guard’s dismay and disappointment, I decline the request!


I’ll write again soon. Bill