ZAMBIA LETTERS, 11

View from the bus

We decided to travel south, to the city of Livingstone. There we will meet the curator Sikatongo, visit LuCAC's sister facility LoCA and see a series of exhibitions; including one about Makishi masks displayed at the Livingstone museum. We will also meet with mr Mwata Chibweka, who has personal experience of  the tradition of Mukanda. Mukanda is the camp where the initiation rites take place where boys learn to become men and it is essential to the tradition of Makishi, Our journey will also give us an opportunity to visit the Victoria Falls and to go on Safari. Such experiences can lay the foundation for a more developed understanding of the Zambian landscape and local ecosystems. 

The bus ride takes eight hours and the bus stops in a couple of towns along the way. The vehicle itself is comfortable and in good condition. Before we leave Lusaka a man mops the entire floor, going between all the seats. This procedure is later repeated at every stop along the way.

In addition to the driver, the staff includes two bus attendants. As we leave Lusaka, the lady gives the customary welcome speech. She introduces the bus company, tells us we should not disturb other passengers or walk around in the bus when it is moving and wishes us a pleasant journey.

She then continues, saying, “Lower your heads for prayer” and then she begins to chant. “Dear Jesus Lord, almighty, who shed your blood for us so we may be delivered from sin, shed your blood over this bus as well and engulf it with it, in all your divine mercy. Protect us from all the evils along this road…” et cetera.

Her prayer continues for a couple of minutes and ends with an encouraging ”Amen”. The lady in the seat next to me joins in, just like the man in front of me and the couple behind.

As the bus rolls out of Lusaka the attendant turns on the TV. It is preset to show its content at a very high level of volume. Evangelical pop singers appear on the screen. They employ spiritually affected facial expressions and their palms are raised towards heaven as they sing passionately. Sometimes they pose in front of luxurious villas. The camera will then zoom in on their designer clothes and their wristwatches. Sometimes they stand in front of a church. In the background there are rows of men and women. They sing and clap their hands and sway back and forth. They wear long shiny robes in bright colors. At other times the singer stands on a stage and sings in front of an audience. They fall into a trance. They sit and pray with clasped hands. Some of them collapse and start speaking in tongues. These individuals will then lie and twitch on the floor in spasms. 

The music keeps on roaring out of the poor speakers as the journey continues, making it difficult for everyone on the bus to hear what they are saying to one another. The couple behind me shout, in an effort to drown out the music. There is no escaping them, nor the music. I have to listen to their conversation, or be consumed by Evangelism. They are strangers to one another, and have clearly never met before. He is the one who speaks, or shouts, as he is moving freely from topic to topic. For some reason, she doesn't seem to take offense. Every now and then she gets a word in, but the communication is essentially a one-way monologue and it includes both private topics and existential reflections. After a couple of hours he starts to talk about his prayers. He tells her what he is praying for, what he gets out of doing his prayers and how important praying is to him.

We stop at a small town. Two older men gets up and leaves their seats. They move carefully with great seriousness. Both are well-dressed, but their suits have something strikingly restrained about them. Outside the bus, in the parking lot, fifteen old ladies are waiting anxiously. They are dressed in colorful uniforms, combining blue, yellow and white patterns with religious symbols and quotations from the Bible. They are wearing the same headgear. The ladies begin to clap their hands and sing some sort of gospel or psalm, clearly praising the men who are getting off. A younger man follows everyone and everything with his smartphone up close. The entourage crosses the parking lot and gets into a minibus, waiting for them.

We continue our journey. The same painful soundscape continue to roar along the aisles. I can't tear my eyes away from the music videos, they are attacking me, and there is no escape. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. As I fold my seat the lady behind begins to complain loudly. I return it to an upright position and turn my eyes to the landscape.