Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, had been our on-again, off-again base for nearly 2 weeks by the time we finally picked up Aaron and Katherine (Surfers 16 and 17) and headed away.
We have met many people who consider Africa to be “the bush,” with cities and population centres an inconvenient necessity. The genuine Africa is found in small homesteads and rural villages, with cities an imposed European influence. There is a large tourist industry geared up to this ideal, offering village and cultural tours, drumming lessons, traditional artefacts for sale and the like.
These people buy or hire rugged 4x4s, set out on safari and find the worse roads possible to get stuck on for days at a time or, in our case, set agendas through the most rural sections of a country possible.
Which is great, and good fun, and with the vehicles we have it would be irresponsible to avoid the fun times. But I disagree with the driving belief. To taste and see a country, it is essential to first taste and see the large cities.
We were discussing these dilemmas with Mike, who had just returned from the bush, and he asked if I would send visitors to Scotland to the Highlands or central Glasgow. An interesting question. Is it possible to “see” Scotland without visiting Princess Street, or seeing the ship-building on the Clyde? Can you understand Northern Ireland without seeing the peace lines in Belfast and Derry?
Cities are the nerve centres of a country. Politicians live and work there, newspapers and books are printed and sold, culture is developed. It there that people are well informed and have vocal opinions. It is there that contact with people is not just easy, but required.
Maintenance of the trucks has meant whole days at a time in run-down areas of large cities, hunting shop to shop, or spending hours sitting chatting as a job is done. It was in Lilongwe, with Ben up on blocks, that we met John, running after every minibus that arrived on the street, looking for work. It was Kampala where we met Shanwe, a young girl in the motor shop who sat quietly until she finally said to Louise, “can we be friends?” It was Khartoum and Damascus where we realised the propaganda in our home media has avoided the fact completely that countries cities are open, functioning societies that welcome visitors (though their governments are less tolerant). It was Damascus where the hotelier lent us $100 from his pocket to allow us to eat out after arriving late.
Cities are also where crimes happen – it was in Dar es Salaam that someone reached in through the window to lift a wallet and ipod (he got neither), and Harare where someone slashed our tyre and followed us. To pretend they are always lovely places would be a lie, and having Ben and Finn adds to the logistics. But they are the heart and soul of a country, and to miss or skip through them would leave a very one-sided view of a country.
