Yes, please, to the Gospel Pub

One of those moments that you have, where you just know that everyone around you would get as much of a kick out of the idea as you would… 

 Kenneth and I are driving down through Mapalo shanty town, on our way to a potential Grassroots Partner organization. The house gardens are smock full of colors and flowers that climb up the mud walls, creep through the windows, and have in their own way a  Beatrix Potter quaintness to them. The road is a matted pile of dust, that is kicked into spirals and clouds from the soccer ball being launched back and forth by the kids (out of school because of strikes). 

The weather here, despite it being their winter, holds itself steady to sun and blue sky, dotted with the lightest and sparsest of clouds, with temperatures that inspire t-shirts, flips, and shorts every day. My wardrobe is beautifully repetitive. 

 So, we’re driving along the road, bouncing out of our seats on the ride, as we pass what has to be one of the most packed pubs I’ve ever seen on a Tuesday afternoon. The front is wide open, the tin roof propped up by green pillars, with its assortment of eclectic lawn chairs and plastic tables. The bar inside, is quite your run-of-the-mill Zambian pub. The walls are painted light blues, covered in soccer posters and flags. Castle lager, Savanna Dry, and Coca Cola crates line the walls and fill the fridges.

The difference with this pub was, that on its cracked speakers, at full blast, was the bouncy cheery melodies that you would otherwise only find in a Pentecostal hall on Sunday morning. Yes, this was, as I can only best describe it, a Gospel Pub.

We all laughed long and hard at the irony of this joint. The most innocent mix of spirits and Spirit, sitting out on the side of the road as if it was the most typical site. I don’t really know how prohibitionists would respond to this established irony, but it was one of those memories that sunk itself in warm and deep to my memory, and I thought I’d have to share. We didn’t stop for a drink this time… but should we pass by again, I’m sure some part of my soul would be longing for a sip. 

My moments here in Zambia are continuing to go wonderfully. Kenneth and his family are so warm and hospitable. We have a lot of fun, and more than even talking, we’re spending our time dancing and singing. We’re a good match. : ) 

 I’ve been getting to know a number of others along the way, including 2 of our SpanAfrica homestays, a retired army Major, where we go to watch our football matches (his home has its own mini banana plantation – it’s so beautiful!), and a pastor, Nelson, who accompanied Amos and myself to the Congo border, so we could step inside, and get a flavor for a truly African truck stop. 

We drove through the major extent of the Copperbelt Region on our way (through to Lumumbashi, if you’re curious enough to follow on a map) , and passed through Kitwe, where a friend from uni spent a lot of his youth. Brock – what’s the name of your spot again? I couldn’t remember, so I didn’t actually visit. 

I cooked Italian for my family last night. I enjoyed the cooking, and they enjoyed the not-cooking, and seemed to like the food (though I secretly saw a few of them not finishing their olives) ; )

oh! And I shaved my head. I haven’t ever shaved it before (not since birth), and so it was this kind of freaky-adrenaline rush excitement all at once, as I used my mini scissors and electric razor to pull it all off. Every time I feel the breeze, or scratch my head, or peer into a mirror, I get that surprised jolt – where’s my hair? But it’s fun. If I had all day on the internet, I’d try to post a picture. But posting pictures seems to take more patience than I could muster, so imagination is all I’ll leave you with. It’s probably more ‘Buddhist monk’ than ‘RL polo’ look that came from it, but it makes me smile. 

If you’re a prospective volunteer, just reading this blog for the scoop of travel and volunteering, I admit, I probably run my blogs off into the least relevant areas. But the work comes and I love it, but I never seem to remember my camera, and my mind is never in the ‘let’s think about a blog’ mode, while working. But I will do my best to get an upcoming summary or two on what volunteering experiences and opportunities are like here in Zambia.

A warm hug and hello to you all,

Cameron