As I write this I’m sitting in the Chit Chat Café, on Omelo Mumba road in Lusaka. The crowd is a mixture of shirted expats with sunglasses on their heads, and laid back locals enjoy a mellow Sunday brunch. The Gotan Project is playing on the stereo. It’s a cross between Africa, Italy and Brazil. I love it.

Eating breakfast with me are Brigida, Laura and Sue. Laura I wrote about last time; we met on the plane from London, and have been regularly chilling the fuck out in Lusaka. Sue is her friend, an Insectologist (I think it’s supposed to be Entomologist or something like that, but she basically is into insects and chemicals and farming, so insectologist will suffice). Brigida is a woman I met on a plane – this time on my way from Ethiopia to Zambia (one leg of the return journey from Bombay). She is an Italian marriage and relationship counsellor, specialising in sex therapy (I’m serious). She is genius. We got on brilliantly on the plane, and when she got to Lusaka and discovered that Ethiopian Airlines sent her baggage to Gambia by mistake (easy error, Gambia/Zambia), I invited her to stay in my spare room until they returned it. So we are now friends, and on Thursday I took her to Boys’ Night at the pub – at first they were annoyed at me for breaking the gender rules, but when they found out what she did for a living they wouldn’t let her leave…

I’ve moved into my new flat, which is, to put it simply, lush. It’s not particularly beautiful, or well furnished, but there’s something very homely about it, and it’s split over two floors with old marble stairs. More than anything, it’s indescribably calming to have a place of my own, to truly settle into this city and country, to feel like a resident more than a tourist. I’ve been shocked by how welcoming the community is here – already I have quite a few people to hang out with, to call on a Friday night or have drinks with while watching the rugby. I’m guessing that all the ex pats here are bored of each other and are happy to see a fresh face…either that or I’m fucking cool and everybody loves me the moment they meet me. Or both!!!!!!!! J

I’m trying to make more Zambian friends. I only have one or two at the moment, including a wicked guy called Jau who is a friend of Sophie’s from London. It feels weird to have mostly white friends in this country – but then that’s frequently true of foreigners here. My other African experience, in Uganda, was far more grassroots, I was travelling round the northern province of the country with a camera and a notebook and a cocky smile, and I met a lot more people who were proper locals. It’s fucking cheesy isn’t it, the desire to meet the natives, but it’s a strong craving for me right now. I meet plenty of Zambians through work (you have to differentiate here: Black Zambian / White Zambian….there are plenty of Caucasian locals) but the relationship is a professional one, I would feel weird having a beer with them and telling them absurdly dark jokes about jesus and gay men (etc), just like with most work colleagues. So if you have any black friends, do put me in touch!

My trip to Bombay last week was special. Short, sexy, even a bit spazzy. I spent as much time as possible with Shloka, who is as short, sexy and spazzy as ever, and that made me very happy. I even managed to crash her annual office party, where I made friends with the fattest cameraman I could find (he had a white ski hat on, danced for several hours straight, and told me to ‘rock on’ several times in an accent that I have been trying to imitate ever since). That plus a lot of other things I can’t write about in the public domain, and so it was a beautiful five days, well worth flying across the middle east for.

This weekend I go to Victoria falls, the biggest waterfall since babs’ last spout of diarrhoea. It is supposed to be insane. I will post pictures, and some of my flat too if you’re lucky. Next time I also promise to write a bit about how the Chinese are colonising Africa and also something on Alain de Botton’s “The Art of Travel”, which is my current (brilliant) reading material.

Right – almost time for me to go back to saving the world. Peace out.

A Week in Lusaka

My first week in this country has been far from the sleepy African rising I expected. It’s been intense and interesting, and I feel like there’s a lot more to come.

I arrived to monsoon-style rains; a waterfall outside my window. The air is thick here – 98% humidity today – and it’s an effort to be outside…a mark of the superior power of nature in Africa. The city is not crowded and cramped like Kampala or Delhi, it’s more American than anything else – wide roads and thick greenery, it’s almost impossible to navigate without a car. But there (during the day, at least) an inherent friendliness in the air. Few people walk past without smiling; most say hello. The Zambian people are disarmingly friendly and forthcoming, and expect the same of you. Before engaging in conversation with anyone, even if it’s to buy a bottle of water or ask the time, it’s important to say hello and ask them how they are. It’s rude to be in a rush. As you can imagine, I have some adjusting to do.

My first day in the office was an interesting one. While visiting the main UN building, Tom (my boss) and I walked past a lean six foot one Zambian women, dressed in an alarming yellow Gucci suit, with matching six inch heels and full make up, touting an incongruously blue UN badge. I found myself thinking that my expectations of the UN bureaucrats I would be working with may have been slightly misplaced. I was later told that the woman was the reigning Miss Zambia (see right). She volunteers for the UN’s World Food Programme…

I am now the proud wearer of a UNDP badge, and have my own retro but airy office amongst several floors of development workers in the UN building. My project kicked off on Thursday and I am unashamedly and almost childishly excited about it. I am working with the Association of Microfinance Institutes Zambia (AMIZ), leading a project that aims to design a low risk way of financing small and medium businesses in Zambia. The aim is to drive fast and healthy economic growth among local suppliers, and they are very dedicated to achieving this goal. I’ve started working with them on a personal basis, and I can feel that I’m already helping, just through using the standard knowledge and discipline that I’ve gained in consulting. But I also feel like going to I’m learn so much; even in these few days I’ve started to talk to people who’ve been doing this job a while and absorbing the realities of development work in Africa. It’s been a long time since my job was this rewarding.

I’ve found a flat already, which is in the centre of town and opposite one of the favourite local pubs, the Smuggler’s Inn. It’s dark but welcoming, and a good place to hang out if you can avoid the women of the night that try and attract punters on the way out. I move in on February the sixth, and can’t wait – I’m staying in the five star Taj hotel at the moment, and its sheer luxury is burdening me with guilt. Don’t worry though – I’m not letting it get me down.

The week has been unexpectedly busy in terms of social events – I’ve been to Tom’s beautiful house for dinner, the Dutch Ambassadors even more beautiful house for his annual drinks party, and to Smuggler’s Inn for a ‘Boys Night’ with a group of ex pats. The foreign development workers here seem to be a tight crowd, but very warm and accepting. I feel like I will make plenty of friends. I even met a Canadian girl on the plane over, Laura, who works in a school just west of the city and has been the perfect companion to explore Lusaka with.

But despite my fairly active week, I can already feel myself unwinding and detoxing from the neo-mentalist peacelessness of London. I am forcing myself to spend time alone, relaxing, reading, meditating. It’s easier in this city; in this friendly, quiet town. And this stillness is making me happy. I’m sure that in about two weeks I’ll be dying to get back to the east side for some sleazy glitchcore electro. But for now, the sound of the crickets is enough.