For
years Zambia was ignored by all but the hardiest of travellers. It is only in
recent years that the country has started to gain recognition for being a truly
wild destination, relatively untarnished by tourism. Whilst facilities are
slowly being developed, Zambia remains for many the finest safari venue on the
continent. Chris McIntyre tracks the development of the country from a
tourist’s perspective.
The hotel looked too smart for a trio of backpackers, but
it was 40ºC in the shade so we ventured in. It was early in 1988 and we
didn’t realise that the Mosi-oa-Tunya Intercontinental, beside the
Victoria Falls, was Zambia’s flagship hotel. Wandering past the security
guard, we sat by the pool, requested some Cokes and tried to look
inconspicuous. Only a handful of guests were around.
“Sorry, we
have no Cokes”, smiled the waiter. “Sprites would be fine.” But
they were out of stock too. Requests for Fanta or Pepsi met with no success
either, so we asked what was possible. “We have only Tip-top,”
replied the starched waiter. Shortly three bottles of lurid colours and
indeterminate tastes appeared—Zambia’s only soft drinks at the
time.
Later, we crossed the border back to Victoria Falls town. On the
bridge over the Zambezi, a Zambian soldier took offence to my photography.
Kalashnikovs and voices were raised, before conciliatory assurances saved the
film and we continued walking. Meanwhile, women struggled past us, laden with
shopping bags from Zimbabwe: many everyday necessities were unobtainable in
Zambia.
By the late 1980s, Kenneth Kaunda’s reign had reduced
Zambia to poverty; its currency was worthless and its economy in tatters.
Essentials were scarce, tourists equally rare, and poachers gradually sapped
the wildlife from the country’s national parks.
So it was with
trepidation that I returned in 1995 to write a guidebook on Zambia. By then
Frederick Chiluba’s Movement for Multiparty Democracy had taken over from
Kaunda, with a mandate to liberalise the economy and stem corruption. Gone were
the suspicious soldiers and instead, half-way across the bridge, bungee-jumping
was taking off.
“Business is easier here than in Zimbabwe,”
explained Byron Stephenson, who’d brought his elastic entrepreneurial
skills from New Zealand to settle in Livingstone. Then it was buzzing with
other new developments—“Zambia’s full of potential,” was
the general view.
Livingstone had eight or nine small, riverside
lodges beside the Zambezi. All seemed pioneering in their own way, often run by
larger-than-life characters. The most impressive, Tongabezi, was owned by two
aristocratic young Englishmen who had seen an opportunity and grabbed it. Their
design flair, especially their bath-with-a-view, was to set the
subcontinent’s pace in lodge construction for the rest of the decade.
At a campsite, I met Judi Helmholtz, an energetic, sparky woman who’d
later help me gather information on the area. She’d studied in the US and
UK and had held down a string of high-powered jobs as a business analyst yet,
improbably, was also a world-class rafting-guide. She came to Zambia from
California to boost Sobek’s white-water rafting operation in Livingstone,
then fell in love with the country and stayed.
“Every night we
fall asleep listening to hyaenas or lions or hippos,” she commented.
“It’s a little slice of paradise, despite its problems.”
After Livingstone, I continued to Lusaka. Security was a worry, so I
wandered into Lusaka’s large main bus terminus. This was an obvious way to
assess the reality of the city’s crime, and whilst there I could research
the bus schedules. I left a few hours later, without any hint of trouble, out
of the bustle and down a side road. A man followed me, so I strode with heavy,
purposeful steps. Finally my assailant caught up: “Good morning,
sir.” Already tense, I replied with the ritual greeting of “Good
morning, how are you?” My fist clenched; my heart pounded.
“Sir....would you have any jobs, please? Do you work for a bus company? I
am good at selling tickets....”
Like many travellers, I had
prejudged poorly and the truth was a shock. Thus my journey continued
throughout Zambia: expecting trouble and strife, I found characters and
kindness. Zambia’s cities were not as wild as I had imagined—unlike
its national parks, which were a revelation. Before that trip I’d never
heard of Kafue National Park, despite its enormous size (equivalent to Wales or
Massachusetts). Even in Lusaka, few people knew much about it.
“I’m told that the Kafue’s Busanga Plains are amazing,”
said the chairman of the Tourism Council. But he didn’t know anyone
who’d been and couldn’t help me further.
In Kafue I found
the best leopard sightings I’ve ever had in Africa, and the wildlife on
the Plains was stupendous. Yet even now, four years later, there are still just
the same few permanent camps in the area.
Back then it took me more
than 24 hours to travel overland from Lusaka to Zambia’s flagship national
park, South Luangwa. For the first four I hitchhiked, without success.
Zambia’s roads just don’t have enough traffic. Eventually I flagged
down a bus, which matched all the clichés of African buses, from
chickens on board to friendly fellow-passengers (at least when their surprise
at a white face had faded). By dawn, twelve hours later, we jolted into the
small town of Chipata. After another eight hours beside the road, I finally
hopped onto the back of a police van heading into the Luangwa Valley.
Distances in Zambia are huge. Now when I return it seems a luxury to fly from
Lusaka to Luangwa in 90 minutes—the way most visitors arrive. Gazing from
a small six-seater aircraft, the scenery has a wild, untouched beauty. But
people don’t visit Zambia for the scenery. Even the comfort of the lodges
is incidental. They come for the big game, the ambience and, especially, for
the walking safaris that were pioneered here.
Stalking lion on foot
certainly focuses your attention. You think about where you walk; you see every
movement; your ears are aware of every sound. Not everyone’s idea of fun,
but Zambia isn’t for everyone. It’s not a pre-packaged, predictable
safari destination where the camps all seem the same. It’s slightly quirky
and offbeat, and that’s part of its attraction.
The wildlife is
striking, as is the style of the park’s camps and lodges. Most cater for
fewer than sixteen guests; some are full with half that number. Almost without
exception, they are run by characters who love the bush, not managers who need
a job.
Perhaps more than any other area in southern Africa, the
Luangwa Valley attracts visitors back again and again. The calibre of the camps
passes without comment—mediocre operations don’t survive the
isolation.
Visitors now fly in with ease, casually commenting that
they are going back to “join one of Robin’s walks” or “see
Miranda and Hew”, as if dropping into a dinner-party. Meanwhile food and
supplies for the camps are trucked for days over Zambia’s difficult
roads.
The old tourist board slogan, “Zambia: the real
Africa”, still holds true. Zambia is still unsanitised and still largely
unvisited. It offers a slice of wild Africa, a genuine taste of what the whole
continent was once like.
Part of this authenticity is reflected in
opportunities to spend time with the rural people, as well as seeing the
country’s wildlife. Overnight bus rides aren’t for everyone, so, too
often, travellers hop between planes and camps without a pause.
Kawaza
Village, beside the Luangwa, is trying to break this mould. Visitors can stay
here, in a real village, for a few days and get involved in the daily life of
typical Africans. It’s not fake and not contrived. But it is
challenging—seeing your own culture through the eyes of another is always
thought-provoking. The money Kawaza earns is helping its villagers with basics,
like health and education, whilst the project also addresses the fundamental
divide between ordinary African people and the tourists that visit their
country—to the benefit of both.
Nowadays I return to the Luangwa
as often as I can. Last year I visited North Luangwa—an even more remote
corner of the valley, where walking safaris are the only way to see the
wildlife. This park receives just a few hundred visitors per year, yet I
don’t know anyone who has been and failed to fall in love with it.
There’s nothing but bush for miles around; a seductive proposition.
Only in the last few years have I discovered Zambia’s beauty during
the rains. Then the foliage runs wild, open sandy plains become verdant meadows
and the distinctive oxbow lagoons of the Luangwa and Lower Zambezi fill.
It’s a time of renewal, when a gentler light dapples Zambia’s huge
forests, and a big treat for bird-watchers.
During the rains, many
areas of Zambia are then inaccessible, as their black-cotton soils turn to
treacle. With determination, just a few camps in the Luangwa remain open. One
even offers safaris by boat and canoe to visit the great stork colonies which
gather there to breed.
Apart from these, travel in Zambia’s rainy
season requires an expedition. As the rains come, in November, Liuwa Plains
National Park is the place to go. A vast grassland in the west of Zambia, it
hosts an annual migration of blue wildebeest. Then in March, towards the end of
the rains, the Bangweulu Wetlands come into their own. Home to tens of
thousands of the endemic black lechwe antelope, this is the best time to spot
the rare Shoebill, which come to these swamps to breed.
Over the last
few years, most of the new developments in Zambia’s parks have required a
pioneer approach. Such as the lodges that are gradually revitalising Sumbu
National Park beside Lake Tanganyika, or the local farmers who started to
protect Kasanka National Park and turned it into a little gem, renowned for
sitatunga sightings and an enormous colony of fruit bats.
Rob Fynn is
typical. He founded the renowned Fothergill and Chikwenya safari camps in
Zimbabwe, and then sought something more challenging. So he moved to Zambia and
started a tented camp on Cheté Island—a remarkably remote location
in the Zambian waters of Lake Kariba, overlooking Zimbabwe’s shores.
I’ve a theory that the more remote a place is in Africa, the more
interesting and offbeat are the people that you’ll find there. It still
takes a certain eccentricity, a streak of individuality, to make your home in
the Luangwa when it could be in London or Lusaka.
Fortunately Zambia
is still on the fringes of accessibility—though there are signs that this
is beginning to change. Small guesthouses started to spring up in Lusaka’s
suburbs a few years ago, and are now appearing in towns throughout the country.
Meanwhile, in the parks, the first portent was Mfuwe Lodge in the Luangwa. This
was re-built much larger than any other lodge had ever been, but despite the
initial ripples it is now well established and accepted.
In the last
few months a new “national” airline, Zambian Airways (a private
company formerly named Roan Air), has been launched. The carrier has plans for
more direct flights between Heathrow and Zambia. Meanwhile larger companies
have been looking to start operations in Zambia. One proposed development would
change the face of Livingstone; another envisages a string of new luxury camps
across the country. Fortunately developments take time in Zambia, as newcomers
always underestimate the difficulties.
Perhaps this is the beginning
of the end for those of us who love Zambia’s parks for their isolation;
the death knell for its individual, quirky camps. The country needs the income
from visitors, so there’s no point objecting. Fortunately these changes
will be gradual, and until they materialise it remains a perfect time to
visit.
Zambia is now more accessible than ever, and yet still
doesn’t feature on mass-market itineraries. Just don’t expect to be
offered any Tip-tops to drink—they disappeared long ago.
ZAMBIA
FACTFILE
Getting There British Airways fly between London and Lusaka (via Harare) three times
per week. South African Airways and Air Namibia also service Lusaka, via
Johannesburg and Windhoek respectively. Recently the largest of Zambia’s
small internal airlines, Roan Air, relaunched under the banner of Zambian
Airways. A weekly flight between Lusaka and London Heathrow has been introduced
(this is operated by Air Namibia in partnership with Zambian Airways), flying
every Tuesday.
Getting Around Local buses are
basic and distances are large. Most visitors take internal flights between
their destinations. These are far more frequent in the peak season for visitors
(June to October). Self-drive is difficult, requiring two 4WDs, with
experienced drivers, for safety.
Travel Tips Binoculars—one pair per person—are far more useful than
cameras on most walking safaris, and don’t forget dark, muted clothing
(greens and khakis are ideal). If you take a camera, consider carrying it in a
belt-mounted pouch, out of your way, rather than slung over your shoulder.
Accommodation Zambia’s national parks have lots
of small lodges—taking a maximum of 10-20 guests at a time. Bush camps for
walking trails are usually even smaller, typically taking 6-7 people. Unlike
many African countries, Zambia’s national parks are serviced by a small
number of private camps or lodges, however the number will increase—a few
companies are planning new developments which will come to fruition in 2000.
The South Africa leisure group Sun International have plans to develop a large
hotel complex at Livingstone, in the biggest tourist development in the
country’s history. The project is likely to be complete in the latter half
of 2001. Few visitors stop in Lusaka, though it does have a few good hotels and
a growing number of excellent guest houses in the suburbs.
Visas British citizens require a visa to enter Zambia.
Cost is US$60 for single entry and US$75 for multiple entry.
