Journey Part 3: Lusaka to Kitwe

My adventures in currency exchange meant that, once again, I was the last one on the bus. I had the aisle seat in a row of three. My neighbors were a woman, another woman, a child, another child, and another child. Yes, five people sat in the two (narrow!) seats next to me. Lesson learned: I will never again be the last person on the bus.

The sun beat down through the window, the bus jostled along, and my main thought during the 5-hour ride was that children in Africa -- well, these three children in Africa, as well as the child from my bus ride the night before -- can handle a lot. Being squashed in a cramped, hot space with one’s siblings for 5 hours would make most American children terrors, but these three youngsters were quiet and patient the whole way.

This ride’s bathroom break is less memorable than the last. We race off the bus and queue for public toilets, and a man -- presumably an agent for the owner of the bathrooms -- collects 1000 kwacha (about 20 cents) from every person to use them. "He makes lots of money," says the man next to me in line.

On my way back to the bus, I walk to two fruit stands selling apples. Both proprietors make their sales pitch.

I eye the healthier of the two piles of apples and say, “How much?”

“1500,“ I am told.

I look to the other vendor: “Really? 1500? I bought an apple yesterday for 1000.”

“No,” says the competing vendor, “1500 is the price.”

Back on the bus, I ask my neighbor, the woman with two docile children on her lap, “What’s the price of an apple?”

“1000,” she responds.