Zambia: Reflections of a Wayward Boy - Wanderings in the Diaspora As Exiled, Stateless, Brand-New Parents

analysis

After a hair-raising journey, Barbara and I arrived in Zambia in October 1968 to a warm, friendly, if bureaucratic, welcome -- and a job with the 'Times' and 'Sunday Times of Zambia'. We soon started planning to settle in that country for a long haul: apartheid South Africa was making diplomatic progress into the continent and the ANC was apparently in a chaotic state. But little more than two years later, expelled from Zambia, we -- with infant daughter, dog, cat and portable goods -- were driving to Botswana where I again faced expulsion. It was then that I hatched perhaps my most hare-brained venture.

After arriving, hot and sweaty down a dusty road through the bush, the well-built Zambian border post appeared like an oasis, but of bricks and mortar. And the reception by crisply uniformed officials was the epitome of polite officialdom. "Good morning," said the senior officer as he ushered us through the door, "welcome to Zambia".

But then bureaucracy -- and a measure to forestall corruption -- interfered. Without the K5 given to us by my friend at the Zambian consulate in Lubumbashi, we could proceed no further. "I am sorry sir, but we do not...

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