A to Z of Destinations
Australia, NZ and South Pacific
A to Z of Experiences
Walking and trekking
Diving and snorkelling
Wildlife and safaris
Meet the locals
Frontier and expedition
Cycling and Mountain Biking
Visiting the Poles
Career breaks and BIG trips
Body and soul
Volunteer and conservation
Australia, East Coast
Everest Base Camp
Aurora Borealis/Northern Lights
Trans-Siberian and Trans-Mongolian railway
Climb Mount Kilimanjaro
Machu Picchu and the Inca Trail
Cruising the Nile, Egypt
25th March 2012
Wander Woman Marie Javins (and Tintin) escape the Democratic Republic of Congo and into the welcoming embrace of Zambia
The tall older man in glasses at the Lubumbashi airport motioned to his sedan, which was a right-hand drive car even though DRC is a right-side-drive country. It clicked then that the cars here came from South Africa.
“Of course,” I thought. “Because there's no road to get them here from Kinshasa.”
"Yes, I need a taxi."
"Er... La Procure."
"La Procure?" A procure is a church guesthouse. It's not entirely uncommon for foreigners to stay in them – and for budget travellers in Central Africa, it's often the best option – but Lubumbashi is a prosperous mining town on a panhandle that juts into Zambia’s Copperbelt region. Most foreigners who come here are on business trips, with backpackers being few and far between. Hotels aren't cheap in Lubumbashi. Even the church guesthouse was $40 a night.
I had a map on my laptop that my assistant in New York had scanned in and sent to me from my Bradt Congo guidebook, but I couldn’t make head or tails of it without finding some landmarks, so I have no idea if I was in the right church guesthouse or not. Is there more than one? I'll never know. But my taxi driver took me along pleasant, paved roads through a lovely tree-lined city to a huge cathedral, then turned into a dirt alley across the street from it.
I never would have found this on my own, I thought. La Procure was invisible from the street.
He parked in a courtyard and pointed me to Reception, where it was no problem to acquire a room and (included!) dinner ticket for the night. I arranged for the driver to return at 5am – arghh! – to take me back to the airport for the hour-long jump to Lusaka.
I made an effort to see Lubumbashi but couldn't even find the centre of town. I walked along the road past mobile phone credit stores, internet cafes and small department stores. But DRC still scared me – as soon as the sun started to go down, I scurried back to my simple room, where I packed all of my clothes into my plastic zippered bag and stuffed all of my souvenirs into my backpack, covering them with a few shirts.
Would I manage to smuggle out my Tintin souvenirs in the morning? What would I do if someone tried to extract a bribe for these supposed 'antiques' as they had at Kinshasa airport?
I had an idea – maybe I'd just pay it.
I tried the church dinner – chicken and rice. Nice. Simple. The other procure residents sat in silence, eating together but alone.
The procure's shower block of bucket showers and mosquitoes put me off a bit, but I’d get a real shower in Zambia tomorrow night.
I pulled down the mosquito net over my bed and thought about Zambia. Wonderful place. Green, easy, friendly.
Me? I was tired. I do this to myself on purpose, take local transport in some of the world's toughest countries for MariesWorldTour.com. I firmly believe it's the best way to instantly immerse oneself into an area, to deliberately put yourself into an exhausting, taxing environment with the local people. You learn. You sweat. You get dirty. You see what extremes people must go to for simple things, like selling their goats. But it doesn't take long before you start thinking about how much nicer your own bed can be than the back of a cramped mini-bus.
Zambia. I love Zambia. I want to marry Zambia.
Soon, I thought, as I drifted off to sleep in the church guesthouse.
The dark, wide streets of Lubumbashi are empty at five in the morning. My taxi driver and I headed to the airport in silence. He was probably groggy, though he was sharply dressed in a crisp white shirt and pressed trousers. I'd worried he wouldn't show up and I'd be stuck, alone in the procure courtyard but for the frogs and the burbling fountain. No taxi driver cruises the church for 5am fares in Lubumbashi.
I was alert and nervous. My contraband Tintin carvings were camouflaged in my backpack, hidden under layers of jacket and towel, while my clothing was folded into a zippered plastic carry-on bag. Would the Lubumbashi airport security guys be as corrupt as the Kinshasa ones?
If I could get my carvings to Zambia, I knew I was home free. I could post them home from Livingstone, where tourists sending home souvenirs is not just normal, but is greatly encouraged. Zambia loves tourism. When Zimbabwe's government ousted its white farmers, Zambia had welcomed them with open arms and its tourists with massive promotional campaigns.
Bonus: Since my first visit to Zambia in 2001, it had experienced a public anti-corruption campaign that focused on both prevention and punishment. No-one in Zambia was going to pretend a few Tintin souvenirs were priceless antiques in order to extract a buck from me.
The Lubumbashi airport was as dark as the city had been, and some guards stirred sleepily as I entered.
Maybe I didn't need to be here two hours before my flight, I thought, as one of the guards motioned to me to sit down on a bench.
The airport staff slowly got to work. Where had they all been sleeping? A sleepy woman in heels descended from the mezzanine. She motioned to me to bring her my luggage.
Here goes, I thought.
I unzipped the plastic bag of clothes first. She dug around halfheartedly and then pushed it aside.
Now she pointed to my backpack.
I fiddled with the combination lock. I moved slowly, ineptly. I wanted her to get bored.
I unzipped the bag, revealing an overstuffed mass of towel and jackets.
She went right for my bright yellow zippered underwear pouch. I probably looked horrified. All the guards were watching dully. I didn't know if I really wanted to give them a laugh this early in the morning.
But I needn't have worried. As soon as the woman spotted the first bra, she quickly zipped the yellow bag back up. She pawed a few other things, and then about 20 Japanese tourists burst in.
She pushed my luggage aside.
I was through.
An hour later, I was in Lusaka, buying a 1pm bus ticket for Livingstone.
"One? What about noon? I don't want to get to Livingstone after dark." Livingstone is reasonably safe but I have met people who were mugged there at night.
Another passenger, a young Zambian woman also buying a ticket, addressed me.
"We're all in the same boat. This is the earliest you will find. I want to go earlier too, but there aren't any seats. Just buy the ticket. See, I did." She flashed her ticket.
I reddened slightly and paid my fare. This was Zambia – it wasn't that someone was trying to get one over on me and of course I wasn’t any more privileged than any other passenger. The buses were all sold out for the morning.
Later, five Swedish nursing students – adorable, enthusiastic, and a little scared – approached me as the bus cruised into Livingstone. Did I know where Jolly Boys Backpackers was? Could I show them? Was it safe to walk?
Jolly Boys is right up the hill from the bus terminal, so I escorted the five young women to the corner and pointed them in the right direction before hurrying alone to my go-to backpackers, Fawlty Towers.
Which had – oh, wonderful! – been renovated since I was last here in 2005. I took a lovely single en suite room near the pool, ordered a meal from the restaurant at the back of the garden, and that night, went to sleep with a smile on my face. Because I was sleeping on a spring mattress, under a comforter and clean sheets.
And in the morning, after a delightfully hot shower, I caught the courtesy shuttle up to the Zambezi River and stood in the spray of the smoke that thunders.
After months of taking buses, old trucks, motorbikes, and overcrowded taxis for more than 4,000 kilometers from Morocco to Livingstone, I was in heaven.
And in the afternoon? A nice man in the Livingstone post office packed up my Tintin carvings and sent them off to New York.
"No problem." The man behind the package-sending desk didn’t bother with boxes. He wrapped each piece in bubble wrap and paper.
"That's okay?" I asked, astonished.
"Yes. I do it all the time."
He wrapped each piece in a paper cover, taped each one, and chucked them all into the mail bin.
Easy. And no bribes required.
Want to travel the world solo? Check out our solo travel guide. Fancy taking a career break? Here are 7 reasons why you CAN take one.
Check out the current issue of Wanderlust magazine for more information on Victoria Falls: how, when and where to go.
Follow Marie's journey across Africa and around-the-world | Blogs... More
Tintin tackles corruption in Kinshasa
Marie Javins' wooden carving of Tintin sparks an international incident in Kinshasa More
Big Congo. Little Congo. What's the difference?
Wander Woman Marie Javins crosses from one Congo to another and discovers that 'big' Congo isn't as scary as she was led to believe More
The travelling goats of Pointe-Noire
Wander Woman Marie Javins gets her African overland adventure back on track travelling with a boot full of goats More
View all posts from
You must be logged in to leave a comment. Login or get more from Wanderlust - register today!
Zambia travel guide, including map of Zambia, top Zambia travel experiences, tips for travel in Zambia, plus where to see wildlife in Zambia
Democratic Republic of Congo travel guide, including map of the DRC, top DRC travel experiences, and tips for travel in the Democratic Republic of Congo
The African safari is one of travel’s greatest experiences, but what’s the best way for you to do it? By foot? By boat? By hoof? Do you want to get closer? Or higher? Read on for our guide to the different ways to tour the wild...
Rather than ticking off the big five from the safety of a jeep, a walking safari gets you up close with everything from leopards to hippos. Lyn Hughes reports from Zambia
Our fiesty independent female traveller, Marie Javins, has hung up her boots – for the moment – but here are her most audacious adventures this year
Wander Woman, Marie Javins, goes diving in Cancun before saying adios and goodbye to Mexico. And Wanderlust
Wander Woman, Marie Javins, drops by some newly-discovered Mayan ruins and recommends chillin' at Yaxchilan
Simply select the destination you’re interested in or the activities you’re looking
for and we’ll send your request to a select panel of tour operators.
Each operator will respond to your request individually. Your details remain private
and are not disclosed to any partners unless you decide to proceed with a booking.
7 nights at Jungle Bay Resort & Spa, Dominica, from £2299 per person.
£500 OFF Christmas in North East India
Walks Worldwide – up to £250 off - book before 31 October
Wanderlust sends out regular email newsletters – be the first to know about web
exclusives, competitions, hot offers and travel jobs. Register today!
I have read and agree to the Terms &
Where in the world are you? Add
#wanderlustmag to your tweets and share your latest travel adventures with
fellow Wanderlusters on wanderlust.co.uk
Get to know Wanderlust on facebook and bring all your travel-minded friends, too