TManTrek.Com: Terry Lynch's Trip Around the World

One of the first things Stuart told me before embarking on this trip was the fact that we had a place to crash in Zambia, on a tobacco farm. Vicki Counsel met Stuart while living in Australia, and she probably never thought he parting words of "If you’re ever in Zambia you have to stop by." would ever be followed through.

Choma is a small hamlet that serves most of the outlying farms in the area. We pulled up in the dark of night with instructions to meet Vicki, or receive further instructions at the local petrol station. As we pulled up, a local man immediately walked up and handed us a slip of paper. The outside said "Three white men in white Land Rover", and the inside was map to her farm. We plunged off the main road into the absolute darkness that only Africa seems to possess, trying to figure on the scale and accuracy of our treasure map. "Take left at big tree, straight passed hutted village", all I could envision was getting lost in the bush. By some miracle we found our salvation, the Counsel Farm was our salvation because it possessed hospitality that is unmatched. Three square meals a day, clean water, security, and an actual bed! I slept for what it seemed years on that bed, and never wanted to leave the utopia we discovered in the middle of Zambia. Mary, Vicki’s mother, quickly adopted all of us as "lost souls", and nursed our weary bodies back to health with food, liquor, news from the outside world, and old fashion tlc.

When daylight broke I realized something, I was flung back in time to a plantation in Georgia circa 1820. Was the Landy an actual time machine, or was it the fact that we were in Rhodesia, and the labor practice of a tobacco farm hasn’t changed since. Neil, the Farms’ Manager, graced us with a tour of the operation. First stop was the fields, where women picked leaves for 8-10 hours a day, some with small children slung to their back. I was so enthraled by these young women immersed in backbreaking labor would smile and show gratitude when I asked for a photo. Their average wage is $1USD/day, and that is descent pay in Zambia.

I know activists will hate me for saying but the process of tobacco farming is fascinating, and a dried tobacco leaf is quite a beautiful thing. A proper leaf is over a foot long, and has a tough but soft velvety feel to it. To dry the leaves, they are dried in a smoke room. The old-fashion smoke room is a brick building, or a silo with hundreds of leaves hanging in it. The Counsel Farm is currently being upgraded to the modern process of drying tobacco. A modern "silo" looks like a tractor trailer with an environment control to mimic the ideal drying conditions. However, the grand daddy spectacle was the storage room with a virtual wall of tobacco leaves seven feet high. Almost forces you to take up the habit.

Middleton Game Ranch

After basking in the glory of tobacco farming for a few days, Vicki decided we should pay a visit to their friend’s game ranch. First we needed to stop for provisions, beer. The Middleton’s decided to trade tobacco leaves for firearms and started a game ranch in 1985. We were greeted by Strang, champion bow hunter and possessor of a really cool name, and he led us to his alpha male bar overlooking a small lake. Every man dreams of having a bar like this. Large, brick and wood, surrounded by taxidermy and enough firearms to overthrow a government. The firing range is next to the bar so you could actually empty a magazine without leaving the sanctuary of the bar stool, not a bad concept.

The Middleton’s are known for two things, hunting and drinking. We spent the majority of the afternoon hearing tall tales from the "Big White Hunter", and swilling beer and brandy pausing only a few times to unload a 357 Magnum into a nearby target. There was also the "Duck Hunting" interruption where the now drunk posse went to the other side of the lake to flush ducks out. Neil asked me to join him in the following fashion, "Terry, grab my cigarette and a few beers and come with me!"
"Why?"
"We’re going around the bend and wait for the ducks to be flushed out. We need booze and cigarettes cause we’ll be waiting for at least ten minutes."
We had good intentions, but my Welch friend missed the target as he was a novice on the shotgun.

The party went well into the evening and we were joined by Strung’s father, brother, and some friendly folks from neighboring farms. After dinner, which consisted of a pile of meat strips - literally, I had the stupid notion to challenge Strang by going drink for drink with him. His choice was Brandy, and by about 10PM (I think) I decided I had enough and hid from my hosts in the back seat of Neil’s pickup. Shortly after my attempted escape, I awoke to Strang pulling me from the pickup with his massive arm while yelling "No one goes to sleep on my ranch unless I say so!" The next thing I knew I was on the bed of a Land Cruiser with a, now even more drunk posse, brandishing shotguns in search of wild pig. From now on if anyone asked me "Have you ever been on a Midnight Pig Hunt with a bunch of drunk Zambians?", I can say "Yes, sober, daylight pig huntin just aint no fun!".

As we stumbled through the bush we made so much noise that every wild pig in the area fled for safety. No pig’s head would hang on the wall this time, but it was still a unique experience.

It was difficult leaving the sanctuary of Choma, I was beginning to take an interest in Tobacco farming and game hunting. To be honest, I truly felt at home for the first time since leaving the US, so it was with mixed emotions we parted. As the journey continued north, Vicki decided to come with us and brave the Dark Continent further. We decided to show our gratitude to our new friends, so the Land Rover was officially renamed "Mary". Godspeed Mary, we hope you are as true to us on the road as the Counsels were in their home.

TODAY IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

Every so often I would receive emails from my friends, family, and well wishers that hinted around the same question of "Are you okay? No, seriously, are you doing alright?". Perhaps it was the idea of leaping into the dark continent with little resources or planning, perhaps they thought I would mouth off to the wrong people (I am guilty of that) and never to be heard of again. To answer these questions, I would like to paint a small portrait of our daily routine riding overland through Africa.

To me, travel is not about rest and relaxation. It is action, exertion, motion, and the inevitable problem-solving of forward movement. We would typically start each morning arising whenever the sun caused my tent, or the Landy for Stuart and James, to become too unbearable. This was typically around 8AM. The next 2-3 hours was spent making coffee and breakfast (typically consisted of bread and jam), showering, some mechanical detail, and finally packing the roof of the truck with all our gear. Now it was time to hit the road.

Road traffic in Arfica is unique because the main highway is a glorified dirt track or pavement in dire need of repair. This infrastructure also acts as the main link of foot traffic from village to village. In the morning we would see uniformed schoolchildren walking to school, while others were migrating herds to market. The sight of a Land Rover for the locals symbolized Mzungu (Swahili for white man), and many times we were met with cheers and waves from the children. It actually became customary to drive with one hand out the window at all times simply to reciprocate the waves. Many children were use to hand-outs from passing cars, so they would stick their hands out and point to their mouth signifying they wanted food or candy.

Lunch was whatever came to us, meaning people selling food would rapidly descend on us whenever we stopped thrusting their goods through the windows. Whatever you can think of, it was probably dangling through our window at one time - from ice cream to ivory. We became partial to avocados, some the size of small footballs that would satisfy our hunger til nightfall.

The combination of the roads horrendous conditions and lack of power steering caused driving to be particulary exhausting. We typically took turns in 3-4 hours shifts, while the others passed time sprawled out in the back. The boys purchased speakers and had an unlimited supply of MiniDisks, so we were never short of music. Actually, the song "Gin and Juice" by Left over Salmon became something of a theme song for our journey.

For some odd reason (probably because I have a compass watch), I was deemed navigator by my colleagues. With our trusty atlas of Africa, I spent most the day plotting our route. Problem is, dependable road signs and mileage markers have not become mainstream outside S. Africa, hence a lot of guesswork on my part. A few times I was awoke from sleeping in the back with a "Hey Yank, right or left?". I would wake to see a fork in the road, scurry to locate the map quickly figuring I had no idea where we were - and guessed. Somehow we made it through.

Towards the end of a day we had a few rituals. First, we always toasted a good day of travel with a couple beers each. Next was finding a campsite, setting up camp, and playing "keep-me-ups" for exercise. This game was simply like playing hacky sack with a soccer ball, and the Yank absolutely sucked at it. We had our own cooking supplies and small stove, and James is one hell of a cook. We never fell asleep hungry or upset with our meal………..except when I took controls a few times.

I would pitch my ghetto tent, that was becoming more and more dilapidated every night. After sitting around the campfire and having political debates, we would all retire and drift off into sleep listening to the untamed jungle around us. The next day we did the same exact thing.

To answer the question of "how are you doing", I would have to say this. I was able to see the bush, jungle, mountains, and desert Africa had to offer. To be able to see the people in the country, speak to children and aid workers without schedule and transportation woes is unmatched. To see lions, rhinos, elephants and others by the side of your window, as if during your morning commute, can hardly be described in words. Everyday, I would sit in the back of the Landy and simply say to myself "This is the best day of my life". The next day I would say the same thing, as well as the day after that. I think you can understand my answer now.

Africa, Part IV
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