Mpulungu

What a town! I loved Mpulungu. My neighbour from the bus walked with me around the rambling back-roads to help me find the place I'd heard was a good spot to stay - another fine example of Zambian hospitality. Sleep eluded me, despite the gruelling night, so after a short rest I set off to look around this village of a town.

On the shore of Lake Tanganyika, Mpulungu is Zambia's only port. The port area was deserted, but at least I'd found it, so knew where to look for the ferry tomorrow. The main part of town was a cluster of shops, guest houses and shipping agents. Down on the lake shore, wooden rowing boats sat with the morning's catch laid out for sale. I chatted to friendly fishermen, each time having to explain that I had "no pot, no fire," so couldn't buy a fish. I didn't see another mizungu anywhere, and was myself definitely enough of a novelty to warrant hearty greetings wherever I went. From the shore, a scrappy, colourful, bustling market led back towards the main road. It seemed to me to be a relaxed and cheerful place, purposeful though not prosperous, not pretty at all, but a picture-postcard of a small African town.

I joined two men who were trying to push-start a beaten-up old truck on the rocky, bumpy, dusty backroads. They were surprised - and happy - to have my help, especially as I made the novel suggestion of pushing downhill rather than up when a junction gave us the choice and the driver steered uphill. Late that night I got lost going back to my camp and of course the power was out across town and my torch batteries chose that moment to die. I stopped a passing cyclist who kindly escorted me home. Just as well - I was more lost than I'd thought.

Mpulungu enchanted me, probably jsut because it was so African, so simple, so friendly.