April 14, 2013: A Much Needed Respite

This is the first day that, without some serious bluffing, I can say that I'm doing okay. Despite the loud night--and Hendrix's early morning visit--I feel rested. While oatmeal is cooking, I cut up the cantaloupe and then head outside. The honey and butter added to the oatmeal is perfect, the sun is shining, the cantaloupe is exquisite, and Hendrix has apparently decided to drop his grudge from last night's tussle.

I call Jane to see what she's up to and she offers to take me on a tour of downtown Lusaka.


This time I'm sure to wear tennis shoes though I cringe at the utter lack of fashion. We go past the fire and police stations, several other government buildings, and the main university. We decide to see if the National Museum is open. It is! Entry is free for Zambian residents and 5KR for foreigners. I only have 4KR on me, but the gentleman waves us through. The museum isn't large, but it is immaculately kept. The bottom floor consists of paintings by Zambian artists--the styles, movements, and colors are absolutely gorgeous.

There's only one more floor, but like I said, it reflects great pride in Zambian history and culture. As we're wrapping up with the exhibits, something unexpected happens. Suddenly, we are surrounded by one of the most ethereal renditions of "The Prayer" that I have ever heard--entirely a capella; the soaring soprano and tenor fill the room and everyone stops to listen. There's a music concert going on downstairs and we spend the next 20 minutes craning our heads over the balcony so we can see the concert below.

The concert ends but there's one last exhibit that has a collection of stones sitting in a circle. Jane calls me over and says she's going to teach me how to play ichienga. Well, she's a good teacher, but I am not a good student! I have decided that by the time I leave Zambia, however, I'll be a pro.

We go through Lusaka City Market, but all the vendors are already closing up shop. After visiting the old mall and casino we head back. Apparently we're just on the edge of when it's safe to go through the market--15 minutes later and it will be the street children's turf. Her comment makes me nervous about my upcoming time at Friends of the Street Children, but I figure that there's nothing that can be done!

The hostel is blessedly silent that night, and despite being excited about finally arriving at Friends of the Street Children the next day, I sleep deeply.