Float On

(By Modest Mouse)
KiKaonde Word of the Post : Kuloba: (v.) to fish
Nsakuya kuloba ku Lunga River kimabanga lelo.
(I am going fishing on the lunga river this evening)

It was still dark and I lay in bed with a feeling that I was six again. I've always had this feeling of nervous excitement and cautious optimism before a big fishing trip. David's eyes had lit up when I told him I had brought a fishing pole to Zambia. While fishing for many here is still a matter of food security, Zambians share with me the child-like curiosity to what any body of water might be keeping secret. David got even more enthusiastic when I showed him my fly rod. The graphite rod might as well have been a space ship as local fisherman use homemade bamboo rods with homemade hooks. We stood outside my hut and I demonstrated fly fishing in a moment of surreal cultural exchange. The impromptu lesson ended with a plan and hopes of fresh tigerfish for dinner. David knew a man who know a spot on the Lunga River that was full of fish. This is how news is spread here...someone knows someone who knows something, but the news was all I needed to hear. I pulled myself out of bed, got dressed, and walked outside to face the cold African morning. The sun crested over the eastern horizon and rooster's calls could be heard echoing over the entire valley. David stood outside of my hut in the same ripped jeans and bright smile he is always wearing, ready to go.
David is my "brother". He is 24 and the father of a beautiful one year old, Patricia. David speaks English well, along with KiKaonde, Swahili, Bemba, and other assorted Bantu languages. His extraordinary soccer skills provided him with an above average education and a slightly more western sense of humor. A car accident ended his dreams of playing professional soccer but you do not sense any disappointment or regret in his voice when he talks about his past. David is the architect of my budding garden and is my go-to guy for any information on the village or village living. I am teaching him chess in our free time and he is teaching me Swahili. We are becoming fast friends.
"We must wait for our friend to get here, he knows where the spot is." David tells me in slow, deliberate English which Peace Corp volunteers have lovingly deemed "Zam-lish".
"Ok, will he be soon? We need to get on the river early, before it gets to hot if we want to catch anything," I say in hopes to instill some sense of urgency in David. I have reminded him of this constantly over the last few days in hopes of countering the effects of "Africa-time". He has assured me he has told his friend to be here promptly at six am.
"Yes, he will be here very soon. He lives just there." David calmly explains. I return to my hut to prepare a breakfast of bread purchased from the market and homemade guava jam my volunteer friend, Ken, and I made. With every fleeting minute, my thoughts attempt to calculate how quickly our odds of success are diminishing. Seven am comes and goes. David casually goes about his morning routine. Eight am comes and with it the first signs of the African sun. The morning chill is melting into an oppressive heat which is multiplied by the utter lack of clouds. By 8:20, the friend is here. A man of at least 50, our friend claims that his magic spot near his farm, is near and readily accessible. We set off. I am skeptical of all of this but still optimistic that we can be on the river in time to catch an early morning tigerfish feeding frenzy.
5km down the road we reach the Lunga River but roar past it on our bikes much to my own confusion. My Zambian guides have pulled quite a bit ahead of me. I follow for another 2km, extremely confused to where we are going. Eventually we reach a bush path that is the path to his farm. I glance at my watch impatiently to see the hour hand hit the 9 mark. David claims that we have less that a km to go. I trust David but seem to remember him saying he does not know where we are going. After a "short" (15 minute) pit stop at our guide's home for him to change, we head down the bush path. Kilometer after kilometer go by. We ascend, we descend. But still we are not there. Moments of silence seem to reveal a roaring river in the distance, but moments of optimism fade into realizations that we are no where near the river. My watch shows 10 am and my frustration peaks. I remind David that the fish will only be active in the morning, he assures me we are near.
In the distance, a grove of banana trees becomes apparent. These are our guide's trees and he is enthusiastic to show me his entire orchard. We park our bikes and begin our trek on foot. Tall grass and a lack of anything that might be construed as a trail fail to hinder my guides but much to my own frustration, every few meters is a new point of interest...a cabbage patch, a sugar cane field, some sweet potatoes. Each stop taking several minutes. I am at my wits end. How is David not steaming like I am? He was more excited than I was about this trip. It was all he talked about and none of his talks mentioned farm tours and km of km of trekking, yet he wore the ripped jeans he always does with a huge smile. Is this how my entire Zambian experience is going to be? Is work going to be hindered by countless setbacks? Are my own plans going to left at the mercy of a foreign time system? David turns around to see me deep in my own frustrating thoughts. He places his hand on my shoulder and smiles, "we are going fishing now."
In an instant, the grass stops and we approach the Lunga River. Two large hills frame a valley in which the river meanders calmly. It is beautiful, breathtaking, and exceeds the limitations of language. At least 20 miles into the African bush, I feel my worries float away. The sound of water and the site of flowing water carries away my frustration and a calm falls on me. I look at David and our guide, laughing as they set up their own poles. I understand, if only for a moment, the calm that Africans share over the anxieties of time and punctuality. David turns and laughs at my sudden relaxation. "Do you see now? There was no need to worry."
Despite my sudden calm, I was right about the fishing. We had arrived at around 11:30 and the river was too hot for active fish. In vain, we cast and pull in. Not even a nibble. But we laugh, and joke, and I learn how to eat sugar cane. After close to 45 minutes of reward-less fishing, our guide, who had wandered further down the river, yells towards David and I, "Ahh, it is too hot! We should have come earlier in the morning!" David and I catch each others eyes to share in this priceless moment. After a quick second of bewilderment, we both fall to the ground in side splitting laughter so intense that our guide can not help but join in. The laughter subsides and we return the way we came, our fearless guide always knowing the way.
I had dreamed of an epic return to my village with stringers of tigerfish dangling from the back of my bike. My legend and legacy in the village would be cemented. I had hoped to return with more, but instead I came back with less. Less worry, less concern. My frustrations were well founded and are going to be a constant struggle as I try to work in such an exotic culture. But now, I have an inkling of understanding to what it will take to counter such frustrations. David bikes me to my house in the jeans and smile he is always wearing. He leaves me at my door, myself wearing a pair of jeans and a smile that sense that day, I have almost always worn. Africa will not be calm, will not be easy, and most of all, will not be constant enjoyment, but as I drift to sleep that night, body aching from exhaustion, I feel relaxed and ready for another day. Another day and we continue to float on...