As he lifted the last bulging cardboard box on to the kitchen table with a sigh , Sean lamented his late wife's knack for hoarding memories like a squirrels acorns. 'Once they're gone , they're gone' she would always say. That was certainly the case now as , after a lifetime planning for retirement and what they would do together , cancer decided to intervene. Jean had been buried three months but the world around Sean was a haze since then. Three months , and he got to the last of the photos now. He sat at the kitchen table clutching the next handful of image , armed with a cup of tea and all the time fate would allow. As he shuffled through them , separating old holiday snaps , from graduations , weddings and christenings , he stopped on an image he hadn't seen in what seemed a lifetime. It was Sean , Jean and Adam , arms around each other shoulders looking up from the pub's ground level to the balcony where a random drinker had agreed to take the shot.
Sean , leaned back , shoulders slumped , and exhaled. He looked at the bay window and a wild Scottish gale was lashing rain on the rocks , waves crashing over them in concert and his mind went back to the pub forty years ago. What was the name of the place Adam said again..........................................................
.........................."Chikwanda!' Adam spread his arms at the announcement.
'What? You want rice with that?' said Sean incredulously. " I said 'where do you see yourself in 10years time' , not 'what do you want to eat?''
'It's not a dish , you tool! Chikwanda is a place in Zambia. After I graduate , Chimika says I can buy land at a snip and do tourist conservation'
'Chimika? Oh , your new Zambian friend from about two minutes ago. Great idea , mate , four years of business school and you can grow a cocoa plantation and raise baby hippos together , hey! Have you lost the plot??'
'Chimika's in my economics class , I've known her for months. And , no , not cocoa , hippos yeah , more leopards and elephants , actually' he replied ,'Chikwanda National Park , that's what we were going to call it. Chikwanda means 'Gift from God' , you know'
'Oh , well , in that case your the perfect man for the job , hey! I tell you what , 20 quid says you end up in a bank like the rest of us.'
'Your on' Adam replied , steely assurance in his eyes..................................
...............................................And Sean gazed back at the photograph , Adam confidently smiling , that same steely resolution in his eyes. He always was more of a bull at a gate when it came to personal ambitions. Sean was always more practical , working out costs , carefully planning , calculating the risk , and , for what? His eyes focussed on Jean now as his heart slowly sank. She had always said he should go out and see Adam , see how the park ranger project worked out , how he had always encouraged Sean to come over , bring the wife and kids , he'd put them up in the lodges at their campsite but something always came up , a renovation , a wedding , the car packed in , but now he was alone , and little of the past made sense anymore.
'Chikwanda,' he murmured and suddenly he turned and started digging furiously in the bottom drawer. As his finger rummaged through the detritus of organised life , among the bills and the paper bullshit he discovered a dog-eared British passport and placed it between his teeth as he continued the search for......where was it now...... got it! He pulled the small chrome handle and excavated a steel blue locked box from the lifeless documents. He put the passport on the table along with the box and tried to jog his memory. Jean and him had agreed they would only open the box in an emergency and racked his brains to try and remember where the key was kept. It was more her idea than his , but he had to find that key now. He searched every room in the house , desperately checking drawers and cupboards and when he stopped to collect his thoughts (and breath!) it hit him - the jar in the laundry , on the shelf above the washing machine. He grabbed his coat and braved the wild storm around him as the laundry was part of a converted outhouse to the rear of the cottage. His arm raised shielding his face from the peppering volley of rain shots , Sean leaned into the laundry door and saw the little white ceramic pot on the shelf. Reaching in , he pushed coins aside as his fingers found a flat metal object. He pulled it out , smiling now and started back for the house , ebullient against the cacophony of wet wind and noise.
He carefully slotted the key in the lock , and turned it ninety degrees to the right. He gripped either edge of the lid and levered it open to reveal its treasure - leafy billets of Great British currency , five- ten- twenty- and fifty pound notes all neatly banded together in each denomination as Jean was prone to doing after forty years in the bank. He began counting , not his forte as bank manager's had no cash counting responsibilities , but as he shuffled the pack of notes he roughly counted - at least 7500 pounds!!!! He strode firmly to the bedroom , grabbed a leather suitcase and hurriedly filled it with clothes , shoes , toiletries and a few medications.
He grabbed the passport , cash and keys and stopped in his tracks at the front door. 'Wait a minute' he thought. He didn't do things on impulse , especially at 65 years old - what if Adam wasn't there? He contacted him infrequently albeit he called when Jean passed. What about the house , what about...........he looked forlornly at the table , the box , the pile of photographs and then the lockbox and Jean's voice echoed- 'saving up for a rainy day, love'. As he looked at rain tears streaming down the windows in torrents , his jaws clenched. He walked over to the table , grabbed the photo and said, 'You can come along with me , Jean' as he stormed out the front door and sped off across the island in their vintage Morris Minor.
He sat in the passenger cabin of the ferry as it cut through the short channel to the mainland and the one and a half hour drive to Glasgow airport ahead. He had no idea of the price of a plane ticket to Lusaka or even if Zambian airlines existed but his determination to see it through and somehow shrug off the leaden cloak of grief spurred him onwards. He glided through the country roads now as the rain eased and the sun began to gently pry open the clouds and rainbow rays glowed faintly. Sean saw this as an optimistic sign as he entered on to the motorway and gunned the accelerator as the battling little car gamely charged towards the city outskirts.
He left the car in airport parking and patted the bonnet , faintly aware he may never see it again. As he entered the terminal he scanned the banks of check in counters , dozens of them and began to feel a little out of touch with how air travel worked these days. Everyone marched around with intent and purpose , trawling luggage and children in tow , chatting on phones , organising their respective groups. 'You seem a bit lost' a friendly voice said as Sean snapped out of his fear haze and said ,'erm.........trying to get to Lusaka?' The ground staffer chirped ' Emirates then , over to the far left,' he gestured and smiled as Sean tentatively started walking over to the far end of the check in desks.
Sean approached the counter and a beautiful young Arabic girl called Jasmina , complete in Emirates uniform and traditional headdress , said' Welcome to Emirates . how can I help you?'
"I need a ticket to Lusaka , please' as he handed the passport over.
'Single or return, Mr Morrison?'
'Oh , eh , now there's a question. I , erm , hadn't actually thought about it. I mean , spur of the moment kind of thing , you know?' he said , and looked briefly at the floor.
Her smile broadened as she suggested ,'An open-ended return then , perhaps?'
He looked up, 'Open-ended. Aye , that sounds about right'
Sean bought the ticket and fourteen uneventful hours of flight time later , punctuated only by a three hour connection at Dubai International , and the plane began to descend into Lusaka. Sean gripped the arms of the seat as the plane descended , he was a confident passenger when he travelled for business but time and age eroded that somewhat. As he left the airport , strong shafts of sunlight glinted off the chrome bumpers , airport windows and surrounding hotels. It was eight in the morning local time and the national park was still around eight hours away.
Sean's stood like a child on the first day of school , his characteristic helplessness seemed to draw attention from local men congregating in front of an assortment of random cars. Sean found the sight comical , Ford Fiesta's and Fiat Punto's surrounded by large burley men in smart white shirts and khaki slacks. One of the men turned , noticing the diminutive arrival's short steps towards them now. 'You look a bit lost , my friend,' said the large round face and Sean shrugged and said simply ,'I need to get to Chikwanda National Park, my friend' imitating the local greeting.
This started a consternation amongst the men , arms flying up in protest and the large lead figure pointing sternly at several others to quell their objection. Clearly Sean's request was a valuable one and as the gaggle died down the large figure extended his hand and said,' I am Chanda , I will take you as far as Chikwanda village and then a guide will need to take you further to the national park , there are no roads there , only bushland and my car won't make it.'
Sean pulled out a small bundle of notes and Chanda grinned widely , hands clasped together before he gratefully accepted the generous bounty. He lifted the suitcase easily and wrapped a friendly big arm around Sean as he guided him towards the car. As the urban landscape began to diminish , shanty huts were the typical dorm for Zambians and Chanda regaled Sean with Zambias rich natural beauty which was undoubted , the world's largest waterfalls , over seventy languages , river valleys cut through hills and mountains and the big five - lions , elephants , leopards , rhinoceros and .........................suddenly Chanda squeezed the brake pedal as a large shape climbed the road embankment and plodded heavily across the road. '..........and the Cape buffalo , bwana,' Chanda said , laughing and the large oxen turned and groaned loudly at the now stationary vehicle , its bowed horns spread out either side and Sean thought it looked like pigtails on a petulant child.
It felt like a different planet to the sheep and deer of Scotland's west coast islands and despite the countless hours of travel , Sean felt invigorated by the adventure. His jaw hung when they passed a pair of elephants among the open shrub plains his camera clicking repetitively as he hung out the passenger window. Zambia was certainly a place you could feel , the dry landscape coursed with flowing rivers and colonies of birds and buffalo lined the banks. The baking warmth was a welcome comfort to Sean's body and mind and he basked in this luxury and began to feel twinges of excitement at seeing his friend.
The road narrowed and a village grew in the distance. Chanda explained he would need to find another guide for the onward journey from Chikwanda to the national park. As he pulled up and parked , he stepped out of the small car and walked over to a thatched hut which was a local supply store. Local natives sat watching the large , purposeful man stride to the hut and Sean noticed a battered empty Jeep parked on the track outside. Sean was looked up from the photograph and Chanda returned and a figure returned alongside. The companion stopped lowered his face to the open window and gasped,' As I live and breathe , Sean bloody Morrison!!!'
Startled , Sean thrust the passenger door open and threw himself into the arms of his friend and they embraced , laughed Sean yelling ,' Adam , Adam , I can't believe it , its really you'.
"What brings you here?' Adam said when his voice calmed.
'Lets just say a bet's a bet,' as he peeled a twenty pound note and handed it over to his friend.
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2 comments
Thanks for following. Will get back to read this later. Exciting tale of travel on an impulse.
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10th
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