On Tuesday morning, 8th February, myself and 20 members of Nomakanjani boarded a bus in Mtendere compound, Lusaka, and began the long journey to Zanzibar, and the start of a big adventure! For many of the group, especially those still in their teens and early twenties, this would be a trip of many firsts – first time out of Zambia, first time on a train, first time on a boat and to see the sea, first time owning a passport and, for everyone, the first time to perform at a large international festival. So the excitement, and corresponding volume, was high, and would seldom diminish for the next nine days…
I was going along as organiser – I had arranged all the transport, hotels, and logistics with the festival – but also as video and stills cameraman. More than this though, I was there as a combination of friend, advisor, and, it seemed, generic authority figure! It reminded me at times of school trips when I was a kid, except this time I was the teacher, in charge of twenty unruly Zambian artists! I have to confess I did resort to counting heads from time to time.
The bus took us to Kapiri Mposhi train station – last seen when Helen and I did this trip over Xmas 2009 – and here we did a mini show in the station, to the slight bewilderment of our fellow passengers. (In a rare successful bit of ‘resource mobilisation’, I persuaded Tazara, the train company running the Zambia–Tanzania line, to give us all free return tickets to Dar es Salaam, so we put on a few shows to say thank you.) Then we all piled into our four sleeping compartments and, to huge excitement and much shrieking all round, the train was on its way. The guys spent most of the outward journey either looking out the window or watching bad Kung Fu movies in the train bar… We arrived in Dar on Thursday evening, ten hours late and, to save money, decided to sleep in the station rather than in the hotel I had booked. Well, everyone but me and the guys guarding the bags slept; I am far too bony to sleep on a hard concrete floor and spent an uncomfortable night dozing fitfully. But we were all up early to catch the minibus to the ferry and across the sea to Zanzibar.
I have some great video footage of the beginning of both the train and the boat journeys. In the former everyone’s shouting and laughing; in the latter they’re sitting in their seats, silent, nervous! I can’t remember my first time in a boat but no doubt I felt the same. Within 10 minutes or so though the fear had worn off and everyone was up and around, taking photos of each other with their ever-present mobile phones. Either side of the ferry trip I was in parent-teacher-organiser mode, buying tickets and processing passports and yellow fever certificates through immigration, and then we were through, bags, costumes and drums collected from the boat, and met by the festival team and taken to our hotel a 2 minute walk away. The festival had paid for 8 double rooms for us, and I’d booked accommodation for the others in a nearby hotel but, again to save money, we decided that the 8 rooms were plenty big enough and all 21 of us stayed here. (I’ll know next time – not everyone expects a bed all to themselves, or indeed a bed at all.) The rest of the day was spent organising (me) and resting (everyone else!) and attending the festival in the evening.
The highlights of the next day were the sound check in the afternoon, and then the show in the evening – an extra show I persuaded the festival organisers to give us when a group dropped out at the last minute. It wasn’t the best show I’d ever seen Nomakanjani do, but it was still far better than anything we’d seen at the festival so far, and the audience loved it, especially when some of the audience came up on stage to dance with the group. The Old Fort in Stone Town where the festival was held was a fantastic venue, and was packed with people from all over Africa and beyond.
Sunday was the big day and started with a very photogenic rehearsal on the beach, followed by another sound check and then the main show in the evening. I remember looking at the audience immediately before Nomakanjani charged on stage; the audience were all sitting and politely clapping the musicians. I said to one of the group that the aim should be to get the audience to their feet and up to the stage. Sure enough, by the time the high-energy drumming, dancing and foot-stamping of the first number was over the audience was on their feet, and the press pit, where I had been a solitary cameraman, was full of photographers snapping away! Nomakanjani did a storming set, immediately followed by various interviews on TV and radio, and one guy even talked to me about the possibility of a European tour… We were all buzzing after the show, and proceeded to have our own inebriated party within the festival audience, including various members of the group trying to teach me how to dance African-style! That party was a real highlight of the trip; I’ve never seen some of the group so happy!
Many of the guys didn’t get back until 5am, so the next day was a bit bleary all round – catching the return ferry, negotiating the anarchic driving to get to the hotel in Dar, and finding something to eat in the evening. Then Tuesday, with that month’s pay in Tanzanian shillings in their pockets, everyone headed off to the markets to buy cheap goods to keep, give away or sell back in Lusaka. (Some were far more successful than others, with a number of the I-phones, the most desirable purchase, broken without a warranty before we got back to Zambia.) My one really stressful organiser moment came when we left the hotel for the station, to perform in front of the Tazara staff and passengers, with only half the group in the bus, the rest missing-presumed-still-shopping. Thankfully the congestion of Dar’s roads came to our rescue, as by the time the bus got to the station the missing members had taken taxis and joined us, and we could put on a very ill-prepared but adequate show to our fellow passengers. In pouring rain we got back on the train, and began the long journey back.
Returning is never as exciting as going, and Tazara lulled us into a false sense of optimism about our progress; on Wednesday evening we went to our bunks after a heavy drinking session, just two hours behind schedule, anticipating a return to Lusaka by lunchtime. By next morning the train was ten hours late, and one of the bags of newly acquired goodies had been stolen from one of the carriages (thieves are a real problem on the train) – the lowest point for us all on the trip. To crown it all, the minibus, booked to take us back to Lusaka, was late, and driven very badly, so we finally limped into Lusaka about 1am; me to the waiting arms of Helen, everyone else back to their homes in Mtendere, only to be up again at 6am for a show at 8!
So, the last 24 hours of the trip were rubbish, but overall the trip was a real privilege to be involved with and a high point of my time with VSO so far. Exhausting – not only am I no longer 20 but I seemed to be on call 24 hours a day. But I really enjoyed getting to know my friends better and I’m very pleased to have facilitated it happening – a trip that will stay with the group members for the rest of their lives, whatever happens to their shiny new phones…
You can see some photos of the trip here; videos to follow shortly.
Dan
Posted by danandhelen 
