Mosi-oa-Tunya

We snaked our way to the outskirts of Livingstone, along the reasonably good paved road carved through tall, wispy grass, brush, and trees. The town is named for the Scot Dr. David Livingstone, the great medical doctor, explorer, and Christian missionary, for whom Zambians seem to have great respect and affection. There was a steady rumbling sound in the distance. Finally, through a clearing at an elbow in the road, one could glimpse the sparkling, royal blue waters of the Zambezi River that we had been shadowing. The sun was shining brightly overhead, tucked into a crystal clear blue sky. Another blue-sky day in Zambia, sort of. “Sort of”—because several hundred yards down river we could see some apparently very low-lying clouds hovering like smoke over the water. Courtesy of five months of persistent rain – virtually daily, intermittent but often seemingly of Noahic proportions –the water volume and rush of the Zambezi are greatest at this time of year. The fluid border between Zim and Zam is exactly that—fluid—indiscriminately encroaching onto (and later receding from) Zim and Zam soil.

This is where the bottom falls out of the mile wide Zambezi, for 350 feet. Thus, the rumbling sound we’d heard. Dr. Livingstone proclaimed in 1855 that his were the first European eyes to witness what the local Makololo inhabitants called Mosi-oa-Tunya, “the smoke that thunders.” Victoria Falls, the good doctor’s name for the place, doesn’t seem as respectful of this sight, one of the seven wonders of the natural world, or as imaginative. The clouds we’d seen were actually mist rising from below, generated by the indescribable force of the massive volume of water cascading over the boulders and crashing on rocks below. It is beyond my ken to convey the sheer power of this sight with words or pictures.




I’d been warned that I’d get wet viewing the falls—that it was useless to bring an umbrella or raincoat. Besides, on this cloudless blue-sky day, wearing a tee shirt, running shorts, and flip flops, I’d be dry in ten minutes anyway. So out I stepped, onto the footbridge connecting Zam and Zim. Because of the heavy mist, I could not see the falls to my right. At that moment, for all I knew, I had become part of them. I’ve had only a handful of showers since I’ve been in Zambia. The one I had on that misty footbridge was c-o-l-d, but with the most phenomenal water pressure! Once on the Zim side I glanced back at the biggest and most vivid rainbow I’d ever seen.

If the rainbow is a symbol of hope for humanity, of God’s covenant of faithfulness with us, so too perhaps, may this rainbow over the Zambezi be a symbol of hope for Zambia (Gen 9:12-17). With issues related to food production, clean sources of power generation, and water availability and distribution increasingly becoming problems in many parts of the world (South Africa and elsewhere in Africa, Middle East, western U.S., etc.), does not Zambia have an opportunity to use its abundant and water resources to diversify its copper-dependent economy? Let’s hope so, and pray that Zam’s government, business leaders, and neighbors will handle these resources as respectfully as their Makololo ancestors treated the smoke that thunders.

Artist's Inspiration

Friday. 8:15 a.m. Front door. Knock, knock, knock. I’d completely forgotten that I’d asked a young Zambian man who’d stopped by selling something late the previous afternoon to return at 8:30 a.m. Thus far those hawking goods door-to-door haven’t had anything that I’ve needed or wanted. Of course, always hovering in the back of my mind is the thought that anything I take out of Zam I’ll have to carry — for two months. Besides that, when traveling by air I’ll have to keep my checked baggage within the airlines’ baggage weight limits, which are slimming faster than the participants in a Zambian hot season sumo-wrestling match. The thought of schlepping stuff around for two months only to be forced to deep six it at the airline check-in counter holds no appeal for me. I don’t need the workout that badly.

I didn’t know what this man, Andrew, was selling, and I wasn’t expecting much. Was I ever shocked when I swung open my front door! Andrew had turned my front porch into an art gallery. He’d leaned framed oils on the porch wall. Unframed oils flooded the brick drainage gutter and spilled onto the grass. He had piles of watercolor greeting cards. Twice, my neighbor Jenny’s cat delighted in scooting over the canvasses displayed in the gutter.


What beautiful work. I’m no art connoisseur but I immediately sensed something special about this humble man and his artwork. To begin with, it is remarkable for a Zambian to show up on time, let alone early. Andrew is self-trained. His subjects are Zambian women engaged in the activities of daily living — holding babies, dancing, sitting at or walking to market, doing village chores. This choice certainly resonated with me. I come to have the utmost respect for Zambian women, who are to a large extent the glue that holds this country together.

Andrew is also a good businessman. He confidently offered to give me a deal once I’d decided what to buy. That time came, and rather than reduce his price, he offered to throw in extra work. Don’t discount; hold on to the cash. Smart.

One might say that Andrew pedals to peddle. With a bag stuffed with cards and rolled up canvases slung over his shoulder, he gets around on a bicycle, strapping his wood-framed oils to its rack.

Andrew’s skill, reliability, ambition, business savvy, and humility lifted my spirits. When was the last time you felt good about a person from whom you bought something, and hopeful for that person’s future and that of their country...and even felt like you’d had a mutually beneficial experience? For me, it was two Fridays ago.