A Four Hour Drive That Took a Lifetime

We left Lusaka at 8 a.m., bright eyed, hopeful, and blissfully unaware of the emotional roller coaster the road to Ndola had planned for us. Google Maps promised a four hour, 290 kilometre drive. Google Maps, as it turns out, has never driven in Zambia.

Within minutes, we were dodging potholes the size of swimming pools — Olympic sized, with deep ends and shallow ends to match. The “solid white line” that the traffic police love to fine you for crossing had long since disappeared into the abyss. But lack of a line has never stopped a determined officer from “doing his job,” so the corrupt roadblock lottery was in full swing.

Our driver, proudly commanding what can only be described as a pimp mobile on safari, became one with his machine. The two of them danced around craters like they were competing in an off road ballet. Spirits were high. Progress was good.

And then — halt.

A total, unapologetic, soul draining standstill.
The main road connecting Lusaka to the Copperbelt had turned into the world’s longest parking lot. For no reason. No accident. No construction. Just… Zambia.

After an hour of observing absolutely no movement whatsoever (not even the goats on nearby vehicles bothered to blink), we decided to chat with the truck drivers around us. Truck drivers are the bush telegraph of Southern Africa — forget news apps, these men know everything before it happens… and two hours before it happens again.

Through this roadside CNN, we learned the truth: The military was having its pass out parade. Today. Right now. On this road.

No warning.

No signs.

No alternative routes.

Just a casual, “Let’s close the only major highway for three hours.”

And that is exactly what they did.

There we sat in the blazing sun for three full hours — watching tempers rise, engines overheat, and everyone in a vehicle suddenly transform into a self appointed traffic police officer. Except the average Zambian Joe Soap, who, bless his heart, has not yet discovered that teamwork is a thing. The gridlock was beyond solving. Everyone had their own plan, and every plan contradicted someone else’s.

My only sanity savers were my camera and binoculars, which quickly became a topic of fascination among the locals wandering between cars. Before I knew it, I had a full roadside audience requesting photos. And honestly — who could resist?

Only in Africa will you find goats, pigs, chickens, and humans sharing the back of a single vehicle like they’re on a group tour.

This trip, of course, wasn’t just chaos tourism. It was partly a long overdue catch up with dear friends, and partly a quick dash into the DRC to tie up some loose ends that should have been sorted three years ago. (Better late than never, right?)

By the time we finally arrived at our new home for the next 10 days — a beautiful cottage tucked deep in a picturesque forest — we were emotionally, spiritually, and mechanically exhausted. The cottage had everything we needed… except proper roads to get to it. It was rainy season, after all, and every pothole we’d encountered earlier now felt like a warm up round.

But there we were: safe, settled, and already laughing at the madness of the day.

Because honestly… if your journey through Africa isn’t a blend of beauty, chaos, good humour, and questionable traffic management — are you even travelling?