ChaChaCha Road

     The town of Mfuwe is long. At one end, shops cater to the common taste and at the other, a cluster of lodges cater to expatriate tastes. Bright swathes of fabric blow in the wind, barber shops edge up to the side of the road, a market sells fruit and vegetables. A one-way bridge connects the two halves; and locals edge along on foot and bicycles while Land Cruisers carrying tourists muscle for room.  We woke before dawn, loaded a cooler of marinating meat, a box of sugar donuts, our day bags, and headed north. The road was mostly smooth, though potholes and speedbumps infrequently jolted us. We compared notes on people unexpectedly walking out into the middle of the road, minutes before a well-groomed youth did just that.  Two hours later, we were drinking cappuccinos in Mfuwe. Not much farther and we were sitting by the pool, sugar donuts in hand and the glint of the morning gleaming from our sunglasses. A monkey walked away with half of a donut, its wizen...

     The couch is red and clean. The fabric is decorated with small flowers that are now melting into the background. The cushion is only a suggestion and indented in that particular way. The Old Man sees all of these things, but doesn't see them, and sits down. Wise Wife sits across from him on the wooden chair. Her hands are at work breaking the ice block into smaller pieces that will fit in their cups. The taps give way to a satisfied crack. She looks up from her work to watch him watching her.  The drink is cool and sweet and washes down the heat from the day. Wise Wife looks over her shoulder for a moment, then begins clearing the table. The savory, warm smell of peanut sauce enters the room, followed by Daughter. The bowl is laid upon an ivory white cloth, words are spoken, and the eating begins.  It is only as the leftovers are being gathered that the thrum of a motorcycle fills the compound. A beam of light cuts across the window. It is a long moment bet...