An Elephant Bull Called Elizabeth and Other Short Stories from Africa

The Unlucky Cyclist

Indeed the wheels on the bus go round and round though, looking at some of the buses on Africa's roads, you are left to wonder how this is possible given the overloaded and under maintained nature of the transport in question.  The worst of category being the long distance bus.

If you have ever taken a ride on one of these things, in this part of the world, then you are braver than I; but then I am lucky enough to have been able to afford an old series two land rover for my travels and doubly lucky to have the maintenance skills required to get myself from A to B in such a beast. 

For shorter journeys the bicycle is more popular in Africa than any street in Amsterdam.  It is quintessential Africa to see a heavily laden push bike with one gear and a sturdy metal frame being put to good use on rough and ready roads.  Often you see the local version of taking Dad's car for a spin with a young child riding his Dad's bike by sticking one leg under the cross bar and out the other side to reach the far peddle; the only way to ride a man sized bike as a very small person.

Whilst this is a nostalgic memory for those of us that were born and raised in Africa the reality is that cycling was, and still is, serious business.  The daily commute for many in the urban areas would be far more difficult and far more dangerous given the state of the taxis and buses.  In the rural areas, with distances being what they are and services reduced to virtually non-existent, the bike is a truly valuable beast of burden and is cherished by its owner.  If you go to Northern Zambia, South Luangwa, you will realise how important this two wheeled miracle is.  There are areas here that get cut off during the rainy season; many of the local villagers are heavily reliant on their bikes to travel up to 100km to get to the nearest shops in order to buy supplies before the rains set in.

My unlucky cyclist, otherwise known as Sergeant (yes this is his real name), lived in Mfuwe which meant he was lucky enough to have access to the local shops year round and so only really needed his bicycle to get himself around the local area and to and from work.  Zambians are happy welcoming people, even those faced with a daily struggle to survive that we can not comprehend, Sergeant is such a Zambian, with a happy personality and an award winning smile, despite the calamities that he has had to face.

The first of these came early one morning on his way to work.  Josephat, a guide at Kafunta River Lodge, was taking his guests on an early morning game drive and saw events unfold.  From his vantage point at the steering wheel he could see Sergeant and a friend coming towards him, they were cycling diligently on their way to work.  He could also see the old buffalo bull, oblivious to the approaching cyclists, and hidden from their view behind a bush.

There was no way nor time to issue a warning and, moments later, the unlucky men on their bikes peddled past the buffalo tucked behind its bush.  On seeing two humans, at such close range, the buffalo took fright.  Now, in such a situation a buffalo has the same two eternal choices any of us has in a tight corner, fight or flight.  The buffalo chose the former and charged out aiming for the closest thing to him, Sergeant.

Rather than trying to out class the four legged beast on a bike, with one gear, on a dirt track, Sergeant abandoned ship with alacrity and took to his heels.  It was a good choice.  The cranky old buffalo saw fit to deal with the bicycle lying on the ground before any follow up and Sergeant used the precious seconds thus provided to find safety up the nearest tree. 

If I remember correctly I gave Sergeant the day off.  Very kind of me you might think, but it really was the least I could do given that, despite what had just happened, he still completed his journey on foot, reporting for duty only a little late and a little wired.  As excuses for being late go I reckon his beats 'leaves on the track' any day.  On a brighter note, at least for the man involved, the authorities run a scheme where-by you can claim for damage to property inflicted by the wildlife, Sergeant got a new bike.

Now one such incident does not quite qualify you as an unlucky cyclist and Sergeant would have to do more to earn his stripes, especially in light of the fortuitous outcome of round one.  His second incident came, once again, on the cycle in to work.

As manager of Kafunta River Lodge I lived on site.  My little house was a fair distance from the track that broke off from the road and cut through the riverine bush to reach the camp, in fact I was probably the furthest from the road out of anyone.  Despite that, shortly after I awoke one morning and was getting ready to go to the office, I heard the trumpeting of elephants followed by the distinct, and very loud, sound of human feet slapping the ground.  Given the distance it is incredible that I heard the noise of human feet hitting the ground but that was the only thing it could be.

Arriving at the office I found an excitable and out of breath Sergeant reporting the latest incident.  Turning off from the road onto the track there is a bit of downhill which is great for a burst of speed.  Unfortunately this burst of speed comes just as you enter the thicker riverine bush, a moment in time when you should be going slowly and be fully alert to the possibility of wildlife at close range.  On this day it was a breeding herd of elephant that Sergeant had peddled into, he was literally in the middle of the herd before either he or they realised it.  Once again Sergeant took to his heels and fled, once again the tactic served him well and he survived to tell the tale.

Now two such incidents would certainly earn you the title of 'Unlucky Cyclist' but a sergeant is defined by the three stripes on his shoulder and so my trusty employee felt he needed to make sure of his standing and really earn that third stripe.  Yet again it was on his commute that he completed the hat-trick, though this time on the way home.

Travelling in convoy with two others they came to a small crossing.  In the dry season they would not have had to dismount or have any concern at all, in the rainy season though, every now and then, the little dry creek would become a raging torrent and so it was this day.  The men came up with a plan.  They would strip down to their underwear, pack their clothes onto the carriers of their bikes, then form a human chain across the turbulent waters passing the bikes along the chain and over to the far side.  The plan worked well, at least for the first two bikes but, you guessed it, when it came to Sergeant's bike there was a fumble and the bike was dropped to be instantly swept away, leaving Sergeant without a bike or clothes in the middle of the bush.  Suffice to say he did get home safe that day but would probably prefer not to be reminded of it.

That is not quite the end of my story of the unlucky cyclist.  Visiting South Luangwa for the first time in many years I stayed at Flatdogs and lo and behold who should be on duty?  Yes, it was Sergeant and his smile and welcome was as warm as ever.