Even Me Easter: Part Two

HIKING INTO PARADISE

I wish I could say I awoke refreshed. But really I was exasperated at my predicament. I knew I had a long way to travel and I wanted to start off but I couldnt be rude to this amazing family. So I took down the tent and packed my bag looking for a quick get away.
No such luck.
They had warmed up bath water AGAIN - did I really get that dirty just sleeping - and were cooking me breakfast. So I tried my best to kill the cynical Debbie Downer voice in my head and enjoy the morning while leaving them with a positive impression of Americans.
I suppose it was Twaambo that brought me out of the morning blues. He was around 5 years old and lacking in the usual child fright he smiled instantly upon seeing me. Consequently, I was happy to have him accompany me to the road for my hiking attempts. Of course Shumba came along to continue conversation. But Im not much of a talker in the mornings. Or any time really. Im good for 30 mins or so but at the 1 hour mark something inside me shuts off. And we had such a great talk the night before I had no idea what more I could offer.
Well the morning traffic was slow on this cloudy day and inevitably, Shumba dove into conversation while I began a target practice routine - as on all slow days. That is, picking up rocks and choosing a near-by tree to harass with my apathy. Twaambo found the game to be fascinating. Poor kid was stuck in a football country and he had a great arm! Of course, he had taken a position directly 2 feet in front of the tree and was just too adorable as my oversized sunglasses slipped down his nose with his dramatic wind-ups; nonetheless I was impressed he aimed for the highest branch.
Now as time ticked by I may or may not have started throwing rocks in the general direction of passing vehicles but regardless of my action (or in-action) a car swooped up to pick me. It was a small, blue Ford pickup truck with the words "Blue Steel" printed on the side.
The driver leaned over and swung open the passenger door. "Right then, its a bloody long way to Malawi. Get in."
Yes. It is a long way. No. It should not be bloody.
"The driver held out his hand, "Peace Corps then, is it?"
Oh, he's English.
"yea, is it that obvious?"
"single white female on the side of the road with a huge backpack. Yes but you know love, everyone chooses a lifestyle and I admire your mission."
And that is how I came to meet Lifestyle.
He had taken a one-way ticket from England to Zambia when he was 21 and now, at age 36, owned a steel company. "I had the company before Zoolander, mind you."
Lifestyle was headed to the southern part of Lake Malawi (my friends were meeting me at the Northern part) and we decided he would drop me in Lilongwe.
Now my hiking track had taught me that English people like to drink. And its best just to drink with them. So me and Lifestyle started off into the lush landscape of the Luangwa Valley in Eastern Province. The police checkpoints all waved us through so our only pit-stops were to top-up our drinks. I was thanking the hiking gods for bestowing upon me a direct ride - and it was even a cool dude to hang out with. The only negative things was that he only had techno music. Oh and he was drinking and driving, but this is Africa so stop being so square. (or stop reading)
Eventually the pit stops turned into pee stops and as the sun set we crossed the border into Malawi...where we were greeted with a flat tire! As Lifestyle started to work I held the torch with a heightened focus and thats when I realized my leatherman was no longer attached to my belt. I cant say at what pee-pit-stop I lost it but since it was a goodbye gift (and an important tool I use EVERY day) I made Lifestyle halt the vehicle repairs and look in the bush.
As my sadness turned to grief (this is the second goodbye gift I've lost), Lifestyle said, "Im sorry love but you mustn't be so attached to things." He quickly realized his admonition furthered my distress and attempted to recover by adding "it was a proper special-ops tool though."
We had an In-Rembrance Drink followed by a Celebratory Toast for the repaired tire and continued the drive. At a pause in the music we spoke about dreams and plans - and how disconnected they can be. He asked what I was going to do after Peace Corps. My response, "I dont know. I want to be a writer. But I'll probably have a dumb office job and work for just 2 weeks off a year."
His prophecy, "No, you'll be back. Africa calls and besides, that life is a bit soul-less, isnt it?"
So we arrived in Lilongwe. And it was time to go our separate ways. Only I didnt want to say goodbye. And I dont think he did either. Perhaps it was the vodka and Red Bulls, ok Not Perhaps. But he said, "Come to Monkey Bay." And I said, ok drunkenly shouted, "yea, Fuck Nkhata!" And he shouted "Fuck Nkhata. Bring on Monkey!" So we turned up the techno. And arm danced our way into the night.
And then I woke up in my tent.
Had one of those quick slide-show reels of the day before. Complete with sorrow for the leatherman and the damn bass line of techno.
I took a deep breath and opened my tent, not knowing what to expect.
And the laughter bellowed from deep in my gut - so much so that it rocked my limbs.
I had hitchhiked my way into paradise.