A surprise visit

M. meets me at the Intercontinental, and says an aunt, would like to meet us. I imagine we’ll have coffee in the hotel, and we sit in the foyer watching cars approach the curved entrance. Finally, a white Mercedes pulls up with two passengers.
“That’s her,” M. says and hurries out.
I follow, surprised when she climbs into the back seat. There is nothing else to do but climb in after her. After quick introductions I shake hands with her Aunt Loveness, Uncle Lovelace, and her cousin whose name I missed.
As the car drives off, I listen to them talk in a mixture of English and Tonga about family and one of Matrine’s relatives, who heads a political opposition party. Uncle Lovelace drives to Kabulonga, a smart part of town and I imagine we’re going to the aunt’s house for tea – maybe she doesn’t like hotel tea.
We turn into an avenue of large walls, and I know that the houses must be large and plush to be so well hidden. But the walls here aren’t topped in broken glass like in M.’s neighbourhood. Here, the walls have lush bougainvillea, and security comes from guards who stand outside.
We pull up outside one of the gates.
“Maybe we won’t get in,” says Uncle Lovelace.
The aunt lets out a deep “tsssh!” and gives him a wary look.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Uncle Lovelace laughs. “You have not been briefed!”
“We are going to see the next President,” Aunt Loveness says.
“Kaunda lives there!” Uncle Lovelace points next door, and I realize this must be the home of the first Zambian president. “Chiluba!” he says, referring to the second Zambian president, “lives up there.” I look up the road seeing only high walls and guards while a security man takes our names.
“Will they let me in?” I ask.
Aunt Loveness turns from the front seat. “Of course, you are family,”
When the gate opens we drive slowly down a paved driveway between lush landscape that suggests water enough for floral gardening. A swimming pool lies to the rear, while white fake storks decorate the garden to the front.
I’m still holding a plastic bag that contain the roughly hewn pots I’d bought at Kabwata earlier. If I take them with me, they’ll be misconstrued as gifts and probably disdained in this grand house.
“Can I leave my pots?” I ask Uncle Lovelace.
He laughs with his nod. “I think it would be best.”
As we step from the car we are met by a tiny fluffy dog that is clearly not for protection.
HH is a handsome man, and his tiny wife looks exotic in a long red robe with a slight metallic sheen. My brown t-shirt and H & M skirt had been fine for Kabwata Cultural Market, but not for visiting a future president and his wife.
The furniture is gilt edged. We sit as HH’s daughters bring us soft drinks. Uncle Lovelace asks about work, and HH launches into a speech on how much money could be saved if members of parliament changed from having four-wheel drive vehicles to regular cars.
“They don’t need 4 by 4’s” he says. “They never go out into the country.” He says that savings in this change alone could provide sewage pipes for all the townships around Lusaka. As he talks about improving water supply to the townships, he uses words and phrases my husband would use and I realize he must be an engineer.
Aunt Loveness asks about the family farm.
Again HH sits upright, keen to talk about plans to ship, what is expected to be a record harvest, to the government depots for sale and distribution.
I sit back feeling privileged to be hear informed debate about this country and happy to hear positive talk about Zambia – and by Zambians.