I’m at a hostel in Lusaka, Zambia’s capital. I’ve been here for three days and all I’ve paid for is internet and beer. To save money, I’m sleeping in a mosquito net, under a tree, down the road, but because it’s just safer I sometimes fall asleep at various locales within the hostel proper. In other words, I’ve become a tramp.
Being a tramp raises various ethical concerns. It’s kind of perverse. We’re Americans, the richest most powerful, in Sub-Saharan Africa, the poorest most anemic. Down the street is a destitute wrench with AIDs, a substandard fourth grade education and missing teeth but we’re the kids who get welcomed into homes and given a free meal.
I hope it goes back to that ancient human code, from before Odysseus sailed the Med blue, to welcome the weary traveler, provide that refuge of respite. More likely, or maybe it’s a combo pack, it’s simply just fun to add a little variety to life. Regardless, this journey wouldn’t have been possible without the kindness of the people we’ve met. The following goes out to all the folks who’ve put us up for the night. Thanks!