Like ants in their burrow

It was only much later that I realized what an honor it was that he took me to see his mother. When we had long since left Lusaka, the capital of Zambia, behind us, we turned onto dirt roads, and it was through the bush on these red sand roads that I will always associate with Africa. In the rainy season, Dominic explained to me, there is no way through here even with a Landrover, because the dirt roads turn into deep mud and the capital was almost unreachable. On this day, the sun stood mercilessly in the cloudless sky, and I watched from the air-conditioned pickup full of respect the people who were on the dusty roads with bundles of wood or baskets of vegetables. Where from and where to, was difficult to see, because one saw only again and again from a distance a few mud huts. As we passed closer, I could see that the round huts were built of dried mud bricks and covered with a reed roof. In between these small settlements were high stands, also reed-covered, where food (mainly corn) was stored.

Finally, the wagon stopped in front of one of a total of three huts and a woman slowly approached our wagon, bent over by age. She squinted her eyes, as myopic people often do. When she recognized us, her features brightened, and a smile welcomed us. For Victoria, her son’s friends were also her friends and so water was soon put on to prepare a drink and nshima, the Zambian corn porridge for us. So, this was where Dominic had grown up, whom I had met at an international conference on international development cooperation issues. He had presented his analyses there at the lectern and dressed in a suit and tie – as he wanted to do through his studies at the prestigious LSE, the London School of Economics. Here he was sitting on a dusty board on the floor, eating corn stover from a dented tin bowl and chatting happily with his mother and the other residents. How far must this journey have been, I thought, from this hermitage to a Jesuit school, complete with scholarships, to representing non-governmental organizers in the capitals and conference halls of the world.

On the way back I was at a loss for words, because in my head I could not bring these different worlds of life together. Almost sheepishly, I asked him a little about his time in London. “Look,” Dominic said, “you see that termite mound there? When I was out and about in London, people would rush like ants in droves on their way to the Underground and disappear there as if in an anthill, only to reappear somewhere else. Always early and in the evening, I was like the others a very small part of this great spectacle.I wouldn’t want to be an ant like that,” he said with a laugh and turned into the road to Lusaka.