I spent five days in Lusaka, Zambia last week, for work. The highlight of the trip was undoubtedly the four piece hotel band, led by a sprightly old man with only one arm. They all wore red jackets and looked like waiters from a bygone era. The band leader sang mostly Spanish ballads in a Bee Gees type falsetto and my first reaction was, "These guys are awful!" And they were, for the first five minutes or so. Then they started to grow on me, laying on the charm in bucketfuls. By the end I was wondering whether to ask if they had a business card. Or a manager.
Lounge crooners aside, I found Zambia remarkably similar to Ghana with the same dusty streets lined with small shops and small boys riding bicycles with dodgy brakes. Mind you, the similarity between the two countries doesn't extend to soccer. We're much better than they are.
Lounge crooners aside, I found Zambia remarkably similar to Ghana with the same dusty streets lined with small shops and small boys riding bicycles with dodgy brakes. Mind you, the similarity between the two countries doesn't extend to soccer. We're much better than they are.
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