Kris Massie's memories of Kitwe, Part 1.
Deepest, Darkest Africa, here I come!
1963:
A week before Christmas I said goodbye to my parents and flew to Johannesburg to stay overnight with my old friend and her husband before being able to board the flight to Northern Rhodesia. The airline in question was Trek Airways. On phoning and checking the flight for the next day I found they had cancelled it and would operate day or so later. If I hadn’t called I would have endured a senseless journey to the airport. Communicating my delay to my husband was not what it is today, no telephone link, mobiles, texts or e-mails, only the sending of a telegram. For those unfamiliar with telegrams, the message was tele-typed and the strips stuck to a form and encased within a bright orange envelope. The minute you saw it there was no mistaking what it contained – either bad news or good news for birthdays and anniversaries.
The day of the flight arrived and I did not enjoy this journey either. The memory of my very first flight remained as vivid as ever - the occasion when I was 19, I represented Dad at his god-daughter’s wedding. I flew from Port Elizabeth to Johannesburg and travelled by road to Pretoria for the wedding. The aircraft was a ‘prop job’ and half way into the flight we entered a violent thunderstorm over Bloemfontein in the then Orange Free State. We were informed by the captain that there was no going round, over or under and to have our seat belts securely fastened. We rocked and rolled around the sky with flashes of lightning and buckets of rain. I was totally terrified. After swearing I would never fly again I somehow managed the return journey which remains a complete blur!
It was with this in mind that I found my hands clutching the arm rests with each little air pocket and all the while my 5 month old son slept blissfully on! Port of Entry was at Livingstone in the south west corner near the famous Victoria Falls and as we exited the plane, the heat and humidity hit us like a dozen sledgehammers. At the passport queue the ‘if you wait long enough, you’ll eventually be processed’ became proof of a very large pudding and one we all came to know so well in subsequent years. It was then that darling son vomited all over me. Despite my attempts to clean us up, you can imagine the delight of the other passengers as I boarded a smaller aircraft for the onward flight to Ndola - it certainly wasn’t Eau de Cologne!
I arrived in a daze toward early evening to be met by husband and his colleague at the small airport of Ndola on the Copperbelt. Having been processed through immigration and customs and with retrieved luggage we journeyed by car on a tarred road to Kitwe. How I recall my astonishment at the amount of trees and vegetation converging on the road sides! This was the Tropics not only in heat, but the vegetation I'd read about. I couldn’t believe I had found myself in this verdant denseness and I felt like an explorer, bewildered and lost but excited and not at all fearful of what might jump out at me! Strange smells assaulted my nose. Perhaps I should say scents but then Africa, especially Central Africa always has that certain recognizable scent as soon as you land and emerge from the ‘craft. Eventually blindfold you could tell where you were and when you are away, you long for Africa as it and your blood mingle!
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