Sebastian Moronell

Not that Zambia nowadays resembles Proud Britannia (who’d want that?), but, like many post-independence countries, it finds itself in those years of decay when the body and mind begin to slowly disintegrate, struggling to find a stable identity to hold onto.

The smiling social media post never shows the 03:00 alarm call. It does not show the six-hour banana boat journey through hippo-filled floodwaters to deliver fresh food to staff who have not left camp in months.

“I wasn’t insulting you. I genuinely thought you were a long-distance runner. And I genuinely want you to run to the back of the queue. You’re making a scene.” And indeed, everyone is now looking, gaping. Even the chewing has stopped.

Project Luangwa is just one of the initiatives working hard to bridge the gap between the local communities surrounding the park and the tourism that operates within it.

I have been to the Cathedral often, to marvel at its architecture, which watches over the government buildings from its privileged position on Cathedral Hill.

But I am quick to dispel any doubts about my pedigree by exhibiting unnecessary stinginess and a permanent scowl upon my face.

And even when there is proof, you must deny it at all costs. Deny the very existence of facts themselves, get upset at the mention of a contrary fact, and rightfully call it an opinion.

Driving into Namibia feels like stepping into another rhythm. The chaos of the border roads gives way to long, straight stretches that run through quiet farming towns, river valleys and open desert.

I usually end up praying to God and all the prophets and apostles, and even consider wasting money on life insurance.

The slightly confusing Proverbs 12:10 was chosen as an ideal candidate: “Whoever is righteous has regard for the life of his beast, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel.”

Photographs document not just wildlife sightings, but the patient observation required to understand this ecosystem where predators and prey exist in constant tension, and where traditional fishing communities still maintain ancestral connections to the land.

Sebastian was once so late for a party that he pretended to have just recovered from Hepatitis B. He then proceeded to lick anyone on sight if they refused to believe him.

When we finally found them, they were barely visible among an innocuous collection of shrubs and short trees, seeking relief from the afternoon heat in dappled light. They looked at us with thinly veiled disinterest, or maybe it was disdain—the way lions usually do, as if our presence was both expected and entirely beneath their concern.

In my mind getting engaged is just an expensive way to tell someone that you are fairly confident you like them. I suspect that Sarah, my fiancée, is mostly happy she got a new ring.

Money, religion and politics, so the saying goes, should never be discussed in polite company. Some add a fourth – sex – but I doubt most people discuss it, let alone do it, even when alone.

We headed off to Lake Malawi. From the plateau, we climbed further, the scenery becoming more majestic with every bend in the road. The most memorable town was Dedza, shrouded in mist and mystery as we passed through it before descending the escarpment.