They can’t help themselves, can they? Those suffering from Tourist Syndrome. I guess it’s a combination of air travel and money. It does something to you: destabilises your brain chemistry, gets into your blood, and makes you volatile. You’re prone to sudden outbursts of travel, followed by generic Instagram posts, exceedingly long and dull dinner-party stories, and a copper bracelet that you copped off some ‘native’ for a ‘fair’ price.
As a paleman living in Zambia, I have often been misdiagnosed with Tourist Syndrome. But I am quick to dispel any doubts about my pedigree by exhibiting unnecessary stinginess and a permanent scowl upon my face. Like most palemans, I cannot distinguish between genuine kindness and the hustler’s mirth, and so I treat everyone the same: as a potential enemy (of course, my people have a long and distinguished history of such a psychological disposition).
Instead, I use my mystic powers as a paleman, with knowledge of the odd, unflattering, Nyanja word, to good effect: as a keen observer of the human race, an analyst of the human soul, and a doctor of proclivities. From these lofty heights, I have come across a few strains of Tourist Syndrome in Zambia. It is important to understand the various strains and their symptoms before we brainstorm any solutions:
The Preacher: Is either trying to convert the heathens or sleep with them. Doing both presents some moral and logistical problems, but he finds a loophole, via a local wife. The Preacher is often surprised when the heathens know more scripture than he does. He’s also secretly a tad racist.
The Financier: Has a job at some international monetary organisation with an acronym as inane as her job title. Can’t actually tell you what she does in plain English or sophisticated English, because she doesn’t know, either. Pops in and out of troubled countries as quickly as she pops champagne to sovereign debt defaults. A strong supporter of austerity, even though her paycheque would suggest otherwise. Addicted to offering unwarranted views on the Middle East and cocaine.
The Hotelier: Doesn’t actually leave the car or the hotel. Arrives in Zambia in a full safari outfit, which is about 90% leopard print. She is dropped directly at the hotel, flown to a lodge whose name she quickly forgets, and is mostly drunk on G&Ts, “the drink of the colonials”, when times were much simpler. Tries to pat a wild lion and asks for a full refund when refused.
The Pan-Africanist: Has never been to Africa, but wants to unite it. On arrival, he is disappointed by the lack of spontaneous dance in the streets. Is baffled to hear that most people want to leave Africa. Beautiful, luscious Africa? Never. Falls in love with a girl and stays as long as his visa allows. Promises to return to take her away, just a quick trip home, you see, family emergency, you see. He is never seen again.
The Permanent Expat: Not an immigrant, God no—that is for poor people. But has emigrated from some country where it is rather pricey to hire a maid and gardener and to live in a lavish house. Hops from one African, Latin American or Asian country to the next, in search of a crisis to fix. Earns a pretty penny, too.
The Fugitive: His transnational criminal activity is matched only by his transnational sex drive. Has mines and affairs in multiple countries. Can either be found in a dingy motel on the way to the airport, or in a government office. Is wanted by Interpol and the fathers of pregnant girls.
The Humour-column Writer: Exceedingly cynical and should not be trusted. Wonders why he is paid to mock people he secretly envies. Showers at most once a week. Bums cigarettes off people because he’s too cheap to buy a pack. Can’t speak as much Nyanja as he claims to.
These are but a few of the most virulent strains of Tourist Syndrome currently plaguing Zambia and its surrounding countries. Caution is advised. Approach with care. As conscientious souls, we should pity them.
ABOUT SEBASTIAN: Sebastian loves travelling and exploring new and exciting places! His favourite things to do on holiday include scrolling on Instagram, posting on Instagram, and gaping at the funny-looking natives.
