'Completely Surreal, But Utterly Brilliant'
M.E. Rothwell joins me to talk joyfulness, wildlife, and rugby in Zambia
Welcome to Wanderlust Salon, a monthly travel series about new places, new experiences, and new perspectives. Each month we meet up with a different guest to explore a corner of the globe that’s left a permanent mark on their heart.
Mikey Rothwell, better known by pen name
, knows a thing or two about faraway places. Mikey writes Cosmographia, a newsletter that takes readers on intrepid journeys through history, art, literature, and poetry. Every issue explores a distant land—some forgotten by time, some the stuff of legend—and each one is memorable. But certain places do more for us than inspire wonder; they worm their way into our souls, so they can never truly leave us. And for Mikey, there is one place that shaped him more than any other.“Africa has a way of getting under your skin,” he told me in an e-mail. “You’re never the same after you’ve spent time there.”
Upon completing his studies, Mikey left his home in the UK to volunteer in Zambia. After leaving, he missed the continent so much that he went back to spend another six months traveling through East Africa as an aid worker. Below, Mikey shares the things that make Zambia so dear to him: the peace and calm, the striking landscape, and the people, who laugh so easily. His answers are generous and perceptive, like Mikey himself—so perceptive, in fact, that as I interviewed him he turned the tables on me, observing that Egypt seemed to be the place that got under my skin.
He couldn’t have been more correct. Living in Egypt was one of hardest experiences of my life, and one of the most rewarding.
As I’ve written about previously, I spent my first months in Cairo in a fugue state. Nothing seemed to work as I thought it should. Roads twisted and turned and crossed over each other so that I could never quite work out where they led. I was kept awake at night by the barking of street dogs warring over territory. Each time a microbus careened within a hair’s width of my car, I would gasp. I never had any idea what would happen next, which frustrated me endlessly, and deciphering it all became an obsession. I’m not sure I ever found the method to the madness that is Cairo, but living under such uncertainty electrified me and rewired my brain. It taught me to expend emotional energy only on what was within my power to change—the outward volatility brought me an inner stability I never thought possible.
It’s clear Mikey feels similarly about Zambia, and I like to think we are kindred spirits, brought together by the difficult journeys that made us who we are. As he puts it, “there’s a part of me that feels travel should be arduous. A test of character.” We agree on that. Not all travel has to push our limits—there is a time and place for vacation, too—but the trips that challenge us and reframe our worldview, like Mikey’s time in Zambia and mine in Egypt, are the most important ones we take.
Read on to hear more about Zambia, Mikey Rothwell’s most treasured place.
Thank you so much for joining us, Mikey. Tell us about your personal connection to Zambia—how much time have you spent there, and why?
In 2016, fresh out of university, I enrolled in a volunteer scheme run by the British Government which sent 18-25 year olds out to developing countries. I was assigned to the Zambian capital Lusaka, where I lived with a local family, along with my Zambian ‘Program Buddy’—the man, the myth, the legend that is Daniel Z—and worked with a local business. We must have done something right because at the end of the three months, Daniel and I were both hired by the charity running the program and sent up to Kitwe, a city in the north of the country, to set up and run another version of the same program. What was meant to be a few months turned into a full year in Zambia, and I’ve missed it every day since I left.
What is your favorite thing about Zambia? What makes it unique? Tell us about the sights, smells, and tastes!
Without a doubt, my favourite thing about Zambia is its people. I’ve already alluded to the lifelong friendship I made with Daniel, but there were so many others who made my time there so special. Zambians have a way of being in the present, of living right here right now, that was so refreshing to my 21-year-old self. (Later, when I worked across other parts of Eastern and Southern Africa, I realised this approach to life was common across all that part of the continent.) You see it most clearly in the reckless abandon with which they take to music and dancing, or celebrating an occasion, or their ease of laughter.
It’s also a beautiful country. Remarkably, even now in 2024, 61% of Zambia is forest, and supports a huge array of spectacular wildlife. Alongside the classic Big 5 (lions, elephants, buffalo, leopards, and rhinos), Zambia is one of the last great strongholds for the African wild dog, which needs huge expanses of territory to roam and hunt (one wild dog pack can need as much as square 700km of territory). It’s less popular as a safari destination than nearby Tanzania, Kenya, or South Africa, so you can explore their wildlife parks free of the crowds that clog the more famous reserves.
And of course, I can’t not mention the otherworldly Victoria Falls, the biggest waterfall in the entire world. It got its common name from British missionary and explorer David Livingstone, but I prefer the local moniker: Mosi-oa-Tunya—“the Smoke that Thunders.”
What is the biggest cultural difference between Zambia and your home in the UK? Did you experience any moments of significant culture shock in Zambia?
The biggest cultural difference is in the religiosity of the two nations. Zambia is a deeply devout Christian country, while the UK has, for the most part, left much of that behind. During my stay with my Zambian host home, grace was said before every meal, prayers were said before bed, and Church on a Sunday was taken as a given. When I moved up north to Kitwe, I joined a local rugby team and there were prayers said before and after every game. Christianity permeates both public and private life in Zambia.
In terms of culture shock, interestingly enough I experienced more of it on my return to the UK. Perhaps because I was expecting Zambia to be very different to what I knew, I wasn’t too taken aback. However, when I arrived back in London a year later, with all the cars and buses and bicycles speeding around on well-built roads, everyone rushing about, so much choice on supermarket shelves, and so little calm—that took a while to get used to again.
What is something about Zambia that those who haven’t been there might not expect? What do you want people to know about it?
In my experience talking to people about the oddly shaped sub-Saharan nation, it seems most know very little about Zambia at all, so there’s perhaps quite a lot that people wouldn’t necessarily expect. Zambia’s borders were drawn back in 1911, when the British protectorate of Northern Rhodesia was established. As is typical of European colonial divisions, the borders don’t reflect traditional tribal, cultural, or linguistic boundaries. As a result, its 12 million population reflects 73 different ethnic groups and languages—and yet, incredibly, Zambia is one of the most peaceful countries in all of Africa. It has had multiple peaceful transitions of power between rival political parties, and, as far as I’m aware, zero instances of tribal conflict. A lot of credit for this goes to Kenneth Kuanda, Zambia’s first president, who made sure to foster a sense of common identity across the country—rather than favour members of his own tribe—and in setting the precedent for gracefully leaving office when he was voted out in 1991. He wasn’t perfect by any means, but more politicians should be like KK.
One thing I personally found surprising was the lack of ill will among Zambians for Britain, its former coloniser. Going there I wondered if I might experience some animosity as a Brit, but the Zambians are far too friendly and forgiving a people for that. David Livingstone remains somewhat a national hero for being the first missionary to bring Christianity to the country. At a time when in the UK we have been having conversations about colonial monuments, Livingstone’s statue still stands opposite Victoria Falls.
What’s the craziest/funniest/most touching thing to have happened to you in Zambia?
Playing rugby in Zambia was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I played for Diggers RFC—so named for its long-time affiliation with the copper mine in Kitwe. In the clubhouse, the team photos went from all white players (back in the colonial days), to a few black faces appearing here and there, to the ratio of black to white slowly increasing over time, until the last few years the teams were entirely black—that is until the season I joined, then there was one rather sun-burnt white face back on the wall. In fact, that year I was the only ‘mzungu’ (white person) in the Zambian Rugby Premier League—and boy did I know it.
Unlike the smattering of spectators (perhaps a couple of girlfriends, parents, or assortment of friends) who might watch some of the games I played back in the UK, in Zambia there were hundreds, sometimes thousands of people who would come to watch. A rugby match coming to town was a day out, an excuse for a braai (BBQ) and, of course, for music and dancing. In an already riotous atmosphere, unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced playing sport, every time I got the ball a rumble of “mzzzuuungggguuuuuuuuuuu” would ripple through the crowd. It was incredible. I’ve never played better, I can tell you! One time we played a 7s tournament (a format of the game with less players but on the same size pitch; it’s chaos) against teams from South Africa and Namibia, and we lost in the final. I was interviewed on the radio afterwards and my name appeared in the paper for scoring a try.
For context, I’m an alright rugby player. I played for my university, but was never destined for the upper echelons of the sport. But, in Zambia, playing in front of the huge crowds cheering you on—those lovely people allowed me to LARP my one-time childish dream of being a pro. Like much of my time in the country, it was completely surreal, but utterly brilliant.
I know very little about Zambian cuisine, and I’m guessing most readers don’t know much more—please tell us about it! What are your favorite Zambian foods and why? Are there any dishes that bring back special memories?
Zambian cuisine revolves around nshima—a thick mashed-potato-esque ball of carbs made from maize flour. To eat, you scoop a bit of nshima in your right hand, roll it into a ball with your fingers, press your thumb into it to make a small well, and then use it to scoop bits of the “relish”: invariably a type of meat stew (could be any of beef, goat, chicken etc.) and some green leafy vegetables. It’s very simple food but can be made in a hundred variations, and it’s delicious. Groundnuts are a regular snack, as is local African honey (incredible), and, for the bravehearted, dried mopani worms (little caterpillar looking things that sort of taste like peanuts). Wash it all down with a bottle of the local beer, Mosi-oa-Tunya.
If I had 24 hours in Zambia and travel time wasn’t a factor, how would you tell me to spend it?
Start off with a safari in South Luangwa National Park, then dash south to get soaked as you look over Victoria Falls (bungee jumping over the ravine is optional), then head back up north for a night out in a Lusakan nightclub (it’s so warm for much of the year the bars and clubs tend to be mostly out of doors, under the stars).
What Zambian books and movies would you recommend to readers?
For books, I’d recommend Dambisa Moyo’s Dead Aid. Baronness Moyo is a Zambian economist and writer, and in this book she argues quite convincingly that the traditional aid model has done little to improve the lives of most Africans over the past 50 years. Her arguments were part of the reason I decided to leave the international development industry after just a couple of years.
I’m not sure there’s much local cinema in Zambia—they are eclipsed by the cultural forces of Nollywood (Nigeria) and South Africa on that front. However, there is a pretty famous TV show called Mpali which I remember being utterly bewildered by when I watched it on a coach once. The story centres around a farmer named Nguza and his seven wives, each of which has their own way of giving him a hard time (it's what we, in the West, might call slightly old fashioned humour, I guess). It was entirely in a Zambian language so I couldn’t understand a word of it, but I seem to remember his wives giving a beating with various wooden spoons. Seemed like a riot.
When you’re traveling, is there a version of yourself that takes center stage? Who are you when you’re traveling that you’re not when you’re at home?
This is a really interesting question and not one I’m sure I can answer. I asked my girlfriend if I seem like a different person when we’re travelling, and she said I seem more introspective. The last few years we have been digital nomading about Europe, but in my mind I’m not sure I would class that as true travel. We stay in comfortable Airbnbs, living a very ordinary, metropolitan lifestyle; we go to the theatre, the opera, visit museums and art galleries, go out to dinner, go on the occasional hike if there are mountains nearby. Essentially we do everything that we would be doing if we still lived in London, but in Vienna, Rome, Florence, Budapest, Bucharest instead. I’m not sure I can change much within the bounds of Europe—it’s all too familiar. There’s a part of me that feels travel should be arduous. A test of character.
The year after I left Zambia I joined a different charity, one based in the US, and my job for six months was to travel around East Africa, visiting their project partners in Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and Tanzania. I was given a shoe-string budget and I was completely alone. I had to rely on the pretty poor public transport, (sometimes) questionable guesthouses, and the kindness of strangers to get by.
I saw stunning savannah, abject poverty, and gleaming ‘white elephant’ developments. I met amazing people; I met some pretty awful people. I saw some of the most heartwarming, desperately needed charity one could imagine; I saw an MP literally handing out bribes in the street ahead of an election. I saw a mob beat a thief to death. I saw drug-addicted orphans sleeping rough in the street. I saw impoverished people give all they had to those slightly less fortunate than themselves.
One night I woke up to the biggest rat you can imagine scratching the roof beams above my bed. Another time I narrowly avoided the bite of a giant water bug (nightmare fuel) as I climbed the steps to an outhouse. I played a game of volleyball with Maasai Warriors in the remote bush. I’m pretty sure I almost contracted bilharzia. I saw the source of the Nile in the Rwenzori Mountains. I inadvertently crossed over the border to the Congo without a passport. I swam in the Indian Ocean, with the Milky Way a smudge against the night sky above, and bioluminescent algae lighting up the water below. At various points I was robbed, assaulted, stranded, and nearly arrested. It was the best thing I’ve ever done.
You cannot experience something like that and be the same afterwards. That’s why travel is so important. It’s like experiencing a decade of life compressed into a few months.
A stunning answer—thanks again for joining us, Mikey! Subscribe to Cosmographia below, and sail away to a far-off place.
Next week:
The nightmarish story of shipping my street pup Boo from Egypt to Jordan. Available to paid subscribers only, please upgrade here. Your support means the world.
Reader, I’m curious…
What’s a place that stuck with you and shaped you?
This was wonderful! Perfect way to start a Saturday!
Hoi An, Vietnam felt like home to me when I first arrived there at the start of the pandemic. I keep coming back there. And am there now. It keeps shaping me.