I spent most of the day in pursuit of a Zambian driver's license. This involved three trips to the motor vehicle office, one trip to Chipata General Hospital for a "medical exam" in which the doctor gave me perfect marks even though I swear he did not even look at me (and even though I have a Minor Visual Defect that always causes major consternation and calling over of managers at the American drivers license department), and one stop at the office place (escorted by the motor vehicle office guard) to copy a form that says in three places, "This form is provided free. No photocopies will be accepted!"
All that, and we kept ending up at the window of the surly guy, so tomorrow I get to go back and take the driving test. To prepare, the official PC driver and I took a little spin around town this afternoon (my first time ever driving on the left and the first time I've driven a stick shift in at least five years) in which I very nearly ran over a bicycling rastafarian who was crossing against Chipata's sole traffic light. He yelled some insult at me that touched upon my whiteness and our PC driver made me stop so he could chase the guy to defend my honor, since it was Not My Fault. (He didn't catch the rastafarian. I was kind of disappointed since it's been quite a while since anybody tried to defend my honor and was wondering what he would do with the rasta if he caught him.)
I kept reminding myself it's no fun to get a license in America, either.