This weekend is the big annual festival of the Chewa tribe. A few minutes ago, a giant helicopter landed a block away, which we assume is the president arriving ("or maybe Alex Trebek!" says Trevor). The arrival is a big deal here, considering we never even see contrails.
Everybody in Eastern Province is heading to the festival but us. We're staying home to have quiche and fruit salad with our fellow agoraphobes. And Trevor is currently filling the house with the smell of bacon. ("Mmm," he says. "Fried strips of pig.")
Meanwhile, we are containing our strong opinions about the fact that Zambia manages to have a presidential helicopter. Just yesterday at the BP station I had to wait for a gas pump while MPs push-started their giant military truck. Gives you a glimpse into the national priorities, huh?
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