Wednesday, 5 November 2008


Tonight we went to the fireworks.  They were splendid, but what struck me was how British we all were, standing in an orderly fashion behind lengths of orange tape in front of the display. OK, so it was only 6pm, and not really the time for being drunk and disorderly, but I didn't spot a single errant child (not that I was expecting them to be drunk and disorderly...)  Perhaps we're all just too well behaved up north.

Sadly the picture isn't mine, but is an image of how really splendid this tradition of ours is. Walking home in the drizzly rain I could hear fireworks going off all over the city, I could smell the gunpowder on the air.  It was a far cry from a balmy evening lying on the grass at Baobab School, Lusaka, watching a display fire way up into the sky and feeling the glittery explosion was about to land on top of you.  

I always wondered what sort of ex-pats decided to bring this tradition to deepest, darkest Africa. No less splendid display there - merely warmer and drier.

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