Today we embarked on a village walk of one of the local villages just on the outskirts of the main part of Livingstone. This village housed the local king of his tribe, an area that represented many villages and hundreds of square miles allotted from the Zambian government for him to continue his rule, while still answering to the laws of the Zambian government and obeying its constitution and authority.
While our campsite was more of a western haven (loads of white people allowed to wear and eat pretty much anything), we resumed culture-shockness once we left for the village, having to dress modestly and obeying the customs of the tribe.
It was like any village we had been too: thatched huts, some, but not many, modern buildings, local and old methods for harvesting crops and preparing food, and gobs and gobs of wood carvings to be sold to tourists who could be tricked out of money.
They had a small jail, no more than the size of two walk-in closets put together, that was pretty much used just for the drunkest and rowdiest villagers until they sober up. Crime seemed to be low here.
We went to the local market to purchase many a wood carving for almost no money at all, which was great. Everything was negotiable and since it’s the low season, the merchants are willing and able to go very low just to sell you some oddly made carvings and crafts.
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