Is there any better feeling after a long day on the Zambian roads- full of arguing your way out of seatbelt infractions, munching on the best Biltong you’ll find anywhere, getting stuck behind endless rows of impossibly slow trucks, preventing anyone in the car from sleeping with rowdy games of “Contact,” and taking wrong turns and driving the wrong way for 90 minutes but still not making it to Ndola- than rolling up to a big dinner of nshima and village chicken and Mosi, with the people who this country has made into your very best friends? MH