It’s our last stop on our speaking tour of outer Kabwe. Daylight is waning, and we’re hours behind schedule. We pull up in the VITALITE truck to the village center. Faces pop out from small homes and stores and begin to gather. Everyone’s upset, we know it. We aren’t bringing anything this night. And we were late. The school headmaster comes to greet us. He’s soft spoken but genial, and he welcomes us into the schoolhouse. A colleague and I veer off into a stone classroom and see this message scrawled on the chalkboard. William and I sit at the front of the classroom. All ages of villagers sit in the rows ahead. William gives the speech and I ask for feedback. Everyone nods their heads, but no one can buy now, of course. I take down their thoughts, and – procedurally -- promise to return. Some people are angry. Now it’s dark and they came from miles to see us speak and need to return home. So we pile them into the VITALITE truck – back seat, middle seat, and truck bed -- and off we ride into the bush, guided only by our headlights and the shine of the moon.