Driving Straight to Turn Right

There’s a particular kind of confidence that comes from thinking you’ve “seen a bit of life.” You’ve travelled, worked in high-pressure jobs, even found yourself stuck overnight in a riverbed with four male lions close by. You arrive somewhere new, like Zambia, assuming you’ll adapt quickly.

And then Zambia quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) resets your baseline.

Today, for example, took the cake.

I’ve had my share of “only in Zambia” moments over the past few months - the kind that sound exaggerated when you retell them but are, in fact, entirely standard operating procedure. Like needing to pay 100,000 kwacha in cash at a bank, while standing outside that same bank, drawing from multiple ATMs because you can’t withdraw the full amount in one go… and then handing it straight back to the teller. No card payment. No internal transfer workaround. Just you, the machines, and a growing stack of notes overflowing in your handbag.

Or spending hours camped out at Zambia Revenue Authority headquarters, moving through multiple rounds of guidance that somehow loop back to where you started. A masterclass in patience, if nothing else.

There have been practical learnings too. I now know how to change a diesel filter. I know where to buy one. I even know what a strap wrench is.

I’ve also learned, quickly, that almost everything happens on WhatsApp. Car insurance? WhatsApp. Hotel bookings? WhatsApp. Clarifications? Also WhatsApp. Email feels almost… decorative.

I’ve successfully loaded money onto the wrong Airtel account and then, shortly thereafter, figured out how to set up the right one. Progress, just not always in a straight line.

Which brings me to today.

This morning started with being pulled over for “dangerous driving.” I was, at the time, driving in a straight line. No swerving. No theatrics. Just… forward motion. There’s a certain futility in trying to argue logic in those moments, so you nod, listen, and carry on, slightly more aware that the rules here operate on a different frequency.

But the real lesson came a little later.

On my way to work, I realised my indicator wasn’t working. A minor issue in most places. In Lusaka, however, where nearly every major intersection seems to come with a visible police presence, it felt like an open invitation to be stopped, this time with a legitimate reason.

So I adapted.

I drove straight.

And straight.

And then a bit further straight.

What should have been a routine right turn turned into an additional 20km detour, as I navigated intersection after intersection - each one occupied, each one quietly reinforcing the decision to just… keep going.

Until, eventually, I found it: a cop-free intersection. The promised land. The right turn was made.

There’s something about Zambia that forces a kind of real-time problem-solving you can’t really prepare for. It’s not just about logistics, it’s about mindset. Plans are provisional. Systems are fluid. Workarounds aren’t exceptions; they’re part of the process.

And while it can be frustrating in the moment, it’s also oddly expansive. You become more resourceful. More patient. More willing to laugh at the absurdity of standing outside a bank withdrawing cash to pay that same bank.

If nothing else, Zambia has been a reminder that feeling competent is often about understanding the context you’re in. And sometimes, the most valuable skill is simply the ability to keep driving straight until you find your turn.