It rained all night, and even in the morning, apart from a few brief moments of respite. After breakfast, I disassemble the rear seat of the motorbike and mount the steel saddle, which is more suited to bearing weight. Tomorrow we leave and we begin to prepare our luggage, both mine and Sabrina’s. We still have to decide if I will accompany her and she will go by taxi to the airport, we will see tomorrow how the weather will be.
With James, our trusted taxi driver, we went back to the market, then he invited us to his house, a village just outside Livingstone. I was very struck by the sweetness and dignity of these people, a wife and five children, all with smiles on their faces, happy to have welcomed us into their home. A humble house, where, however, the common denominator is the value of the family. We are then in a village only of huts. It is not a place frequented by tourists, like yesterday’s market. The lady who accompanies us, a beautiful middle-aged woman, tells us that the village is more than seven hundred years old and has about seven thousand inhabitants. It is made up of many family units, which have a circle-shaped enclosure with a diameter of 20, 30 meters formed by poles and covered in straw for a height of about two meters. Inside there are several huts, that of the parents, that of the sons, that of the females, that of the animals and finally a hut open on the sides for cooking. The interior of the hut is divided into two parts, one for relaxation, and one for the night. Returning to our Guesthouse in Livingstone we still had time to admire a fantastic sunset.
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