Staying overnight in a tiny African village

Zambia was zooming past at great speed as we crossed it’s great arterial highway. Golden brown scrubland, dry skeletal trees, yellow-tinged earth, low rolling hills. Small villages clustered by the highway, clusters of tiny thatch huts with people and livestock standing around, sweeping leaves or carrying bales of wood. Tomato sellers and potters had stalls set up to sell to passers-by, their wares lined up in their hundreds alongside the tarmac.

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