Tag Archive: transport


The Anchor Leg

It was a quiet day. The roads were deserted and everyone had the day off to vote at the election polls. Only a handful of people were in the office to get some work done. Sitting in the big office in the virtually empty warehouse, I plugged away at the profit and loss numbers trying to make sense of all… and I found out that I wasn’t alone. “Anthony, can you come to our office for a second, we need to talk.” One of the owners asked me.

They had invited a technical advisor who joined us over the last two weeks. He ultimately advised to close down shops and approach established independent shops to be dealers. Just before the conclusion of his time, we were in mildly heated debates trying to sift out the way forward. There were a lot of numbers that were thrown around. Spreadsheets, reports and ideas were overflowing my head. I had to play mental catch up as I split my attention between trying to think about each idea critically while trying to come up with some innovative idea to contribute to the discussion. In the end, we were advised that the way forward was to shut down the shops with the highest losses. We walked away from the discussion with a list.

Now, it was just the two business owners and I sitting in the small office, dazed, confused and exhausted from the last few days. “So, Anthony, we were just going over the numbers again and wanted to see what you thought of them.” I was glad to see that I wasn’t the only one who had growing doubts on the strategy we were convinced to pursue just a few days earlier. “If we shut down those shops, and redistribute the overhead, it just makes other shops go into loss.” “That’s what I was seeing too” I replied.

Detailed analysis revealed that each shop was still independently profitable as long as we removed the overhead costs of operations at headquarters, confirming what we assumed at the beginning of the placement. “I was looking at the analysis this morning, and the main problem is overhead costs. Primarily: wages, transportation, and rent.” After seeing agreement in their eyes, I continued to share my thoughts. “As of now, those costs are fixed and in my opinion underutilized. Do you think we can stand to cut wages, or transportation?” I threw the question out there. Fuel costs are on the way up and vehicles only get older. When thinking about everyone at headquarters, the sales manager, the warehouse manager, the accountant, the administrative staff, and the stock controllers, I couldn’t think of anyone that isn’t vital to the business. In times of trouble, with skyrocketing costs, stiff competition, and political uncertainty, these are the people to invest in, not cut. Feeling the tension that the question put to the room, I eventually got the answer I was looking for. “No, we need everyone. They’re all essential.”

I began to probe what they thought of the second recommendation given: to strike deals with other agricultural shops so they could stock our product while we close our own outlets. “For dealers… they make up about 20% of your business. Is there enough potential dealers to overcome the void created by closing our own outlets?” With little thought and a shared confirming glance, they both said “No. No we can’t. It’s just not possible. Not even with our most ambitious projections.”

All three of us in the room were circling around a strategy that I felt was returning to the forefront. “I feel that with the latest improvements at headquarters, you have the capacity to manage more shops. What happens to the profit margins if we relocate the lower performing shops and open more outlets in underserved areas?” They nodded and waited for another my next question. “You mentioned potentially opening an additional shop in the same city north of here. How long would it take before we see it perform? What’s the potential there?” “It, usually it takes 3 months for a shop to reach its potential and at that location, we should see volumes anywhere up to 50% of the shop already there.” “Can you sustain the initial losses?” After a few keystrokes and clicks by the mouse, the picture was shown to me. “We can do it.”

The air in the room was much lighter than it has been the last few weeks. Slight smiles could be seen on their faces.  “So we’re clear, we’re going to open more outlets, and relocate shops that are underperforming… Good. Thanks Anthony.”

It was now clear that the original strategy to open more shops made more sense than closing them down. It grows the potential to reach more farmers, is in line with of all the work we’ve done so far to build the business’ capacity and, most importantly, takes advantage of the potential in the market.

Now that I’m entering the anchor leg of this placement, I’m again re-energized, excited and pushing forward to see this project through to the finish.

I was pulling out on the gravel road that leads to the main highway outside Kitwe. At my first turn-off I saw women and children walking beside the road. The early morning sunlight just breaking through the thick canopy of the trees made it difficult to see everyone clearly. But I was able to make out their arms fully extended from the shoulder, shaking their open hands up and down at the wrist signaling they wanted a lift.

“Clutch, shift to neutral and brake” I consciously thought to myself, being new to driving a manual diesel vehicle and quickly rolled to a stop beside them. “We are going to the Luanshya turn off” they said. “Aweee-kay” I replied with a smile and thumbs up. In the rear view mirror, I watched as the first group threw the bags from their heads into the back of the pick-up and climbed in. The children pushing themselves up and reaching their feet as far as they could to get over the side walls, almost falling into the trunk shortly afterward.

“Clutch, first gear…” I was thinking to myself until I looked into the rear view mirror again. Squinting, I peered far on the gravel road stretching far behind me, criss-crossed with shadows from the tall trees lining both sides. Silhouettes of children waving away from me was all I saw towards a woman who seemed to be walking as fast as she could towards me. To get a better look I turned to look over my right shoulder… and saw the door frame. “You’re driving on the right side Anthony, look behind over your left shoulder.” I said to myself and turned the other way.

There was the old woman, hunched over by years of working, coming out of the shadows. The women already in the trunk moved around to give space and grabbed the bags that the children were carrying beside her. Stumbling into the back despite being helped by everyone she sat down and I saw a glimpse of relief just before she smiled at everyone else in the back. Two loud knocks on the roof of the cab, and then I began to drive off.

As I released the clutch and stepped on the gas I reached down to the crank on the door and cracked the window a little more open. Laughter and chatter could be heard amongst the sound of rubber tire crushing gravel and the loud whine of the diesel engine. “Oops, need to shift up. Clutch, 3rd gear, gas.”

We were picking up speed on the gravel road, the grass between the two red dirt tracks disappearing faster under the hood. The flashes of sunlight light through the shadows of trees and the clanging of keys against the steering column quickened their rhythms as the road curved eastward. Then, BAM! We broke out of the trees into a pasture and everything in front of me disappeared behind the direct sunlight that now illuminated the thin film of dust that collected on the windshield. After pulling on the arm to the right of the steering wheel and unintentionally signaling a right turn, I flicked on the wipers using the arm on the left side of the wheel and was able to see again through streaks of dirt now smeared across the windshield.

I saw a merger ahead and slowed down looking cautiously through the trees to see if there was a speeding vehicle about to break in front of me. There wasn’t and again I stepped on the gas. “40km/h, 45km/h… 50km/h” the dials read now that I was on the main gravel road. It was wide enough to have two cars side-by-side. Being cold in the morning, I became conscious of the fact that I may be going too fast for those behind me. Glancing at the rear view mirror, I saw that they had tucked the cloths they were wrapped in tighter and were mostly curled more to fight off the cold. The plum of dust grew thicker and higher behind as my speed increased. But the people were all were still smiling though clenched lips and squinted eyes from the dust and looking into the eastern morning sunlight. So far so good.

Continuing on, I was slowly veering the truck to the left and to the right side of the road mindful of being as smooth as possible for those riding in the back. A few times on this route taught me where I need to position myself to avoid the large stones that protruded up from the ground.

Coming up the final hill, we began to see the tops of large cargo trucks speeding past the opening between the tree line ahead of us. We were approaching the main highway. Just before the pavement, I turned off to the side, turned on the hazard signals and parked the truck. Everyone jumped off and the old woman who raced to the truck at the beginning of our journey walked up beside me. Her hunch allowed her to only raise her head slightly above the lower frame of my window. But the size of her smile was unmistakable. She raised her arms high in the air then clasped her hands together in front of her saying “na toe tela, sana” (Literally: I’m thankful, very much). “Aye, em queye. Muyende wino” I shouted back (which, I think means: Sure thing, go well).

I will always remember being out in rural areas, biking or walking those long distances against the wind, against thirst and against those rolling hills. Every time a pick-up truck stopped to lend me a lift, it was a God-send.

That morning, it felt nice to pay the favour forward.

Reverse Culture Shock

Putting this together is an an attempt to preempt the almost certain reverse culture shock I’ll soon experience. The last few days back in Canada have been great, but little indicators of impending doom lurk.

A coping method I developed while in Zambia was to cartoon things during my most traumatic and difficult times. See my spider battle and my work with water :) .

So this is my experience on my first few days back in Canada.


Jumping off the plane and heading home was an interesting feeling. It felt like I just left yesterday. But after about 30 or more hours of travel in the same clothes it was time to get cleaned up. I hopped into the shower in great anticipation of the best shower I’d experience in months.

I didn’t realize how strong the water pressure was here in Canada and was almost taken off my feet.

It was almost like Kramer on Seinfeld.

After the shower I went to brush my teeth and it didn’t connect that the water pressure in the shower was a good indicator of what the water pressure would be from the tap. It pretty much took my toothbrush right out of my hand.

I later found my big green mug from work in the cupboard which was a great relief. I haven’t had a real good cup of coffee in ages.

But, strong coffee isn’t a good idea when you’re still dealing with jet lag and lack of sleep.

Last night I visited a few friends and turns out they’re all way ahead in their “life stage”.

The other day I actually went into the national office to say hi and catch up with some work. But, I didn’t realize how conditioned I was to think that in an office environment any greeting said in English was directed at me. Back here in Canada, this isn’t always the case.

But ultimately, there’s no place like home. It was nice to sit in a TTC bus for 30 minutes. The lack of leg room and space on these new buses brings me right back to riding mini-buses in Zambia.

Getting Out of Kalanje

I woke up with a jolt. Something hit me on the forehead. “What the heck was that?!” I thought.  It felt like pellets. “Could that really be….?”. With a cringe I brought my hand up to my face to see what landed on me. It was what I feared… mouse poop… a mouse pooped on my head and woke me up. Waking up in the morning is always a challenge for me and the day before I wished that I would wake up in time to find transport. Nature, it seems, has a sense of humor.

The reed mat I slept on in the village. It also doubles as the dinner table.

I looked at my watch and it was about 1:30am. “Time to get up” I said to my self and rolled over on the reed mat I’ve been sleeping on for 3 days. Avoiding all the plows that were stored beside me, I started to get my things together. There was going to be a big meeting in Lusaka in 2 days where I needed to give a 2 hour presentation on all my work and all my recommendations thus far. The problem was that I was in the village… there usually is only one transport that goes around picking up would-be passengers and it can arrive in the village anywhere between 1:00 am and 4:00 am.

In a few minutes I was ready to go. My mosquito net was packed the day before to reduce time and leaving me vulnerable to air strikes from rodents. Like clockwork, Isreal was at my hut door suited up and ready to go. “No transport has come by. We’ll bicycle out and try to find transport on the main road”.  “Sure thing. Tien (Let’s go)”.

Picture of Kalanje under a full moon

Under the moonlight and on our bicycles we navigated our way towards the main road on rough pathways. Depth perception was limited and I had to endure hitting large stones and fighting the handle bar to keep the bike out of the deep channels eroded into the paths. We quietly passed by the other villages and reached the main road quickly.

We used this path to get to the main road that night.

It seemed daunting. If we could not find transport, this trip would be a 50km bike ride back to town.  It was only about 5km into the trip and I was already getting tired by the wind pushing against us. We continued on. I was following closely behind Isreal since he remembered where the safest parts of the road were.

The main road in daylight

“Tien! Tien! Let’s Go!”, Israel shouted out of no where. My head was down trying not to focus on the long road ahead and I didn’t see the single rear brake light shining brightly in the distance. I wanted transport, and there it was. We just had to get there before it left us behind. We were racing. The sound of the wind, the tires crushing the gravel and the stones bouncing in my fenders were almost deafening against the silence of the night. Even with this speed that single brake light seemed immovable, locked at an distance.

I saw the brake light disappear. “Crap, they’re leaving!” I thought. It reappeared shortly. We kept hard and fast on our pedals. I flashed my headlamp trying to get their attention. It turned out the driver wasn’t setting off yet. Passengers were loading and passing behind the truck obstructing the light… making me panic.

Exhausted and out of breath we finally reached the vehicle. Other passengers in the back were already half asleep. We loaded our bikes, and all my bags. “Why didn’t you call?” the driver asked. “We didn’t have cellphone reception”. With that I jumped on and sat on a tire. The truck then set off racing East into the sunrise and towards Chipata. We made it.

Arriving in Chipata on the back of the truck

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