Friday 11th and Saturday 12th September
“The Lost Case Found, the Tower Climbed, and a Farewell at Mamarulas“
I am glad to record that Nick’s suitcase was found at last, though the night before it had given us one further twist of the sort that tries both patience and charity. Stephen returned to the bus station at four in the morning, only to learn that the case was not upon that third bus. He was less than polite with the people in the courier office and demanded to speak with those in charge. He delivered them a full lecture upon how their processes ought to be conducted. In the end the manager at the other end promised to personally load the case on to the bus, ensuring that the case would certainly travel upon the midday bus from Lusaka. We returned shortly after noon and were glad indeed to see that Nick’s case had arrived. After six days it had turned up at last. This mattered more than comfort. Within it were letters and personal things given by sponsors for their children, and it was of the first importance that we should find them and carry them to the right orphans.
Later that day we visited John Hunt Primary once more, this time to look more closely at the second kindergarten, finished in February. It is an altogether stunning building, with a teacher’s office and an extra room where the little ones may rest. We went in during a lesson, and the children were all excitement at the sight of us. The head teacher has a vision to build a playground at the back of the kindergarten. This may well be our next work. We shall need generous sponsors to support it, but a playground would give those children something special between their lessons.
While we were at John Hunt we also inspected the second five thousand litre water tank that had been set in place. This was our latest piece of work, and it takes the school’s store of water to ten thousand litres. That is no small thing. The number of children has risen to four hundred and thirty five, and the teaching staff who remain upon the site, together with the teachers’ houses, all stand in need of water. We were not sure whether the second tank was working, or whether it held any water at all, and so I resolved to find out by climbing the water tower, much to Stephen’s shock and to the surprise of the John Hunt staff. Nick laughed, took out his phone, and began to film. I climbed, hoping the tower would not buckle and send the tank down upon my head. Of course it would not. The structure was built to hold five thousand litres and is very solid. At the top I put my hands over the edge to hold a wooden plank and did not realise it had never been bolted down. The plank lifted and I leaned backwards. By some mercy I did not fall, to the sounds of shock and cries from below. From there I struck the tank with my hand. I could tell from the sound that the bottom fifth was full. Higher up the same knock returned only emptiness, and so we knew the tank was filling. The work was done. I climbed down again, to the amusement of the teaching staff, some of whom nearly collapsed with laughter, while Nick kept recording.
We then spoke with Robert, the head teacher, and with the staff concerning the rainy season. Almost a quarter of the children are badly affected by it. Not far from the school a river fills and runs with a fierce current. The rains last at least three months, and most of the children who live on the far side cannot come to school. On quieter days some parents set the children upon their shoulders and swim the stream. It is relatively small, yet the current is strong and the crossing is risky. They do it because they will not have the children miss their lessons. Then they wait upon the school side until the day is over and swim them home again. Few parents can do this, for most cannot swim. One of our longer hopes is to build a small footbridge so that these children need not lose three months of school. Missing that stretch of the year cuts deep into their learning.
After this we went on to more home visits and handed out the sponsored letters that had at last arrived in Nick’s case. Charity read them aloud and then put them into the local language of the Eastern Province. The smiles upon the children’s faces as the letters and cards were read, and as the gifts were given, made a very special moment.
In one village Stephen saw a young boy trying to mend a catapult. He went down to the boy’s level and helped him fix it. It was a beautiful moment, Stephen standing there as a fatherly figure to a young orphan.
As we left John Hunt and went on towards town we passed, five kilometres from the school, the sign that points the way to John Hunt Primary. Dust and dirt had claimed it. We had agreed in advance that it should be washed, and so had come prepared with a bucket, detergent, and a broom. Nick washed it. I supervised and offered guidance, and whistling to the song by George Formby “When I’m Cleaning Windows” to cheer him on. We were rather pleased with the result.
That evening we had our final meal with the team. As habit and ritual require, we went to Mamarulas, together with Stephen, Charity, and the families. At the end of the meal Stephen gave a heartfelt speech, in which he shared some fabulous stories of John, including one that marked what a brilliant shot John was with a rifle. Apparently he could shoot snakes from some considerable distance. Charity’s husband also shared that John had been the first white man to have his own troops to command in the new Zambian army. Stephen continued and told how, upon hearing of John’s departure into the next life, there had first come a nervousness and uncertainty to the orphans, to Charity, and to himself. Would Zoe Zambia continue without John? He shared the relief that followed when Nick and I had said, at that time, that the work would go on.
In this journey the weight of the responsibility became plain. This was, as John would say, “serious business”. The future of orphan children depends upon our focus to keep the charity running and to continue supporting Stephen and Charity with the direction and the resources needed to ensure the work goes forward. We are filled with a small degree of trepidation, but mostly we are encouraged and full of hope, and that for two reasons. First, John trusted us enough to hand the work over to us, which in itself is a massive compliment, for John was never one to mince his words. Secondly, we know that Zoe Zambia was born from an idea from above, which the good Lord had put into John’s heart, and that together with Suzie they had, with conviction and courage, answered the call to serve. Therefore we also with humility and privilege answer that same call, and are reminded of the words from the good book: look after the orphans and widows. This is more of a command than a suggestion, and so in God’s grace we soldier on.
On Saturday morning we set off, saying our goodbyes to Charity, to Stephen’s wife Rachel, and to the rest of the family, Stephen driving with expert care and missing every pothole in the road with terminator style precision. There is a saying here in Zambia that if you drive in a straight line you must be drunk, for a sober driver can see the potholes and knows how to avoid them in time. He dropped us off. We hugged him goodbye with tearful eyes, and it was a solemn moment as Stephen drove off into the incredible iconic, Zambian orange sunset. We had done a good deal. We shall miss one another. Yet we shall meet again.
For anyone reading who is inspired and moved to support, please reach out to us by the Zoe Zambia website. In this journey we have had five new orphans put forward, and we shall be looking for sponsors. You may also choose to make a donation of any amount, which will go towards the education of the orphan children, or towards local works that improve their lives, such as the sinking of additional boreholes for clean drinking water, so that the children are not made sick and kept from school, as well as help with crop production and the raising of living standards for the entire communities.
Link for donations to Zoe Zambia below:
https://vineyard25.churchsuite.com/donate/fund/ppqp1vu0
Wednesday 9th and Thursday 10th September
“This Is My Legacy”, followed by the rooster, the bag and the Chief
We are just back from Chief Mnukwa. The road gives you time to gather yourself, and it was as well, for this was no ordinary call. Stephen introduced us with the quiet care he always shows, and made plain that John had placed the work in our hands. The chief spoke of John as a man speaks of a friend who has gone ahead. He sent his love and his condolences to the family. He had wished to be in England to pay his respects, but the distance and the difficulty would not allow it. He mourned with us all the same. Then he said a thing I shall keep in the words he used.
“Words cannot describe what John did here.”
John’s name, he said, will live on in that place. It will not be forgotten, because the work remains. Later the chief’s wife joined us, her eyes bright with tears. John, she said, was down to earth. He knew how to speak with villagers. He had a rare way with the chief, the village and the people. She asked us to go on in that same manner, and to keep learning how to sit with folk as John sat with them.
Stephen gave his report. Three of the Zoe children are now at university, and the chief was delighted. We did not spare the harder news: early pregnancy, and the Zoe girls lost to it. The chief was firm. He stands with the girls. He values education. He has put new protocols in place with teachers, village heads and the authorities, and he will share them with Stephen. It was a good visit, and more than good. He thanked us for coming. So did his wife. We closed with a prayer of blessing, and the atmosphere it seemed, for a moment, to hold still.
Then back to Zoe House, where Blessings and Happy were on their way to university. Blessings begins her first year in agriculture, fisheries and farming. Happy enters the third year of computer science, and is on course for a first. That last fact would have made John grin. It makes us proud. This is the whole point of Zoe: that an orphaned child might yet take hold of a different future.
From there we went to John Hunt Primary and found Robert, the headteacher, waiting with that mixture of order and fire which makes a school live. He is articulate, well organised, and a man who can lift a room. He walked us through the year and thanked us for the new water tank. Another 5,000 litres have gone in, bringing the school to 10,000 for its 435 pupils and staff. In his office I photographed him beneath the picture of John Hunt. That framed face looks down on every visitor, a reminder of how the thing began: one man answering a call to do something that would last.
We crossed the grounds to the new kindergarten, finished this February. Ninety children now have a proper place, with teachers and a teachers’ office. It stands as proof of what happens when sponsors trust the work and the work is done. Inside we met a girl John had known on one of his last field visits. There is a photograph of the two of them. I remember taking it. John looked up and said, “This is my legacy.” She had hugged him then and would not leave his side. Now she walks the grounds of the school he helped to raise. I happened to have that printed picture with me. I showed it to her, and we took another, the old moment and the new one meeting in the same pair of hands. The teachers say she is first in her class. A bright girl who as a result of Zoe has a bright future ahead of her.
We sat with the teachers next, report by report, child by child. Their support for Zoe is not a polite performance. It is commitment, and it is love, and you can hear both in the way they speak of the children.
Then it was out again among the families, talking with guardians, turning the pages of reports in yards where life goes on around you. At one place a rooster held court, fierce as a sergeant and very sure of his hens. He looked us over as if to ask what business we had on his patch. When one of the hens came near I made a few duck sounds, a habit I am rather fond of. The bird appeared thoroughly confused. I had a brief and foolish notion that I might be charged. He did no such thing. He stared. I stared. Then he went about his business, and the villagers laughed as if the whole morning had been arranged for their entertainment.
Later we went to the bus station in search of Nick’s lost bag, and found ourselves dropped into a kind of market that had decided to swallow a depot. Buses nosed in and out. People pressed through in every direction. Stalls, small shops and sellers filled the gaps between. The courier shop, which had supposedly taken charge of the case from Lusaka, was no calmer. Luggage and boxes were heaped in one corner. A cage in another held still more cases, though “held” is a generous word. Nothing had been stacked so much as abandoned. Stephen spent ten minutes talking, then we spent another fifteen hunting through the bus on which the case was meant to have arrived. It had never been loaded at the other end, though it had been marked as a priority for the next delivery. This was our second visit, and the news was the same song in a lower key, it would come on the next bus, due at four in the morning. There are few times I have seen Stephen show his frustration. He did not hold back, knowing Stephen he will be returning early hours to look for it!
Monday 7th September 2026
Dry Bananas, Happy Piglets and a Warm Welcome at the District Office
Monday started at Stephen’s farm. He has been busy. Bananas, pawpaws, mango and avocado are all in the ground, and some of the banana plants had already put on fruit. The trouble is water. The well is dropping faster than the plants can drink, and the best bunches were starting to dry on the stem.
We walked the rows with him and it was plain enough. Zoe has agreed to help with a new borehole at a spot already marked by the government water people, where they say there is an aquifer that should put the farm back on a decent footing.
Later was one of the important calls: the District Education office for the Eastern Province. They welcomed us warmly, heard the update on the orphans, the boarding students and John Hunt Primary, and gave us their own picture of how the work is landing. They were generous in their thanks and said the school is now regarded as one of the best primary in the province, which is something we are quietly proud of. They also said they will keep supporting the school and any further needs around the children. It is no small thing to have that kind of relationship with the district. Years of showing up have done more than any speech.
The afternoon was orphan visits. What still catches you, every time, is how the animals and the people share the same yard without anyone making a fuss of it. Chickens, pigs, goats and dogs all potter about together as if that is simply how a home is meant to work. The comic turn of the day was a large pig being pursued by a scramble of piglets. It looked like a chase until the big one stopped, flopped down, and the little ones piled on mother, of course. The piglets then proceeded to feed relentlessly, poor mummy pig would get up and run away, only to be chased again and again by the piglets and would give up, fall to the ground and let them feed…. all of a sudden the saying “greedy as a ping” had a new meaning.
Back at Zoe House we went over the day and the plan for Tuesday. Stephen arrived for the usual evening briefing with his phone in his hand and a football match running. That was how we discovered, with some sadness, that he is an Arsenal supporter. It was Arsenal against Chelsea. Arsenal won. He was in an excellent mood after that, which rather helped the planning.
Saturday 5th September 2026
Yusuf’s Strawberries, the Church Plaque and One Very Persistent German Shepherd
Saturday began in the nicest possible way: with Yusuf. He is one of Stephen’s oldest friends, they were at school together, and he still runs that wonderful general merchant’s store in the middle of Chipata where you can buy almost anything, including a decent rate on dollars. We went in to change some money and came out with rather more than we bargained for. Yusuf was delighted to see us, and then unexpectedly emotional. It was the first time the Zoe team had arrived without John, and it caught him, after some pause he said “John was a wonderful man”. He recovered in the best possible fashion and produced strawberries he had grown on his own farm. He was rather proud of them and wanted a proper verdict. I told him, as kindly as one can, that British strawberries are serious competition winning stuff, and promised to bring him cuttings of the Jubilee variety next time so he improve the sweetness of the fab flavour he has managed to cultivate.
From there we went to see the five boarding school children with their guardians and sat down with their reports. All five are doing extremely well. Truly star students. If they keep this up, they look set to go to, university. It is always a quiet pleasure watching them take that in.
We ended the day back at Zoe House with the pink gin we had found (never waste a good discovery) and then dinner at Mamarulas, our old favourite. Steak, as usual.
They have three lovely dogs, including a German Shepherd who attached herself to Nick with the single minded devotion of a creature who remembers last year’s steak. She sat beside him, deployed the full puppyeye treatment, and eventually got what she wanted. A very satisfactory end to the day.
Sunday started at church, the local Anglican church John had been going to since he was a boy. It mattered that we were there. They like to invite guests to say a few words, so Nick and I stood up and spoke briefly about John’s love for Zambia and the orphan children, and how he had handed that work on to us. We told them they could rest easy: it would continue. The Church Choir did not disappoint, they sung beautifully standing by the Mary and Jesus plaque, their voices an echo from above.
The Bishop happened to be visiting that morning. Afterwards he thanked us and spoke warmly of John, remembering him from the days when he himself was just starting out in the priesthood. Inside the church there is a round plaque of Mary and Jesus. I remembered John telling us that his mother used to wash it, and I mentioned this to the vicar. He was both surprised and rather delighted. Small stories travel a long way here.
Later the five boarding-school children came to Zoe House to collect their provisions for the term. Stephen and Charity had gone to a great deal of trouble: snacks, books, school kit, clothing (including donations collected from colleagues and friends back in the UK) and assorted goodies, all packed and ready. They always set off from here, and that is exactly what happened. We spent a little time with them, told them again that if they keep working we will stand behind them all the way to university, then waved them off. They were, as ever, enormously grateful, to the sponsors, to the work, to the fact that someone keeps showing up. A good weekend. John would have approved of the strawberries, laughed at the steak seeking dog, telling Nick not to be soft, and especially the children heading back to school with full bags and full of hope.
Thursday 3rd September 2026
One Generous Driver, One Useless Belt, and Stephen’s Best Zigzag Yet
A heroic taxi driver, that is how the journey started, and it rather set the tone. Nick and I were on our way to Heathrow, explaining the trip, Zoe, and the work with orphans in the Eastern Province, when our driver went quiet. At the drop off he refused every attempt to pay him. “No charge,” he said. “This is my contribution towards your good work.” Well. That rather puts a spring in your step before you’ve even reached the check-in desks.
Terminal 5, however, had other ideas. The luggage system had given up entirely. Thousands of suitcases were piled in one corner while bewildered passengers stood about looking as if they might never see their socks again. Nick and I did the sensible thing and pulled the most essential bits into our hand luggage, just in case the rest of it decided to holiday elsewhere. One bag was oversized, so we were sent to a quieter corner with only a handful of other bags. In hindsight, that was the best decision of the day as the oversized bag was onboarded onto our flight and it arrived with us to Zambia, as to the other bag, we are still trying to figure out where it is and BA of course have no idea themselves!!!
Johannesburg was waiting with its usual welcome, a delayed flight, with less than forty minutes to make the connection. Naturally we had landed at the complete opposite end of that enormous terminal. Off we went, following signs, following boards, and generally resembling two slightly frantic tourists who had forgotten they were no longer twenty five. Halfway across we hit security again. Snail’s pace security, with not a hint of urgency, even after we explained we were about to miss the connecting flight to Lusaka. We arrived at the gate panting… only to be told the flight was from a different gate and not the one advertised on the screens. A kind soul radioed around, found the correct gate, and off we ran again. The punchline, of course, was that the flight had been delayed anyway. We could have strolled. Typical.
Lusaka, then the little hop to Mfuwe, and there was Stephen and the wonderful Zambian orange sunset. It was an extremely emotional moment. The last time we had all been together was with John and Suzie. As we drove through the dark we swapped stories, remembering that last trip and laughing in the way you do when the person you are missing is still very much in the conversation. Stephen, as ever, is an excellent driver. He zigzagged through the night, calmly avoiding the huge potholes that appear without warning and with no sense of fair play whatsoever.
Twenty-six hours after leaving our homes in the UK we finally rolled up to Zoe House. Needless to say we were both exhausted. We slept like logs. After a day of Heathrow piles, Johannesburg sprints and potholes in the dark, it felt thoroughly earned. More soon…
