Security

Amanda and John Hartman went on morning runs while they were here. I haven’t gone yet because the streets are all named after people with three names, and I’d never find my way back. Our street is Simon Luwansa Kapwepwe. Number 71.

The house is plain. The walls are white. The ceiling is high. The floors are white tile. But the living room has a loveseat and recliners. And a television. The kitchen has all the modern appliances, including a washer and dryer for clothes. The water for the shower gets hot when you want it to, and the beds are comfortable (the rooster and the dogs wake us up, but the beds are good).

But the windows have bars on the outside. The wooden door is thick and locks sturdily. There’s a sign in the kitchen that says to padlock the doors at dark. There’s a “screen door” with steel bars and a padlock. The entire property is surrounded by a 15’ wall with thorny vines growing on either side. We lock the heavy metal gate every time we come and go.

It’s an odd feeling. The amenities make it feel comfortable. I feel secure. If I stayed inside all day I’d forget where I was. I could even feel like home here if I settled in. But what’s outside the stone wall? What should I be afraid of?

Dogs bark throughout the night, and people say they’re mostly barking at each other. But why does every family have a dog or two if it’s just each other they’re barking at?

How does the rest of Lusaka live? How do people living in the compounds, or in the hand-built clay homes, survive?