MY ENCOUNTER WITH A BLACK STRANGER IN A WELSH TOWN

IAM sure many other travellers do the same. Each time I arrived in a foreign city or town, the first thing I did was to familiarise myself with the place by embarking on a “walking safari” in the surrounding area.

And that is exactly what I did when, sometime in June, 1983, I found myself in this remote Welsh town called Aberystwyth in West Wales while on a three-month study tour of the United Kingdom, Scotland and Wales.

I was in a group of 10 journalists from various Commonwealth countries who had been offered the 1983 Harry Brittain Memorial Fellowship under the sponsorship of the Commonwealth Press Union and the Commonwealth Parliamentary Association.

We arrived in Aberystywyth, which is located near the confluence of the rivers Ystwth and Rheidol, by a chartered bus shortly after midday on a Friday and we were to be in the town for two days.

Luckily for us, our official programme, which involved sightseeing tours of some of the town’s tourist attractions and other places of historical importance, was to start at 08:00 hours the following day, which meant that we had the whole afternoon of that Friday to ourselves.

Rather than sit in the hotel and sleep, I decided to while away my free afternoon discovering a little of the town on my own, so I took a walk into the town centre, armed with my hotel card so that in the event I got lost, I could simply book a taxi to my hotel.

One thing that immediately struck me as I walked through the town was that unlike English cities such as London, Manchester and Oxford which I had visited earlier and where black faces were a familiar sight, it was not the case with Aberysthywyth. Here, it seemed black people were very few and far between.

On my way back to the hotel after my two-hour “walking safari,” I decided to pass through a supermarket to buy some essential personal effects. Little did I realise a pleasant surprise awaited me there.

I was standing in a queue waiting to pay for the items I had selected when I saw a young black man stealing glances at me from another queue. Each time I returned his glances, he would look the other way. Nevertheless, being one of the few blacks I had come across in the town that afternoon, I resolved to meet him afterwards.

To my surprise, it seemed we shared the same thought; for as he left the supermarket, he indicated to me through signs that he wanted to see me outside. And as

I got out of the supermarket, I found the young stranger waiting for me outside near the entrance and, as soon as he saw me, he gave me a hearty handshake and shouted excitedly: “I hope this is not happening in a dream; for I can’t believe it. This is just too good to be true!”

I was completely taken aback by the young man’s remarks because I didn’t know what he meant by what he was saying. I thought he sounded like a Zambian, although I quickly dismissed this thought out of my mind on the ground that it would be very surprising to meet a Zambian in such a remote part of the world. What on earth would he be doing there?

“Comrade, where do you come from?” I asked.

Before replying, the young man laughed. “I knew you would ask me such question,” he said. “But first things first. When did you come here?” he asked, putting me in even more suspense.

When I told him I was enroute from Scotland and gave him the hotel where I was accommodated, he said: “I see. You are in a nice hotel whose manager is a good friend of mine.”

The young man then ruled there and then that I would have my supper at his flat that evening and not at the hotel. “I will take you back to the hotel after supper,” he said, giving me no chance to give his request a proper thought.

However, he decided to take me to the hotel first anyway. On arrival there, my yet unidentified host told the people at the reception: “I am kidnapping your guest for supper at my flat this evening. I will bring him back later.”

The people at the reception, who appeared to know him very well, just laughed and assured me that I was in safe hands.

“Do you also come from Africa?” I felt I should ask again because I found it rather funny that I was moving with a person who, as far as I was concerned, was a total stranger to me. This was when we were proceeding to his flat, which he said was within a walking distance from the hotel.

“But I know you very well,” the young man said. “That’s why I was rather surprised to see you in that supermarket. I thought I was seeing things because I did not expect you to be here. Aren’t you Mr Philip Chirwa working for the Zambia Daily Mail in Lusaka?”

I had a second look at the young man to see if I could recognise him, but no matter how much I tried to look at him, I couldn’t place him anywhere. His face was certainly not familiar to me. All he said was: “You will know more about me after supper. Suffice to say for the moment that like you, I am also a Zambian. I work in Lusaka and have been here for the past two and half years.”

He said he was pursuing a four-year degree course in electrical engineering at a local technical college under the sponsorship of the British Council.

As we walked along, the young man showered glowing praise on the Welsh people whom he described as being very friendly and hospitable. “We don’t have many blacks here but still, the Welsh make you feel at home,” he said.

After we had our supper at his flat, he took me around some popular pubs and night clubs within Aberystywth. True to his word, I also found the Welsh people very friendly and wherever I went that night, the reception I received was excellent.

My young host escorted me back to the hotel well after midnight. It was then that he found it opportune to identify himself to me.

“Traditionally, you are my mupongozi (father-in-law),” he said. “My name is Bernard Kafulafuta. I am the younger brother to Paul Kafulafuta of Matero in Lusaka. If you can recall, you acted as a go-between (shibukombe) in his marriage…”

He did not need to go any further, I immediately knew what he was talking about…

.The author is a Lusaka-based media consultant and freelance writer. For comments: sms 0977425827, whatsapp 0974724734 or email: pchirwa2022@yahoo.com .