"Stranded in Zambia Without Money, Food or a Clue"

An email arrived in my inbox in mid-1999 with the promise of adventure and self-discovery from two friends full of excitement. The proposition: to drive a newly acquired 1989 Land Rover Defender from Cape Town to Kenya and back, camping along the way with the aim of Zanzibar for the millennium new years.

It had the blueprint of everything you wanted to do the year after graduating university: freedom, exploration and escapades we could dine out on for years. We assumed we were prepared. We were very very wrong.

About one week into the trip, we left from the Zimbabwe/Zambia border without really having decided what our plan of action was. Our decision came down to finding a campsite on the way to the remote South Louangwa National Park, or trek through the night and make up one of the lost days at Vic Falls. Having put in numerous fifteen-hour days on the road, we decided to venture forth and put in an all nighter. Little did we know that we would never forget that decision and the next 60 + hours for the rest of our lives.

We found ourselves in Zambia's major city, Lusaka around one am. The fuel gauge on the Land Rover wasn't always accurate but we had measured out 500 km per tank, and by the time we hit Lusaka, we had plenty of fuel. We checked the map to ensure that we would have some stops to fill up and three towns; Rufunsa, Luangwa and Kachalola all appeared as potential destinations. Darkness surrounded the truck as I nodded off to the sounds of the growling Beast, the name of our pale blue Land Rover.

As I awoke, we were approaching a police stop in the middle of the T4, Zambia's National road. As the police officer armed with an AK 47 asked us questions of our destination and intentions in Zambia, Kiran noticed that our fuel tank had dropped significantly and we were basically running on fumes. We inquired where Rufunsa was, and much to our dismay he declared that we were in it. The only lights that we could see other than our own was the spiraling orange police beacon that pierced through the darkness, and the slow-burning fire that kept the guards company. He also informed us that, to our dismay, the closest petrol station was over 200 kilometers away in either direction.

We pulled the car off the road, and looked up at the bright stars that lit up the night since we were in the middle of nowhere; this was 3am, December 3rd.

Early the next morning, Kiran and Paul managed to

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