The shadows were lengthening as jed pushed on northwards, past some well-tended orchards and more straggly-looking fields of carelessly planted com. It was not how he had pictured Africa. He had imagined either wide-open savanna grasslands or equatorial jungle, not a poor man’s version of the Midwest. The people seemed friendly enough, although every now and then he would pass a young male who stared sullenly at him.
He reached the tum-off to Kariba as the tip of the red sun disappeared behind the hills to his left. He switched his headlights to full beam as he took the winding road down off the escarpment into the Zambezi Valley. The sign had said it was seventy-three kilometres to Kariba. There were no lights at all on either side of the road, just rolling tree-covered hills and valleys
