23/12/2025
THE CLOCKWORK SUNSET OF LAKE KARIBA – PART TWO: THE DEPTH OF STILLNESS
Elias thought he had left the riddle behind when he folded the map and tucked it back into his satchel. But Siavonga had a way of whispering secrets to those who lingered. On his last morning at Kariba Sunset Villas, as he sipped strong Zambian coffee on the veranda, the lake shimmered like molten glass under the rising sun. It was then he noticed something he hadn’t before—a faint coppery taste in the air, carried by the breeze.
The phrase from the map returned to him: “Where the water tastes of copper.” He frowned. It wasn’t just a poetic flourish. It was a clue.
Driven by curiosity, Elias rented a small boat from a local fisherman named Akwell, whose weathered face seemed carved from the same red earth as the hills. Akwell spoke little, but his eyes held stories. They pushed off into the vast expanse of Kariba, the engine humming softly against the silence of the lake.
Hours passed as they drifted toward the northern reaches, where the water deepened, and the hills leaned closer to the shore. Here, the lake felt different—older, heavier, as if it carried the weight of something unseen. Elias dipped his fingers into the water and tasted it. Metallic. Copper. His pulse quickened.
“Here,” Akwell said simply, pointing to a rocky outcrop crowned by a lone baobab tree. Its roots clung stubbornly to the stone, like fingers gripping time itself. Elias climbed the outcrop, the map in his pocket now burning like a talisman. From this vantage point, the lake stretched endlessly, and the horizon seemed to curve with the earth.
As the sun began its descent, Elias felt the same anticipation as before—but this time, it was stronger. The sky ignited in colours so vivid they seemed unreal. And then, as the sun’s edge kissed the water, the world stilled again. But unlike before, it wasn’t just a stutter. It was a suspension—a breath held by the universe.
The baobab’s shadow stretched across the rocks like an ancient sundial. The fish eagle appeared, frozen mid-flight, its wings etched against the burning sky. Elias felt something shift inside him—not just peace, but clarity. The riddle wasn’t about stopping time; it was about stepping outside of it. The copper taste, the eagle’s shadow, the fifth hour—they were markers, guiding him to a truth his grandfather had always known: time is not a river to be dammed, but a horizon to be embraced.
When the sun finally slipped below the lake, the spell broke gently, like glass melting back into water. Elias stood in the deepening dusk, the taut spring in his chest now a quiet hum. He understood why his grandfather had guarded this secret—not to keep it hidden, but to ensure it was found only by those ready to see.
As they returned to the Villas under a sky pricked with stars, Elias felt no urge to check his phone, no pull toward the ticking world he had left behind. He had discovered something rarer than wealth, sharper than ambition: the art of stillness.
And somewhere in the folds of his satchel, the old map seemed to smile.
