UPDATED March 20, 2026 BY Guest Author IN Tour d'Afrique no comments Suspended In Time: A Ferry Ride On Lake KaribaMasoud Riyazati is the Content Creator on the 2026 Tour dAfrique Cycling Expedition.For days, the road has dictated everything: when to wake, when to eat, when to push forward. The rhythm becomes so familiar that you stop questioning it. But every journey, no matter how relentless, contains moments where it pauses, not as a break, but as a shift.Today, the road dissolved into water.For twenty-four hours we drift between two shores, between Zambia and Zimbabwe. Suspended between two countries, we are removed from the logic of the road. The bicycles, those faithful instruments of movement, lie somewhere below the deck, suddenly irrelevant.And for the first time in days, no one measures anything.Not time.Not distance.Not effort.As a Content Creator, moments like this create a strange question for me: what exactly should I write? Should I describe the journey from my own point of view, or simply observe what others feel and record their stories? Sometimes I think too much about it. But perhaps writing, like cycling, works best when you stop forcing direction and simply follow what is already there.So instead of searching for a story, I look around.Its an old ferry called Sea Lion. The captain looks like someone taken straight out of an old film, steady in a way that suggests long years at sea. The kind of face you trust, even without knowing why.There are two decks. The lower deck is larger, with tables and chairs, though not quite enough for everyone. Some riders have placed mattresses and pillows on the floor, turning the space into something softer, more intimate. It feels less like transport and more like a temporary home.The upper deck is smaller, quieter, closer to the control room. Fewer people gather there. Less conversation, more distance. Even here, without words, you begin to notice how personalities arrange themselves in space.On the main floor, there is a room with a small kitchen, chairs, and free coffee and tea. Some prefer to stay there. Others remain outside, carried by the wind.I sit on the lower deck.Allen is in front of me, reading his e-book with a gentle smile. Every now and then he nods slightly, as if agreeing with the page. Maybe its something profound. Maybe something simple. Or maybe he is just content.Next to him, Alex is curled up on a mattress, deeply asleep. Beside him, Lea is also asleep in his chair. I think Ive seen Lea sleeping more often than riding. The first time we met, he told me with confidence, Im the funniest person in this group. At the time, I wasnt sure. But now I believe him.A little further away, Danny and Nicky lean against the railing, speaking quietly while watching the water pass.Most people are reading. After long days on the bike, it has become a shared ritual. But today it feels different. There is no fatigue behind it. No urgency. Just stillness.Megan sits nearby with her eyes closed, listening to music. It looks less like listening and more like resting inside herself.I look outward.On my right lies Zambia. On my left, Zimbabwe. The skies above them are not the same. Zambia is covered in grey clouds. Zimbabwe is open and bright, with distant mountains. We remain on the sunny side, on Lake Kariba, the largest artificial lake in the world.Clyde sits in the wind, eyes closed, face lifted slightly toward the sun. There is something about his expression, a quiet kind of joy that does not ask for anything more.Anna, the youngest in the group, sits across the deck, drawing portraits as she often does. I dont know who she is drawing, but I know she is paying attention in a way most of us forget to.Earlier today, before this quiet settled in, I asked some riders a question: What moment from this journey will stay with you?No one could answer immediately. Its never one moment. But after some thought, they tried.For Adam, it is the children by the roadside. A group runs toward you, laughing, shouting, asking questions. But there is always one child, slightly apart, shy, watching quietly. When he notices that one and waves directly, something changes. The shy face opens. A small hand lifts. A smile appears. For Adam, that is enough.Ian spoke about humility. A local cyclist appears beside you, a rusty bike, flip-flops, no visible effort. They ride with you, then pass you, even on the climb. Before disappearing, they look back and smile. That moment stays with him.For Eric, it is a realization that happiness might not require as much as we think, and that what we chase at home may not be necessary at all.Quintin remembers a night at Lomagundi campsite. Hippos were moving in the darkness, close enough to hear, close enough to feel. Later that night, Richard sent a photo to our group chat: a massive hippo standing just meters from a tent. It was Quintins tent. For him, being inside that tent, listening to that sound, is something he wont forget.Later, I spoke with Clyde. Tomorrow will be his last riding day, and he will leave us, so I spent more time talking with him.He told me about a day riding toward Mbeya. Heavy rain was falling, the kind that turns everything into mist and mud. On the climb, he felt exhausted and needed a break. He saw a small shelter where locals had gathered, with a fire barbecuing corn. He stopped and joined them. They welcomed him and offered warmth and corn.When the rain slowed down, he continued. Hours later, he arrived at camp, soaked and exhausted. It was a rest day, so he wanted a room instead of staying in a tent, but he found out that there were no rooms available. He began looking elsewhere.Then, without him knowing, Brittany heard about a room becoming available. She asked the reception to keep the room for Clyde and told him to take it.He told me this quietly. At one point, his voice softened. His eyes filled slightly.For him, that is the meaning of this journey.Not the distance.Not the mountains.Not even the wildlife.But the small, unspoken gestures between people who were strangers not long ago.Listening to him, something became clear to me.Yes, we are riding across a continent. But that is only the visible part. Beneath it, something else moves, a search for connection, for meaning, for moments that remind us of what we are capable of.Oh, the ferry horn sounds. Soon we will stop for a swim break.For now, we remain here, suspended in this brief pause where nothing is required of us.On the Tour dAfrique, we call this a social day.But it feels like something more.A moment where the journey stops moving, so that something else can begin.RELATEDTOURTour d'Afrique The trans-African crossing from Cairo to Cape Town has long been one of the worlds epic journeys and an iconic goal for global adventurers. Over... Related Posts:Leave a Comment for "Suspended In Time: A Ferry Ride On Lake Kariba" Cancel reply