#5 - Zimbabwe, Botswana and Zambia
# 5 – Zimbabwe, Botswana and Zambia
THE PRACTICE OF SOULFUL TRAVEL IS TO DISCOVER THE OVERLAPPING POINT BETWEEN HISTORY AND EVERYDAY LIFE, THE WAY TO FIND THE ESSENCE OF EVERY PLACE, EVERY DAY: IN THE MARKETS, SMALL CHAPELS, OUT-OF-THE-WAY PARKS, CRAFT SHOPS. CURIOSITY ABOUT THE EXTRAORDINARY IN THE ORDINARY MOVES THE HEART OF THE TRAVELER INTENT ON SEEING BEHIND THE VEIL OF TOURISM.
-- Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage (1998)
SNAP!!!!
It sounded like someone has snapped a dried piece of timber next to my eardrum.
CRACK!!!
I had been dreaming peacefully of clean, high pressured showers or a king sized bed with fluffy white pillows or…. when a loud jolt woke me abruptly. The light green tent began to shake violently.
I peered outside of my tent.
"Oh shit!" I murmured to myself.
Any feeling of grogginess vanished immediately.
It didn’t look good.
Five elephants surrounded the EMS Thunderlite.
I swallowed.
One mother. 4 babies.
Gulp.
Mothers will protect their babies at all costs.
"Think. THINK FAST!!"
I considered my options. I could call for help. I could run outside my tent. I could pray the 6-ton beast trampling my tent would not take another step further.
Option one was out of the question. The closest campers were over 100 meters away. Option two was not practical either. The week before, the zipper to my tent door jammed. I had been safety-pinning it shut to keep out malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Also, if I ran out, I had nothing to scare it off with. Plus, for posterity’s sake, can you imagine the tabloids?
YANKEE IN SOUTH LUOANGO NATIONAL PARK (ZAMBIA) RUNS OUT OF TENT IN TIGHTY-WHITIES ARMED WITH POT AND PAN. TRAMPLED BY ELEPHANT.
I was trapped in a nylon coffin.
I backed up to the furthest edge of the light green tent and got a glimpse of my assailant. It was a bull that had one tusk bent at a 60-degree angle. I affectionately nicknamed him ''Bruiser''.
SHHHH!!! rustled my tent for another agonizing 30-seconds. And then…. silence.
The birds started chirping. I peered out. The coast was clear. I burst through the door and fell out on the ground as campers rushed over. The tent lay in a big tangle as 2 of the 3 poles had been broken during the onslaught. My home was torn and broken beyond repair. I felt like my home had just been destroyed by a hurricane. I looked at where the tent once stood and burst into a fit of laughter. Not the common reaction one would expect…..
Once again, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me back up almost 3-1/2 weeks that took me through the heart of Southern Africa.
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I entered the politically and economically suffering country of Zimbabwe via is 3rd largest city, Mutare. A country that late in the 1990’s was seen as investment grade has had a large, hard and fast fall to where it is today. Unemployment is at 80% and inflation is rising steadily. People speculate, but it is around 300-400%. Alan Greenspan thought his job was tough.
People’s life savings have become worthless overnight. Zimbabweans tends to agree that the problems can be blamed on one man –Robert Mugabe. Bob, as locals jokingly refer to their President, has been in power since 1980. After attempting to amend the constitution, he and his cronies rigged the 1999 election to remain in power. Most fear speaking out. Since then, things have gone from great to god-awful. White farmers have been violently kicked off of their land, food and petrol is in short supply, human rights have been severely violated.
With that being said, it is NOT a war zone. The situation is far from the insanity seen in Liberia. To the outside world, however, it is. This of course, is what the Western Media is feeding you. Before entering I had spoken to a number of travelers who had recently visited Zimbabwe. I also studied up on the situation online and read the newspapers. This is what I gathered:
• Transportation is near impossible due to the petrol shortage! (The longest I waited for a bus was an hour)
• There are severe food shortages, stock up on food! (The supermarkets were better stocked then any supermarket in Mozambique)
• Be extremely careful! Violent attacks and muggings are on the rise! (I found nothing of the sort. Although I hate to generalize, the Zimbabweans were the most friendly and outgoing people I had yet to meet in Africa)
Times are tough. VERY TOUGH.
The poorest of the poor are starving. However, daily life goes on. Barbers give haircuts. Restaurants serve food. Bookshops sell books. As is the case around the world, the media chooses to focus ONLY on reporting the most newsworthy stories. This is nothing new. They do so to sell an increasing number of newspapers while maintaining the stereotype of Africa commonly held in the Western world. The Dark Continent is dangerous, volatile, chaotic.
To be honest, I couldn’t understand how things were SO calm! Eighty percent unemployment? Four-hundred percent inflation? How do you put food on your table? Wouldn’t I resort to crime? Imagine if the US, one of the most violent countries in the world (with only 4% inflation and 4% unemployment) was in a similar situation? Now THAT would be a war zone.
Having studied economics in college, it was interesting to experience hyperinflation first hand. Daily activities are a chore. Let’s take the example of going to the supermarket for $10 worth of food.
First, you bring your wad of bills that are the thickness of a John Grisham paperback in your backpack (they don’t fit in your money belt). Walking around the store, you find prices only on the staples (maize meal, flour, sugar etc.). A silly foreigner, you buy the least commonly purchased item, bottled water. At the purchase counter, you wait in a long line as it takes customers up to 3 minutes to count out all of their money. At your turn, everything is going ok until the 2-liter bottle of water.
No price tag.
You walk back to the bottled-water section. Because prices are adjusted daily there is no price tag. You go back to the register 2 minutes later and notice the long line is getting longer. You tell the cashier you don’t see a price. She goes off to look for the store manager.
Five minutes later she comes back. Of course he doesn’t know the price. You go and grab a 300 mL bottle of water that does have a price. Doing rough multiplication in your head, you overcharge yourself 500 Zim-dollars (US$ 0.12) and explain to the cashier (and 2 other cashiers that have come over to try to resolve the dilemma) how you arrived at the price.
Cashier #2 looks at you like you are a wizard.
Cashier #1 smiles and says - “Ah…. Multiplication” she nods like a teacher grading a math exam. “Multiplication is wonderful!”
Cashier #3 nods in agreement.
After 3 minutes of counting out your bills you are on your way. You apologize to the line.
“No worries mzungo, Africa time!” says the gentleman in line behind you.
You shake your head and grin….. The model of economic efficiency.
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I set off that Friday stocked with enough food to give the bus’ baggage-handler a hernia and arrived in the small village of Chimanimani 4 hours later. Located 15 km from the national park, I found Heaven’s Lodge where I was able to camp for 1000 Zim-dollars (US$ 0.25). Walking into town at dusk, I set off to get some fresh avocados and fruit as well as decided to pick up some beer at the bottle store. Climbing the concrete steps preoccupied with arranging transport to the park the next morning, I didn’t realize that I was about to re-enact a scene from the 1978 classic ‘Animal House.’
Looking like the stereotypical backpacker (black North Face fleece, dirty and wrinkled beige Mountain Hardware convertible pants, well-worn brown LL Bean leather hiking boots, small black backpack slung around shoulders) I opened the pealing wooden door and stepped into the small store. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the poor lighting as the pungent smell of Zimbabwean cigarettes hit my nostrils. Oliver Mutukudzi sang from the small radio in back. Every head in the joint turned. The music stopped.
I suddenly remembered something that I had read in my guidebook:
“Most, Zimbabweans are paid on the last Friday of the month. As with payday throughout the world, almost immediately 1000’s flock to the nearest beer hall or pungwe. Be especially vigilant at this time of the month.”
Today was the last Friday in August. I was in a rural village. I had forgotten to split up my money and all of my cash was strapped to my back. The economy is in shambles. I arrived in Zim. only 2 days before and the media’s vivid portrayal of the country was still very much on my mind.
“I can walk out of here and run” I said to myself, “or, I can buy some Castle Lager as planned.”
30 pairs of eyes were looking me up and down.
A second went by. “If I walk out now, I might be able to get away….”
Another second….
I went up to the counter and ordered a beer. Striking up a conversation with the guy next to me, I ended up hanging around and even got to try out the local beer, chibuku out of a ‘scud’. While I didn’t get to dance to the Temptations like Bluto, Flounder and Otter, I had a cultural experience I will never forget.
The next morning, I woke up early got dropped off at the park and began climbing up the steep incline in the crisp, dry air as the birds chirped and haze floated over the mountains. The large national park straddles the Mozambican-Zimbabwean border. Its most notable feature is the steep sandstone peaks that divide the park into different parts. The stone forests with Salvador-Dali-like-rock-formations, savannah valleys carved out by rushing rivers and spectacular waterfalls made for a delicious treat. Combined with the fact that I was the only person in the park for 2 days (the park 3 years ago averaged 5,000 visitors per month) I was more then content. I was in my own world.
The first day, I climbed Mt Binga, the highest point in Mozambique (2,436 m) and then crashed in the overnight hut after 10 hours of hiking. I was back on the trail by 7am and arrived at Bigby''s cave where I was rewarded with a stunning waterfall. The 12 meter cascade was partially hidden behind the hills and gently dropped in 3 stages, enabling one to climb up the slippery falls. There was also a medium-sized swimming hole. Although it wasn’t even 8 am, I was dripping under the hot African sun and decided to cool off.
Looking at my photocopied map, I saw that Paradise Pools lay a mere 2 km away and set off to explore. At the pools, the crystal clear mountain water poured over a ledge forming natural pools. I swam in the largest and then was heading south along the river that carved out the valley between the mountain ranges until reaching Peter’s House Falls. Peter’s was the largest of the falls that tumbled 15 meters into a deep, dark swimming hole. For the better part of an hour, I cliff-jumped into the natural pool feeling 14 years old again. It brought back fond memories when Brian Wojtyna and I would sneak off to Cotton Hollow or the Vydox during those hot and muggy Connecticut summer days.
Next off was Masvingo, which I used as a base to visit Great Zimbabwe, the largest archaeological site in sub-Saharan Africa. Given the importance of this site, the first thing I noticed was the absence of tourists. A top tourist destination that averaged 500 people per day only 2-3 years ago had 10 in the 3 hours I spent there. My well-informed and enthusiastic guide explained that the name ‘Zimbabwe’ originates from the site. ‘Zimbabwe’ in Shona translates into ‘Big Stone House.’ The enormous complex was constructed without mortar and the labyrinths of stonewalls make it an amazing place to explore.
While not much is known about the civilization that built Great Zimbabwe, the complex was built in 3 stages, beginning in the 13th century and was the region’s religious and commercial capital. Gold and ivory were traded with the Arabs in exchange for cloth, beads and Chinese porcelain. The oval-shaped Great Enclosure, the largest structure at the site, is 220 meters in circumference and the upper rim of its 13m walls is decorated with a chevron pattern symbolizing the strength of the African woman.
Next, I was off to Gweru, a large town that lies between Harare and Bulawayo in the center of the country. Not a typical tourist destination, I was heading to Antelope Park (www.antelopepark.co.zw) where it was rumored I could walk with lions. Yes, that is right; actually walk alongside the king of the jungle. Upon arriving, you meet the owner (who has only one arm) and must fill out an indemnity form. Then I was introduced to my guide who was about my age and from the UK. After chatting for a while, I noticed she had a severe wound on her leg, which I asked her about. She said she accidentally slid out on a motorcycle 2 weeks prior cutting open her leg which required 18 stitches.
“Hmm….” I replied suspiciously. I was beginning to have 2nd thoughts….
That afternoon, I had a lucky treat and got to actually play with 4 of the 2-month year old cubs. They were each about the length of a normal sized house cat and weighed about 4 kilos. Before even entering the cage with the adorable furry guys (with razor sharp teeth and claws), my guide gave me instructions on playing with them. After 20 minutes I finished a roll of film as the little cubs crawled all over me.
Early the next morning, I went to the cage with the guide where three 8-½ month old male cubs were excited to see us. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. The guide gave us detailed instructions on the ‘Do’s and Don’ts’. She also explained that Antelope Park’s was created as a breeding farm for lions with the intention to eventually introduce them into the wild. Due to increasing interest, they began to offer these walks on the side for tourists. She let the lions out of their cage and we spent the better part of 3 hours walking alongside the 20-kilo cats as they accepted us as one of their pride. They were extremely playful and you were even able to pet them while our guide playfully wrestled with them.
With all limbs attached, I set out later that morning to hitch 125 kilometers to Bulawayo. While waiting by the side of the road with my guide, she admitted that a 2 month-old lion caused her leg wound. I was quite glad that she told me that as I was leaving!
After an afternoon in Zimbabwe’s 2nd largest city, I jumped the train to Victoria Falls. According to locals and travelers alike, the train was a highlight and not to be missed. Evidently, the recommendations came from people who had not been on the train recently. Unfortunately, the quality of the services and amenities, even in First
Class, were deteriorating as quickly as the value of the Zim-dollar.
Setting out only an hour behind schedule, we were due to arrive in 12 hours. Waking up in the sleeper compartment 8 hours later, I found that the train had stopped moving and had not even traveled ¼ of the distance before one of the locomotives broke down. After waiting 3 hours for another engine, we chugged along at an agonizingly slow rate as the hot sun began to heat up the inside of the cabin to sweltering conditions. Making the most of the experience, I had long conversations with the Zimbabwean and Namibian sharing the compartment as well as spotted elephants, giraffe, zebra, and buffalo as the train inched through Hwange National Park. Ten hours late, we arrived into the town of Victoria Falls, home of 1 of the 7 natural wonders of the world.
(the smoke that thunders) is one of Africa’s crown jewels. Victoria Falls located on the border of Zimbabwe and Zambia, stretch 1.7 km and are the longest curtain of falling water on the planet. During flood stages, 100 million liters of water fall 90 – 108 meters per second. Entering the Zimbabwe side, you begin by walking through a lush rainforest kept moist by the ever-present spray of the falls. Heading to Devil’s Falls, the westernmost part of the cascade, you stand at eye level and can peer down into the roaring gorge below. Walking down a steep set of stairs, you can look down the barrel of the gorge which is no more than 100 m wide. For another 60 minutes, I walked along a dirt path past Main, Horseshoe and Rainbow Falls before heading across the Zambezi Bridge into Zambia. Even though the river was at its lowest, Mosi – oa- Tunya’s mist provided a pleasant chill as you walk up and down the path. While 80% of the Falls lie in Zimbabwe, the multi-tiered vantage points from Zambia give you a better perspective of the Fall’s awesomeness.
I had been waiting for September 7 for a long time; ever since early ’99, to be exact. In January of that year, I had the opportunity to white water raft Chile’s fabled Futaleufu. Given that the Fu and the Zambezi are reputably the best commercially rafted rivers in the world, I had made it a goal to raft both. I had planned my whole Africa trip around it, sacrificing the beauty of the falls at flood stage for the dry season when the river would be at its wickedest. Choosing my rafting company carefully, we ‘put in’ at rapid #2, ‘Boiling Pot’, only a few hundred meters from the falls. We rode out the feisty river past ‘Devil’s Toilet Bowl’, ‘Creamy White Buttocks’ and ‘Stairway to Heaven’ (aka ‘Highway to Hell’ – the largest commercial rapid in the world) before getting our first taste of the water.
As we dropped into the frothy mess of rapid #8, the boat was slightly off course as a 3m thundering wall of water stiff-armed us and sent us flying. As the boat began to fill with water, the raft tipped and the 8 of us got launched into the roaring river. We were thrashed about for a good 15 seconds before the safety boat came to our rescue.
As we guided the raft through the canyon, we were granted spectacular views of the cliffs that towered above. In the afternoon had no problems as we made it through ‘Gnashing Jaws of Death’, ‘Terminator’ and ‘Oblivion’ without incident. Climbing out of the canyon at rapid #23, the ice-cold beers waiting for us were a pleasant surprise after a hard day’s work. The Zambezi was a blast, but before making my verdict, I wanted to give her another shot and made arrangements for another descent in a week’s time.
As Southern Africa’s adrenaline-mecca, I decided to indulge in another day of heart-stopping thrills. Signing up for a full day with Abseil Africa, I could cruise down the Abseil and Rap Jump, glide off the Highwire and plunge down the Gorge Swing as much as I liked. Abseiling (known as repelling in North America) is the way you lower yourself after rock climbing up a mountain face. The cliff was 54 m high and you slide down the rope using your legs to push off of the cliff. While abseiling is done backward, you use a different harness for the rap jump as you drop the 15 stories face first. The steel cable of the Highwire is anchored into the ground, stretching 135m across the Gorge. As you harness in, you get a running start and launch yourself off of the ledge like superman and glide 120m, 90m above the rocky bottom of the gorge below.
Of the 4 activities, the Gorge Swing took the cake. The physics of it is really quite simple. The first of its kind in the world, the swing acts like a pendulum. Similar to the Highwire, there is a steel cable anchored into each end of the gorge. The line that connects your harness is connected to the center of the steel cable. The weight of the
rope pulls you away from the Gorge’s concaved-in wall. The rope is not a bungee chord so it has very little elasticity. Nevertheless, you don’t remember that as the ground rushes at towards you with alarming speed during the 3-second freefall. At what seems to be your last second alive, the pendulum catches and you are flung at 140 km/hr (90 mph)
forward. You swing back and forth like the second’s hand of a grandfather clock as you begin to realize that you are still alive. VERY alive! I must say, the Gorge Swing was far scarier then Bloukrans’ Bungee however, that didn’t stop me from jumping 10 times!
In Kasane, Botswana, I ran into the tour group that rafted with me 2 days earlier and took their offer for a free lift to Maun. It was 8 hours through the flat, hot, arid savannah before arriving at Sitatunga Camp where I latched onto the tour group’s pre-arranged 3-day trip into the wetlands of the Okavango Delta. The Okavango River, which originates
over 1300 km north in Angola snakes south before flowing into a flat basin. What remains is an enormous 15,000 sq km maze of lagoons, channels and islands that support a remarkably unique ecosystem. Setting off from the southeast corner of the Delta, we drove for over an hour through deep sand and dry landscape before arriving at an outstretched branch of a channel. From here, we loaded our gear and food into mekoro
(shallow dug-out canoes). Just as the rivers and channels are the roads and highways in the Delta, mokoro are the principal means of transportation. Children begin to learn how to pole the canoes that are hewn from Sausage and Morula trees at about 10 years of age.
After a 2-hour journey through the shallow channel and countless herds of elephants, we arrived at an island and set up camp. Relaxing in the shade during the blistering heat of the afternoon, we swam in the channel, read and caught up in our journals while waiting for the sun to sink lower on the horizon. An hour before dusk, we headed out on the 1st
of 3 walking safaris through the golden scrub brush and dry grasses of the islands. It was the end of the dry season, making it ideal to be in the Delta - the mosquitoes were only a minor inconvenience and the wild life was easier to spot. On the dusk game walk and the next morning’s dawn walk, we spotted larges numbers of elephants, zebras, cheetahs,
impala, water buffalo, and tons of birds. We even had a go at poling the mokoros and I am proud to proclaim that I was the ONLY person who successfully tipped and sunk his mokoro. I made sure that our guide got a good tip from me.
At the end of the 3 days while back at Sitatunga, we opted to take an hour’s flight in a 1981 Cesta 210 over the Delta. As great as trip into the Delta was, the 60-minute flight over it was even better. Not only did it give you a perspective of how large the Delta is, the sheer number of animals you spot from the air is remarkable. With a Kiwi pilot
who had a knack for scaring his passengers, we flew anywhere between 3 and 500 meters off of the ground. As someone would spot large herds of elephants or hippo or wildebeest or water buffalo he would nose dive the plane from above and soon we would be flying by the animals at ground level. Although not completely necessary, the flips and loops at the end of the hour definitely made it a spectacular way to end 3
exhilarating days in the Delta.
Saying goodbye to the tour group, I backtracked north through Botswana to Kasane to visit the famous Chobe National Park. I spent a day viewing the park’s abundant wildlife on an early morning game drive and an afternoon river safari on a pontoon boat. The highlight was watching a pride of 6 lions devour a water buffalo for breakfast. Rather than heading directly to Zambia, Nami Nami (the Zambezi River god) lured me
back to Victoria Falls for another day of white water.
This time, I opted to go with another company that offered Riverboarding (http://www.safpar.com/rafting/riverboarding.htm). Riverboarding is the extreme version of rafting. You are given a pair of fins, a boogie board and some basic instructions (turn left/turn right) and then drop into the feisty river. After rafting the first 12 rapids in the raft (they are too dangerous to riverboard) you drop in at ‘Three Ugly Sisters’ and instantly sucked into the raging water as you ride the massive waves and get man-handled as the rapids twist, turn and crash all around you. I felt like I was in a high-powered washing machine. At ‘Double Trouble’ the guide and I collided into each other and were pulled under the water for 3 seconds before surfacing. The impact was so intense
that his helmet was knocked off! Completely exhausted for the second time, we tackled the mighty Zambezi and left unscathed while having a blast in the process. And, for you white water fanatics… the Zambezi is sick but I must admit, the Fu still reigns as king.
From Vic Falls, I was off to Lusaka where I spent the 2 days exploring the city, one with a Dutch doctor who had spent 3 months working in a rural Zambia hospital. On the third morning I set off from Lusaka with the intention of making it to Mfuwe, the gateway to South Luangwa National Park. I left for Chipata at 5am to begin, what would be the
roughest travel day of my life.
After a rather uneventful 7-hour bus ride (with the exception that the bus looked like it had come right out ‘Mad Max’), I arrived into the small town of Chipata in eastern Zambia. I had been warned that the road between Chipata and Mfuwe is pretty bad, but never had I expected it to be the black and blue bum bruiser of Africa. I have off-roaded in a Land Rover through Patagonia’s harsh, windswept terrain, bounced through
Bolivia’s Salar de Uyuni and the northern reaches of the Atacoma desert, endured a 5 ½ hour pot-holed stretch of Mozambican ‘highway’ where I bounced around like an X-wing fighter pilot however, in all of my travels, nothing has compared to the hellish stretch of dirt road to South Luangwa National Park.
“Get in Mazungo [Swahili equivalent of Gringo]!” Shouted the driver in thick Nyanja-English.
There were already 250 kilos of cabbages in the Cantor (flatbed truck) along with 8 women and babies scurrying to find a seat. Space was disappearing rapidly. The next instant, I was playing King of the Cantor. Men, women and chickens were re-enacting a bad episode of American Gladiator. I elbowed an old woman in the larynx and stepped on a teenagers toes in the process of establishing my ‘territory.’ I sat down. Under
each cheek: a firm, solid, unripened cabbage. Not bad, not great. I could be the woman with the baby on her lap sitting on a spare tire squeezed in between 5 other women with babies on their laps. Worse, I could be the guy half on the 5 ft luggage pile and half hanging off the back of the truck.
After the mad scramble we sat and …. waited. The 25 of us waited under the broiling sun, dripping with sweat in the heat of the day until the nimrod driver could convince another 8 people to climb in. After the monumental effort of rearranging my body so I could pull out my pocket journal from my back pocket, I scribbled:
“12:30pm. About to begin what seems like the roughest traveling experience of trip. 33+. Crammed like sardines. Back of 2 x 4 m truck. Oh shit. Hopefully I can hang on”
We were ready.
Everyone had established their ‘territory’.
“Only 3 ½ hours of this” I thought to myself.
The driver attempts to start the engine.
Nothing.
“Damn”.
Everyone sighs.
3 guys jump out and start to push the truck in motion.
We start rolling forward.
The engine turns over and we are on our way!
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I had completely lost feeling in my legs. I discovered I also had a cabbage back-massager. At first, it worked wonders. Shortly after it became agonizingly painful. My coccyx was on the verge of becoming severely sore. The veteran cantor rider on my left hip noticed my experience and capitalized on it. Grandma had stolen 1/3 of my ‘territory’. My eyes were dry and itchy from the dust kicked up as 4x4’s flew past us
on the dirt road.
I glanced at my watch.
“The first 5 minutes didn’t go too badly.”
I took a deep breath of hot, dusty air that reeked of smelly clothing and body odor. I let the breath out slowly.
“Travelling in Africa.” I said to myself with a smirk.
After 30 minutes, I made the big decision to give up my safe but unbearably uncomfortable cabbage location for a slightly less painful yet more dangerous spot on the luggage mound.
“We should be there by 5” said the tall and lanky guy on my right.
“Ok.” I replied with no emotion.
It was really an interesting experience for those first 4-1/2 hours. During the first 2, the entire cantor learned my name, nationality, occupation and marital status. I learned about their families, jobs and towns. I was surprised and impressed to hear so many of them speak English in such a remote area. Most were subsistence farmers who grew 1 or
2 crops and whose families’ livelihood depended on 10,000 Kwatcha ($2) a day. Zambia is one of the poorest countries in the world. It has a low life expectancy, high HIV rate, high unemployment and severe poverty. It is the REAL Africa. My cantor companions were the real deal.
3:35 pm
“Good! We must be at least ½ way there.” I asked my skinny buddy next to me.
“No” He shook his head almost mockingly. “Still more to half way”.
I had been riding the luggage pile and hanging on for dear life. The lanky guy had fallen off the truck and nearly broken his ankle. Our truck had already 1 flat tire. We pulled up to a small village and every child ran up to the cantor as if we were Santa. They sold juices, peanuts, fried dough, water in plastic bags and bananas. I bought a bunch
of 25 bananas for 1,000 Kwatcha ($ 0.20).
Oh those bananas! How delicious they were! They were tiny, only about the length of a small candy bar but when you bit into them they tasted like butter. The golden-yellow fruit had an addictive soft creamy texture and delicious taste. I had 2 saviours on this hellish journey. Those 25 bananas and Shackleton. With nothing to do, eat or drink and
suffering severe discomfort, I would count the minutes before I could sink my teeth into another one. As for Shackleton, I had recently read Alfred Lansing’s epic novel about the ship Endurance and the 25 men trapped in Antarctica for 2 years early in the 20th century. After reading about the horrific conditions they endured at the bottom of the world, I never even thought of complaining
After breaking down 3 more times, bitten by aunts while falling asleep when waiting for the spare tires to be repaired and having to walk up a 1-½ kilometre hill in the dark, we finally pulled into Mfuwe sweaty, sore and dehydrated. It had taken us 8 ½ hours to travel a mere100 kilometers (62 miles)! Even the locals said it had been a rough journey.
It was another 1 km to Flatdogs. Happy to be out of the bloody truck I set off walking, when the driver yelled after me and told me I couldn’t. Not fully understanding, I reluctantly got back in the truck and rode out the rest of the way to the campsite. As we drove in the entrance gate, the sign read:
PLEASE TAKE NOTE OF THIS:
THE LAND ON WHICH FLATDOGS’ CAMP IS SITUATED IS PRIVATELY OWNED. IT IS ALSO A SANCTUARY FOR WILD ANIMALS. IF YOU LEAVE THE CAMP ON FOOT YOU ARE:
• TRESPASSING
• DISTURBING THE WILDLIFE
• PLACING YOUR LIFE IN DANGER
• PLACING OUR BUSINESS IN JEOPARDY
IF AFTER READING THIS YOU STILL WISH TO TAKE ‘A LITTLE STROLL’ ON YOUR OWN, PLEASE PAY YOUR BILL AND PACK YOUR BAGS BEFORE YOU GO, AS IN THE UNLIKELY EVENT OF YOU RETURNING ALIVE YOU WILL BE ASKED TO LEAVE.
Interesting place.
I jumped off the truck at 10:40 pm after 20 exhausting hours of traveling. All I wanted was a shower and to crash. Before that was possible, I had to follow the watchman around the campsite in the dark with my 25 kg framepack for 15 minutes before we found a ‘safe’ place to camp. That meant, not camping underneath a sausage tree (whose fruit weigh up to 10 kg) and camping at a distance from trees that bear fruit.
As I dropped my pack, the watchman demanded that I give him all of my
food for safekeeping. When I asked if it was to prevent baboons and
vervet monkeys from entering the tents, he replied:
“Yes and also the elephants and hippos.”
My eyes widened with surprise and I quickly handed him my food. I have had to bear-bag my food while hiking in the Rockies but never had to worry about elephants or hippos!
“This is going to be an experience!” I thought out loud.
I pulled out my tent and began to set up the EMS Thunderlite as the watchman left me setting up camp in the dark. Just when I had finished setting up the tent, I heard loud grunts, barks and snorts of hippos and elephants 25 m off in the distance.
I woke to people shouting commandingly: “GET AWAY! GET AWAY!!” as a car
horn honked in the distance and people banged pots together.
It was 6am. I rubbed my eyes and peered out of the window. Three bull elephants had come into the campsite and had marauded a group of 3 people eating breakfast. By the time the renegades were scared away, they had eaten all of the cereal, bananas and apples. The greatest loss however, was the Cadbury Chocolate. With the morning’s episode, the entire campsite was up and about. Being the new arrival, a retired Kiwi
couple driving around Southern Africa in a Nissan Sani came up to me and greeted me with a cup of coffee.
“How in the world did you get here?” Mora asked.
I explained the previous days adventure and they shook their heads in astonishment.
Bruce exclaimed “Even in our own 4x4 that was the roughest bit of road we have ever been on. Worse then Botswana, Angola, India and even SE Asia. It was a like driving on a washboard for 2 ½ hours.”
“8 ½” I corrected him.
Oh the irony. I had travelled to the park and ended up getting my tent trampled 2 days later. I can’t complain. During the next 2 days, I was spoiled as I spotted tons of wildlife in one of Africa’s premiere parks. During a 4-hour night game drive, we spotted 2 rarely seen full-grown leopards, lions, honey badger and aardvark on a night game drive.
It makes me think of a quote from Hold the Enlightenment by Tim Cahill:
BOREDOM AND DISCOMFORT GREASES THE COGS IN THE MACHINERY OF MARVELS. …OH, GOD, WILL YOU BE BORED. THE THREE DAYS WAITING FOR AN INDONESIAN BUREAUCRAT TO ISSUE YOU A TRAVEL PERMIT; THE ROCK SLIDE IN COSTA RICA THAT CAUSED A TWENTY-THREE-HOUR TRAFFIC JAM; THE FIVE-DAY WAIT FOR THE CONGO RIVER PASSENGER BARGE; THE EIGHT SWEATY HOURS SPENT IN THE TRANSIT LOUNGE OF THE BUJUMBARA AIRPORT, WAITING FOR CREWS TO CLEAN UP THE WRECKAGE OF THE LAST PLANE THAT TRIED TO LAND IN KIGALI. BORING. BRING ALONG A BIG BOOK. THIS IS YOUR CHANCE TO FINALLY FINISH WAR AND PEACE. AND REMEMBER -- WHILE YOU''RE PLOWING THROUGH ANDREY''S INTERMINABLE CONVERSATIONS WITH KARATAYEV -- THAT BOREDOM AND DISCOMFORT IS OFTEN THE PRICE WE PAY FOR MARVELS.
As for what caused me to burst into laughter after the elephant to trampled my tent? Evidently, Bruiser had been trying to eat a pod that had been trapped underneath my tent. The previous day, two Americans friends, had made the mistake of camping underneath a tree whose pods were a favorite treat of elephants. They realized their mistake only after
setting up their entire campsite and were too lazy to move it. They decided to lure the elephants away by the old breadcrumb trick. As a joke, they made a yellow brick road of pods towards my tent. I guess the old nursery rhyme trick works after all!
I took some pictures of what remained of my former home although I bet the deductible in my traveller’s insurance for 6000-kilo mammals destroying tents must be pretty high. Ever since the tent door jammed I had been contemplating buying a new tent. This gave me the excuse I needed. Relieved to be uninjured and that none of my other gear was damaged, I laughed it off. Travelling in Africa!
THOSE WHO VISIT FOREIGN NATIONS, BUT ASSOCIATE ONLY WITH THEIR OWN COUNTRYMEN, CHANGE THEIR CLIMATE, BUT NOT THEIR CUSTOMS. THEY SEE NEW MERIDIANS, BUT THE SAME MEN; AND WITH HEADS AS EMPTY AS THEIR POCKETS,
RETURN HOME WITH TRAVELLED BODIES; BUT UNTRAVELED MINDS.
-- Charles Caleb Colton - Lacon
One of the advantages of traveling alone is that you are more inclined to interact with locals, which in turn allows you to get a taste of local food and gives you a flavor of local customs. Travelling through Zimbabwe and Zambia in particular has allowed me to see beyond the ‘veil of tourism’ that Cousineau so eloquently describes. In Masvingo I was
invited to a white Zimbabwean’s home for a delicious dinner during which we had a fascinating discussion on the political situation in the country as well as a heated debate over the recent war in Iraq. Zuka, my Zimbabwean friend from the train ride invited me to his workshop in the Chinotimba Township where I watched him carve blocks of wood into beautiful wooden sculptures. The Zambians who at first laughed at the Mazungo for riding with them in the Cantor, developed a fond respect for never complaining and enduring the 8 ½ hours on the road to Mfuwe.
Over the past 3-½ weeks I have scuba dived in some of the best fresh water in the world, sailed in an old steamship up Lake Malawi and relaxed on fantastic Likoma Island. I am currently in the famous spice city of Stone Town on the island of Zanzibar where I will be for the next week. From here, it is off to climb Mt Kilimanjaro and then to Nairobi. You may remember that this was not part of my initial itinerary. Traveling like a local on public transportation and hitching, camping for months at a time, cooking my own food and eating local foods, I have saved enough to extend my travels for a couple more months. Lao Tzu was right when he wrote, “A GOOD TRAVELER HAS NO FIXED PLANS, AND IS NOT INTENT ON ARRIVING”.
My final destination of Istanbul has not changed, only my reliance on airplanes. Barring luck with visas, good health and personal safety, I plan on pushing north to Turkey overland. From Tanzania, I will be off to Kenya and Uganda before heading to Ethiopia.
A TIGHT BUDGET IS THE MOTHER OF ADVENTURE. IT GENERATES TENSE SITUATIONS, CONFRONTATIONS WITH UNSAVORY CHARACTERS, HYSTERICAL DESPERATION, AND UNCOMFORTABLE SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS.
-- Tim Cahill Road Fever
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