Tales from the Gael

Xakanaxa in the Okavango Delta

The mighty Okavango is the third largest river in southern Africa and it flows south east from the Angolan highlands, over 1000km away, taking up to six months to reach the delta area which floods on a perennial annual cycle.

Remaining in the Moremi Game Reserve we drove to our new camp at Xakanaxa.

I look at my notes and can relive the afternoon that I wrote my last entry. I was sad, the trip was coming to an end.

‘It’s the last day’, I wrote in my journal, ‘I am sitting in the tent after a delicious lunch of pasta and cheese, fresh carrot coleslaw and cold meats. Our group have bonded and it’s the shared memories of the last two weeks that hold us together. We sit at night and over beers discuss the joint exultation we felt when we finally saw the hippo yawn and all the cameras clicked. The feelings we shared when we saw the reclusive leopard and her cub. They had seamlessly blended with their habitat and without guidance we would never have seen them. They were two of the most perfectly exquisite creatures I have ever seen. The mother licked her cub’s face and I ached to just stroke the thick luxuriant fur’.

I remember Bibi telling us about the ceremony where a Chief was appointed back in the days before presidents ruled. The chief was more powerful than any other man and he wore a leopard skin and was fed the meat of the Kori Bustard bird.

Last night I could not envisage anyone wanting to kill such a beautiful creature.

And how could we forget the night that Bibi tracked a lion from our truck, and found him sitting by the road, content, his stomach full, and as we parked close by, he rose and stretched and calmly ambled down through a thicket that led out to the lake.

It was sunset. He sat down on his haunches, and leaned forward and delicately began to lap the water. He could have been any moggy under the sun, but for his powerful shoulders and mighty mane.

And yesterday morning when we left the last campsite at Khwai in Moremi we came across a male lion, just by the side of the road.

It was so close I could look into his tawny eyes and see the the thick mane and powerful shoulders. One swipe of a paw can break an animal’s neck or back. Then we spotted two lionesses crouched in the tall grasses, looking just as they should, camouflaged in the gold fronds and sage bushes.

Bibi edged the vehicle off the road and we encountered a male and female lying in each other’s embrace. How perfect was that?

When we stopped for a tea break by a hippo pool, we all watered the African soil, probably confusing the animals with our alien scent and spoiling their boundary markers.

Over biscuits Nicky, Karen and I were discussing how distant we felt from our ‘real’ worlds. We wondered how the Olympics had gone, what news was making he headlines and how we really didn’t care. All that mattered was NOW. I told them what Mr Diamond had told John and me in Mandalay in Burma whilst we shared lunch together.

‘How many friends do you have, John?’

‘How many children do you have, John?’

And of course, John replied.

‘And if you have a heart attack right now, John, where are your friends and where are your children? Can they help you?’

He went on, ‘The only people you have are right here, me and your wife. That is all that matters. The past is gone, the future in not here, only NOW is important.’

We drove on, and suddenly from nowhere a sharp fallen branch flew up as the car drove over it, and sliced two fingers of Karen’s husband’s hand. He had been gripping the hand rail to steady himself from the potholes. Immediately Nicky reached for her disinfectant wet wipes, John staunched the flowing blood and Bibi administered First Aid. Later we helped Steve to lie down as he had fainted from the shock and pain. It was a distressing incident, but fortunately not too serious. But – we were all there for him.

I had to smile earlier as we had been tracking a very elusive leopard. Bibi heard from another guide that a leopard had been seen in some remote thicket so we drove round and through and round again in ever decreasing circles. The Mopani trees rustled past, the woodland even began to look familiar but no spotty cat was seen. The man next to me asked if I had heard of a poet called Kate Tempest. I hadn’t so he suddenly recited these lines.

I go round in circles

Not graceful, not like dancers

Not neatly, not like compass and pencil

More like a dog on a lead, going mental

I go round in circles

Not graceful, not like dancers

Not neatly, not like compass and pencil

More like a dog on a lead, going mental.

The poem seemed perfect and just fitted the bill!

Coming home I spotted a juvenile tawny eagle sitting up all forlorn in his nest on the very top of a tree. His mother was circling nearby, obviously to get a ‘carry out’ for their tea.

John caught the sunset and we ate dinner by candlelight. Hippos growled just 100 m from our campsite. It was quite disconcerting. On the bank was a 15m croc.

This last camp is so wild, so remote and is situated beside a lake with many crocodiles. Our toilets and showers have been erected beside a whole mass of elephant dung and now both of the loo’s zippers have broken. I have a view of a large termite’s nest amidst a thorn tree and above the weaver birds’ nests hang precariously above. Where will I ever have such a ‘toilet experience’ again?

Now the Go-Away Bird is pecking under the central tree,

John is having a snooze and I can see four hippos through the flap of the tent.

After our bucket showers we will put on our seriously mucky clothes and go on our last safari.

The new day dawned, I got up and went to the toilet and watched the sun rise over the lake.

I suddenly noticed a large elephant pad that was fresh in the sand at my feet. Not being an experienced tracker myself, I was still able to come to the conclusion that the elephant had been here after our vehicle had driven in, which meant that he had been visiting in the night. It turned out that indeed he had and had been circling Bibi’s tent, until Bibi had got up and shone his torch and shouted ‘Away with you!’ or some such thing.

We have been so lucky to have this opportunity to spend two weeks in Botswana. We were so blessed to have Bibi, to be our guide, our driver, our cook, our teacher and our friend. He drove us 2,348 km, how amazing was that?

I think everyone should visit Africa just once in their lifetime in order to see for themselves the amazing changing landscapes, to try and identify the kaleidoscope of birds and smell the wild sage in the early morning sunlight. It is a truly unique experience to come upon a giraffe ambling along or seeing one with its head metres deep in a thorny acacia.  Or to view herds of zebra, so perfect in their crazy Op Art symmetry.

I loved the funny little wart hogs trotting by with their tails standing on end like radio transmitters. They always seemed to be busy and on some mission. I loved the impala, they could easily win the beauty contest for grace and balletic skills. The termite hills in this part of the park are very tall and dot the landscape like pagodas. I saw one that had been built around a tree and the branches jutted out the sides. The whole edifice had a look of Dr Who’s Daleks.

And like Dr Who, we are back, transported from one world to the next, from the wilderness campsite to the clean perfect comfort of home. But for the moment I am still there, and I don’t want ever to forget. Goodbye Botswana, and Goodbye Africa. Until we meet again.

Savuti Park and Moremi Park

We drove for miles over sandy bumps and crevices that passed as a road. We were loaded with food and enough water for six days. We would not see a tarmac road again for all that time. We passed through scrub, wintery trees and trees trashed by elephants. We passed giraffe and zebra, kudu, impala and hundreds of hornbills.

When we arrived we found the campsite already erected and Kreetcher and Matcher had the water heating for our showers. We ate lunch off tin plates under an umbrella tree then somehow I washed my hair and had a good scrub under the bucket shower. I have never felt so refreshed.

Our game ride that afternoon led us to a leopard. He was flat out under a tree and almost impossible to make out, but Bibi with his eagle eyes saw the twitch of an ear and a flick of a tail. Thank God for binoculars is all I can say.

That night a pride of lions walked past in front of our campsite. I slept like a log. I must be getting used to this.

The dawn broke with the squawking of the collared doves, and the sun eventually rose on John’s Special Birthday. He was quite a picture with designer stubble and his ‘cleanest dirty shirt’ and blue shorts that are about ready to leap into the nearest washing machine, but somehow his wild-man look blended well with his surroundings.

We did go on an early game drive as Kreecher and Matcher packed up our tents. We drove out on to the plain and I viewed the wide empty grasslands where wildebeest and impala were grazing. We saw other jeeps had stopped further along the road and we saw why. The King of Beasts himself, in all his splendour, sat erect and regal, as though holding court. It was as though the world press of different nations had gathered to snap and record his every move.

Finally, he stood and strutted along the road, paused and turned towards our truck and and walked past John, and as he did he turned his head and looked up into his eyes. John felt he had to look away first! Then the lion sauntered on and lay down amongst the lionesses, who were resting in the shade of some trees.

Deeper in the undergrowth we saw the leader of the pride, an older scarred male.

Bibi thought that this King would be due a leadership contest very soon. In the meantime, a lioness was stalking a lone wildebeest and warthog out on the open grassland.

She took her time, creeping ever closer and we all willed her to make the kill. We were like a bloodthirsty mob, we watched, we waited. She moved closer. But – the wildebeest caught her scent and shot off like a bullet and so the lioness turned to the more modest prize. She sprang at the warthog and chased for about ten metres before giving up. Her killing skills are to stalk, pounce then go for the jugular, apparently. Endurance running is just not her forte.

Nonchalantly she turned away and padded back to her waiting photographers. I was amazed. Why had she no fear of the trucks? It seems she sees them as harmless things that pose no threat. I couldn’t believe it when she walked towards our vehicle and turned and walked down by the side I was sitting. I could have reached down and stroked her. It would have been my last act on earth as any contact is seen by her as an act of aggression. So – no Joy Adamson experience for moi!

The journey to Moremi was like riding a bucking bronco. I sat forward holding the seats in front and keeping my back straight, forcing my core muscles to support my spine. My Pilates teacher would have been proud.

We passed wide empty plains with winter grasses of pale lemon and bleached straw stubble strewed the ground. The wild sage was like perfume, the scent suffusing the car. Along the way we passed an umbrella tree – all alone and seemed to symbolise Africa. I blinked my eyes to capture the image.

We passed elephants bathing, submerging themselves and showering and drinking and blowing. It was a wonderful sight, the baby trying hard to emulate his mighty superiors.

Further along hippos wallowed and grunted and lay about in the sun.

Hornbills flew about and a martial eagle soared above us. We finally arrived at our new location. The camp was set up, the tents in position and we took turns to shower. I discovered that the zipper of one of the toilet tents had broken. It was actually quite nice; it was the room with the view. On one occasion I had the privilege of seeing two kudu pass by as I was doing what I had to do! Outside was an elephant footprint. I was quite bemused, and hoped it would not choose to pass this way again any time soon.

The afternoon was set aside to rest. It was heaven. Bibi cooked an amazing beef stew with vegetables and we had his speciality desert, tinned fruit salad, complete with cherry. The night was dark, the stars were so bright and the milky way was like a soft swathe of cobwebs. That night Bibi told us our bedtime stories of experiences he has had over the last twenty years as a guide. Of a lion attacking a hippo, and the hippo running towards the water with the lion on his back. As he splashed the lion leapt off and the hippo had ‘gained another day on this beautiful earth.’

He admitted he hates snakes; he is very afraid of them. Once one got in his car and a head popped up whilst he was driving. It kept disappearing until it finally emerged just by the gear stick. He managed to stop the car and throw a towel over it and then throw towel and snake out of the door. His own mother had died because a snake being in her car whilst she was driving. She panicked and drove off the road and died in the crash.

He also had an unwelcome encounter in a shower. A snake slithered under the door so he scrambled up and over the wall, badly cutting his hip. Needless to say the snake had skedaddled. Bibi did reassure us that, although the snakes are starting to waken from their winter hibernation, it would be unlikely that we would see one. Let’s hope he is right.

And so to bed. No sounds of lions roaring. We left the top flaps of the tent open and we gazed up at the full moon, the brightest stars and the cloudy swathe of the Milky Way. I asked John if he had had a good birthday.

‘The best,’ he said – ‘Who could have wished for more?’

Goodnight moon.

Chobe River Camp in Chobe National Park – WILD camping.

We left the Riverfront Hotel in Zambia when it was dark. We were wrapped up in jackets and hats as it was freezing. We drove past the dusty villages outside Livingstone, then after about an hour, we arrived at the border where Immigration proved quite a challenge. ‘Where is your form, why haven’t you filled in the form?’ Thank God for Bibi, who took all the new changes in his stride. ‘Just fill in the form, do as they say, don’t worry.’

Huge trucks lined the road, a ferry awaited our vehicle, but passengers had to go on a motor launch. After the tensions of passport control we finally boarded and we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of the Zambezi River. On our left was Zimbabwe, where I took a photo of an ant hill, on our right was Namibia, behind us was Zambia and ahead was glorious Botswana.

We had more queues for Immigration and struggles to get to the front of the line. All I can say is thank goodness again for Bibi. On my own I would still be standing there in a well-mannered way.

When he had collected ‘his flock’ we hurtled on our way, calling into supermarkets called Choppies and Spar (!) and then after half an hour of further driving he pulled over and reduced the pressure in the tyres. We would not be on tarmac for another 7 days. Only sandy tracks and deep potholes as we would soon find out. We had bought enough water to last and Bibi had bought the food for all our meals. He would not only be our driver but our cook as well.

I was also getting used to his bedtime stories. Last night in Zambia he told us that he had never tasted alcohol. He watched us all glug the beer and wine and he told us of how most of his classmates were now in a 6’deep hole in the ground. They had partied with drink and gone with women and now all had died of HIV/Aids. Botswana had been one of the worst countries affected by this pandemic and had seen the life expectancy fall from 65 to 35 years of age.

We entered the park and drove into deep wilderness. On our way we passed a pride of lions flat out under a tree, a mere stone’s throw from our vehicle.  They were dead to the world. Above them were vultures. There had been a serious kill. We photographed the sleeping beauties then drove on.

I did not really know what to expect. I think I had ideas of a compound or something with a fence around, a fire and a guard. Not so. We had trees and bushes and Bibi, who was not armed. We also had two camp retainers call Kreetcher and Matcher, who erected the tents and set everything out, and dug the ‘long drop’ toilets (that were not that long to be truthful). This was WILD camping. No barriers between ‘them’ and our camp comprising little tents in a semi circle, a dining table laid out under an awning, two loo tents and two ‘bucket shower’ tents. I hadn’t quite envisaged that it would be so BASIC.

As we were getting acquainted with our surroundings suddenly about thirty elephants marched passed. We all stood stock still. I looked at John and we both mouthed, ‘Oh my God!’

After the lunch that Bibi had cooked over a wood fire (tuna pasta and salad with cold meats and cheese) we settled into our tent and unpacked our sleeping bags.

At four we set off on our first game safari. Here in Chobe, the largest collection of elephants in Africa reside. There are about 35,000 and over the next few days we were going to see hundreds.

Bibi drove us down to the river and we viewed buffalo, goliath herons, and dainty impala darting through the grass;  as we photographed a very photogenic kudu,

the bushes rustled and out lumbered the largest bull elephant with three females in attendance. He looked at our truck, and instead of plodding on to the water where the egrets and hippos were wallowing he turned instead to us. He obviously had taken a dislike to our vehicle, maybe saw it as a threat so he came round to the driver’s side, his massive ears flared out and his trunk went out like a rigid pole. Bibi immediately revved his engine and reversed. He stopped. The elephant conceded the respect shown to him and continued on his way to the river. We were very scared, and rightly so. Bibi said he could have charged.

We drove around in search of the lions we had seen earlier but to no avail. The sun was setting, the dead trees were stark against the sky, the vultures were silhouetted on their branches.

Bibi drove one more time along the shore path when suddenly one of the men on our group called, ‘Stop! – behind us!’ And Bibi turned, Oh my God! A pride of lions ambled down and sat by our car. The cubs went ahead with one female and frolicked in the shallow water, the young male sat quiet and two females came out of the bush, obviously limping. Another female had a deep gash on her shoulder. It had been a serious encounter, Bibi thought. Either a buffalo or a male elephant.

Darkness fell and we sat around the campfire and drank beer. Above us were about a million stars and the fullest of moons. The planets were lined up. Venus was in line with Jupiter and immediately above Jupiter was Mars. Taurus was out and I saw a shooting star and naturally I wished.

Beyond the light of the campfire was the night – inky and intense and we were so tuned in to the noises:  squawking, shrieks, and a rustling.

Bibi instructed us about safety. He carried no guns, and if we should need to use the facilities in the night we should just go behind the tent, but first search the area with a flash light.

Later in our little cot beds, wrapped up in our sleeping bags we were horrified to suddenly hear the roar of a lion. We felt so vulnerable.

Then much later when John’s snores had joined all the other noises of the night at around 1 a.m., I so needed to visit the back of the tent. But then I heard a rustling outside, and something started to attack the bag of empty cans, then I heard the light tread of four feet pass by John’s side of the tent. No way was I going outside, flash light or not!

In the morning Bibi told us a honey badger and perhaps a jackal had been scavenging around. The morning safari revealed the honey badger in the flesh.

He is the cutest creature I have seen for a while. But – apparently not so. That sweet little creature is the only one that can bring down an elephant. It has a bite like a vice and the victim will just bleed to death. I do remember reading a book by Robert Ruark of the same name, where he described the honey badger:

‘There is a bloody brave little animal in Africa called the Honey Badger. It may be the meanest animal in the world. It kills for malice and for sport, and it does not go for the jugular – it goes straight for the groin. It has a lot in common with the modern American woman.’

• Alec Barr, hero of The Honey Badger

As we drove on we came across a huge migration of  buffalo, safe in  their numbers.

 In the afternoon John and I went on a river cruise on the Chobe River with Richard as our guide. The river was wide and beautiful, across from the shore is Namibia and in the centre is an island where elephants and hippos and crocs laze about.

Richard believed he was best friends with the elephants and he ran his boat upon the sand so he could observe a group of four more closely. Imagine my horror, my blood pressure and the adrenalin charge when a huge beast came towards us and started waving his trunk. He stood right beside the boat and proceeded to give us a personal show of all the tricks he could do with this amazing trunk.

He could jiggle it this way and that, swoosh water around, itch behind his ears, and suck half the river up for a good drink. After that performance he suddenly raised his ears to their maximum width and I became panicked, remembering last night, and had visions of us being crushed, capsized, bitten in half by hippos and demolished by crocs and I started to shake. But Richard laughed, ‘He’s like a good heart doctor isn’t he? Keeps the heart beating! Look how friendly he is, very relaxed, see how he is crossing his back legs?’ HA HA!

John snapped a pic of me and I of him, both of us strapped into life jackets and then I was so grateful when we heard the engine start and we were off.

We watched the elephants swim across to the island. They were like giant stepping stones. Not to mention the hippos, flat out like boulders.

Then Richard manoeuvred the boat around and we came across a lone buffalo, an elderly chap preferring not to live with the herd but to take his retirement easily and munch the soft river grasses.

Not only are the big cats his enemies but his very own immune system. He will eventually die of some infection, but as Richard said, ‘By living quietly, he has gained one more day on this wonderful earth.’

John photographed snake birds, cormorants and egrets, pied and malachite kingfishers, cranes and storks.

The birds were so prolific; our heads were snapping on their necks to keep up. The only time Richard was impatient was when we wanted to photograph the hippos on the shore. One huge mass of lard lay in the sunshine, and beside him lay a crocodile in perfect companionship. I could imagine some film by Disney with the two evil characters plotting and planning together. But beside the pair on land were four more in the water. Richard, like Bibi, said he couldn’t trust them at all. They were wily and would have us tipped in a minute. I was happy to hear the boat rev up.

On the way back to the camp we swung back along our stretch of river. The sun had set and a parade of elephants marched along in single file, with the baby getting in everyone’s way. Magical moments.

That night after dinner Bibi told us lion stories, of how they pad through the camps on occasion, but we were not to worry. He told us how they slice the belly of their dead prey and remove the intestines as that preserves the meat for a little longer. A need to know fact I feel.

John zipped us in securely. We lay listening to the sounds of the night and just before I slept I heard a great roar coming from behind the toilets. If I shut my eyes, I thought it will go away.

Zambia – The River Lodge Hotel

What bliss, a lovely room, hot shower and a beautiful tropical outlook.

We were glad to relax, as we had endured an epic ten and half hour journey through Namibia. The road was so straight that there were signs depicting an arrow to indicate a gentle turn left or right. Probably to remind those on auto drive to turn. The scenery was dull, prickly bushes and trees lined the way, and it was not until we had crossed the border with Zambia that we all woke up. We endured a 100km of hell. There were pot holes the size of small cars, and Bibi had to constantly veer off the road itself in order to have some surface on which to drive. We held on, as we were jiggled about and everyone was just so relieved to see the sign for Livingstone.

We ate breakfast by the Zambezi River with silly monkeys in the tree fronds above us. The others in the group had elected to take helicopter rides but John and I decided to give that option a miss and instead went on the more traditional tour of the Victoria Falls. We gaped at the sheer splendour of it and read of how David Livingstone had seen it first from afar, huge plumes of spray. He declared that until man discovered it, it was there for only the angels to share.

We saw the bridge built across the gorge, where many had lost their lives during the construction.

The falls themselves were magnificent but for us in the late winter/early spring season we did not see it in its full glory. I imagine the full deluge would be quite a different spectacle.

Back at the hotel we rested until it was time for the rhino tour in the Mosi-Oa-Tunya reserve. It is one of the smallest reserves and does have elephants, but no lions. Apparently they need miles and miles in which to wander about in.

Our guide for the afternoon was a lovely enthusiastic fellow called Mukwesa, who, as we discovered, was an absolute fount of knowledge.

Before going on this walking safari we were joined by ‘our protector’, a conscientious chap in a dark green uniform and armed with an AK47 slung over his shoulder.

He led us all in single file as we marched through the reserve. The ground was dry and dusty, evil thorny plants threatened every step and all the time Mukwesa lectured us on the various properties of the animal dung that we were passing. He waxed lyrical about elephant dung and we hung on his every word. Who knew that a spoonful of elephant dung, mixed up with water was the answer to a baby’s colic and would provide peaceful sleep? Who knew that the natural anti bacterial traces in all the leaves it eats helps combat many stomach ailments? Who knew that it is good for nosebleeds?  Poachers unfortunately know that slathering themselves in the dung of a female in season will attract a bull in an amorous mood. He would not be aggressive and so of course would be much easier to kill.

As for zebra dung, well you can just forget firelighters for the barbecue, the zebra poo is the one for you. Perfect shiny black stones and very inflammable.

Anyway we trooped along, and looking about me I suddenly felt very vulnerable out in the wild with only the AK47 to protect me from mambas and puff adders as well as rampaging elephant, or worse, the Cape Buffalo. Mukwesa informed us that this buffalo is extremely aggressive, takes no prisoners and the only way to escape is to shin up a tree and stay there. Seeing some of the trees about I had my doubts of ever clambering up any of those very nimbly.

The Cape Buffalo is one of the Famous Five, a ‘trophy animal’ that hunters would shoot and hang the head above their fireplaces.

The sun was high and it was hot. We stopped to look at a funnel web spider’s nest, a lion ant’s hole, and he gallantly shooed away a spider hunting wasp.

All the time he would punctuate his observations with ‘need to know’ information. I was fascinated to learn the little-known facts about the Mopani tree, with its butterfly shaped leaves. It is a great favourite with the elephants but the tree has evolved a cunning plan with which to protect itself. When the elephant starts to munch on the leaves, the tree produces tannin, and the bitterness makes the elephant quite sick. Then the tree sends the tannin through the root system to the next tree that might be targeted. It is like a well rehearsed conspiracy. As a result, the Mopani tree stands full of foliage, quite protected.

Local men make use of the Mopani tree as well. They cut the thin sinewy branches, scrape off the leaves and bark and then pound the pulp to paste. They mix it with water and drink the mixture. It has a wonderful effect on their virility, and is commonly known as the ‘Is it really you?’ potion! HA HA!!

A herd of zebra galloped past, followed by a group of breeding impala. We learnt from our knowledgeable friend that if we got lost we need not worry but should just consult the weaver birds’ nests. They always build on the west side of the tree. I kept my eye on the numerous natural markers and plodded on.

Suddenly we came upon a load of fresh dung and dutifully huddled around it listening to Mukwesi. What story would he tell?

But no – he whispered instead, and pointed, and there behind us were two white rhino. Oh my God! As close as 20’ and we could make out every inch of them, every crinkle and even stare into their peering eyes.

Quietly we watched them and snapped photos and then moved away, only to see six to eight more, but not so close. Mukwesi pointed out a baby born in March this year. He did stress that these rhinos were not as aggressive as their black counterparts.

How wonderful. We drove back along the Zambezi passing giraffe and a couple of ugly little warthog and a herd of Cape Buffalo.

Fortunately, we were in the jeep so no need to shin up a tree. We passed a graveyard that held the bones of Englishmen who perished in building the bridge at the Falls in 1905.

Mukwesi leapt down from the jeep and plucked some wild basil seeds and the perfume was pungent, reminiscent of lavender and eucalyptus.

Just before we left the park Mukwesi spied a water monitor lizard and advised us, very seriously, to avoid eating its bones as they are toxic. We were quite bemused by this, but apparently the creature itself is a delicacy here in Zambia. Water monitors are a great asset to the river eco system, as they eat the eggs of crocodiles, so are very important in keeping the population of crocs in proportion.

Just as we were turning away from the river, Mukwesi spied the most beautiful bird, a lilac breasted roller. It is the national bird of Botswana, so like us it was on its holidays in Zambia for a couple of days.

Night fell. We showered and washed the sand and dirt from our feet, passed the signs of ‘Beware of Crocodiles’ beside our chalet, and made for the restaurant. Cold beers and fillet of bream awaited, then finally the mosquito net.

Goodnight white rhino, goodnight Makwesi, the boy who learnt all his knowledge from his tracker grandfather. Goodnight.

From Maun to the Okavango Delta

We are home, we are safe but most of all we are CLEAN! Who would have thought that that would have been such a priority? For two weeks we had sporadic use of the internet, but mostly I didn’t care. My ears became attuned to bird song, hippo grunts and the intense pervading smell of wild sage. I did keep a journal and I will now draw from that, as it has the immediacy of the impressions as they happened.

Jet lagged and hot, it was bliss to stretch out on a proper bed and sleep. I had no preconceptions about Botswana, just knew that it was a landlocked country about the size of France or Texas and was given over to 80% desert, the Kalahari. Thanks to Alexander McCall Smith and his ‘Number 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency’ books I had developed an affectionate affiliation with Madame Ramotswe and her friend from the Speedy Motors Garage. So it was nice to be welcomed at the hotel by a young woman ‘of traditional build’ who introduced herself as: ‘My name is Precious and please help yourself to a glass of orange squash.’

Bibi, our professional guide, had us up with the cockerels the following morning and on the road very smartly. Our safari vehicle was like an open sided truck and our luggage was attached to a squeaky trailer behind. Before leaving Maun we called into a petrol station and were served by a fetching young woman in a red ski hat, big parka jacket and gold ballet slippers. She was quite flirtatious and had an infectious laugh.

The countryside zoomed past, winter fields and leafless trees, colours of sand and pale gold grasses. We saw cylindrical houses daubed in mud with thatched roofs huddled behind twigged fences. Everything seemed brushed and tidy and the kilometres whizzed past. We swerved to avoid donkeys, goats and cows, and I saw a group of small children and a baby goat in silhouette, sitting under a tree. It was all so domestic and peaceful.

We did have a puncture and I was secretly glad as it meant a welcome visit to the African bush, with spikey acacia burrs drawing blood from my unprotected feet. I was glad of the ‘comfort stop’ and being so close to the trees and seeing the collection of weaver birds’ nests hanging like straw baskets from the branches. The heat was burning on my back.

Further on, we came to a dead cow, red and bleeding by the roadside. Clustered beside it were about 40 vultures, their wings giving the impression of Presbyterian ministers in their long black gowns, their heads all jutting out in unison. They might have been paying their respects, though I think they were waiting for a sign, of ‘let’s eat’. It seemed so sinister. Suddenly I felt as though I really was in Africa.

Three hundred and seventy-five kilometres from the start of our journey we approached a small township with signs advertising the ‘Save Me Restaurant’ and ‘The Stunning Salon’ and a shop that sold ‘God Knows’. The car came off the tarmac and hit sand. We drove towards the water and there before us was the mighty Okavango River and our very own houseboat which would be home for the next three nights. Cabins were basic and ensuite.

From the decks we watched the riverbank slip by, slowly, slowly, and the river widened and the tall grasses shielded all other signs of life. We passed crocodiles lazing on the banks, some small and slender with bright green and yellow scales and some very large and very very long. I was a little disconcerted when our driver moored the boat with its nose embedded in a sand bank. I thought it looked like a perfect welcome gangplank for a hungry croc. After dinner we retired early and duly sprayed our cabins with a good dose of ‘DOOM’ to kill any mosquitos and bugs. We slept, alone on the delta, miles and miles from any civilization.

In the morning we took the small launch and left the houseboat, and returned down the river to where we had set off and got into the truck. We were headed for the intriguing and sacred World Heritage Site of the Tsodilo Hills. The San Bushman believe that this was the site of the first creation and painted an astonishing 4000 rock paintings to celebrate this. The journey to the hills was sandy once we left the tarmac reminding us that Botswana is so covered by the Kalahari desert. Many years ago I watched a film called ‘The Gods Must Be Crazy’ about a bushman who found a coke bottle dropped from an over head aeroplane. The bottle caused him no end of speculation as to what it was and how he could get rid of it.

Today our guide was Bo, a member of the San Bushmen tribe and he spoke in their wonderful way, clicking with his tongue.

Walking along he pointed out the ‘paper bark tree’ that was so important to the bushmen.

For in spring time, tubers at the end of the tree’s roots become the main delicacy of certain pupae. The men would dig these grubs up and squeeze the poisonous juice from the bodies and coat the ends of their arrows. Then they would shoot an animal, and force it to run so that the poison would enter the blood stream and not into the meat. I absorbed all this with such passion.  Who knows when one might need some powerful assassin poison! The branches of this tree are also very good for rubbing to ignite a flame.

He also chatted about the baobab tree, and we learnt that from those roots, ropes can be made and the seeds when ground down make very good coffee. My goodness at this rate I might be able to survive!

Our mission after the small tutorials was to walk up the Female mountain (divorced from the Male mountain a hundred thousand years ago) and see the rock paintings, depicting giraffe, eland, rhino and elephant. The dyes they used were mixed with animal fat, urine and ash. Powerful stuff to have lasted this long.

Laurens Van der Post visited the site in 1965 and scrambled up the rocks to photograph a depiction of a giraffe. That night he found his camera had seized up and he was told that his intrusion had made the spirits of the mountain angry. So to appease the angry spirits he wrote a letter of apology and put it in a bottle and presented it to the mountain. Amazingly his camera miraculously worked. Laurens had named this sacred site ‘The Louvre of Africa’.

We climbed in the heat of the midday sun (as only the British can do) and came to the top of the mountain and gazed over the plains. I could see what a good strategic place it was for tribes of yore to hang out.

There were huge caves for shelter, and even a natural water borehole.

The scramble down was downright dangerous. I spent most of it on my derriere, clawing from tree root to rock hold. It was a miracle that none of us slipped or sprained anything. The spirits must have been happy with us, even though we photographed the wonderful etchings.

The return to the boat was a welcome haven. There was a breeze and we sailed further up the river. We came to ground, the gangplank again in place for any intruders and we found that we had been joined by a group of hippos. They grunted and growled all through Bibi’s evening chat. I listened to a brief synopsis of Botswana, how its wealth comes from diamonds, cattle and tourism. The Orapa mine is the largest diamond mine in the world. I listened to the love story of a black lawyer, educated in England and who fell in love with a white girl whom he married. His folks back in Botswana were furious, and would not let him return. Seretse Khama and Ruth Williams were exiled for five years until he returned to Botswana and became its first president in 1964 and led the country to independence in 1966. Now in 2016 his son, Ian Khama is the current president, half black and half white and the country is stable and its economy is growing. Nice love story before bed.

The next morning saw us off again on the little launch, this time steered by Bibi, carefully manoeuvring through the hippos.  We photographed their great heads and twitching ears and listened to their sonorous growls and bellows.

Bibi was quite emphatic about giving them a wide berth. Apparently they are very dangerous and not to be trusted. He revved up the motor when he saw two heads pop up behind us and four others dive and reappear on the other side of the boat. They are only good to look at from afar!

John was in heaven as Bibi pointed out the birds we passed. There were sacred ibis,

black egrets looking as though they were squatting under umbrellas as their heads were down foraging in the water beneath their spread wings. We saw a goliath heron, huge and mighty, yet supported on such spindly legs. I was seriously impressed when it took off and we saw its wingspan. It looked like a small aeroplane.

We saw yellow billed storks, pied kingfishers, African darters or snake birds and the exquisite metallic turquoise colour of the cape glossy starling.

Fish eagles perched on branches and some even were poised on the river bank,

and the very very rare Pels fish owl that ornithologists come to the Okavango Delta specially to see, posed on a tree just for us. It is only ever seen here and we were very lucky.

Crocodiles sunned themselves, egrets showed off their yellow feet, and white breasted cormorants stood amidst a family of helmeted guinea foul.

We came back and the afternoon was hot and we rested. Our cabin door was open and several wire-tailed swallows came to perch on the boat’s matting.

The river glittered and I fell into a deep sleep.

In the evening we set off for a sunset cruise on the small launch but this time in the opposite direction. The malachite kingfisher flashed its colours and flitted to the bank where scores of bee-eaters rested on a tree beside the nesting holes of the pied kingfisher.

We left them to it, and putted on down river, passing the crocs with their terrible smiles whilst lurking beside the tall reeds.

Our guide, Randal, stopped the motor and all was still. We savoured the silence and the quiet river. But then we heard crunching noises, grasses being pulled and he cocked his head, ‘Elephant,’ he whispered. To our horror he manoeuvred the boat into a small channel surrounded by dead trees and papyrus grasses. Randal jumped out and waded through the mud and clambered up to the grasses themselves.

We all suddenly felt alone and vulnerable. What if a hippo topples us? What if a croc was lurking nearby? To cheer myself up I took an arty shot of the setting sun.

Then Randal returned and he revved up the engine and we escaped the potential death trap and out we came on the the wide delta again. I felt calmer and was content to look at the birds, but Randal was on a mission. He brought the boat upon to the sandbank and cut the engine and we listened. The scrunchy noises grew louder and suddenly the grasses parted and out of the feathery papyrus stepped my first massive bull elephant. He came close, then the grasses parted and three others appeared. They all stood, so majestic with their colossal ears spread wide and it seemed as though they were saying, ‘Welcome my friends – welcome to Africa.’

We packed up that night, as we would be leaving the Okavango Delta at dawn the next day. John ‘doomed’ the room, and we lay listening to the river noises. Sometime in the dead of night I woke up and heard a sonorous growl then a grunt and the boat rocked. ‘A hippo,’ I thought, ‘Thank God I am not in a canoe.’