We pack up early morning when everything is still wet from the dew. It has been a long time since we had that, with Namibia and Botswana being very dry. We drive towards the main road on a dirt track and give a ride to a local carpenter. When we reach the tar road he thanks us profusely. “ That saves me about an hour walk!” He says smiling. “ Almost everyone in Zimbabwe walks from A to B and we just take that time for granted. I left at 5 o’clock this morning.” We turn onto the highway and drive the last 30km to Bulawayo.
On our way we see a few police road blocks, but they all wave us through without stopping. In the city we get a Zimbabwean simcard for our phone. We park the car opposite the company right on a busy intersection. I stay with the car for a while to check out the situation while Helga crosses the street to get the simcard. I look at the oncoming traffic: overloaded trucks, pick-ups filled with workers and very old buses packed skilfully on the top.
The traffic comes to a stop when the light changes from green to red. Cars that are in a hurry still try to squeeze through even though the green light is long gone. Luckily, traffic starts again so slowly that it doesn’t create any dangerous situations. I’m just glad there are barely any motorcycle drivers here.
The car gets some attention, but not a lot. Every once in a while people will slow down while they walk past and look at our signs on the side of the car. I’m sitting on the grass opposite the car and from the other side of the road I can see Helga returning from her sim card mission. She crosses the first street in a group of people and has to wait again for the next red light. I can see her looking at her phone that she just connected to the internet in the telephone store. The light is green again and she crosses the last street before she gets to the car. The moment she reaches the sidewalk it seems like she doesn’t see the curb. She trips and I can see one of her flip flops sailing through the air before landing on the sidewalk where she ends up herself too. Before I can even react, I see two black arms hold on to her and lift her back on her feet. When she reaches the car I can see that she has some nasty cuts on her knees and big toe. We get out our Adventure Medical Kit yet again in Africa and bandage up the wounds. “ Maybe you should wear shoes next time we are in a city,” I tell her, she nods, “and knee and shin protection”, she answers sarcastically.
A little abashed by what happened, we drive towards Matobo National Park where we have to pay a small fortune of $47 to enter and camp. While driving through the park we become even more quiet. A steep dirt road leads us over a mountain ridge to get to the dam where our campsite is. The drive is very technical and large boulders lie haphazardly over the “road” so that we need to engage low gear 4wd. A couple of times we have to drive around fallen trees. I look at Helga and say: “ I don’t think a lot of cars drive this road.” Eventually we reach the end of the road which ends in a t-junction. When we look back to the “road” we came from we see a sign (that wasn’t there when we entered from the other side) that says: Road Closed. Well, that explains that. We find our campspot, cook our meal and crawl into our tent before it’s dark.
It is early morning when we fold up our tent. I’m standing on the roof and I can feel that the day is slowly starting to warm up. I swing the cover over the packed down tent. My head is still hurting a bit, it is too early and I celebrated my 33rd birthday yesterday. An empty bar, filled with several wobbly bar stools. You really have to keep your head together while sitting on them. The bar itself is made from nailed together railway tracks. It is so wide that it is impossible to shake hands with the bartender, a coloured man with long straightened blond hair and gleaming bracelets. As a surprise for my birthday, he pushes two shot glasses of tequila our way, while keeping one for himself. He clearly takes every opportunity to have a drink himself. One of the cheap plastic shot glasses gets stuck in the deep lines of the wooden bar and the tequila finds its way quickly down the bar onto the floor. His hands dive under the bar and come up with an old rag of a tea towel with indistinguishable colours. He wipes the bar quickly before pouring new tequila, while we half expected him to wring the tequila-soaked tea towel over the glass. He firmly grabs hold of the small glass and says: “Cheers, to your birthday! You will have to imagine the salt and lemon, because I don’t have any!” Helga, who is not a fan of alcohol and who really tries to make my birthday a memorable one, takes her cue and says: “but we do!” before running to the car and coming back with the salt grinder and a lemon. An elderly man, trying to mount one of the wobble barstools says: “ you guys did bring everything with you on this trip, didn’t you?”. He kind of reminds me of a drunken cowboy trying to get on his horse. The three of us quickly grab our shots from the bar and drown them with the salt and lemon. The people around me haven’t known me for longer than a few hours. One year ago I celebrated my birthday on Bali, the year before that in Perth, Western Australia with new friends. I climb down the roof rack, fasten the ladder on the side of the car and sit down in the driver’s seat. Everything is covered in dust from the past few weeks. I get the map out, which colours have clearly faded and is covered in notes and tears. I unfold it and trace our proposed route. We are on our way to the border with Zimbabwe. I scan the possible route on the map and set the Garmin to our final destination of the day.We reach the border just when the sun is past its highest point. In front us is a large bus filled with passengers and emitting a lot of black smoke. The driver clearly knows where to go and drops his passengers in front of the customs office. We park our car next to him, walk inside and also get in line. 45 Minuets later and we’re stamped out of Botswana and are on our way to the Zimbabwean border: Plumtree.
We’re being send from desk to desk, but eventually we acquire all the stamps needed to drive into Zimbabwe. We decide to drive on until the last light and find a camp right before Bulawayo. When we drive up we find out that the gate to the campsite is locked and there is no one around. We wait for a little while and honk our horn, but eventually decide to pitch up the tent along side the fence of the campground, 18 Augustus, 2016The next day we meet the caretaker of the campground, Vincent, a very friendly Zimbabwean. Full of pride he shows us around the campsite and he is so disappointed that he missed us the evening before that we decide to stay another day. We make a small fire where we bake our bread and make dinner. The sun sets while the full moon rises from behind the rolling hills. It lights up the campground the entire night.
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It looks like fog, the dust behind our car when we drive out of Maun, onto the dirt road full of potholes towards the well known national parks Chobe and Moremi. We drive onto a drive way to let our tires down. I walk around the car and by the time I am full circle there are four children of different ages and sizes staring into the back of our car. I tell them something in English, but I’m not getting any response, while they do talk busily amongst themselves. I wonder what they are looking at. The back of the car is not that interesting…some crates, a fridge and two drawers. I walk towards the back door and close it, feeling like I am closing a safe filled with gold. The children walk away disappointed. With a loud hissing noise I deflate the last two tires before we continue the drive.
Our deflated tires let us drive considerably faster and more comfortable now. We’re relaxing in our seats and we see the breathtaking surroundings pass us by. We take the road off the main road and follow the tracks left by previous cars which will lead us to the lodge we will stay at. There is dense vegetation on the side of the road and the sun is setting which creates shadow patches on the road. From behind one of these shadows a giant elephant steps onto the road ahead of us. I’m just in time to hit the brake full on and Helga, who was looking at the map when it happened, is startled by this and looks up. She gets a second scare when she sees the enormous elephant in front of us. The 5000 kg animal is just as scared by us apparently and quickly makes a turn before it storms off into the bushes it came from. It leaves behind a path of destruction, broken down branches and trampled plants. It takes a while before my heart rate is back to normal and Helga is settled back into her seat. Very slowly we continue our way towards the lodge.
The safari lodge consists of luxurious canvas safari tents. We are warmly welcomed by the staff of Mogotlho Lodge and get some information on the area of the lodge. We quickly drop our bags on the crispy white bed linen before we get into our car again to check out the concession area belonging to the lodge for more animals. We see waterbucks, impalas, elephant and buffalos. When we drive back we pass a young male elephant. The moment it is behind us Helga hears a trumpeting and looks behind. In her rearview mirror she can see the male running towards us: “Drive. NOW,” she says, “we are being chased.” Luckily, it decides to change its mind when we drive away quickly.
Back at the lodge we share our elephant stories around the campfire. The next day, one of the guys who works at the lodge, joins us on a game drive. They call him Bingo, and we believe that is because he has a lucky eye for spotting animals. He directs us to a narrow track along the river and we see: giraffes, elephants, hippos and crocodiles. During our drive with Bingo we meet another male elephant in the middle of the road who tries to come at us. Bingo teaches us to wait and drive on at the right moment. The elephant breaks off his attempt, turns around and heads for the bush again. The next morning, we just woke up and look through our fly mesh windows when we see an elephant coming right towards our tent. We both dive into the space between the two single beds and crouch to the floor. The tent was set up under the shade of a large tree and the trunk sits about 20 cm from the tent itself. The elephant heads straight for that tree, trunk rolled up and tusks on both sides, and it rams the tree. The tree gives in slightly and we can see its impression in the canvas tent. We can hear a shower of branches and nuts landing on the tent. The elephant, who towers over the tent, is not yet satisfied with the results and goes for it again. We crouch even lower between the beds and smell the distinct smell of male elephant: We feel the impact against the tree: bang, bang. He’s now searching the ground around the tent with his trunk for the nuts. We keep very still, hearts beating in our chest, marveling about how close we are to this wild animal. http://www.mogotlhosafarilodge.co.za
It is six o’clock when the alarm goes off. From underneath a pile of blankets I can see a hand, quick as lightning, reach for the phone before they both dissapear underneath the blankets again. The last rings are muffled sounds before it stops all together. My foot pokes out from underneath my own blankets and I’m struggling to get it back under. It is about 5 degrees Celsius, still dark and we are about to embark on a Delta trip offered to us by Delta Rain (www.deltarain.com). Very quickly I gather my warmest clothes. I’m in such a hurry that my shirt is in side out the first time, then backwards before I’m finally dressed. Slowly, I’m starting to feel warm again. We have a quick breakfast at the restaurant, which was warm when it left the kitchen, but has already cooled down by the time it reaches our table. Nothing they can do about that during the African winters.
A Landrover with a safari unit built on the back takes us down a sandy track to the main road. The cold air blows straight through the car and the driver wears, just like us, a lot of clothes in layers. It is now 7.30 and the sun is working really hard to warm things up around us. We reach the hotel where we pick up the rest of the group. We meet the friendly mixed group of travellers, who greet us very warmly, and although this doesn’t do much for the temperature, it sure makes us feel welcome. The car is now fully loaded and we continue on through the city centre of busy Maun. Eventually we leave the tar again and the last part we get to hobble through potholes and sand again. We reach an open area where we can see the river and spot the Mokoros for the first time. A Mokoro is a small, narrow boat that looks like a canoe and is pushed by a “poler” who stands on the stern with a very long pole. The Mokoros used to be carved out of trees, but nowadays they are made out of the more tree friendly glass fiber. I see Helga looking doubtful at the small boat. Will that carry the two of us, our backpacks and the Poler? She inches carefully onto the back of the boat and I sit down in front of her. Sara, our poler for this trip, is a slim and fit girl and with her pole she pushes the boat forward as we are gliding through the shallow waters. It takes Helga a little while, but eventually she also gets enough confidence in the balance of the boat to enjoy the beautiful scenery and absolute quiet.
The Okavango Delta has a dense vegetation and will be under water for a large part of the year. The terrain is often uneven en the parts that are a bit higher will become islands in the wet season. We are visiting in between the wet and the dry season: there is enough water to be transported by a Mokoro, but the grass peaks stubbornly through the shallow waters. The Mokoros form a long line and glide effortlessly it almost seems. We reach an island in the middle of the delta where we can already see some sturdy canvas tents. A large tent in the middle with tables and chairs underneath gives us some protection from the sun, Africa is the land of opposites. This morning I was trying to layer my clothes as best as I could, but now I’m peeling them off while looking for cover from the intense sun.In the afternoon we get the chance to be a Poler ourselves and handle the Mokoros. After some attempts to balance ourselves and akwardly trying to position the pole, we all manage to glide around the Delta without anyone falling in. When we are leaving for a walk on another island a little while later there are hippos around. Everyone gladly leaves the poling to the professionals who expertly guide the narrow boats past a dozen hippos.
During the walk a guide tells us everything about the flora and fauna of this area, but we are not so lucky with spotting any animals. Just before dark we return to the camp and get to see a spectacular sunset from our Mokoro viewpoint. The cook is already waiting for us with a splendid three-course meal made on the camp fire. That evening we share travel stories, enjoy the fire and we get a performance from the local team with singing and dancing.
We go to bed early, try to close our tent as well as possible and do a final mosquito check before we snuggle under our many blankets.In the morning we see the sun come up during the sunrise walk around the island, before the Mokoros take us back to the main land. In our short Delta experience we came to love this mode of transportation. In all its quietness you truly get to enjoy the beauty of the Okavango Delta.
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The moon is still hanging in the now blue and red coloured sky. A grey, sandy track leads us out of Grootfontein, heading east. Dust blows up on both sides of the car and is carried away by the wind. Helga is driving. Her narrow fingers hold on tight to the steering wheel. I look at her and see a strong woman. A woman who has been traveling on my side for the past two years. Travel days filled with meeting new people and handling new situations.
The grey road keeps getting rougher, the uneven soil is now covered with sharp stones. Helga’s face tightens and I can see the muscles in her arms. Then suddenly, I can hear her holding her breath while she tries to keep the car straight. We can hear a loud “whhooosshh” coming from underneath the car. For a second I get a puzzled look from her before she turns her gaze onto the road again. “ Flat tyre!” I shout, “ Don’t break, let it roll out and find a flat, solid piece of ground to park”. A few seconds later we’re standing still and the car is leaning a lot to the left since it is parked on the side of the road. My door swings open easily while Helga has trouble opening hers due to the angle we are in. By now, it is very hot outside, We’re still in the middle of the road and hurry to get the safety triangles on it to warn oncoming traffic. I get the jack out of the back of the car, lift the car to get the flat tyre of the ground and level the car. We lift our spare tyre off the roof and replace the broken one fairly quick. By the time we get back in the car it is late in the afternoon. We stop under a Baobab tree that gives enough shade, put some coffee up on our old fuel stove and take a look at the map. Due to the flat tyre, we won’t be able to reach our planned destination, so we decide to find a suitable camping spot on the way. A zigzagging track leads us to an old farmhouse. It gives a rather forlorn impression. The fences have been trampled by cattle and the goats, dogs and chickens roam freely over the property. A large, black man, is leaning over a part of the fence that is still standing. Deep creases on his face show us his hard, but not yet long life. I shake his hand and I can feel the rawness of his callused hand, like a bear claw. I ask him if it is possible to camp on his terrain for the night. He nods and points at a corner far away from the house. Relieved we pitch up the tent before the sun sets. The next morning I walk to his house with a large bag of beans. He happily takes them and tells me about the previous, white, owner of the property who died. He and his brother now live here and try to run it. “We barely manage, but we are still happy”, he tells me. We drive on towards Tsumkwe. A long, winding and unsealed road leads us through the land of the San, a local tribe. They are also known as the bush-men. The San, which means foragers, is a collective name for a several tribes in Southern Africa. They consist of small communities of hunters and gatherers of edible plants. The tribes live in small huts made out of clay and grass. Next to the San, this area is also know for its Boabab trees. We’ve seen them for the first time in Australia. These trees will grow to be between 5 and 25 meters high and can have a extraordinary wide trunk. The tree holds water in these trunks during the wet season to survive the dry season. Because of its form, it kind of looks like the tree is up side down. An old legend says that the tree was thrown out of heaven as a punishment from the Gods and it landed upside down. They can get very old and will live through generations. Elephants eat the soft bark from the African Baobab and the baboons eat the fruits.
From Tsumkwe we drive towards Khaudum National Park. We have to adjust our tyre pressure in order to get through the long stretches of soft sand. Khaudum NP is a park in the Kalahari desert in the east of Namibia along the border with Botswana. In this remote spot the elephants, lions and hyenas truly live freely. We camp just inside the park in an open area among the trees. As soon as it gets dark we find our torches to get a good look around. We stay close to the campfire and burn our trash to prevent animals from being attracted to our scraps. The next morning we drive through the park. We take the most eastern route that follows the border with Botswana. The waterholes in the park are the main spots of animal activity in Khaudum. Contrary to parks like Etosha and Addo, the animals are clearly not used to vehicles passing through their territory. We have to be careful when we meet a group of male elephants. Males are abandoned by the group of females when they hit puberty. The males then form their own group usually led by a dominant, older male. Some of the males turn their heads towards us and start flapping their ears in a threatening way. They are clearly not happy to see us. Male elephants can be between 3500 and 5500 kilograms and don’t recoil for anything.We back up slowly to create a greater distance between us and the elephants until we notice they’re more relaxed. When the road is free again, we continue driving. It is a beautiful drive, but a very strenuous one. Navigating is difficult since not all the road are clearly marked on the map. The environment is changing constantly: loose sand, stones and thick vegetation. Heavy trucks have been driving on the same road as us and left their deep tracks for us to get through. We end up camping just outside the park. The next morning we start where we left off the night before. The soft tyres plough through the soft sand again. We are leaning very much to the right since only one of our tyres can follow the deep tracks from the 6×6 trucks, their tyres are too far apart for us to drive through both at the same time. Eventually we reach the tarmac of the B8 which leads us onto the Caprivi strip. We drive off the main road when we pass Mudumu NP. A long track full of potholes takes us to a small police office. Three heavily armed officers come walking our way when we park next it. They tell us that we are allowed to camp and that they are there to prevent poaching. They carry heavy arms, but have no cars to drive around in, which seems odd. We continue on the track until we are stopped by a few logs on the road. We find a way around them and very slowly we continue. Another roadblock, we both get out and pull them away to create a narrow passage. We can see the water of the Delta when we drive on. A group of hippos are standing next to the waterline. Very quietly we remove the last road block en drive around the obstacles. We are now driving next to the water and we see dozens of hippos in and around the water. Without trying to disturb them we drive towards our camping spot for the night. From our spot next to the water we can see multiple eyes being reflected in the lights we use to shine around. The darker it gets, the closer the animal sounds seem to get. When it is completely dark we look up and it almost seems as if the stars are closer to us than normal. We enjoy the cool evening, but we have a hard time getting used to all the animal activity around us. We build a large fire with some dead trees to chase away the cold, to braai our meat and light up our camp.
It is early morning when we leave the campground and start driving north, towards Lake Malawi. When we reach Liwonde we look for some shade and have a look at our map. In concentration we are studying the map as to which route to take. South, to visit the mountain, North to the small lake just before Liwonde National Park or Lake Malawi. In my head I follow the different coloured lines on the paper before me.
The squaking of brakes pulls us out of our concentration. We both look over our schoulders towards the main road. Through the rows of trees we can just see a truck parked on the side of the road. It takes a few minutes before the smell of burned rubber reaches us at the restaurant. At that moment we know something is wrong. It is quiet, an eery silence hangs in the air when we reach the main road. A group of people has gathered on the side of the road and they stand very still, faces staring towards the asphalt. I approach them very slowly, but no one seems to notice me. Looking at the asphalt myself it tells me what has just happened. A middle aged man on a bicycle was hit and probably run over by the truck that is now parked on the side of the road. It wouldn’t have made a difference if there had been immediate help, as far as I can tell, it would have been too late anyway. A man in a grey uniform drapes a piece of fabric over the body with the help of some bystanders. A human life sometimes ends in seconds. It’s not something we are very familiar with, but this shakes us up very much. We both think back to a couple of weeks earlier when we witnessed another fatal road accident. We navigate around the main road and without talking about it we drive towards the lake where we find a nice spot at the beach. A few local guys are busy to get a trawl in on the shore line. They walk in a line and when they reach the end of the rope, they walk to the front again. It looks like a tough job and I can use the distraction. The men seem very pleased when I decide to join the rope pulling to get the heavy trawl out of the water. In the tent that night, the wind picks up so strongly that we decide to pack everything up in the middle of the night. We drive our car away from underneath the trees that sway dangerously, while dropping branches and fruits, and find shelter behind a building. We sleep in the car on the front and back seats the for remaining few hours. Very stiff from a bad night sleep and without having to pack anything up, we leave early. A small track leads us to Monkey Bay. Monkey Bay and Cape McClear are popular tourist destinations because of the unique bay that has a sunset over the lake.We find a beautiful campsite underneath a mango tree and swim with hundreds of tiny coloured fish called cichlids. In the evening we see small groups of men walking towards the lake where they scrub themselfves until they are almost white, from the soap obviously.
When we leave the Cape we run into a checkpoint very quickly. A young police officer stops us and sticks his head in through the car window. We talk a bit about nothing before he asks: “ and, what are you giving me? I can see you have 4 hats hanging in the car, you don’t need 4 hats, you can give me one.” I am taken a back by his straightforward approach and try to explain to him that we do need all those hats. I offer him a cigarette and after he tries to get a hat some more he gives up, takes another drag from his cigarette and lets us go. 24 September 2016I walk through the small alley of the village we just arrived in on my flimsy flipflops. In my pockets I have nothing more than a few kwachas. School has just finished and the children are hanging around the low school building and draw figures in the sand with their sticks. I kick the powdery black sand up with every step I take and I can see my feet turning the same colour very quickly. The further I walk, the more the houses are packed together and finally I walk into a tiny alley. It is clear that the residents have tried to create shade by putting pieces of colourful cloth and plastic in between the two rows of houses that flap loudly when the wind gets under them. It’s late in the afternoon and I’m looking for dinner ingredients. The houses, made of clay and home made bricks have little openings, where I can see their variety of goods. I take my time navigating slowly through the market until I reach a place where they sell vegetables. I buy a few tomatoes, a cabbage and some onions which they sell me for a Mzungu price (the Malawian word for white person). With everything loaded up in my backpack I easily find my way back to the place we are camping at.
Lake of Stars Festival
29 September 2016 It is early morning and we can see that it is getting busier along side the road. Little stalls, made out of bamboo are being built in quick succession next to each other. A long narrow beam blocks off the road. A lot of people squeeze past it, while others shout out instructions over the handheld devices. It is a day before the festival starts, but it is already very busy at the Chinteche Inn. We try to get our car on the festival itself, but that request is denied and we are only allowed on foot. Right behind each other we walk through the gate and immediately we can feel the festival vibe descending down upon us like a warm blanket on a cold winter day. After walking around for a bit, we find out where the central nerve system of the festival is located and before we know it we’re put to work and find ourselves behind one of the festival bars. For three days we enjoy the live bands and relaxed vibe, while also volunteering by selling the drink vouchers.
Lake of stars:
Lake of Stars Festival is an annual three-day international festival held on the shores of Lake Malawi, the third largest lake in Africa. The festival was started in 2004 and continues attracts over 3,000 attendees with musical acts from Africa some international known artists. The majority of Lake of Stars staff are volunteers and the majority of performers get little to no pay. Over $1.5 million is generated by the festival for the local economy.
