Ten thousand liters of water are cascading down rapidly and sheer force makes for a giant cloud of mini water drops. It is early morning and Helga and I are visiting Victoria Falls. Wet from the water vapor we walk back to our camping in town.
Small dusty roads lead us around Lake Kariba, a large sweet water lake that originates out of the Zambezi river. The lake used to be full of fish, but nowadays you’re lucky if you even catch anything at all. After the inflation the tourist industry has almost disappeared in Zimbabwe. The people who lived around the lake and who made their money in the tourist industry had no other option than to move away or try to make money locally, through fishing. After the local people and their nets went fishing in the lake, not a lot was left. When we look around us now it is like nothing has changed over the last 25 years. We are offered a chalet for the price of camping and talk to the owner about what this place looked like when you still had to book 6 months in advance to be able to even stay there. 29 Augustus, 2016Slightly nervous we drive towards the police road block we see in the distance. We have been driving all morning, but we’re not getting very far. It feels like we’re driving over a mini-golf course where we are playing a reverse game of dodging the holes. It seems like Zimbabwe is not saving money by cutting in the police force. We are currently driving on a road where we can not imagine more than three cars pass a day. When we are stopped the officer pops his head in to have a look. “ Where are you going?” “ Mana Pools sir,” we reply honestly. “ Ok, can I see your car registration papers?”. We give him the folder full of all the documents. When he sees the amount of paperwork he says: “ Never mind, but can my colleague get a ride to the next town?” He points to a tree trunk where an overweight woman in uniform sits in the shade. We look at each other and sigh. “ Of course officer”. Not that we really have a choice in the matter. The female officer is not very talkative and it’s oddly quiet when we drive her to the next town 30 km away.
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I can hear myself tap the steering wheel with the rhythm of the music from the radio while we are standing in line for the next road block. The sun is intense, but the black officers who are checking all the vehicles are well dressed in their tailored khaki uniforms, high black boots and matching caps. The AK47 straps cut in their necks I see. That weapon must weigh around 10 kg and looks like a real burden to me. Our windows are rolled down all the way and we both lean out of them when we approach the officers. We think it will be a “hello, how are you?” and wave where they don’t really pay attention to us and we are not worried at all.
But it is different this time. The officer’s face is unreadable when he steps towards our car and peeks his head inside to have a look. In very good English he says:” could you please pull over your car on that side of the road, we will do some routine checks.” With a heavy heart we do as he says.
Out of nowhere three officers circle around our car like bees around a honeypot. Their eyes scan the vehicle like it’s a routine and we are told to stay in the car. The officer who seems to be in charge says: “ all right, we’ll start with your lights, could you please turn them on?” His trained eye immediately detect that the lights above our number plate in the back are not working… He asks me to step out of the car and on my way out I grab the packet of cigarettes and a lighter that we have in the car for these circumstances.
Very smug with himself he points out the lights that are not working. I put on my contemplating face while I get the cigarettes out of my pocket. I can tell by the way his eyes follow the cigarettes that I’m dealing with a smoker. I put one between my lips before I offer one to him. Side by side we light our cigarettes between our dry, chapped lips and with the smoking cigarette dangling from the corners of his mouth he says: “ I will have to fine you for these missing lights, $20,-” He pulls out his ticket book and starts to write things down. I look at the lights and back at him. “But really, there is no problem, I can fix that right now!” I say. I get my screwdrivers from the car and start to take apart the lights. He watches me for a little while and answers: “ well, in that case I still have to fine you for driving around without you licence plate lights.” I glare at him.
“I am not giving you $20,-” I say very firm. “ Officer, we’ve been travelling with this car around the world for over 2 years,” and I show him the map on the side of the car. “ I’ve never been pulled over and fined for something so useless. I will repair these lights and not pay anything.”The officers breaks eye contact and I can see his eyes travelling down to my pockets. I pull my cigarettes out of them and offer him one. His colleagues take this opportunity and also accept one. The cigarettes are being lit and he looks at me meditatively. “ Ok, keep on driving,” he mumbles. I quickly throw the screwdrivers back in the car, get in the car next to Helga who hasn’t left her spot and tell her what happened as we drive away. “ That explains why you smell like smoke,” she says smiling.
Not 20 minutes later and we are back on the side of the road. This time it’s a young woman in police uniform who has directed us off the road. This time it’s the white reflective tape on the front of our car, which she claims is not the right type and she wants to fine us $20 for it. “ I bought this tape 3 months ago in South Africa according to the specifications the Zimbabwean government set, “ I tell her. She looks at me and politely answers: “ Well sir, the specifications changed about three weeks ago, I will have to fine you for neglecting to follow the rules.”
I look at her quite stunned and decide to follow a different tactic. By now I know that Zimbabwe is mostly run by males and I ask to speak with her supervisor. She walks away to pat an older guy on his shoulder. He walks towards us and repeats what the police lady just told us. Luckily I am now “an experienced smoker” after the last roadblock and I start to perform the same routine as I did at the previous roadblock.
With the cigarette in between my lips I say: “ Sir, we’ve been travelling with this car around the world for the past two years. I have never been fined for something so absurd as this. As you can tell by the reflective tape we put on the front of the car we are trying to follow all the rules the Zimbabwean governments sets. We were not told that the rules had changed recently. Just tell me where to get the right tape and I will make sure everything is sorted out by the end of the day. To fine me for this seems totally unnecessary. “ “ I’ll decide what is necessary,” he replies gruffly. I get my cigarettes out of my pocket and offer him another one. After he’s taken it he say: “ all right, continue.”
That night I am not celebrating our road block victories, but instead I am in bed early with a major headache trying to sweat out all the nicotine from my body.
Early in the afternoon we leave the fully booked Imvelo Lodge and find ourselves a camping spot under three enormous trees. We can tell by the black patches of charcoal that there have been earlier campfires and probably campers around here. It is late in the afternoon when I walk around the car with rooftop tent. All of a sudden I feel a wave of discomfort in my body. I stand still, press my back against the hot steel of the car and look around. Sometimes you just know that something is out there watching you. Still with my back against the car I walk to the front of the vehicle to get a better view of my surroundings. When I reach it I can finally see what I felt staring at me for a while now: two male buffalos have separated themselves from the herd who we were told are in the area at the moment. Apparently we were not the only ones attracted by the grass and shades of the large trees we are under. I can feel my heart beat in my throat. Buffalos are part of the Big Five and without a doubt one of the most dangerous animals in Africa, especially when they are in small groups or when they are hurt do they tend to attack in unsure situations. We’ve never seen it before, but we were told it is as if the animal gets a red haze in front of its eyes. Whenever it decides to attack, it will not back off. Usually this happens to young males, who separate themselves from the herd and are driven by testosterone and possible injuries from earlier fights. I shuffle back to where I came from and out of sight. Luckily the doors in the front are open and the car is unlocked. I open the door of the Landcruiser as quiet as I possibly can and slide down on the passenger seat. I try to close the door behind me with a minimum of sound. I am now watching these magnificent animals through the front windscreen of the car. Both animals appear not to notice me anymore and I suspect that they can not see and smell me anymore through the tinted glass. Slowly I can feel my heartbeat return to normal. I take a closer look at the buffalos. They have a large crown of big horns that look like a curly wig from the 1600s plastered on their heads. Two beady dark eyes which are unreadable and give no clue as to what it’s thinking. Nostrils that are big enough to fit cans of soda in and a broad chest supported by giant front legs. The animal wears a thick layer of black hairy skin where you can clearly see the outlines of some powerful muscles. Both animals don’t really like the presence of the car it seems. After a while they turn around and walk towards the rest of the herd that I can see drinking at the waterhole a little distance away. I get my camera and walk a little detour to get to the lodge where Helga is. The lodge gives a perfect view over the waterhole where the whole herd of buffalos is enjoying the cool water.
24 augustus 2016When we wake up the embers in the fire from last night are still glowing. We use them to make our Chili con Carne in the early morning. While I am peeling the onions I can hear sounds of the coffee being almost ready and I cannot really imagine having to eat this meal just yet. The heavy pot is put on the fire which contains a mix of beans, onions and minced meat. We enjoy our strong coffee and can see the sun rise slowly. We pack up our camp, Helinox chairs and brush down the layers of dust from the car. We take big black pan from the fire and put in a towel so it can simmer a bit longer. With a car that smells like Chili con Carne we say goodbye to the people we have met and we start to drive north alongside the border of Hwange NP. When dusk sets in we take our Troopy from the main track and park it in the thick vegetation. Even before it turns completely dark we’ve set up the tent and dished up our food. That night we are totally alone. The moon lights up our surroundings in grey-blue hues. When we get up in our tent we have a look at our map, tomorrow we will reach Victoria Falls.
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Helga and I wait for Sipps for most of the morning, he is the head guide who is supposed to show us around and tell us about the lodge. It looks like he is very busy with some high maintenance guests and we decide to take a drive to the nearest village. Ngoma village is a small settlement of about 65 permanent residents. The village contains 6 fenced of pieces of land and in every compound lives a family. Usually these families consist of father, mother, sons (when they are married, also their wives and children) and daughters who are not yet married. The reason their properties are fenced off with large branches is to keep the kettle in and the wildlife, like lions and elephants, out. In these fenced off areas are several small buildings. In the middle is the kitchen and every family has its own hut. The huts are made out of clay, straw and thatched roofs. They are often painted white to keep it as cool as possible. When we have a look around we see that there is a small vegetable garden, a mango and a lemon tree. There is also a cart which can be pulled by a cow or donkey. The house in the middle has solar panels. When we have a look inside we see that there are several TVs, a video recorder and a small satellite dish to receive the channels. We realize that they have everything they need to live a comfortable and self sufficient live. The only thing that seems to be missing is water. When we ask them about it they tell us that the nearest water point is 2 km down the road. Usually in the mornings, one of the older children will go with the cart to get water for the day. When everyone is comfortable with having us around I get the chance to talk to the father of the family. He tells me about his life and what it is like to grow up in a community like this. He is very grateful for his four sons who support him financially. He saves up every dollar he can get. Education and progress are important to him and we can definitely tell by the level of English proficiency of his children. Even his youngest daughter gets the chance to study. We hear that studying in Zimbabwe is not for free. The fees to pay for schooling are about the same as selling one cow. He is very proud to be self sufficient. Nowadays, it is possible to get a connection to the electricity, but he chooses to use solar power instead. He lives with his family among the elephants and lions every day. When I ask him about stories of people being attacked by these animals, he informs me that he knows of none. He tells me that the nightly visits they get from elephants mainly result in material damage. When the elephants are coming it’s usually the dogs that chase them away by barking. If the dogs don’t succeed they will try to scare the animals away by banging on pots and pans and making a lot of noise. Lions wear GPS collars nowadays and when they are near the village the people get a text message to tell them they are close. Usually this gives them enough time to move the cattle and get the children inside. Lastly he tells me about the many differences there are between the people in the tiny community. Some want the progress, while others are totally against this. Superstition and the village chief are important factors in these matters. When there is a good chief who can mediate between different families, the community will prosper. Alcohol abuse and HIV are major problems in these villages and they are things a village chief and the community itself has to deal with.
We drive past Bulawayo. It is weekend and along side the road we see groups of people dressed in white robes. We suspect it has something to with the local tribes, but we’re not exactly sure. We try to dodge the giant potholes in the tarmac and are on our way to the north-west: towards Victoria Falls. We take a break between Kenmeur and Hwange at Halfway hotel. We park our Landcruiser in between a couple of Safari cruisers where guides are waiting for the arrival of their customers. We start chatting to them and they tell us about Hwange NP and the luxurious Imvelo Lodge that they work for. We introduce ourselves, tell them about our travels and a few phone calls later we’re invited to stay over at Imvelo Lodge.The Safari vehicles are driving in front of us over the sandy track. The tourists, mainly Americans, are slouched on the bench seats in the back of the car. Including the driver, you can fit 11 people in one of those cars. These cars are open on all sides and the benches in the back that can sit 3 people are all a different height like a theatre to give everyone an open view. The track is rough and the vehicles are tossed to either side. We can see the guests in front of us sliding left and right while they try to hold on to their expensive cameras with tele-lenses, which they purchased for this trip of a lifetime. The drive to the lodge takes about 1,5 hours and we arrive just before dark. One of the managers takes us to our accommodation: a luxurious tent that looks more like a chalet than a tent. The floor is made out of teak wood, as are the window panels and doorposts. In the middle of tent is a very comfortable looking high bed, with many pillows on top.
On my way back to the main building I meet the pilot of the small 6 person Chesna airplane. He tells me that he has the best job in the world. He flies back and forth between 6 luxurious safari lodges in the remote parts of Zimbabwe. He doesn’t fly in the dark and he doesn’t take off until all the wildlife is off the airstrip. The next morning we see him fly over us. Just in time, because we can see a herd of wildebeest make their way to the airstrip and towards the nearest waterhole.
Our morning routine: Ventilation screens open so the tent can air out, put on our clothes, slowly descend our ladder backwards and find a tree. Our stove is in the crate with kitchen supplies, light it, get the percolator, rinse it, fill it with water and scoops of grinded beans. Put the Helinox sunset chairs in the sun, while we quickly make breakfast before the coffee is ready.
A young national park ranger has come to visit us this morning. We are the only guests on the campground and he asks us if we are having a good time. He tells us that he goes out on foot patrol quite regularly and if we’d like to we can join him. Helga rolls up her pants as an answer to his question and her leg full of bandaids becomes visible. He looks a bit disappointed. “I’d love to join you,” I say hastily. An hour later and I’m walking behind the ranger with a backpack filled with water and lunch. He is wearing a military canvas coverall and high shoes.On the way he tells me that the National Parks here get their uniforms from Australia, as a thank you for the work they do against the poaching of the rhinos. He walks in big steps in front of me on the uneven terrain where I can barely see the path. I ask him where he wants to go and he answers that there is a cave with rock paintings about 6 km away. He would like to show it to me. I prepare mentally for the distance and terrain and follow in his footsteps. During the walk he talks about his life in Zimbabwe. He is 29 years old and has a wife and child. Both of them live with him in the park. When he wants to do his shopping it takes him a whole day. He knows people with a car about 10 km from the campsite and he pays them for a ride to the main road, about 30 km away. From there he waits for a ride to Bulawayo, which is about 50 km away. First, he goes to the bank to get money. Sometimes the lines are so long that it takes most of the day to get money. Even though he has more money in the banks, they will only let him get 100 USD per day. He gets his groceries and hitchhikes back to the park. He has worked for the park for 10 years now. He earns 350 USD a month, but hasn’t been paid for the past 2 months because the Zimbabwean government has a financial crisis. The police, government personnel, the military and park rangers are suffering from this.Eventually, we get to the cave. My first impression is that it looks like a tunnel where different graffiti artists have been covering each others work over and over again. But here, they have used only earth tones. When you look closely, you can guess the stories that they try to tell you through them: of hunts, wars and beheaded women. The drawings are said to be between 4000 and 6000 years old and were made to tell stories and share information. That night we camp just outside the park so we don’t have to pay the high park fees again for another night of staying.
