Africa is becoming more Africa.
There is not a day, without fail, that I don't marvel at this great continent. Its beauty; its people; its animals; its skies; its days; its nights. The blaze of colour of women's clothing. And who else but a black man can wear bright red trousers and a yellow T-shirt and get away with it?
We've met nice people throughout the trip. Which shouldn't surprise you. Have a look, they are all around you. Craig helping develop the irrigation project at Bulungula in the Transkei; Kaspers, a Latvian charming story teller, who had ridden his BMW bike down through West Africa then met his Brazilian girlfriend, Renata, in Windhoek to set off together through Southern Africa; Steve, a bush pilot, a pom who had lived in Liberia but is now flying tourists into US$1000 pp per night game lodges in the Okavango Delta: 'I only do it for the tips!'; Hans and Dagmar, Germans who also have private pilot licences and had chartered a Cessna and were flying all over Southern Africa - way to go. Nice people. Petr, a Czech who lives in Lusaka, Zambia, who gave us a great ride from Nata to the door Thebe Camp, Kasane, with a promise to repay with a beer in Lusaka. I really enjoyed talking for a couple of hours on the bus to Majwa, who ended up with the copy of Affluenza. Mike, our Delta experience guide. And any number of locals, we have met and said goodbye to.
The first pages of Vic Guhrs' The Trouble with Africa reads:
'The trouble with Africa,' says the truck driver with a Cape accent, 'is that it
is so unpredictable. You can never rely on anything going as planned.'
He points down to the water and across the river to the opposite shore
where the Kazungula ferry lies stranded, its wheel house pointing into the
afternoon sky at a crazy angle. Behind him, a long line of eighteen-wheelers
stretches up the track that winds through the trees and up the hill to the main
road. All around us, four-by-fours and trucks are parked in the large rutted
clearing in front of the ferry ramp.
I am just delighted. I read this at Thebe Camp, Kasane, only four kms away from Kazungula where we border cross the next morning. I had bought this book because it just 'looked like a good read'. I find out it is all set where we will travel over coming days. Marvellous.
But for us, nothing went to plan. Mainly because we didn't have one. But things went well. Richard, a local and manager at what we would term Government Property Services, gave us a ride from outside Thebe. Knowing all the local bureaucrats he gained permission to drive us through 'no man's land' between immigration and the Kazungula ferry - right up to the 'large rutted clearing in front of the ferry ramp'. A long line of eighteen-wheelers stretched up the road. 4x4s and Overland Travel Trucks are parked. The ferry has recently broken down again, but goes now. As foot passengers we stroll straight on and are midstreams the Zambezi before you can say "hasta la vista, Botswana!" (why would you say that, anyway?)
A brief dispute with the immigration dude ( I lost, and paid US$25 for a visa.), an hour's trip in a share taxi - I have a young lad on my lap in the front seat, we are in Livingstone. Named after the good Doctor, I presume.
An afternoon stroll uptown, an the best coffee in ages (best in Zambia the sign read), and we bump into acquaintances from Ngepi Camp, Namibia - Kaspars and Renata. We have drinks while Arsenal holds Chelsea 1-1. ends Chelsea's run and hands League title to Moan U. Pleasure and pain. My poor bro, BOK. His father-in-law, Derek, a dead keen Man U fan will not let up. I reckon my old Unisys colleague, Gordon, will have to hold a half doz on ice for me for that one.
The morning run takes me back out of town on the highway. Just after the 60km to the border town sign I am joined by three lads on crappy Chinese import bicycles (no Concordes spotted - probably too flash for Zambia). One asks "Are you running to the border?" I gag. "No, I can't. I don't have money for the taxi back." "You could just run back," suggests another. Yeah right, thanks lads. Must have mistaken me for Forrest Gump. There was actually some clouds about when I set out: None when I got back at 7:30. Also spotted a couple of people wearing 'Proud Catholic' T-shirts. Well I never. Suppose someone has to be. (Sorry mum and dad - there goes the will.)
And then there's Victoria Falls: Mosi-oh-tunya - the cloud that roars. Oh, and guess what? It's 'another' adventure capital of Southern Africa. But Deb and I did take a microlight flight over the falls. That's not an 'adventure thing', I'm just a sucker for any 'flying thing'. Spectacular view of the Falls, Batoka Gorge, the 'bezi, the islands in the river from where elephants and hippos waved to us. You can see the effect of the Falls spray. The water falls down, then bounces back ever so high, then rains down as heavy as any tropical downpour. When you walk around the Falls face you get absolutely drenched. All part of the fun.
"The Vic Falls lie in Zambia, but Zimbabwe has done a better marketing job," reckons our shuttle driver. The township of Victoria Falls is in the Zim (the only way Zimbabwe is refered to in Africa) and was once 'the' tourist place to visit. Zambia is, slowly, trying to change that. Deb and I had made a conscious decision to give The Zim the swerve. Bad luck for locals, but I'm not going to have a a cent of my money finding its way into Mugabe's pockets.
A bus Livingstone-Lusaka costs 70,000 kwacha (US$1=4000 ZKA) and takes six hours. The train, a preferred mode, only costs 16,500 ZKA. BUT .... 18 hours!!! Excellent value for money, but ...I don't know about you, US$17.50 doesn't seem extravagent to me ....
Zambia's Sunday Post had a heading that caught my eye: 'Tana supports search for expat coach.' What? On the eve of the World Cup. What has Mr Henry done wrong? But, of course, no. Zambia's football captain, Elijah Tana, feels the country's team needs some new blood. Relax Kiwi friends.
Zambia will mean a visit to Lusaka, and then onto South Luangwe National Park in the East of Zambia - and because of its irregular shape, a stone's throw to the Congo. I'll tell you about it later, I want to get these postings up to date.
The opening sentence of the Introduction to Vic Guhrs' book reads:
The trouble with Africa is it gets in your blood.Stay cool
Max
aka Mad
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Get Stuffed
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