Botswana and getting home
27 January: Botswana – Nata, Maun, Okavango Camp, Meno Kwena Camp, Letlhakane
And we finally left Livingstone and said goodbye to Zambia! Paul’s bike had a mysterious problem with the battery and my chain was utterly knackered. This made us rethink our plans of going via Zimbabwe and Mozambique to South Africa. After much debate, discussion and a survey of local's opionions we decided to take the safer route ie Botswana. It was a nagging concern that the bikes wouldn’t hold up on difficult roads or possibly even last that many miles. The media has given Zimbabwe such a bad image that we figured it is not a place we wanted to risk breaking down - even though I very much wanted to go there - and there was flooding in Mozambique. The safe route via Botswana was the final decision.
Botswana is flat. I mean flat-flat. It is so flat that it has an extraordinary beauty and the sky becomes a big feature. It's so flat that its very safe and easy on the bikes but hard on the concentration.
One long straight road, baking hot sun and dry air... and a huge pile of poop. I thought there must be a truck of manure ahead dropping some of it's load. Then there was more poop. Ahhh! Elephant poop. Elephants poop mountains and only digest 40% of all the vegetation they eat. I felt like a Sherlock Holms environmentalist reading the signs of nature as I whizzed past on my motorbike. And then, green, shiny poop! I felt wide awake with excitement. "So where are the elephants?" No sooner had the question crossed my mind when I spotted a huge elephant just a few meters from the side of the road. He turned to face me with his ear flapping. There was no way I'd dare to stop for a photo. There was poop every where and elephants galore partly hidden like large boulders peaking above the short trees. It was a real buzz being so close to really big wild animals with no fences and pretty much no protection.
We arrived in Maun on a hot and sleepy Sunday. On the advice of a local we made our way to a campsite called The Bridge. It seemed like a nice enough place, affordable and friendly. I'd always thought that Botswana would be far too expensive - so this was a pleasant surprise. I also thought that I'd only get to see the beginning of the Okavango and that would be it - so a boat ride into the Okavango was just bloody brilliant. Going into the Okavango is still a bit on the pricey side if the budget is tight but it was absolutely worth it. Watching Dave trying to negotiate the narrow waterways after a big night out with a boat full of hung over passengers - well that was priceless. I think back of how Dave said, "It's like Imax, man." It's a million times better than Imax because when sitting nice and comfy in the cinema seat there is no imminent threat of hippos storming the boat. There is no dipping your hot sunburnt body in the cool water and wondering if crocs are sneaking through the undergrowth.
Maun is a small town with all the idiosyncrasies of a small town. Every body knows every body. It appears to be impossible for anyone to keep their private business to themselves entirely. Gossip is the order of the day. I guess not much else to talk about and why not embellish? The good thing about this small town is how people get on and work things out. I enjoyed quite a few evenings at the bar listening to tale after tale about encounters with animals and in the early hours of the morning found myself drawn into hearing the slurred life story of some pretty remarkable (rather unconventional) people.
I liked Maun. I felt I could find my little clique of friends and favourite stool at the bar. If I could find some way of earning a living there and supporting a drinking habit, I'd probably have stayed. But that was not to be and lying in my tent feeling very chilled out and before my head began to throb, I thought a phrase my mother coined: "Keep your eye on the dough-nut, not the hole."
As there was no rush actually, and it was low season after all, we went to Meno Kwena camp with Jeff just north of the Kalahari. Jeff is this lovely hunk who can even now probably be found at the bar. He has done all kinds of interesting things with his life but that is another story entirely. Meno Kwena is a proper bush camp and very, very beautiful. I'd recommend visiting as the guys who run this camp are working very hard to provide water holes for the animals. The problem with human development (particularly farming and livestock) and wild animals is that they often come into conflict and as a solution fences are put up. Unfortunately fences prevent wild animals from migrating, reaching water and generally doing what they have done for decades. We like the thought of wild animals being wild and looking after themselves as God had intended but the sad reality is the poor things are perishing and they need help.
I'm always acutely aware of how just plain embarrassing it is when tourists go to "have a look at Africans" or what ever P.C name we choose to use. So when I met Dabe, a San Bushman, I was refreshingly surprised when he arrived in trendy jeans with a cheeky smile and dripping with confidence. He took us for a walk in the bush pointing out plants, birds and insects that I'd never noticed before and was able to tell us about the significance, medical properties, etc. Dabe then proceeded to show us how to make a fire by rubbing two sticks together and dropping a tiny black coal into dried elephant dung. We all watched unable to say a word as he performed his ritual and as far as we could tell the fire had gone out. A few minutes later there was a smoky bundle that suddenly was alive with yellow flames. We were all so delighted we exclaimed, laughed, I wanted to clap. I felt like a child seeing the world around me with new fresh eyes. The plants had smells and uses, the sand had signs of life as exciting as a news report and I realised just how little I knew about any thing.
Needless to say, I very reluctantly left Botswana. Paul's bike was even more reluctant to leave. We didn't get very far when his batter died yet again. There was absolutely no life in it at all. We were still 60 miles from the town ahead but only 22 miles from the town we just passed. It was all a bit desperate so we decided to use our strapping to tie the bikes together and I'd tow Paul back. It was a very long 22 miles with my baby working really hard and getting so hot it was burning my legs. I was ever so thankful that Botswana is flat! Of course there was no bike battery in town but Paul attached a car battery to his battery using our Jonny Jump and bungeed it to the back of his bike. It wasn't pretty but we were back on the road.
8 February: South Africa – Springs
We crossed the border at Martins Drift and I found myself quite emotional. It had been some time since we had proper-looking borders and crossing the Limpopo River with an official looking bridge gave the event some gravity. I was pretty choked up. This was the end of the Long Way Home and the beginning of the new challenges in my life. I was a few hundred kilometers from home. My dream trip across Africa was coming to an end and I'd a feeling of success and yet I was desperately sad to be reaching the end of this adventure.
We reached my parents house after dark. It was good to be around people and places so familiar. We surprised everyone by looking well and tanned while people thought we should look thin and tired. We had faced hardships but even those times have turned out to be some of the best memories.
Before I left the UK, as a bit of a giggle and a surprise for my parent, I sent the press release SUFA used in London to the Springs newspaper as one of my school friends is the editor. It’s worked out that from time to time the paper has printed a little update or photo from the trip. This has given Paul ample opportunity to tease me about being a local hero. Well, I’m not some big (or small) hero but the point is that people here have enjoyed my story and have wished me well. I’ve experienced communities that hate to see people succeed or be different in any way and so I appreciate that my home town supports uncommon, quirky people doing exceptional things, it is in fact really cool.
Springs (the town I grew up in) is a little mining town towards of the end of the East Rand. There is a crescent shape of gold reef with mines all along it and roughly Johannesburg in the middle. Springs is to the east, the far east as from here its closer to mielie (corn) fields and veld than city. It’s called Springs because there were natural springs here. I have no idea where these springs are and if they still exist but around this area there are many small lakes, dams, rivers and vleis (marshes). When approaching from the north the land is hot, dry and flat and so Springs appears to be rather lush. Back when I was a kid this was a snoozy little town had its problems but it was a good place to grow up.
The honest truth is that I’m not readjusting back into city life particularly well. It’s all too much here. The commercial frenzy is doing my head in. The traffic is just ridiculous. I’m shocked by the size of houses and the amount of junk they contain. I feel shivers of dread at the thought of a 9 to 5 job. I simply don’t know what I’m going to do with my life… So I guess that is my challenge. To make sense of my life, earn a living and do something meaningful with my life. I don't want to stop living the dream.
posted by Sandigs @ 10:17 PM
