– life – bokdrols of wisdom –
So we did *sometimes* go where the signs *sometimes* said Notice: Maybe You Shouldn’t.
We were rescued by friendly Damara ous in the Namib desert, by feisty ous in tight khaki shorts on Mocambican beaches, and by faithful Bahá’ís at their picnic on the Báb’s birthday on a Malawian beach. Bless em all.
You just gotta have faith ye shall be rescued.
~~oo0oo~~
On our trip up north in 2003 Aitch and five year old Jessie kept a diary; when they got home they made this picture album as a memento of the trip. Enjoy the slideshow!
(Slides change every four seconds. To pause a slide, click in the top right corner. To speed it up or to go back, swipe, or use the arrows).
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When you’re twenty two months old you can venture off north into neighbouring African countries in a kombi as long as you’re prepared and have the right companions. Like Stripey. He’s unflappable and always smiling.
And your Mom. She’s the best for food, clothes, warmth, love, hugs. That sort of stuff.
and your sis and your Dad can come along too . . He’s quite handy as transport and a vantage point.
Just watch out if you go to Lake Malawi . .
and catch the ferry to Mombo Island . .
. . that you don’t drop your companion Stripey overboard! ‘Cos then the ferry driver will have to slow down, turn around and go back so that your Dad can hang over the side and rescue Stripey. To avert a disaster!
THANK YOU Mr Friendly Ferryman! signed: TomTom and Stripey
~~~oo0oo~~~
Zambia, Malawi and Mozambique via Botswana. We only had a bit more than a month, so not as leisurely as we would have liked. Can hardly believe it was fourteen years ago – 2003! The kids are now 19 and 15!
Mostly we drove at a leisurely pace and didn’t do great distances. We did put in a long day of driving on four stretches, which allowed us to chill on other days: Lusaka to Chipata in Zambia; Blantyre in Malawi to Tete in Mocambique; Tete to Vilanculos in Mocambique, and lastly Zavora to Nelspruit back in South Africa were all long-hauls. On those days we left early with the kids strapped in and sleeping. We’d drive for hours before breakfast. Aitch always had food or entertainment for them.
For the rest our days were unhurried. Slowly with the windows down, as we didn’t use the aircon. Anyway, speeding and potholes are not a good combination. At places we liked we’d stay up to three nights. Each of our five three-night stays felt like a complete holiday on its own. The Bushman off-road trailer proved its worth at every stop, unfolding like a luxury Bedouin oasis, replete with shade, cold fridge, lounge chairs, books, binocs, groaning tables, food and drink. Next time, belly dancers.
Waterberg, South Africa
Zambia
On through Botswana and to the Zambian border at Kasane where a ferry carries you over the Zambesi. One of the ferries had dropped a big truck overboard and got damaged, so only one was in operation, which slowed things down. Took about four hours and we were safely across the Zambezi river in Zambia. Tommy took to the “fewwy” in a big way and called all boats fewwies for a while. The battered and half-drowned second ferry and truck and trailer were visible looking sad at the side of the riverbank. The border post was pleasant enough. They charged us more for our “minibus” and tut-tutted sympathetically at my exaggerated protests that this was not a fee-earning taxi, but just our vehicle! Laughingly insisted “Well, sir, it’s the rules.” Had a good chuckle and they wished us well in their country.
In Livingstone we camped on the grounds of the Maramba River Lodge. It was full, so we squeezed in near the gate – not the best site, but quite OK. Lovely pool again. Drove to the falls at daybreak where a vervet monkey snatched Jess’ breakfast apple out of her hand. Our first sight of the falls from the Zambian side. Spectacular and different, showing the interesting rock face with the very low flow.
We drove to Taita Lodge on the very lip of the Batoka Gorge downstream of the falls overlooking where we had rafted years before. A warm welcome and a great lunch on the deck hanging over the river. Ice-cold beer, great sarmies. Looked for Taita Falcons, saw Verreaux’s (Black) eagles soaring below. Tom & Jess banging on the dinner drum and xylophone was un-musical, but no other guests around, so no one minded – in fact the staff loved the brats and spoilt them with attention. I thought I’d better step up and perform, as Aitch had been doing all the lessons and homework, so I taught them Cheers! Salut! and Prost! Life skills.
Whoa!
On the way out of Livingstone we hit the best section of road we saw on the whole trip – brand new wide black tar with centre white stripe and side yellow lines! Amazing!
The road was in fact so smooth that the ole kombi fainted. And died. Stat. Not a shudder or a hiccup first. Just suddenly nothing. That much-dreaded “CAR TROUBLE” silence thing! Well, after 197 000km I spose it’s OK. All my mechanical skills, like turning the key repeatedly while muttering fierce incantations, didn’t work. So I hopped out and unpacked the back where I had heard kombis hide their engines. Lifted the lid to stare at that thing. That’s my other mechanical trick: I stare at and swear at engines. I’ve sworn at sumps too, in my time.
Some school kids walked up and said Don’t worry, they know a mechanic at the nearby village, and the toothy one on the battered bicycle offered to go and call him. Sure, I said, not hopefully. “JP” from Gauteng, on his way to service some big crane, stopped his rented car and kindly offered his assistance. Soon he was joined (I was amazed) by Carl the mechanic, who had indeed been summoned by those schoolkids. He had a metal toolbox on his shoulder, and between the two of them they peered, prodded, unscrewed, fiddled – and broke the distributor cap! Using mostly my tools and swallowing the ice-cold drinks I passed them, they eventually gave up. ‘Must be something computerised in one of these little black boxes’ was their verdict. Right!
‘There’s a VW agent in Lusaka’ says Carl cheerfully. Right! 200km away. As they’re about to leave, Carl spots a loose wire under near the sump. Kombis have sumps, ja? Finds another loose end of a wire and joins the two. Vrooom! I mean, VROOOM! Apparently the wire was from a cutout switch to a heat sensor in the block. The kombi roared to life to tremendous applause! Well, four of us cheered. JP said ‘My pleasure’, Carl said ‘R200’, I said ‘Bargain’, Trish and the kids said ‘Thank you!’ and we were on the road again!
Next stop Lochinvar National Park at the south end of the Kafue National Park. We’d never heard of it but saw it on the map. Quite a bumpy road got us to the gate after dark. ‘Sorry, but you can’t go in’, said the soldier with a gun. ‘Sorry, but I have to’, said me. ‘You see, I can’t let these little kids sleep out here and nor can you, so hop onto your radio and explain that to your main man’. Back he came – ‘Sorry. The main man says the gate is closed’. ‘You just didn’t explain it to him nicely enough’ I said – ‘Please tell him I can’t, you can’t and he can’t leave a 22 month old baby sleeping in the sticks’. Off he went and back he came. ‘The main man will meet you at the camp inside’. ‘You’re a marvel, well done, thank you!’ we shouted and drove in on a 4km free night drive in Lochinvar. No animals, but some nightjars.
We slept in the kombi. Next day we sorted out our fairly primitive campsite, saw the ablutions were out of commission, so rigged up our own shower. Nice big trees to hang it from.
Lochinvar – Scottish name, one sposes – has beautiful flood plain lakes on the Kafue river in the middle of dry surroundings.
In Lusaka we found that VW agency. They told us replacing the cracked distributor cap was no problem whatsoever, they could do it with one hand tied behind their back. In fact they’d have a new one ready for us in a mere two weeks when a spares delivery was due. We drove on.
South Luangwa National Park in Zambia was my main destination of the whole trip – I had read about it for decades. It was everything and more I imagined. What a river! Flatdogs Camp just outside the park was a blast, too. Big shady trees, a hearty meal available in their casual restaurant if you didn’t want to cook, we didn’t – pizzas or burgers – and a swimming pool with a home-made painted cement slide. Jess loved it so much she wore a big hole right through the bumular zone of her cozzie.
There we met an American Mom with three kids. She’d married a Zambian man in the USA and had shipped over a converted yellow school bus to tour around Zambia.
Then into the park – South Luangwa Park! – a long-awaited dream. It was terrific. Saw puku antelope for the first time.
To get there we had to drive from Chipata town – that dreaded road we’d been warned against! Well, the grader had been a few days ahead of us and it turned out to be one of the smoothest stretches of gravel on our whole trip!
On to Malawi
As you approach big water – the sea especially, but here it was a big lake – you encounter more and more sand. Deeper and deeper sand, which 2WD vehicles towing trailers sometimes have ever-so-slight problems negotiating. So it was that even before we first caught sight of Lake Malawi I got that uh oh! feeling, accelerated but no go, I was slightly stuck in sand in a park in a village. I hopped out to let down my six tyres, thinking A: Why were you lazy, you should have done so earlier; and B: Because I use a manual pump and it’s hard work getting back up to tar road pressure in hot weather. But just then I was saved ! Religion saved me!
A few young people from a nearby big group who were watching me ran up: “No, no. Don’t worry. Hop back in. We’ll push you out!” Turns out they were Bahá’í Faith folks having a picnic on a day of religious significance to them (maybe the Birth of the Báb in 1819?). They believe in World Peace. Me too, brothers! I firmly believe in three chief tenets: World Peace, Friendly Pushes and not having to Re-inflate Tyres – long-held convictions! Handshakes and good wishes all round when I stopped on firmer ground.
Our destination was Chembe village on the shores of Lake Malawi, Monkey Bay and the famous Cape Maclear, where we had snorkeled some ten years earlier. On the way I provided more entertainment to my appreciative family. A steep hill got the better of our 2.3 litre 4 cylinder petrol engine as I had been dawdling, birding and tree-spotting. The old kombi just couldn’t drag the Bushman any further. I had run out of steam, even in first gear. My bad. I pulled up the handbrake, hopped out, pulled up the trailer brake, unhitched and swung the trailer round manually using its handbrake, and faced it downhill. Now the kombi was a powerful beast without the brick on its butt, so I could drive it down, reverse up to the Bushman, re-hitch and retreat back down the hill. Then I found a place wide enough to turn my rig around and take a run at the hill – easy this time. Fine when you’re focused!
Aitch’s goal was the freshwater snorkelling off Mumbo island in Lake Malawi, cichlid fishes, and bats and swifts in a water cave.
Emmanuel’s had a vacancy so we booked in for a few days. Fair-minded people will agree with my assessment of it as ‘luxury’ but Aitch veto’d that and stuck it firmly under ‘basic with roof,’ even though the shower was almost en-suite. She insisted on ‘basic’ even when I reminded her that, unlike ten years ago, no cockroach had run up the outside of the mozzie net here. Some people are just hard to please . .
Outside the room, Aitch was in heaven. This was her main destination:
Mocambique
Leaving Malawi we crossed the wide Zambesi at Tete, where we stayed in a motel on the right bank as we wanted to head straight off the next morning. Probably Aitch’s least favourite lodgings of the trip – mozzies and an empty swimming pool. Leaving town two garages had no petrol. They said the word was that the town on the far bank had, so we crossed back over the Zambesi, filled up and crossed back again. The kombi liked that! What a bridge! What a river!
Then, after a long day’s drive, our biggest luxury – three nights at Vilanculos Beach Lodge. Sea, sand, a bar, lovely food, huge soft beds, friendly staff. Especially João, who spoiled the kids rotten. They thought he was a wizard, as he had this magic trick, writing up cooldrinks to our room number!
We took a boat to Bazaruto Island and then on to Two Mile reef offshore in the big Indian Ocean. Lake Malawi and Bazaruto were Aitch’s main snorkeling destinations and she LOVED them both! Two-Mile reef really is ‘like an over-stocked aquarium.’
Zavora Bay near Inharrime. Stunning lakes and a wi-ide bay; A reef at the point, so you can walk in and snorkel in sheltered water for a kilometre; Lovely cottages – houses, really, on top of the dunes overlooking the bay. Our best find in Mocambique. We hadn’t heard about it before and we fell in love with it. We agreed: “We MUST come back here one day!”
Here’s where the kids got sick. We tested them – high positive readings for malaria. Looking back, we suspected the one night we had let them stay up after sunset at a shebeen on the banks of the Zambezi in Zambia – parents drinking alcohol and enjoying the music and laughter, irresponsible louts. Luckily the Zavora lodge owner gave us Coartem pills which we fed them – Tom took some persuading, pursing his lips tightly at first. Early next morning we set off for South Africa. A stop at a pharmacy and clinic in Xai Xai and a stop at ‘the ex-pats clinic’ in Maputo only scored us some anti-inflammatories.
When we got to Nelspruit/Mbombela hospital they tested all clear! The Coartem had done its job perfectly. No parasites detected! Phew! We spent another night there just to be near the hospital. A day trip to Kruger was enjoyed by the kids who seemed to be saying, What’s The Fuss?
Our last overnight before getting home to Westville was a quick stop at Badplaas. Indoor hot water pools and garish plastic slides in red, green, blue and yellow. So fake after all the natural wonders we had seen, right? Jess said, Mom! This is the BEST place we’ve been! Oh boy, holidays are gonna be different going forward, I thought . .
Two Memory Highlights:
Firstly, the rivers – stunning! The Limpopo, Chobe, Zambezi, Kafue, Luangwa, Shire, the Zambezi again (at Tete it’s wi-i-ide and beautiful), the Save and the Limpopo again, were all magnificent and welcome and we stopped and stared. South Africa has some lovely rivers, but these seemed wider, swifter-flowing and often clearer. I love rivers.
Secondly, the friendly people. Everywhere we went we were helped and fussed over and we heard laughter and “No Problem!”, and quite often, as in SA: “Are these your children?” I love people.
Accommodation: We camped 14 nights; Basic shelter with roof 6 nights (better than it sounds, Aitch!); Comfy lodgings 7 nights (luxury!); Spoiled ourselves with super-luxury 5 nights; The last two involve food brought to you ready-cooked and dishes magically disappearing, never to be seen again. I say that’s lukshury with a Capital KSH!
Duration: Five 3-night stays; Three 2-night stays; Eleven 1-night stands;
~~oo0oo~~
Cook’s Tour: Thomas Cook (1808 – 1892) was an English businessman best known for founding the organised travel industry. In 1855 he took two groups on a ‘grand circular tour’ of Belgium, Germany and France, ending in Paris for the Exhibition. The expression ‘A Cook’s Tour’ was humorously used for any rapid or cursory guided tour: Like, “If it’s Tuesday, this must be Belgium.”
~~oo0oo~~
We shared a meal in Vwaza Marsh National Park, Malawi.
On the way there we delayed stocking up with food, thinking surely the next market will be better, but each town was the same: A big market square with lots of stalls, but only a few occupied, and those only offering a few oranges and sweet potatoes, arranged in neat little pyramids. Eventually we arrive in camp not having bought anything. We resolve to fast that night, and go back to Rumphi for some oranges and sweet potatoes before moving on to Nyika Plateau.
The Vwaza game guard comes over to hear if we want to shower and when we’ll be eating. He will light a fire for us. On hearing we won’t be eating, he brings his own sadsa/phuthu/maize porridge on a tin plate! We have a vacuum-sealed sausage of salami, so we add that and share the meal. Everybody wins! He heats the shower just right and carries it up the ladder and pours it into the bucket with a tap on it so we have a hot shower. Luxury! I spoilt that woman!
In the Comores we shared a meal
We delivered a book on Bruce Lee martial arts to well-known Comoran beach guide “Bruce Lee” in the Comores Big island (a gift from a previous guest who heard we were going there). He was thrilled to bits, as he’s a huge Bruce Lee fan, and invited us for supper at his humble palm-frond thatched home in the nearby village where his wife cooked for us. A number of plates with porridge, various veges, and one plate with four tiny fishes – which they put on our plates. We say we must share them, but “No. You are our guests!” they insist. Ai!
In Jozini, Zululand we shared a meal
Whenever I visit Tobias and Thulisiwe’s home on the Makhatini Flats, they treat me to a lovely meal. This time it was curried chicken and phuthu. As always, Thulisiwe gave me a bag of her home-grown roasted and salted peanuts to take home; plus, she gives us each a large leg of her home-grown chicken to nibble on the way. Padkos!
One day we’ll get roast goat, I hope. We go there when Tobias has accumulated enough stuff in Westville to rent a trailer and ship it home to his umuzi.
~~oo0oo~~
Padkos – food for the journey
umuzi – homestead
We flew in on our first trip to Malawi in 1990. Just me and Aitch. At Lilongwe airport we hired a car from the brochures on the desk, not from the kiosks in the airport. Well, the man on the phone said they didn’t have any presence at the airport to save money, but they were nearby, they’d be there in a jiffy. And they were cheap. I like that.
The airport emptied till it was just us, so we took our bags to the entrance and sat in the shade waiting. There was no-one there but a bored youth sitting in a dark blue Honda with sagging suspension, but we were chilled and the airport garden needed birding. Eventually I went back to the desk to phone the man. He was amazed: “My driver should have been there long ago!”
‘Twas him. ‘Twas our car: The dark blue Honda with sagging suspension. “No, no,” we laughed, “There must be a better car than this!” – thinking of the rough roads we’d be traversing. “Come back to the office and you can choose another car,” said the friendly man. So we did. The office was his house, and we inspected his fleet. Well, bless him, of course it was his best car, he’s good people; so off we headed to Kasungu National Park in a dark blue Honda Civic with Formula 1 ground clearance. We were on safari, and this was our jeep.
In the park we drove with one wheel on the middle bump and one on the left edge of the road. On the open road we drove slowly and avoided anything above deck.
While I was unpacking to occupy our bungalow I froze: a serval! Wonderful! We always love seeing the smaller wildlife. I tried to signal to Aitch as the long-legged cat walked out of the long grass into the clearing. I didn’t want to scare it, so I whistled low and urgent. Aitch came out, and we watched as it came closer and closer.
And closer. And closer till it rubbed itself against my leg! It was the camp pet, it had been raised by the rangers.
We headed further north – to Vwaza Marsh, and then up high to Nyika Plateau, 10 000ft above sea level; then south again to Nkhata Bay, beautiful Lake Malawi and warmer weather. The car went like a dream at twenty km/h and even sometimes at thirty km/h.
South of Nkhata Bay we suddenly came on a stretch of smooth road! I crept the needle up to forty km/h. Then fifty and eventually sixty! Wheee! “Careful, Koos,” admonished my Aitch, clinging white-knuckled to the dashboard (kidding! sort of). Then we came up to the big yellow grader that had smoothed our path. It moved aside and we went past with a wave to the friendly driver. The road condition was now back to interesting, so I slowed down to forty. “Slow down, Koos,” admonished my Aitch. We’d been doing thirty, so this still felt fast to her and I knew she was right, but I had tasted speed . .
WHUMP! We hit a brick and I knew immediately Fuckit Mrs Tuckit that we’d be getting to know this remote stretch of Malawi. I parked on a low level bridge and leaned out to peer under the car: Oil pouring out of the sump. Do you have any soap? I asked Aitch. Here, she said shoving a bottle of liquid soap into my hand. Um, no, a bar of soap. Ever resourceful, she whipped out a fat green stick of Tabard mozzi repellent. Perfect, I said and shoved it in the hole. It went into the sump without touching sides! OK, we were going to be here for a while . .
To break the tension I took my binocs and went for a walk and straight away things got better. “Come look!” I called Aitch “A lifer!” A Fire-Crowned Bishop flitted around in the reeds of the stream we were parked above. ‘Um,’ she said, ‘Don’t tell me that’s why you stopped here?’ Grinning, she made us a snack on the bootlid and we waited. Before too long someone came by. On foot. Two schoolboys who said, Not to worry, we know a mechanic in a nearby village. He will fix it. Great! I said, Would you ask him to help us, please? thinking, Actually guys, there’s no sign of a ‘nearby village.’
An hour later, a car zoomed by without stopping. Unusual for Malawi. Another hour later and a Land Rover stopped, the driver got out and shook his head sadly. He couldn’t help us, he said, as he was in a government vehicle. As he drove off we saw his female passenger appearing to give him a thousand words. He stopped and walked back with a 5l oil can in his hand. “I can’t sell you this oil because it’s guvmint oil, but I am going to give you this oil,” he said. Great, we accepted it with alacrity. It was half full. It was a start.
Another hour or so and three figures approached us on foot, one with a greasy green overall and a red metal toolbox on his shoulder. It was our mechanic and our schoolboys. They had come through!
Soon he had the sump cover off and I started tapping the hole closed using a shifty and a spanner. As I tapped I asked if anyone – perchance – had a bar of soap. Nope. No-one. Holding up the cover to the sun I tapped that malleable metal until not even a glint of sun shone through. I had closed the hole. As we started to replace it, I muttered “I’d give twenty kwacha for some soap,” whereupon one of the guys whipped out a sliver of red Lifebuoy soap from his pocket.
Boy! Did the others turn on him! “How can you be so unkind to our guests?” was the accusation and they refused to let me pay him more than four kwacha for his soap, despite my assuring them that it was worth twenty to me. As we prepared to depart after pouring in the guvmint oil, we gave them each a cold can from our hebcooler, paid the mechanic his modest dues (he didn’t charge traveling costs) and gave the schoolboys and the mechanic each a cap. I had two spare caps and Aitch had one. A pink one.
1500km later we handed the car back and I told the man at the airport: “Please check the sump. Its leaking oil.” It wasn’t, but I wanted him to check it.
~~oo0oo~~
More pictures of our journey from Aitch’s album:
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The whole album, as I have now discarded the hard copy:
~~oo0oo~~
We only got stuck four times. Once near the beach at Lake Malawi and three times on or near beaches in Moçambique.
In Malawi I got out to let down my tyres but a group of people from nearby ran up: “No, no. Don’t. You drive, We’ll push you out!”
Turns out they were Bahá’í Faith folks having a picnic on a day of religious significance to them (maybe the Birth of the Báb in 1819?). They believe in World peace. Me too, brothers! World peace, a friendly push and not having to re-inflate my tyres is what I believe in! Handshakes and good wishes all round.
All three times in Mozambique or Moçambique (Portuguese) we didn’t have long to wait and a guy rolled up in a Land Rover or a Land Cruiser, stopping in front of us and shaking his head pityingly in his tight khaki shorts. “You really must have 4X4,” he’d say and I’d agree and ooh and aah about his rugged vehicle. Then he’d pull us out chop-chop, tell us where they had been, tell us where NOT to go (and make that route sound so exciting that we’d sometimes go exactly there!), and then drive away still shaking his head.
I reckon if we had gone in a 4X4 we would have missed out on some good advice** and on meeting some friendly people! We’d have been self-supporting. Insular. Who wants that?
I blogged about our trip here:
~~~oo0oo~~~
** mainly: ‘You can’t drive here in that thing!’
We have been given other good advice in Africa.
~~oo0oo~~
That beautiful tricked-out-OTT Landrover in the main pic belongs to Sam Watson, who contacted me to tell me that, then didn’t answer my query on whether he wears tight khaki shorts. Check out his blog http://www.zerzura.me
Trish (Aitch) and 5yr-old Jess made a paste-and-cut album when we got back from our trip to five Southern African countries. I found it lying around so thought I’d photograph it and paste it here as a gallery. Hope you enjoy.
