Get the BEST 4X4 possible, modify it, take engine spares, take all your own food and water and fuel, fit a winch, fit a snorkel, take hi-lift jacks, a big toolkit, solar power, satellite phone, there must be more . . . be entirely self-sufficient.
OR
Sommer just take the car you have, buy food along the way. Meet the locals and depend on them.
There are different approaches. All are good, they’re just different:
Now meet a lady from Cape Town who realised her little Toyota Conquest with close to 400 000km on the clock was turning twenty – and she was turning eighty! So combined they were 100 years old with plenty high mileage! She thought “Bliksem, it’s Time To Drive Up Through Africa”. She left Cape Town and she’s in Ethiopia now (update: She’s now in Sudan) and going strong. (update: She made it to England); (another update: she turned round and is headed back!) (last update: she finally called a halt when she fell ill); Go and read her blog for an adventure – and for wonderful creative spelling. I love it! She calls her blog My African Conquest. Lovely stuff, Julia’s all about BEING THERE and the people along the way.
– Julia, her Toyota Conquest and friends in Sudan –
Then there’s this approach: A five year preparation of a monster truck with everything including the kitchen sink. Gas, solar, batteries, diesel, water, fuel, EVERYTHING! This beast has a big buffalo boss above the windscreen and it’s called Nyati! Paul’s approach to his travels is different. He writes like . . stream-of-conscious and he’s more about getting home. He’s no spring chicken either, at 70, so hats off to him too!
Different strokes, different folks. For some it’s more the journey, for some it’s more the equipment. It does tickle me that the huge big Benz truck has seats with wind-down windows for two, while the tiny Toyota has seats with wind-down windows for four! And the Conquest took the dirt roads, while the Benz stayed mainly on the tar.
As a colonial, I had long contemplated making an expedition into the regions north of the Cape Colony and Natal, but not until that year was I able to see my way clear to accomplish it. At that time the Cape Colony was not so well known as it is now, and Natal much less; more particularly beyond its northern boundary, over the Drakensberg mountains, for few besides the Boers had ever penetrated beyond the Free State and Transvaal; and when on their return journey to Maritzburg, to sell their skins and other native produce, I had frequent conversations with them, the result was that nothing was known of the country beyond their limited journeys. This naturally gave me a greater desire to visit the native territories, and, being young and full of energy, wishing for a more active life than farming, although that is active during some part of the year, I arranged my plans and made up my mind to visit these unknown regions, and avail myself of such opportunities as I could spare from time to time to go and explore the interior.
That’s a quote from Andrew A. Anderson in his book “Twenty-Five Years in a Waggon in South Africa – Sport and Travel in South Africa”. * He started his trek in August 1863.
So the answer I suppose, is: As long as we’ve been here.
~~oo0oo~~
Well, as colonials we had also long contemplated making an expedition into regions north, so in 2003 we finally got off our butts and went.
~~oo0oo~~
Back to our Andrew A Anderson: He left Natal and sallied into the Vrystaat, stopping first at a soon-to-be-famous town.
‘The great change in climate and vegetation is very perceptible on leaving fair Natal for the cold, dreary, open, and inhospitable Free State. Harrysmith, in 1863, was a poor, dull, sleepy, town, only supported and kept alive by a few transport riders on their way to the Transvaal and the small villages of the Free State. Hmph! what did ‘e know!?
‘I remained two days to gain news and information about the locality, and the various roads to the north; game being plentiful in all directions, principally blesbok and springbok, wildebeest or gnu, quaggas, hartebeest, and others. The ostrich was also plentiful. I decided to follow the game up, taking the advice of my Natal friend, who had recently returned from his shooting excursion. I took the road leading east, and less frequented than the others, which eventually leads to the newly-formed town of Wakkerstroom.
~~oo0oo~~
Later, Anderson relates a story he heard – second hand:
‘As an instance of their boldness at times, for, generally speaking, they (lions) are cowardly, the following was related by Mr Botha, a respectable, educated Boer farmer, and is quite true. It happened to his uncle.‘
“Journal.—Apes river, between Pretoria and Waterborg. Arrived at the Outspan, remained until next night at twelve, then started the waggon off on the springbok flats (twenty miles without water). The party consisted of L. Botha, P. Venter, and the servants, one waggon with span of sixteen oxen, one cart and two horses. Venter and Botha remained at the Outspan place with the cart and horses and a bastard Hottentot boy called Mark, twelve years old.
“The waggon had been gone half-an-hour when they heard the rattling of wheels in a manner which made them think that the oxen must have had a ‘scrick’ (scare) from a lion, as that place is full of them. Mark, who was sleeping alongside the fire, was called up to bring the horses. The lazy fellows there won’t do anything themselves*, not even when there is a ‘scrick’ from a lion. They were soon going to render assistance to the waggon, going at a jog trot (even then they did not hurry*), when Mark, who was on the front seat, called out, ‘Baas, de esel byt de paarde’ (‘The donkey bites the horse’), and immediately the cart stopped, and a lion was seen clasped round the fore-quarters of the favourite horse. Before the gun was taken up, down went the horse; meanwhile the gun was levelled at the lion, but the cap missed. Another was searched for, but it would not fit, as it was small and the nipple a large military one. The lion now was making his meal off the horse, lying at his ease alongside the splash-board, eating the hind-quarter, Botha trying to split a cap to make it fit in vain; so Venter took the gun, and Botha made up powder with spittle to make it stick, and Venter was to take aim and Botha to do the firing with a match. Just as it ignited, the lion sprang right into the cart between them, and gave Venter a wound on the head and scratched his hand with his claw, and bit off a piece of the railing, sending the gun and Mark spinning out of the cart, and with that force that the lion fell down behind the cart. He then came round, as fast as he could, on to the dead horse, and continued his feed; but, not in the same cool manner, but making a growling, like a cat with meat when a dog is near, and now and then giving an awful roar, which made the cart, men, and all shake again. The other horse, which is a miracle, stood quite still, never attempting to budge an inch. After the lion had fed he went away, and Botha got out, intending to unharness the remaining horse, but no sooner was he on the ground than he heard the lion coming on again at full speed. He threw himself into the cart, and the lion stopped in front of the living horse, which tried to escape but was held fast by the pole-chain after breaking the swingle-trees. The lion gave one jump on to the horse, and with one bite behind the ears killed him. Botha was lying on the front seat, with his legs hanging down alongside the splash-board, when the lion came and licked the sweat of his horse off his trousers, but did not bite, Botha remaining quite still, which was the only chance, in the dog-cart from ten o’clock, when first attacked, until near daybreak, when the lion left;”
Saith Anderson: ‘This is a most remarkable case of boldness in a lion, when not wounded.’
*Anderson’s contempt for the Boers was typical of Poms. In ’25yrs in a Waggon’ he often writes disparagingly of them even while accepting their hospitality and gaining from their local knowledge.
This arrogance led to the ‘mighty British Empire’ suffering a crashing defeat against the Boers in the First Anglo Boer War in 1880.
~~oo0oo~~
*Anderson’s book is free to read at Project Gutenberg. Read about the amazing Project Gutenberg here.
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?
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
