Zambia

One thing I find amusing about South Africans is beyond Mauritius all-inclusives they don’t really travel in Africa. Whereas to a North American Africa is exotic personified and a destination that will (rightfully) impress everyone back home. Sadly this meant that I couldn’t find a sidekick to bring to Zambia – not even my boyfriend was willing to join me. I can’t decide if travelling in Africa alone as a female is brave...or just stupid; likely it is a mix of both. But I’m not going to let lack of travel buddies stop me from seeing the continent, so I packed my bags and flew to the city of Livingstone - home of Victoria Falls. As I have said before, travelling in Africa leads to lowered expectations with regard to food, accommodation, infrastructure and cities in general. Really, the cities are not the destination anyway – it’s the nature that takes your breath away, whereas the cities tend to make you hold your breath. Livingstone's streets are dusty and pothole ridden, the buildings old (or at least look that way) with peeling paint, the power supply sporadic. Vendors line the streets selling fruits, dried fish decaying under the hot sun (the holding of breath is a good idea here specifically), and thousands of counterfeit mobile phones and Nigerian ’adult’ entertainment. But it’s pretty clean and much more African than South Africa. Most surprising is how incredibly friendly, and actually lovely, the people are. As one taxi driver told me, compared to what happens in Zimbabwe to the south, Zambians just want to get along and be peaceful and happy. It shows. I decided to rough it for the first few days, making home a thatched roofed lodge with a cushion covered floor and mosquito screens in place of windows. Unfortunately half the student population of Ireland had the same idea and they made for extremely loud bedfellows. Apparently the Irish medical students descend on Zambia for work experience in the regional hospitals, which is an admirable program. But they also, in typical Irish style, get blitzed every single night.

As the name suggests, Livingstone is dedicated to famous Scottish explorer David Livingstone. The town lies near the Zambezi River, and just upstream from one of the wonders of the natural world, Victoria Falls. The Victoria Falls National Park covers much of the surrounding region, so there’s plenty of wildlife and scenery to see. Livingstone itself is quaint enough, with a museum that doubles as a shrine to the Scottish adventurer. It also hosts a pretty impressive carvers market and the absolute best weather: it is mid winter and a balmy 26 degrees outside. Livingstone lacks the corrugated tin shacks that dominate South Africa’s townships. Rather, outside town lie traditional thatched straw settlements and villages where maize farmers and their families grow their food crops. Sadly, some massive graveyards and orphanages also lie in the surrounding countryside, reminders of the toll HIV has taken on the country. I spent my first day wandering the town to get a feel for the place. As my cab driver from the airport pointed out (the only airport I have seen that was infested with cats) there are very few “naughty chaps” in these parts who steal from visitors; in other words it was safe to venture out alone in daylight. When crime does occur, they blame Zimbabweans - a common refrain throughout southern/central Africa. Anyway, I was really excited because: Victoria Falls! I have been dying to see them since arriving in Africa. Despite a dodgy operation at the park entrance, where even though every sign stipulated a $20 USD cash fee to enter the park, they suddenly only accepted Kwatcha (the worthless local currency, $1 is equal to 4,500 Kwatchas) and were making visitors exchange currency with a smelly man in the parking lot who kept a large wad of rolled Kwatchas in his armpit. I gave my best bitchitude but arguing got me nowhere. This is the part of travelling in Africa that I hate: you are often helpless in the face of total sheisters. And really, who ARE you going to call when someone is blatantly ripping you off? No one cares, and in fact I suspect that they often just see a large dollar sign where your head is.

The falls, which rim the Zimbabwe/Zambia border make Niagra look precious. A bridge crosses one arm of the Zambezi by the falls, marking both the border and the former bungee jumping area -‘former’ because an Australian jumper suffered a broken chord recently, plunging her into the crocodile infested waters below. While she survived, I’m not sure it was good for business. Victoria Falls seem to stretch for a few kilometres lengthwise, and so visitors can follow a hiking trail alongside them for some distance. The trail, while baboon infested, is picturesque and winds through a lush green rainforest with long vines swinging from exotic trees, in direct contrast to the scorched earth, brown vegetation and red dust that surround the park's perimeter. The closer you come, the wetter the air – and the walkway develops a slippery, slimy carpet of green algae. The pathway can be dangerous, and a friend of a friend died here recently when he slipped off the side. You actually need to rent two layers of full rain gear for the walk, though the gear is rendered somewhat useless by the fact that the rain points upwards. Imagine pouring rain hitting you from above, from below, and directly in the face. Nothing stays dry (not even my treasured Sony NEX camera which no longer works after getting drenched here *sob*). The water droplets look like sparkling diamonds in the sunlight, and rainbows formed by the mist appear around every corner. The power of the falls is indescribable, the roar of the water deafening. They thunder, bubble and seethe all around you. They are truly a sight to behold – yet a confusing one because the eastern cataracts on the Zambezi seem placid – there is absolutely no hint of what lies ahead when you walk along the river from above. At the head of the upper trails sits a monument to David Livingstone marking the spot where he burried visitors felled by malaria (it is still rife in the region). There were a lot of really large baboons wandering the trails at the park. They may look funny with their puffy pink posteriors, but these scavengers are actually dangerous. If you carry any plastic grocery bags with you, you will get jumped by these gangster monkeys. There were a couple of points where I was alone in the trees and they appeared up ahead, making me very nervous. Mostly I tried to stay as close as possible to any other groups of people. On the other side of the falls two baboons had stolen someone’s lunch and created a traffic jam while they dined in the middle of the path. On either side people waited for them to finish, not daring to pass. But two macho male tourists took the opportunity to show off and started menacing the pair, obviously unaware that a baboon can rip your face off with one slap…rookie mistake on their part. The baboons, unimpressed, looked like they were gearing up to attack but luckily park rangers came by just as things were about to get ugly (for the two men – my money was on the baboons). Finally free of baboons, I hiked upstream to the Royal Livingstone, a vestige of colonialism and Zambia’s swishest hotel for lunch (my boyfriend Johannes would call it ‘Africa for white people’). The thatched roofs, manicured lawns, staff uniforms and stunning vistas along the Zambezi made me feel like I had inadvertently time travelled to the early 1900s. Along the way I found three wild zebras grazing in the shade. Because I am obsessed with zebras, I decided to take advantage of proximity and snap some photos. Plus it’s amazing being so close to these wild animals. One took notice and came up not two feet from me, to watch what I was doing. We stood there staring at each other for a solid ten minutes. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch it, but you really can’t do that – Africa is not a petting zoo, and no matter how tempting it might be they are totally wild and known to kick humans in the ribs. The landscape in Zambia really impressed me, a total blend of Africa colours; khakis, deep greens, golds and oranges. Sunrises were spectacular, as was the vegetation. Great swathes of the country remain traditionally populated, and they take great pride in their sustainable way of life. And you are very likely to see random elephants by the side of the road as they roam freely in this part of the continent, crossing the borders of Zimbabwe, Botswana and Zambia indiscriminately. I also loved the colourfully patterned locally produced fabrics seen on women’s clothing and on furniture, as well as the general attitude of the friendly people – they are so proud of their country and of their democratic politics. What a warm, relaxing and hospitable place. What wasn’t relaxing – or enjoyable – was the turbulence on the flights home. Africa seems a particularly bumpy place to fly. I have never been on a plane that has actually dropped in the sky before. It was terrifying, I hated it, and I hope it never happens to me again.

A little more Johannesburg

I spent part of the June/July break in Johannesburg doing some mining communications work. Jozi as the locals call it has really grown on me. It’s not beautiful like the Cape…in fact you could say it’s pretty ugly. In winter, even though it is sunny every day, the city envelops you in brownness. The grass is brown, the trees are brown, the buildings are brown, and even the sky has a thick layer of brown smog upon which the blue rests. And the ridiculously dry air sucks all moisture out of your system leaving you thirsty, dry eyed, and leathery skinned. And yet, despite it all this the place really gets under your (leathery) skin. Beyond the massive shopping malls lie unique little neighbourhoods like Melville and Newtown, and awesome weekend farmers and arts markets. Spending a Sunday afternoon dancing salsa on a rooftop patio at Arts on Main was pretty amazing, especially because it was 25 degrees in the winter sunshine. But unfortunately, unless you are lucky enough to know locals you will never find these places as a tourist. Even the CBD, one of the more dangerous neighbourhoods has a certain kind of African flavour that you don’t see in Cape Town. Maybe it’s because it’s dangerous that it becomes kind of exhilarating to visit. My friend Charles (Howard) who many back home will know, took my friend Tsholo and I on a tour of the historic Anglo American offices which occupy almost a quarter of the CBD. Maybe they weren’t quite as impressive as their London outpost, but there’s something about the history and legacy that holds you in awe. Also, they aren’t shabby. I would never move to Johannesburg, but if I did, I know where I would be applying for work. The nightlife too is different to Cape Town. I think because it feels mixed – you don’t really find this in the Cape - it’s more fun, more African feeling and you end up in conversations with an interesting range of people on any given night out. I’m not sure I will be spending much time in Jozi from now on, but I have to admit that if I don’t come back again I will be disappointed.

Botswana

Following a masochistic five months dominated by a full time plus three-extra course study and exam schedule, I was desperate to hit the road. Besides a five week stint in Johannesburg to look forward to, I was ready to delve into some authentic Africana. I was intrigued by Zambia and wanted to see Victoria Falls…and even more so by Botswana. Since I was alone on this trip, I decided a small scale tour was the way to go. So I hooked up with a couple of Russians and a driver, and off we went. The overland border was little more than an hour’s drive from Livingstone, over relatively well paved roads (by African standards), running though national parks and traditional villages where maize farmers still live in thatched straw and mud huts. Village schools were basically four wooden poles held together by a thatched roof – almost like miniature pavilions. In the dry months I’m sure this is fine, but when the rainy season arrives I’m not clear how this set up can possibly work. At least they elevate the houses a little so that the floors don’t turn to mud. The border proved chaotic as expected, with rampant squawking chickens, hundreds of hawkers selling colourful blankets, fruit and wood carvings, and trucks trying not to run down the masses of humanity running wild. The tiny immigration office was also a seething mass of sweaty bodies, bearing no real semblance to a line. Please don’t judge me for being happy when I realized that there were two lines, the efficient one of which was for ‘vips’ aka tourists. After getting our stamps, we fought through the throngs down to water’s edge – turns out a little ferry needed to be taken across to reach Botswana. In fact, this little ferry corner sits on the edges of four countries - in one direction you see Namibia, the next, Zimbabwe, then of course Botswana and Zambia.

Besides the little metal speed boats, there is a truck barge that transports giant trucks one at a time across the waters – not the utmost in efficiency but quaint nonetheless. Waiting to hop on our ferry, we were descended upon by the most obnoxious, aggressive souvenir hawkers imaginable. The captain and our driver had to help us fight them off. Luckily the arrival of some new white faces provided adequate distraction. One four minute ride across the Zambesi later, we were picked up in a safari vehicle and subjected to a second round of Botswana entry border frenzy. Finally safely into the country, we headed for the northern town of Kasane on the Chobe River. En route we passed roadside herds of chickens, goats, scrawny cows and elephants. I had heard that tourism in Botswana was two things: very focused on sustainability (excellent!)and very expensive, so I was only a little surprised when we arrived at our beautiful waterfront thatched roof luxury lodge (I had earned this after roughing it in Zambia) to find an ocean of white faces. I haven’t seen this many Americans since I was last in America and it was actually a little disconcerting. Day one included a boat trip up the Chobe, such a beautiful and peaceful region, and the midwinter temperatures of 28 degrees were very much to my liking. We boarded a tiny safari boat with some friendly Australians and annoying Italians who made it their mission to try their damndest to tip the boat into the croc infected waters. Chobe is a massive 11,500 square kilometre national park, uninhabited and ruled by animals. And unlike game drives in South Africa – which don’t get me wrong, are great – it is a lot wilder, a lot more adventurous …and just a lot more ‘African’, except for all the Americans. Cruising up river we found exotic birds including African eagles, spoon bills, a giant humming bird, herons and really colourful fishers.

It didn’t take long before we found our first hippo, soon to be followed by literally hundreds more, the females lying along the shore in squishy piles of ten to twenty resembling a pile of rocks from a distance, while singular large males stood guard over their harems twitching their tiny little ears, exposing their pink mouths through lazy yawns…and fanning their poop everywhere with their little tails. I have never seen so many hippos, or been so close to them in their natural habitat. By day they are usually pretty reclusive – I think Chobe is one of the few places in the world you can get so close and actually see such a large quantity hippos in the wild. Along the edges of the water lurked giant water monitor lizards, lazing in the sun or crawling through the high grass in search of bird eggs. On a swampy island in the middle of the estuary giant Cape buffalo grazed. Massive, prehistoric crocodiles lay in the sun, seeking camouflage for their scaly bodies in the reeds, fast asleep with their mouths hanging open to display jagged teeth all the better to eat you with, and baby crocs lay along the sandy beaches.

Herds of sable antelopes ran along the shore, as well as springboks and other small antelopes. We also passed families of wart hogs come to drink at river’s edge. The absolute highlight was encountering a giant bull elephant having play time in the water. He was almost fully submerged, and would roll over occasionally so that only his huge feet showed, then a trunk would appear and spray…then ears would flap. One giant eye watched us at a distance of about five metres, the other observed his elephant friend waiting patiently at the shore line, pacing back and forth. Apparently the elephants and really big hippos are the only animals that can safely cross to the island free from threat of croc attack.

The opportunity to get so close to these animals in the water in a tiny boat is such a special experience. What wasn’t so special was the Italian tourists’ inability to heed the guide’s warning that we must keep our weight balanced at all times to avoid tipping over into utterly croc and hippo infested waters – there were some close calls. The next morning we jumped into an open safari vehicle and headed to the Chobe National Park entrance for a game drive. As we drove through Kasane, we saw co-inhabitants giant baboons playing at the national bank, and had to make stops along the way to let rogue elephants cross the street. In Botswana, the national parks have no fences, meaning that animals are free to wander across parks, streets, cities and national borders – and they do. I do wonder what the result of this policy is where lions and leopards are concerned. Luckily unlike in neighbouring Namibia poaching is not a problem, but this is partly because they have shipped out the last of their rhinos to sanctuaries for protection. The threat against rhinos in Africa is so dire and so heartbreaking. Despite their endangered status, their horns are still in huge demand for traditional Chinese virility ‘medicines’ – and poachers are only too eager to comply by killing these beautiful creatures. This situation is nothing less than sickening and disgusting. The massive park is exquisite, featuring very different scenery to Namibia or South Africa. The trails are red sand (making for very bumpy rides and sore tailbones), and everything is golden in colour…it’s just so…African! The trees drip with birds’ nests, and there are paths that lead from the main trail made specifically by elephants – they like to make and maintain their own walkways. A family of giant baboons greeted us at the entrance and it didn’t take long before we came across a flock of Kudu grazing. We also saw many giraffes and were able to watch antelopes run at full speed from a perceived predator. From a hilltop we observed what looked like giant boulders in the water below, but were actually a cluster of more than forty hippos. Our best find was a herd of hundreds of elephants – stretching as far as the eye could see. We stopped just a few metres from two matriarchs with a young male and a tiny baby who our guide reckoned was less than four months old. Baby elephants are almost unbearably cute. We sat quietly and watched them as they watched us back with only minimal interest, ripping up grass with their trunks. The baby ran from elephant to elephant, adorably getting underfoot and trying to emulate the grownups but only able to rip one stem of grass up at a time. Eventually he gave up and ran to his mother to breast feed.

Unfortunately for me, this is the point where my camera decided to run out of batteries. We didn’t encounter any of the predators, namely lions or leopards, but I wasn’t disappointed because I have seen them before and because Chobe is one of the most beautiful, magical places I have seen in my life – it could never disappoint. If you ever get the chance to go, I would recommend this over Kruger any day. Botswana is so much wilder, so much more authentic…leaving here was so incredibly difficult to do!