The strike put me (and really the general UB campus) in sort of a funky mood. The too quick devolution of adventure filled bliss to three unexpected mid-term exam days resulted in feeling a little frantic and a little more needy for home. (1) I was a bit of a rain cloud.
But all aligned and thanks to a South African airline employee named Daphne, Kevin and I were eating a Debonairs Mexican Pizza in Las Vegas with Axel, Monica, Nick and Rachel by half past eight. Before the troops departed for Mozambique we felt it very necessary for Kev to experience a most authentic Vegas evening. Complete with a couple six racks of Black Label.
Kevin, like a nobel Santa Claus arrived in my humble dormitory with gifts, good tidings and snacks from beautiful beautiful America. Letters, dinosaurs, treats galore even Hostess cupcakes.
( I have alotted 1 per week for the remainder of my time.)
Because of our extended Vegas endeavor we arrived at the hotel, Lolwapa Lodge, which I had carefully hand selected, very affordable, near campus “clean,” etc around 11:30 to find that the inn had no beds for weary travelers (despite my handwritten confirmation sitting on the counter.)
Admittedly I was very pleased that Kev got this rather authentic Botswana experience right off the bat. Though it was resolved quite quicker than usual.
Time in Gabs was slow and as it should be. We walked to River Walk, ate at Primi with Millie, saw parliament, climbed Kgale hill, rode in Combis, breakfast and jams at Linga Longa. Kevin got to see all parts of my normal life as it stands currently and experience the phenomenon of time. That was wonderful.
I was very happy to have an acknowledgement of craziness I cherish daily.
Standing in a long queue at the Post Office I was so pleased that Kevin too noticed the motivational poster on the wall behind the counter that reads “Fake it till you make it.”
WHAT!? It was the first time I did not have to laugh alone at the absurdity.
I was even more happy to show Kevin, my home in Mochudi and to take him to a traditional wedding as an “established” member of the community. He got to meet Granny too.
On Sunday vacay began! A flight from Gaborone to the north to make it to Livingstone for adventures in Victoria Falls.
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| Africa. Time in Botswana |
Flying was a lovely mode of transport.
The border was insanity. People everywhere looking to help you cross the river any way imaginable and for any and all prices. Anything from 30 USD to a pair of flip flops. Unfortunately we had neither.
We were a tad under-prepared, with not the right amounts or types of any currency really. Quite possibly this was our only slightly tension filled moment.
As a side note, the Zambian currency is the Kwacha (like gotcha with a Q sound.) The Kwacha is nuts because it is 4,000 Kwacha to the dollar. (Or if you are coming from Botswana roughly 640 Kwacha to the Pula (!)) A beer is 8,000 Kwacha, it felt sweet to buy a round and hand over the 40,000 K.
Livingstone, Zamia is a town filled with art and life and so many beautiful things. A lovely and confusing blend of bright African murals and sculpture around large colonial structures. I felt a much less sleepy pace than Gabs.
For evening one in Zambia we elected a sunset float down the river.
Late afternoon we were retrieved from our hostel and driven to The Waterfront, which is a lodge/gathering point on the edge of the river. There are wooden walkways built into the steep bank that are surrounded by giant leaves and palms and ‘vines strangling their kin.’ At night it is lit but oil lanterns.(4)
Above the falls the Zambezi is huge, flat and calm. (Maybe maybe comparable to the Mississippi (?) The river is quite literally the center of the land. Elephants, hippopotamus, crocodiles and lots of birds all coming to escape the dry. We (us and the creatures) watched one another while passing slowly, eating delicious snacks, barbecue and enjoying the open bar (us and not the creatures.)
By sundown the boat made it to the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe, then turned around, floating along as the stars came out. Of African sunsets I have gotten to see. This was perhaps the most impressive; a perfect round orange, you can stare directly at and never worry about everyone who said you would go blind from doing so.
Father-daughter booze cruise was a success.
The next morning an early wake-up and hike into the Batoka Gorge at the bottom of Victoria falls for white rafting extraordinaire.
We were served a delicious breakers at The Waterfront while we had our training for the day. This was equally terrifying and informative.
Rafting on the Zambezi River below the Victoria Falls is classified as category 5 raft trip meaning it has ‘extremely difficult, long and violent rapids, steep gradients, big drops and pressure areas.’ The number is also based on the ‘severity of consequences of mistake.’ Whoa.
HOWEVER, it was made clear to me that it is possible to go on this 27km trip as an amatuer for two reasons: firstly, it is crazy deep so there are not really rocks to hit or get stuck between, second, Africa has minimal safety standards.
Mostly, training just consisted of learning terminology like downtime: amount of time the water keeps you under IMPORTANT: if you hang on to the boat, you might not be able to get air, but you won’t get stuck in a long downtime. Another fun term is to call-a-get-down: your guide yells “get down” to which you stop what you were doing and hunker into the bottom and cling to your paddle.
After our instructions we formed a rag-tag but good looking little crew. David and Kim from Cananda, out doorsy fairly fresh out of college investment strategists, Johnny an absolute nut carpenter from England and Kev and I. With a very fetching American guide named Tim.
The falls form a boiling pot where the river turns down the Batoka Gorge, the immense power of the Zambezi falls through a two kilometer wide abyss then is forced into a “tiny” gorge (that is how the rapids are made-by squeezing the river.) Hiking down I felt I had discovered the Great(5) Valley in a Land Before Time. It was the most green I had seen in weeks, a huge vine ridden jungle canopy. (I was only missing Littlefoot and co.)
The gorge was so so beautifully quiet. The pace of the day was to be in absolute calm, under a very hot sun and even very hot breeze. Then come to a rapid (hearing before seeing) and have Tim explain what the rapid would be like an our general plan of attack. I.e. Forward hard, Right side forward, Left side back, then (often) call a “get down.”
Team Tim were sort of the All Stars until fateful rapid number 8.
Rapid 8 or Midnight diner, aptly named as it had “two options on the menu.” One side, a relatively gentle category 3 (2) and the other, the most challenging and most extensive category 5 of the day. Tim explained that we had a “50-50-errr-70-30” chance of flipping but we would be fine on either side. In Africa we do hard things, so category 5 it was.
Paddling as hard as my arms could move I heard the get down called with just enough time to look up and see, Kevin, Johnny and Kim directly above me. Determined to avoid any and all down time, I clung with all my might (and left arm) (3), relinquishing my paddle to the Zambezi, to the tow rope on the boat so as to not be lost in the under current.
As cool or prepared as you think you might be, everyone coming out of the water looks absolutely horrified, gasping for air, entirely disoriented. Laughing (sort of) but trying not to choke more than you already are.
By no means am I claiming that I am especially athletic, but I got some props (mostly from Kev) for my latching to the boat and quick recovery.
All ‘props’ aside I stood shakily by myself trying to enjoy my egg-salad sandwich after the trauma. I made the horrible faux paux of asking Tim if he had seen any really horrible injuries to which he said, rather severely, “that’s kind of uncool to ask when we still have 17 km to go.” Whoops.
I put every shred of physical and emotional energy into making up for my kharmatic error the rest of the day.
We saw two 5 meter crocodiles (15 FEET) hop right into the river too. When Tim shoved me into Rapid 24, for a “fun swim” I thought solely of how to escape the imminent croc attack.
They day ended in many (more than anticipated) high fives and many many (again more than anticipated) local brews. Tim and friends joined for festivities at our very delightful Jolly Boy’s Hostel. These very charming river guides will be hosting myself and the usual suspects in the upcoming weeks for Livingstone adventure round two.
I feel every component of Zambezi raft day was analogous to living life in Botswana.
Any and all speculation about how I might or might not survive a crocodile attack was clarified immediately upon beginning our camping adventure in the Chobe National Park of Botswana. This is the plan: crocodiles bury the meat they hunt so that it becomes softer, essentially they let it ferment. When the crocodile attacks you, pretend you are dead. Go limp. Then he will bury you alive. And then you escape!
Excellent.
Just the drive to Chobe was magical. The nearest town to the entrance of the park is Kasane; similar to Mochudi, except green and rather than being thrilled to be surrounded by goats in the Pick n Pay parking lot, we were surrounded by warthogs. Our guide “Mike” thought our excitement over warthogs was silly.
Seconds after seeing the warthog, an elephant and her baby crossed the freeway!
Chobe is huge (11,700 square kilometers) and consists of glorious grassy flood plains, red desert, dense woodland and the Savuti Marsh area, (a large inland lake (!)) Moving through desert, to forest, to beach to swamp and river, following a jelly (herd) of Giraffes. It feels pretend.
The Park is best known for hosting the greatest concentration of elephants in the world (some 60 000 individuals). Birding is also excellent (I missed Axel but our guide Mike was quite the enthusiast as well)
The carmine bee eater is my new fav bird.
We ate tasty tasty campfire meals at sunrise, then attended morning drives in hopes (?) of seeing a kill. Back for lunch, siesta, then sunset drives when everything returns to the river, and hopefully, again something kills something.
Nights were quiet and reflective.
When we successfully tracked our first lions, we sat about 20 feet away, so I hung my body out of the car to be nearer. In all honesty, they appear like they could very much befriend you. Mike said “Be careful not to fall out.” I did not feel too worried.
Later when I asked all my extreme bush hypotheticalz, Mike explained if I fell out I would have been eaten. Very quickly.
Our first night I woke up to what I was certain was a clever, hungry and lightening speed lion. The sound was vaguely familiar but not enough to register.
ELEPHANTS.
A heard of elephants was meandering through camp.!?.
There was also an odd sort grunt and giggle sound.
Apparently the funnier of the sounds was the call of the Honey Badger. Supposedly, the honey badger -of which I have not heard until this trip, is a very fierce carnivorous and honey hoarding skunk. Evidently its coloration makes it particularly conspicuous in daylight.
I am still not convinced that the Honey Badger is not the equivalent of an African Snipe.
Because a fire has to be blazing strong all night to prevent trampling, the stars seemed a bit drowned out. Until you walked a bit out of camp (which was not advisable unless you were just in the latrine tent) I opted to sit on the little port-a-potty (7) in the open air tent watching falling stars.
I am most glad Kevin got to camp in Africa.
A final lion tracking in Chobe then off to our final destination of Umdloti, (Umd SH LOW tee) a beach 30 kilometers north of Durban for recuperation and bed/breakfasting.
The Fairlight bed and breakfast located on Margaret Bacon Avenue was a quaint colonial house, all white walls and linens with dark African furnishings. It was certainly the best I have ever seen a beach theme pulled off in home decor. Most exciting was a fresh litter of kittens available to fulfill my unmet desire to ‘catch’ something live.
To our delight and surprise our room, was named “Kevin” suite! (see photo) Africa is the land of synchronicity in the most extreme.
Most of our time was reserved for sunning by the Indian Ocean and eating as much calamari as possible. It was perfect.
Durban is dirty and beautiful. The biggest buildings and most people I have seen in months.
Apartheid is gone, but also not.
You don’t miss your water till youre well are un’ dried. (6)
I learned I am certainly a dried well in the Gaborone desert and felt more certain of my place in Seattle, at home, after making our way to the ocean.
I returned alone to 37 degree weather at 7 pm! AH! (conversion 98.6) Despite my full-fledged belief that the use of a cotton sheet allows me to be impervious to any assault - most specifically of werewolves - I had to sacrifice my protective layer for bodily comfort. I spent the first night of my life sleeping with no cover.
Heat and all, Gabs has become home. I was so happy to embrace the Vegas posse and Millie after time away.
Everything I find here makes me feel like I am riding a train while sitting backwards. I have no idea where I will find myself but how I arrived where I am is (mostly) clear- ‘synchronicitious’. My spiritual and physical well-being is the solely the result of trying to be brave enough to be fully awake and alive. There is no room to close your eyes or shut your ears and that is both exhausting and great. Kevin (I think) got to feel that.
Kevin and I got to sit in a boat at Africa's “Four Corners” where Botswana, Namibia, Zambia and Zimbabwe all meet on the river, drinking Castle Draught and watching a sun only found in Africa, next to elephants bathing. It is always very surreal when two parts of your world so readily collide.
I think perhaps Kevin made my existence here real.
Love Love love
I hope you missed me as much as I miss you
Jackie
(1)This was just maybe because general procrastination tactics like very extended time on facebook etc, offered too frequent reminders of being so far. SEAC events are making me more nostalgic than anticipated.
(2) This Category 3 rapid was named The Muncher- which I seemed to think was significantly more hilarious than anyone else, but in retrospect I think the half of our boat that had already fallen out was relatively traumatized (again, in the best sort of way) at this point, and in a less silly mood.
(3) If I bend my arm in this very specific way it still hurts.
(4) It was actually quite reminiscent of waiting in line for the disneyland jungle adventure cruise
(5) Not to be confused with Hidden Valley.
(6) Thank you Otis.
(7)I never once thought of Port A Potty as three separate words til this very moment.
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