The Checkered Flag

Well  the big day arrived. While it wasn’t really like kids on Xmas morning waiting to unwrap presents, I know that there was a very high level of nervous anticipation. We knew that there was going to be a good showing of politicians, and the newspaper had a terrific article on the donation of the trucks by Peter.  We were all dressed in our uniforms ( caps, Mudzimi t-shirts and jeans) and we had shaved, brushed our teeth and hair and cleaned our fingernails. Some had even washed faces. We gave the trucks a once over and man, they were shiny. Then it was off to the show.

The ceremony was to be held at the main firestation and to get there we had to go through the center of town. It was incredible and heartwarming to have people, total strangers, come up to us and thank us for the good thing that we had done.  I am not sure about the other guys, but I certainly hadn’t felt like such a Dudley Doright for a very long time. 

We got to the firesation and it was a hive of activity. All the broken trucks from the prior day had been moved into a straight line (don’t have a clue how) and the yard shone. A reviewing stand was under construction, and from the inside of the large hall that was built to house the working firetrucks, the dulcet tones of the local prison band practicing wafted through the air.





The excitement among the firefighters, both real and faux, was apparent, and they all wanted to take pictures with us and with the engines.  Some ladies had prepared a whole lot of boutonnieres, and they were pinned on to people according to rank. We scored some decent ones but the biggies went to the biggies. Right on time the mayor of Harare arrived with his wife. What we didn’t realize was that in the crowd of a couple of hundred people, was the entire city council plus the Russian ambassador.



 

People started moving indoors and taking their seats and a program was handed out. A few minutes later there was a hustle and bustle and the convoy carrying the vice-president arrived.  This was an interesting political move because while she is a member of ZANU-PF, Harare is an opposition city, and the entire council is MDC. However her late husband who was originally a very close ally of Mugabe’s, was rumored to be getting a little too close to the opposition, and so despite his history and her position,  she was foregoing the opening day of the ZANU national convention in Bulawayo to be at the ceremony. There were a lot of speeches, with the entire city council being recognized, a very nice blessing from the pastor, and a long one from the mayor who remembered Peter from when he was a kid.  

 All went smoothly until the vice-president started speaking and as she gave thanks for the gift, clearly a very recent raw wound was opened. This demure, steely, middle aged woman, who legend has it shot down at least two Rhodesian planes with hand held missiles, started speaking about what having the right equipment might mean to people who were in danger, and she broke down. She kept speaking with frequent pauses to collect herself, and then went outside on Peter’s arm to look at the trucks. 

This was the picture that was on the front page of the paper the next morning. It was certainly more touching than I think anyone had anticipated. After the ribbon cutting ceremony, the VIP’s went to the reviewing stand which was now decorated in bunting, and we watched a demonstration by the firemen of rescue techniques taken straight out of the sixties. I guess you can’t do much if you have only unbreakable, antiquated equipment. After that it was open season on more photographs, and a light lunch. Unfortunately Steve had to leave in the middle of the ceremony to get to the airport, so he missed the rest of the day with us. When we left it was with a sense of pride and fulfillment that something good had happened that day and we had in a small way contributed to it.

 

After a few hours rest we went out to Peter’s stud farm, Lobenvale, which is on the outskirts of Harare. In addition to being a champion stud farm, he has a new venture there,









He has built a couple of chicken coops ( maybe bigger than coops, they each hold about 5,000 chickens) and the chickens are specialized. They lay only brown eggs.  Because these are organic, free range chickens laying brown eggs, the eggs can be sold at a premium. And guess where they are sold – in the good old US of A. The economics of egg gathering and transport are so out of whack that we cant even make our own eggs
 here any more.

We had been told that we were going to a small private game farm for tea/drinks and so we weren’t totally surprised when we arrived there to find a couple of cheetahs right next to a fence in the driveway. As we walked in the gate a couple of the ladies we had met at dinner the previous night came out to greet us, and told us to hurry or we would miss feeding time. 







 They introduced us to Roxy, the owner of the farm. and her two sons and we walked over to an enclosure. Suddenly a lion and lioness came running over into a pen, with the lion really bumping his mate. Turns out that he is blind, and had been rescued when he was a cub. ( he is only about 14 months old now). He was raised in the house and shared the bedroom with Roxy and Craig until he got a little frisky. Then it was time for him to go outside but the living room furniture proudly displays the  evidence of having been used as a lions toys.

We walked a little further and another few lions came to meet the feeding committee.We were warned in more ways than one that these were not domesticated cats and we shouldn't try to pet them

 From the lions enclosures we walked on into a glade where we saw a couple of strange looking creatures that were wrestling on the ground.  Who knew that we would  be playing with pangolins a.k.a. Cape scaly anteaters.

  They can only be eaten by a chief because they are so rare, and these two belong to Mugabe (rumor has it that he is a deadbeat dad, and has not once been to visit them or pay any child support for them). Even more interesting is that they are the only pair in the recorded history of the world to have bred in captivity.

From there we adjourned to the verandah of the main house to have tea, and who should come up, but Sweetpea, a female kudu with a penchant for carrot cake.

After a nice cuppa we strolled down to an open paved area past a bull kudu who had apparently just shown up one day and never left( see what happens with no incentive to work for your living), past Bob the baboon who was rescued from a farm in Maputo,  and  suddenly there were the two cheetahs. The only problem now was that they were no longer behind the fence, but being taken for a little walk about by their handlers.Now who can resist a cuddle with a cheetah, so while trying to look brave we stroked them and scratched them and they purred for us and then tried biting Allen.

After getting our fill of playing with the nice pussy cats we meandered  down to some chairs and a table stocked with all kinds of good alcohol - wine, champagne, whiskey – okay you get the picture, and some food. Sweetpea came with us.

 We sat there and talked and ate and drank and drank and it turned surreal. There was a rumor of some cannabis, and as the sun went down and the night went on, we realized how strange this was. Kudu and impala and sable and giraffe were walking around just passing us by, while ten feet away there were a handful of lions ( not friendly ones)grunting and making strong sounds. Eventually tea ended at about midnight and we all wnt home to a well earned nights sleep.

  

I think I can safely say that I have never had a day like this and probably will never have another

The Calm Before the Storm

A day off at our destination. The schedule was wide open and the final arrangements had to be made for the handing over ceremony. We took a drive over to the main fire station to meet the firemen and see what was happening with the existing equipment first hand. It was amazing and tragic. There were a number of old fire engines, my guess is about 10, all in various states of disrepair. Some had parts missing, others were visibly broken and many appeared to have not moved in a while. All of them were sun faded, with the once bright red paint having faded to a very dull maroon.  There was also a row of ambulances, maybe 20 of them, none of which ran. I would hate to have an emergency there but then where are they going to take you anyway. My understanding is that the hospitals are in the same sorry shape and are rife with HIV. Better to suffer and stay away, or use a witch doctor.While we were there we opened the lockers on the trucks that had been sealed in England to prevent pilferage. Guess what we found inside; a spaceman who sounded just like Peter

The alien from the locker

Peter and the chief, after the alien left

  While we were there they were trying to get a pump of some kind running, and despite input from a half dozen kibitzers, it wasn’t starting for anyone. They brought over a second machine and we saw that it was going to be used to lift the front of a fire truck so that one of the guys could crawl underneath and do some type of repair. Not only were the trucks broken, but the tools to repair them were almost non-existent. I certainly wouldn’t want to crawl under a heavy truck to do work if it were supported only by an airpump. They had no hydraulic equipment – amazing and scary. The chief came down to meet us and he is impressive. Despite overwhelming adversity, he was upbeat and focused on how he and his people could render whatever aid they could in fires and accidents. They cover a huge area, going up to 200km to fires and accidents, because the outlying areas have no equipment at all.

After lunch at a local craft center we went shopping for curios amd other Zim stuff.  It is unbelievable how much sculpture there is all over the city, and probably the country. Its almost like sculpting is the national pastime. Who needs baseball if you can hit a rock with a hammer. We went to an area where there were dozens of vendors, all outdoors, all selling soapstone or granite carvings of hippos, families, and a host of abstract images. These guys should take a page form the Chinese and learn how to make knockoffs or at least sign Picasso to the base. They also had chair weavers and furniture makers there, so you could watch them weave your seat.

Johnno making sure that there were no fabrics he wanted

Johnno once again demonstrated his thoroughness. I think he interviewed every vendor in the place and checked prices on every item.  He was the only one brave enough to buy one of the big ones, and by the time he tried extricating himself from the market he had been marked as a pidgeon. He was like the pied piper leading a clan of very aggressive hawkers, each with a quarry full of sculptures to sell. The problem with his buy was that it looked like a large Mobius strip and I am not sure how well it survived the journey home. It also was the size of a bread bin and weighed more than he could reasonably have been allowed to check in. We will soon find how good a packer he is.

We were told that we had been invited to a studio opening that evening, so we could hang out for the balance of the afternoon and then go over at about 6 for cocktails. Its amazing what a stir it causes when one drives into the parking lot in two firetrucks, and the guys that get out are in regular clothes. The studio belonged to an interior designer and driving into the grounds was beautiful. It was set in a small building with a beautiful view of the rolling hills around it. From there we went to dinner at another of Peters friends.  It was a house that could only be found in Africa, with a huge circular driveway and a thatched roof that covered not only the interior but also large outdoor space. The climate is so temperate that as long as you stay dry, no heating or a/c is necessary.  I was also amazed at how many of the people there smoke.  My guess is 80% inhale,and the good part is that cigars are fine and were on hand and no one moaned about the smell. So unlike NY where I was harassed by some asshole this weekend for walking down the promenade, with a nice fresh breeze blowing, smoking my stogie. He was very perturbed that he might inhale a smidge of second hand smoke as I walked by and was not shy in citing NY city statutes. We should send him to Zimbabwe.

We Are On Our Last Legs

Another great morning, this time full of anticipation. Allan had decided to stay in Bulawayo and get caught up with some old friends and he would come up to Harare a day later than us. So then there were five. I like to shower in the mornings, and I was excited by the fact that here we were in a very comfortable house and that there was a real bathroom with hot water and clean fluffy towels in my future. Imagine my disappointment when I turned on the tap and everything was cold. We asked why and found out that it was a Monday. No electricity on Mondays. Oh well. This is Africa. The most difficult thing that morning was recovering from the mosquitoes. They must have some kind of proboscis champion breeding program in Bulawayo because I have never been bitten so often or so persistently. The little bastards weren’t repelled by regular spraying of off, or by trying to hide under the sheets. When I was moaning about the little spitfires Johnny said to me that there were only a couple of them, and that they were just very vicious. I asked how he knew this and he told me that he had had the lights on and counted. Just goes to show how demented that incessant buzzing can make you.

Driving out of Bulawayo we stopped in at a friend’s mother’s house. The streets of that town are absolutely beautiful, wide and spacious and lined with Jacaranda trees which were in full bloom, making this ongoing tunnel of purple for us to drive through.










Once we were outside of the city limits the going was easy with little traffic. The big issue was the road blocks. The annual congress of the ZANU – PF, Mugabe’s party was scheduled to start the following day in Bulawayo and so politicians from all over the country were on the move. I am not sure if this is what caused it, but we went through at least fifteen roadblocks between Bulawayo and Harare. It seemed like they had a number of functions, ranging from toll collection points ( wonder how much of that money ended up in government coffers) to vehicle documentation checks to distribution of safe driving pamphlet distribution points. Because we were in the fire trucks we were waved through most of them, but it is disconcerting to say the least, especially when they are manned (womanned in some cases) by folks who look like they are teenagers and who in many case had rifles on their shoulders.  Made one think a little of the Lords Army in Uganda. ( We don't have pictures of these people)

Harare is a good sized city of nearly 3 million people, by far the biggest in that part of Africa.  It is a sprawling city and the city center is relatively small. Despite its growth over the years there are still a number of familiar sights.








It is a center for the MDC, the largest opposition to ZANU-PF. Over the years the city and all of its amenities have deteriorated a lot, leading the Economist in 2009 to name it the most difficult city in the world to live in. It is really this deterioration that gave rise to our trip. The fire department did not have any fully functional fire engines, and as a result if your house caught fire and you did not have a readily available source of water, it just burned. The chief told us that while there is a line item in the budget for the fire department, that does not mean that there will be funds available to spend for the equipment. One of the people I spoke to told me that while there is a water system connected to hydrants, and there is no shortage of water in the reservoirs, the incompetence of the bureaucrats means that there is not water in the hydrants regularly. 

One of Peter’s close friends, the former head of the military, was a man named Solomon Mujuru.  He died several months ago in a house fire,( http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-14543048) and as a result Peter decided to see what he could do to improve the situation. What started as a discussion to buy a jaws of life as a gift for the city, expanded to the point where he bought two fire engines in the UK, so that there would be working equipment. 

Despite all of the difficulties he also opened a new business there called Bennie’s Burgers, a fast food place in the suburbs.  Because we had not stopped for lunch, we pulled in to Bennie’s to sample the fare.  What a treat to have a burger, fries and a shake.

From there we went to our hotel, a sort of B and B, that was spectacular. It was close to Peter’s house and had a delightful English garden; Les and I stayed in the cottage away from the main house. We didn’t have plans that night so we settled in to a bottle of Famous Grouse, a scotch that I had not tasted before.






The first taste led us to further sampling, and about that time we met a fellow guest who was staying for a couple of days before returning to London. We sat down for dinner together and we kept sampling the whiskey as well as some wine that he had bought. The more we sampled the more compelled we were to confirm our thoughts, and so by the end of the evening we were pretty certain that the empty bottles of wine and whisky and sherry had all contained some really good stuff, and we were glad that it was us who had finished it.

The End is Nigh

Up and at ‘em. One more real challenge ahead of us: Zim border crossing. The distance from Francistown to the border is only about 80 km, and we thought that since everything had been prepared and people were waiting for us the trip and crossing would be easy.  Its amazing how stupid we are that we keep falling for the same trap. Remember TIA – This Is Africa. Anything that can go wrong does, nothing is easy and one should expand the time required to do a task by at least three.  As we left the hotel the local fire department were racing off to a call and gave us a courtesy blast on their bull horn, and we were away. We got to the Botswana border , had the papers stamped, passports inspected and went through. It is maybe half a mile of no-man’s land to the Zim border post and we pulled in confident and full of bravado; after all we were the salvation right. Wrong. The man from the clearing company was there to greet us and we parked the trucks outside the office. We paid for our entry visas and it was interesting that this was the first time that most of us saw carbon paper in use in many years. We were shuttled very efficiently from one window to another, filled out forms, went back, had the visas issued, haad them stamped and we were ready to roll. (For some reason it reminded me of the Officer Opie scene in Alice’s Restaurant. ) The trucks were not so ready. There were hitches, discussions, fees and payments and we sat for nearly four hours while Peter in his stalwart way knocked over one hurdle after another. 

Since we had plenty of time we were walking around the post just watching this hive of activity. It is amazing how high the stuff on top of a bus can be piled. My guess is that it can add the height of at least another bus. Every nook and crannie on the inside is jammed with a variety of living things, and sometimes at customs the inhabitants of these vehicles have to unload everything for inspection. Johnnie sat mesmerized for a long while watching the process of repacking a baggage trailer after one of these disgorgements. He was totally fascinated. 

Les, Allan and I were more interested in the impound lot that we found. When importing a car to Zim one has to pay duty of 100% of the value of the vehicle. The lot was full of vehicles whose one time owners couldn’t afford the tax and had abandoned them there. Now we couldn’t take photographs of this but there was a Bentley there, several Mercedes, BMW’s Audi’s and other luxury cars. There were also trucks including a large refrigerator truck, and they were all sitting in the sun, tires slowly deflating, waiting for the periodic auction when one can bid on them and bring them into the country duty paid. Some had clearly been there for a couple of months, and others just days but they had all been forfeited. 

Eventually we got word that the papers that we needed were being stamped, and so we mounted our trusty steeds with documents in hand and drove to the boom. Allan who was in the front truck thought that the police and military guys there looked very friendly and so he took their picture. It was like a bomb had gone off. They came running up to the truck, told him to get out, bring his pass port with him and told Peter that they were taking him to their little adjacent office. They took him inside then brought him out and were all crowded around him looking at his camera and gesticulating vigorously. He was standing in the middle of them with a smile on his face as we drove up in the second truck. It looked to us like they were having a friendly spirited discussion, so Steve and I got down, took out our cameras and took pictures of Allan with his new friends. Wow. They came screaming over to us asking why we were talking pictures, why we had not obtained their consent, and didn’t we know that this was a breach of security rules. Had we misread the situation or what? They looked at the pictures on our cameras, and initially told me to delete everything, but as they looked and saw pictures of my nephew and his girlfriend, of animals and scenery they relented and were happy with just deleting the ones of them.  Lesson Learned!

From there the drive to Bulawayo was uneventful, but I thought that a couple of things were interesting. There were roadblocks every so often. For the most part we were just waved through, but the average person in a car was systematically examined and in some cases had to pay tolls. The second thing is that the roads were in pretty bad shape and I think that in order to protect them and cargo, the trucks that go through are huge, many of them thirty wheelers, so that the load can be spread.

We arrived in Bulawayo and were met by Peter’s cousin, who took us to the ice cream store to buy Choc99’s, a throwback to when we were kids. It’s a soft serv cone with a Cadbury’s flake in the center and they were a big treat back then. They were also 10c and now they are about $4. Talk about inflation. We then stopped in at the Bulawayo fire department. I was really starting to feel like a roving ambassador.  We were certainly rising in our own estimation.  The equipment there was terrible, as bad as we could imagine and we were amazed that it ran at all. These guys eyes lit up when they saw what We were doing, and they asked if they could keep one of the machines, only partly in jest. From there we went to John Lobels house to unpack, unwind and get a taste of what it must have been like in the “old days”. The house is beautiful and right in the living room is a rebuilt Indian Scout motorcycle, my guess is circa 1920. Later that evening about 30 of Peters family and old friend came over, and a wonderful chef named Mark cooked us burgers, chicken tikka and salads. It was fantastic meeting a few of the remaining white families in Bulawayo. If you really want to go back to the days of Rhodesia and the war listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0ftw4bQq6g

One last note. I know you dont see enough pictures and les told me that some of you complained that you dont like what I have posted. Uploading from anywhere in southern Africa is impossible and so they have been scarce. Man more will soon arrive. For those of you who dont like the ones I have posted and dont  feel strong enough to tell me personally, fuck you - its my blog

On the Road Again

We had a leisurely start this morning in large part because Alan lost some money. That said no one was in a particular rush to get on the road, and we finally wound our way down the very twisty bumpy potholed dirt road , past the Planet Baobab statue to the  main road. Our first stop after a couple of hundred kilometers was for fuel, and there Les bumped into his old friend, the very chic lady from Nando’s in Maun. She told us that she was a Zambian heading home for Christmas with her family. She was a hairdresser and once again was dressed to the nines, forcing Les to take more photos.  It was interesting that at the gas station it was so hot that they had to keep all of their candybars and chocolates in the cooler case or they would just melt.

We drove into Francistown at about three that afternoon and our first stop was the fire station ( Professional courtesy you know, one fireman to another, although they might have seen through our disguise). They were delighted to see us and invited us in to have a look at their equipment.  (Wow, is that a Freudian comment or what. I guess its because all fireman talk about big hoses). Their firehouse and its contents  was awesome, They had machines there that would have done any major city in the US proud. Huge machines with water cannons, multiple pumps and they all looked very well maintained. I am still trying to understand why the Swedes who I believe donated one of the trucks bekieve that they need a huge foam canon in Francistown). They actually invited us to come back to the chief’s retirement party that evening, and meet the rest of the corps. Our hotel was just across the road from them and while we thought of doing it, we figured ultimately that it was tantamount to gate crashing an official event. They had invited us out of courtesy and we declined I a similar vein.

We checked into the hotel, and it was a great change. It reminded me of a Holiday Inn, and while that may not sound like much, crisp sheets, towels, an internet connection ( still very slow), TV, a swimming pool, gym and a big bed all felt like a million bucks. Steve and I went to the market around the corner and it was just like any non tourist African market and bus station. Lots of tables set up by ladies selling produce like tomatoes, cabbages, potatoes and some canned food. We also did a tour of the mall next door and it was really like any small town mall in America. A Wal-Mart or Dollar General would not have been out of place. We walked through looking at the brands and most were multinationals and familiar to us.

We went back to the pool at the hotel, migrated to the outdoor bar, and met the chairman of the Francistown Country Club, his father and a lady friend of theirs. He was one of those colorful characters that is the antithesis of the Hemingwayesque African explorer. He lived in Francistown, had a small contracting business, hated killing anything, which meant that he allowed the rats that inhabited his home to become his temporary pets, and had three beehives in the house because they had just arrived and taken up permanent residency. No green cards were required in that household.

That evening dinner was at the best restaurant in Francistown, Barbara’s Bistro. Barbara is a German woman who grew up in East Germany, was caught trying to escape, spent nearly a year in one of their prisons and was then deported to West Germany.  She made her way from there to Francistown (I am sure there were a few stops along the way) where she said she really found her freedom. Her game plan was to open a restaurant because she could do it on a low budget, loved to cook and was good at it; she would build it over a couple of years, save some money, and then move back to a big city. Problem was she was bitten by that damned African bush bug and it’s now a dozen years later and she is very happy there. The food that she served was excellent and besides two Russian diplomats, we were the only guests that night. She explained that all of her regular clientele had gone to Xmas parties ( it was Saturday night in December) but she had stayed open for us because we had been referred to her  by a close mutual friend of hers and Peter’s.

After dinner she invited us back to her house for some wine, and also brought the Ruskies. She lived a five minute drive away so she drove her minivan, we all piled into the two firetrucks, with the Red Guard taking up the rear. and off we went to the burbs for a nightcap. We were greeted by two large very noisy dogs of uncertain heritage, she call them African dogs,  but once we were inside her grounds they were very friendly – I guess we had been appropriately vetted. She had a beautiful pool in her back yard and a large poolhouse with two walls, which had a lot of old railwood furniture in it. It is stuff made of old railroad ties that have been weathered in the veld in some case for more than a century. It is typically a teak or mahogany or jarra, and is incredibly dense, heavy and strong. It is also insect resistant and so was never treated in any sense. As the railroads are re-laid, the old ties are sold off to companies that make this furniture. 

We poured  our wine and the Russians drank schnapps, and we had an interesting conversation with  them. The senior one explained to us several times that he would die for mother Russia, that bankers were ruining the world economy ( he actually was citing the Kondratiev cycle as evidence) and that the most critical thing was to have the US and Russia make friends, The reason for this is that unless we are allies against the developing nations, the fate of the white man is sealed, and that the Chinese and Chicanos are going to take over the world. He considered nuclear weapons in Iran a non-event and was really concerned about the ascent of the orient.  You can guess how far that conversation went and we went home soon after the wine was finished. All in all a great and fascinating day

What a difference a day makes

First a note from our sponsors. Don't forget that we have a facebook page that is being kept up to date far more quickly than I can write these things. It is called Mudzimi we moto and there are pictures and comments that go up there directly from that mother of all inventions, the iPhone. I have also heard the clamour for more pictures but unfortunately the speed of uploading here is a snail's pace and so I can only do so many. As soon as I get back to high speed land I will post many more

It is so good to wake up and know that you don’t have to climb back up into the cab of the truck for eight hours.  Even if it’s the stupid franklins ( a type of pheasant) squawking at the top of their voices at 5:30 am.  It was a relaxing stroll through the trees to the lodge for an excellent breakfast. Cereal, yogurt, bacon and eggs, toast and something I haven’t had since I left South Africa in 1978, vetkoek. For the uninitiated these are fried dough balls that you can then fill with anything. They are similar to jelly donuts except the dough is sweeter and denser and you know you have eaten something when its freefall ends at the bottom of your stomach.



The people who run Planet Baobab are terrific. Helpful, accommodating and friendly. The good news that greeted us today is that there is in fact a wireless internet connection in the lodge. There was an immediate scramble for computers, iPhones and other things normally reserved for the western world.  It was a little expensive, about $5 for thirty or sixty minutes, a time frame never really well defined. I wanted to upload a lot of the pictures that we had shared the previous evening and do a little blogging. As we started to do what we had been waiting for, it became apparent that while the system may be wireless it was far from highspeed. The data speed was something close to that old molasses in winter, and each picture was going to take somewhere close to ten minutes to transmit. Clearly nothing happens quickly in the bush.  

Looking down the path from the huts to the lodge

No problem, the sun was shining and the beer was cold. We had nowhere to go but the pool. We were told very proudly that the pool is the biggest in the Kalahari, so eat your hearts out, those who have not partaken of this unique experience. There was also a collection of blue and white overstuffed sofas that looked very comfortable, so off I went to relax in the sun and read. Interestingly they are mad of concrete with nary a soft spot to be found. Not only that, but they are scorchingly hot, so the idea was abandoned.

The girls came back from their game drive at about 3 and Johnnie had offered to take them for a ride in the firetrucks.  So a short while later, just now in South African parlance, we loaded ten of them plus their driver and a teacher into the cabs and went for a spin down the road.  My copilot was the girls’ driver, Papa, who had taken on the role of father superior for the trip. He is a 50 something Zimbabwean man who spends about six months of the year on the road driving the girls from the Traveling School, a Bozeman Montana based organization that coordinates these trips. More later on that.  Papa explained the reason that the animals graze so close to the side of the road. When it rains, the rain runs off the road, and because the ground is so dry and thirsty, the water doesn’t run far from the edge of the paving.  That is why the most succulent grass and plants grow there, and why the animals look like they all have a suicide wish, sticking their noses right next to the pavement. 

The program that girls were on was very impressive, not in small part because both the girls and their teachers were impressive. The kids were friendly, outspoken and responsible. They seemed pretty self sufficient within the context of American kids traveling in the bush. ( There was one Norwegian with them). The Traveling School packages about 16 girls with four teachers who have a range of outdoor, leadership and teaching skills and experience. They travel together in a big blue truck, the Blue Bird, ( it was definitely Blue something, not sure if the Bird is right)that has been converted into a bus/traveling classroom for fifteen weeks. They cover South Africa and two other countries, in this case Namibia and Botswana, and are not allowed to take any electronics with them besides an Ipod nano. They have to write their papers by hand and do some PE regularly. By the ed of the trip the girls have come into themselves, learned a lot of lifeskills and by all accounts have gone through  some significant character development. 

The rest of the day and well into the night we relaxed, ate and drank well and prepared for the second half of the trip. We actually killed a couple more bottles of wine sitting under a totally cloudless  sky  looking at more stars than I ever knew existed,  Two  the teachers joined us for our midnight Bacchanal - they are really interesting ladies, but eventually we all faded and turned in

All Roads Lead to Maun

Part of the major financial hub that is the Kalahari

An early rise this morning, we had a lot of ground to cover. We didn’t have to deal with customs, clearing agents, border posts, silly regulations, or any other man made hindrances.  We had breakfast, asked the front desk to turn the water on in our bathrooms so we could shower, (nobody seemed to know why it had been turned off in the first place) and hit the road. And it was a long, long drive. We also thought that we were driving across the Kalahari desert. That’s what the signs said anyway. Its not supposed to rain in the desert, but we hit the first rains of the year, It wasn’t too bad and we drove steadily to Maun, the major town in the Okavango region.


Again there were huge quantities of livestock which grazed on the edge of the road. For some reason there is a little grass that grows there but doesn’t seem to grow anywhere else. Occasionally the animals meander into the road but a good siren wail cleared most of them. Les also made an interesting observation. Donkeys always hang out with others of the same colour, and normally in groups of three. This hypothesis was proved out by empirical observation of the hundreds that we passed.

The river that flows through Maun

Maun is an interesting small town that is clearly the commercial hub of the region. There were Herero women in beautiful traditional costumes, an d a huge variety of people going about their business. The business ranged in sophistication from the very primitive to branches of major companies. We went to a Nando’s for lunch and then moved on, eventually getting to our lodge at about four.

What a relief and what a great place Planet Baobab is, and how different from the prior night.

The baobab at the entrance.The shack is the original area post office

The manager and his assistant were there to greet us, and show us around.  It is more an environment than a traditional lodge, and has a Jetsons feel to the design of the interiors. The entrance is through a curved building that seemed like another world, dark and mysterious as you walked through it to the main dining area. There is a huge pool and a fire pit, and the bar is amazing.







It is lined with pictures from Africa of yore, and the chandeliers are made of dozens of inverted empty beer bottles. The key though is that it is fully stocked and the bartender, Bank, is helpful, friendly and knows his stuff. After he got us all to sign an indemnity, he made a wonderful cocktail with a lot of ingredients that went down very well, looked like cough syrup, and is called Liquid Cocaine. A great start to the evening!

The lodge itself is built around a number of huge baobabs that look like they are 1000 years old. Our huts are arranged in a circle around the base of one, which has to be about 20 feet in diameter. They are traditional mud huts with thatched roofs, but in the back there is a small passage that leads to a private bathroom in a smaller hut. There is an option of staying in a traditional thatch hut that looks like an African version of a teepee, but that really doesn’t look too comfortable. . Interestingly there is very little wild game here so we won’t be doing game drives or anything like that. Instead we will be walking through the bush for a couple of hours learning about the plant life. The whole thing is just spectacular. And at night afew of the trees are lit - just amazing

We also discovered that there was a class of about twenty mostly American sixteen year old girls staying here. Apparently they have just completed a semester in Africa and this is the final stop before heading home on Sunday. Allan arranged for us to give them a tour of the fire trucks tomorrow afternoon.







Dinner tonight was a traditional Tswana meal of beef stew, corn cake and vegetables. It was great, the first good meal since Windhoek and once again Les came through with some of the Stellakaya. All in all this is a wonderful place to stop for an extra day, unwind from the driving and really enjoy the hugeness of Africa