Kubu Island

Its cold and I have a mountain of nasty paperwork on my desk demanding to be dealt with - but I'd rather be chatting to you. Have you ever been to Kubu

 Island? It is an island of bleached rocks and giant red boabab trees set in the oceanic vastness of the Makgadikgadi Pans in central Botswana.  We were there last weekend. Some friends chose 'the Pans' as a venue for their wedding.  People travelled from far and wide to congregate at Gweta - the jumping off point - then raced in convoys of fine white dust into the dazzling whiteness of it all to an appointed place ordained by GPS co-ordinates.

The Makgadikgadi Pans are basically the salty soda ash deposits at the site of what was once an ancient lake bed.  Today they cover an area roughly 16000km2 fringed with salt marsh and grasslands. Seasonally filled with water from the Nata River, they become an important breeding site for pelicans and flamingoes. This time of year though they are bone dry - at least on the surface - and you could get arc-eye just by looking there without sunglasses.

Its evocative and eerie, ancient and deceptively calm.  A person can get really really lost and disorientated in the extreme emptiness and flatness of the scene; and if your vehicle happens to break through the crusty surface you can get seriously and deeply stuck with no trees to attach a winch to.

Its fun to go to though. In this landlocked country its like going to the sea without getting wet. Miles from anywhere, it has the best night skies - starscapes that drip tantalisingly out of reach untempered by modern light pollution.  You can astral travel just by keeping your eyes open at night!

Kubu Island is possibly the jewel in the Makgadikgadi crown - or at least one of the major ones.  In this wide angle horizon any kind of feature can attract attention. A tiny rock can look like a big rock far away - and vice versa.  Kubu island however has piles of igneous rock boulders that afford an even better vantage point; and a gathering of truly extraordinary giant boabab trees that show a strangely liverish red colour.

Each of these Kubu Island baobabs appear to have a unique personality.  They start to look like characters .  The biggest has to be a great great grandfather ancestor tree; another looks like a mother figure with branches drooping like hair or fabric;  another smaller one looks like a teenager with braces on its teeth. Bear with me - this place can only incite your imagination to mutiny from every concept of fact and fiction.

If I give you the cold facts I cannot possibly do justice to this secret and spiritual place.  We arrive at midday. The scene is all about air and dust and light. There is not water here save what we have brought with us.  The wide horizon makes me feel like running and spinning, but the heat glues my feet to their dark shadows. I let my imagination take off instead.  I walk amongst the rocks and spikey trees feeling transient, my life is like a rain drop compared to everyone here. The trees, the rocks and the Pans -they are longevity personified. Its humbling.

midwinter musings

Its evening now and the little wooden house is flooded with golden light from the evening sun. I am about to make supper. The candles are lit for when the power goes off and its all looking rather festive.

Earlier this evening we heard the mournful death cries of a large animal - possibly a buffalo - being taken down by a predator.  We couldn't see what or where this was happening but the cries carried far and wide across the grassy floodplains. There were some splashing sounds as if this was all taking place at the edge of the water or one of the pools.

I raced to the office to let the game drivers know over the radio.  The path to the office is full of tracks. At this time of day there are human tracks interwoven with animal and bird spoor - wild dogs, hyena, elephant, impala, squirrels, partridges. Sometimes i walk along here looking at tracks and forget to look to see if the actual animal is standing there.

We have strung up a cammo net infront of the house to help it disappear into the forest. It looks pretty cool dark and shady inside now, and more like a bedouin tent. Unfortunately when the baboons find it they will probably tear it to shreds just by playing on it but until then it feels even more like a hide as we peep out onto the waterhole at passing herds.

The last two nights we have had hot water for showers.  This is such a luxury and really appreciated. The elephants had leant on our hot water system while we were away so we had to do some running repairs - but now - yeehah - boiling hot water out of the tap!! Cold showers on winter days are no fun at all.

Overall though these winter nights have been strangely quiet. I cant think that the animals have found somewhere warm to hide in this desert country of sand and water.  However, this morning early we heard lions calling, and elephants screaming in the forest so that feels a bit more normal.

a pinch and a punch

July 1st

Well i didnt know it until last night but the planets were up to something yesterday. I had to go to the accountants with my computer to upgrade the accountancy programme. For some reason this didnt work - the disc refused to be read or acknowledged. We assumed that my computer was at fault because it was a little dusty. We live in a dusty place. 

So we tried to upload another way. This took sometime. We started to discuss some of the 'findings'  - I dont pretend to understand their job; accountants are a necessary evil to ensure our tax payments are in line with requirements.  We were spoilt with our last CA - he was so calm and kind, and always explained everything in ways i could sort of follow.  

Our new lass is a not so kind. Encounters with her are like sticking your hand in a hornets nest.  I find myself repeating "which means?" after everything she is telling me. my stress levels rise and i am trying hard not to throw my toys. The meeting is not going well.

I leave, taking faulty, dusty computer to the next town, 80kms away, where I know someone who can fix it. Having phoned first they promise to deal with it today - even though its friday afternoon and month end.

Arriving in Phalaborwa, the town is pumping with people. I struggle to find a parking space to offload - which is very unusual for this little rural town.  One of the fashion shops has some speakers outside and blaring thumping music reverberates around the square, pounding through my head.

Having delivered the box to the nice repair man, i take myself off for a lovely delicious capuccino, sipped slowly with a spoon to scoop the cream off the top.

On return, no - the computer is fine, its the disc thats faulty. I sit and wait while a plan is made to download the new programme via a memory stick. At last it works.

The car park is chaos with vehicles reversing and jamming up the exits. Once free I roar out of town. By now the day is gone and a million things that should have been done will have to wait.

At home our guests arrive five minutes after my return. My sweet god daughter and her friend, are on their way home to Botswana for the school holidays. Their Dad a long time friend of ours. They unfold from the car and settle in. We have some catching up to do.  

We even manage to watch part of the wimbledon semi finals, but Andrew Murray didnt make it through to the finals. Cmon Andrew - next year right?

The monkeys are all over the roof again now, with the mid winter cold and dryness. We are feeding them crushed maize and lucerne - which they love. But they still need to check inside the kitchen to see what we are eating.

ok planets - whats the plan for today?

its things like that

Driving to the Mozambique border through Kruger National Park. Having to stop and wait as two massive bull elephants walk towards us down the road in that unbreakable rhythm of long distance travel.

Driving the long road to Sao Sabastiao past lively markets, trucks piled with charcoal or coconuts, potholes and acres of coconut palms that reach to the horizon.

Stopping to buy piri piri (hot chilli sauce) at a roadside stall, only to have it explode like a roman candle when we open it at the table days later, drenching everyone and their food in red liquid spray.

Mozambique and the tropical sea turned to glass. The black silhouetted shapes of  fishing dhows crease the mirrored water - their sails sharp like a lions claw or the hooks on a palm frond.  Sea and horizon meet at a vaguely discernable point about half way.

Canoeing in mangroves flooded by the solstice high tides. Sneaking up on herons, egrets and plovers that roost on the islands of trees.  Slipping over barely submerged aerial roots of mangroves, encrusted with barnacles.  Looking down on schools of silver fish that flit through the sunlit water under the canoes.

Watching the dhow fishermen trawl the reefs and floodplains endlessly - hauling in acres of fish nets while sunlight bounces in shards of light all around them.

It is visiting the school at Matsopane Village to deliver letters from America, and a pile of new stationary - kids laughing and playing around you, while others watch with solemn concentration to hear about their new friends in USA.

It is sunsets and moonrise,  and starscapes that dazzle the brain.  It is time with friends. It is sand between the toes, pansy shells and starfish, and snorkelling on a reef full of wonder.

Mozambique - it is things like that.

elephant games matinee

There are elephants all around our house this morning, eating our island of trees.  Awake before sunrise, i stumble over to the kettle and light the gas. Staring out the window into the middle distance I realise those are not trees I am looking at  but elephants legs. There is an elephant standing next to the track feeding on small bunches of leaves and sticks.  They are so quiet when they are here.

The sun tips the horizon flooding golden beams through what is left of the island forest. The elephant moves slowly towards the house, munching along the way.  We hear - or feel - a deep rumbling sound.  A small breeding herd emerges from the forest on the left to join up with the first elephant.  Some stay and browse, others move out onto the sunlit floodplain.

The wooden house creaks and pops with the wind that follows the sun.  We move around inside from window to window as the elephant feeds directly below us. I can see how neatly her ears fit together on top of her head.  Her trunk curls up to strip some leaves near our window. We could reach out and touch her - but then the moment would be gone and so would she.

Clutching cups of coffee to warm our hands we move out onto the deck and watch the herd spread out on the floodplain among the hebaclada bushes.  A young calf - maybe two years old - spreads his ears and charges at shadows.  He has tufts of hair inside his ears.  He comes our way to join with his mother, forcing his way under her chin into that special zone that is his alone, for now. His mother keeps on feeding but the touch is there.

A buffalo wanders in from the west.  The elephants turn to face him, ears spread- curious, alert, defensive?  The buffalo lumbers along  a steady path right through the nest of elephants.  They follow him to the water hole. He doesn't look back but quickens his pace a tad.  The elephants are on the point of chasing when he turns suddenly and they back off. It looks like a game. 

Successive elephants arrive at the waterhole. Each one spreads its ears and faces the buffalo who has turned to stone - sunlight glancing off the tips of his horns.  They hurry past.  A youngster trumpets loudly and then hurries back to his mothers side.

Golden sunlight floods the scene, and then vanishes behind a cloud leaving the world a sadder place.  The ambient temperature drops with the disappearance of the sun. The world has turned grey and cold.  Not a moment too soon light bursts through the clouds again dazzling us with its star quality. 

A deep sonorous rumble from the matriarch calls the herd, and one by one they join ranks and head back into the distant forest for the day.  The buffalo stands alone. Next time i look, he too has gone and there is only the wind through the sunlit grass.

waterworld

Two days on the road, a late night with an old pal, and an early morning race to the airport.  A moments consternation about luggage. "You are overweight - its too much. The plane is full.  but wait",  phone calls and a mood of co-operation follow. "Well that bag is our food, and its the heaveist. If necessary it could come on a later flight".  "Ok, lets see - if we can fit it in the plane its fine."  We pass through the finely tuned metal detector and onto the apron.  There is bright sunlight as the little baggage vehicle ferries us to our 206 air taxi.There is one passenger missing and with luck all our bags squash neatly into the pod fixed to the underbelly of the plane.  We climb in, buckle up and soon  swing up into the air looking down on the sprawling safari town of Maun in central Botswana.

Immediately we are transfixed by the spectacle of the meandering blue arms of the delta channels. My heart swells with the beauty of the place.  Pristine water - breeding grounds for fish and birds, brings life and abundance to newly filled lagoons.  There are islands of green trees and grasses interlaced and connected with the threads of well worn animal paths.

The reflected sun follows us along the water like a lazy hand trailing fingers of light.  It shows me that the wild grassy plains are themselves under water reflecting sky and clouds in a giant mirror fringed with green.  I watch the tiny shadow of our plane coast over the subtle contours of the land from island to island. 

Hippos bask in the wintry sun on islands that no boat or car will ever reach.  The deep water channels are tea stained, showing white sand banks and water grass brushed like mermaids hair by the push of water.  

The magical mystical waterworld gives way to the dry hinterland between the Delta and the Spillway.  The colours now are greys, browns and golds, speckled with sandy waterholes where elephants gather to drink and bathe, or snooze in the shade, on their long trek between waterworlds.

We land on the white sand strip. A spray of floodwater splashes the plane where water has inched under the sandbags. Our friends meet us. The air smells of dust and sage. The view is yellow grass and palm trees touched by a gentle breeze, their broad leaves scraping a distinctive sound.  We catch up on news as we negotiate the flooded tracks to camp.

I havent seen this in far too long.   If you fly anywhere in your life it should be here, at least once. 

far far away

So how did this start.  I think it was an article in a travel magazine read sometime ago. A one page story about how a remote coastal village on the edge of the desert subsists on diamonds and tourism. A cold water bay inhabited by seals and seagulls, where atlantic mists roll in at a moments notice blanketing out the bright sunlight.

Here intrepid deep sea divers hoover gravel off the sea bed with giant suction pipes attached to robust trawlers. The gravel is sifted for diamonds, and these are brought to shore and sold to the concession holders. The trade is strictly controlled.

Diamonds can cause so much trouble.  They are glittery and gorgeous, and their main use is to adorn the lobes and limbs of the rich and famous. Somewhere on the path from seabed or diamond pipe, to end user - there can be a wealth of stories involving skullduggery, ingeniousness, and master craftmanship.

Blood diamonds are those taken from war zones, and traded for weaponry to continue violent wars that are often about the diamond resource itself.  They sparkle just as much as legal diamonds.

We became intruiged. Port Nolloth had to have a few intreresting characters walking about. We hadnt been to the west coast in a number of years but as a destination it was very far away.  Then there was a birthday, and that called for something out of the ordinary.  'Lets do it - even if its far?'  'right'.

It was two days solid driving.  Firstly circumventing the city sprawl of Gauteng, and then the endless corn fields of the north west province.  When we got into the wine growing regions along the orange River the view became a tad more interesting. Its always good to see how much effort goes into growing wines.  

From here the towns became progressively smaller and the landscapes grew into vast ancient seabeds where black rock mountains floated like glaciers.  We left the other road users behind for a time - there was just us, the giant landscape and the endless blue skies. Desert was all around and we felt ourselves slowly dropping in altitude with each mountain pass.

We fuelled up in the little town of Springbok. It was close to sunset and this was some of the most dramatic scenery of the trip.  Rocks and boulders with strange desert plants towered close to the road. This area is famous for wildflowers in the winter but we were three months too early.  We wound down through successive mountain passes  and then there was sand. And then there was the sea.  A small settlement of houses, like coloured boxes nestled behind the dune and the town.

It was quiet here. The sea crashed on rocks beyond the bay, but nearby it was gentle and calm.  Strands of kelp lay on the beach or rolled lazily in the waves like seals.  We spent two days here in this tiny town where time appears to stand still.  Due to recent rains there was no diamond hoovering in progress as the river mouths were too clouded with soil from flash floods; and thus many of the diamond divers had left town.  We drove along the coastline to Alexander Bay. A diamond settlement at the mouth of the Orange River border with Namibia. This town used to be high security. All along the way were diamond diggings. This desert landscape  of lichen fields and fossils,  has been successively poked, proded and excavated in a perpetual search for these earth born treasures.

We chatted to the few locals we found. We went to the little museum and looked at relics from shipwrecks and pioneering mining efforts. We even looked at property for sale.  We ran out of time and buckled up for the long road home, promising ourselves a rerun  when the whales pass by and the desert sands are speckled with fields of flowers.