Island Odyssey

To get to the island we have to drive across five kilometers of floodplain. Its a beautiful drive past islands of trees, some dense with monkey vines and creepers, others an arrangement of palm trees on raised termite mounds.  In between, there are white sand beaches, and acres of glossy green marsh grasses.  Sometimes there are elephants, but more often a scattering of free range cattle and donkeys.

Its six months since we have been to the island.  Exceptionally high flood waters from the Okavango River have flooded these plains, making it impossible to drive through.  We are not sure we will make it this time, but Oneman, who lives on the island feels more confident.  He knows this place.  they have been returning to the village by makoro (dugout canoe) in recent months due to the floods. Now the water is too shallow for the canoe. With Oneman on board guiding us on a new route we feel more confident. Even so, launching off the dry sand into long waterlogged marshes is a leap of faith.

We cross a small stream, and squeeze our 4x4 vehicle through a tight alley of rigid thorn trees. The unforgiving thorns shriek against our paintwork like nails on blackboards. We hit water almost immediately, but its clear and we can see sand underneath so we press on.  Flocks of waterbirds, open billed storks and egrets, take flight sending up showers of bright wet diamonds.  We make it through that one. It wasnt deep.  

We emerge onto an island and dip into water again on the other side. Its all going well so far and we start to enjoy the view.  The air is softly hazy and all around the trees are full of blossom, filling the air with their heady scent.  We drive across some dry white sand that squeaks and sings under our tyres.  These plains are dry, and we suprise a herd of elephants who emerge from the dark shaded islands - suprised to see a vehicle approaching after all these months.  A youngster charges out of the bush trumpeting, the adults make their way deeper into the flood-              plains finally vanishing into the haze of water and blossom laden trees.

We have to cross a small gully.  The water is tanin stained coasting over white sand. Looking down I see that we have only just skirted the edge of a really big hole. That was lucky.  We make it through the next few long water crossings, ploughing steadily through bright water dotted with lillies and birds.

"This might be a little bit deep - lets go this way" Oneman points with authority and we dip around the side of a small island to face the final challenge. It looks innocuous enough but soon our heavy tyres are skidding on shiny marsh grasses, barely finding purchase. Somehow or another we move, oh so slowly, along. Half way we bounce through some holes made by elephants crossing the soft mud.  Miraculously we do not get stuck...this time... and just around the corner, the island with its little village of tents, and the Catfish houseboat snuggled into a bay with a lemon tree full of flowers. It feels like we are far far away.  

Wedding on The Pans : my version

Some people choose funny places to tie the knot or make their vows. Some jump out of planes strapped together;  find the highest mountain, or deepest lake.  Others choose the most romantic church they know,  or their favourite spot in the garden with their nearest and dearest gathered around.  The possibilities are endless.  Recently , our friends Craig and Cheryl , chose the majestic cathedral of the Makgadikgadi Pans in central Botswana to share their celebration.

driving onto The Pans

Familiarly known as 'The Pans' - its real name Makgadikgadi Pans is far more evocative. It bounces around the mouth like the thirst for water in this ultimately arid zone.  I have known teenagers try to say Makgadikgadi while burping. Its an enigmatic name for a place of magical mystery that defines the terms 'wide open' and 'curve of the earth'.  16000km2 of bleached white salt pans fringed with spikey marsh grasses. Dryer than bone during the winter months  it fills with shallow water from the Nata River during the summer rains and becomes an important breeding site for pelicans and flamingoes on their migratory paths. Strange creatures live here like meerkats and brown hyenas. Bigger ones pass through from time to time, like elephants and lions.  It is like a vast empty page on which to conjure up your own creative endeavours.  Write your story here.

Which is what Craig and Cheryl decided to do.

Their eclectic group of friends and family members gathered at Gweta Lodge  - an oasis in the center of Gweta Village north of The Pans.  We, who had the least distance to cover, probably arrived last on the saturday evening.  We arrived as the giant red ball of the sun slipped below the earths fringe of mopane trees. The party was in progress as we stepped through the gloaming to the warm welcome of a happy crowd.  There were old pals to reunite with, and many new ones to meet. There were parents and cousins, and grandparents, and toddlers. All of whom, apart from the young, seem to have tapped into the elixir of eternal youth.  I sipped my delicious glass of red  hoping this was it, and tried to meet as many as possible.

being meerkats

Morning dawned bright and clear. A beautiful clear desert day with skies a true blue, and air as fresh as a mountain stream.  The camp site was a flurry of activity.  Early risers watched the late ones emerge from canvas rubbing their eyes and heading for showers. The Gweta team were busy loading camping gear onto safari vehicles ready to head off and set up camp on site. The catering team were a blur of activity. Its no mean feat to put an event like this together.  I set off for Nata to buy fuel as Gweta was out of diesel. It was a 100km trip and once there I met pals from Kasane and Francistown and linked up for the return run.  Back in Gweta more guests had gathered and time was running short to get to the venue in time for the ceremony.  In haste we flung stuff in to vehicles; made space for lifts, packed more stuff in, started up and waited for the convoy.  Then we were off.  Its so easy to get lost in The Pans so we all needed to follow someone who knew the way.  Those that had them primed their GPS machines. We opened cold beers and tagged on to the dusty tail of the line up.  Our way took us  through villages and kraals on a spaghetti bolognese of sandy tracks, past stunted trees whose branches whipped our windscreens.  Some Kalanga horsemen stopped us to ask for food and drinks. We gave them whatever we had to hand.

Bride To Be on her way, with daughter who later deliverd a great speech
looking fabulous

An hour or so later the landscape opened wide to grasslands peppered with distant cattle herds and kalanga horses.  We met up with friends leading another arm of the convoy who had lost a vital member of their tail - the grooms parents.  We stopped on the edge of the wide salt pans and climbed on vehicles searching for dust clouds that would suggest a vehicle driving around.  We posted sentry on the highest piece of ground and made like meerkats scanning the horizon.  Soon the bride's car came past, followed by the VIPs who were to perform the ceremony.  'Well they can't start without the parents eh?"  we thought as on they went.  We waited and looked and searched, and chatted, and eventually decided to press on and see if they were at the wedding. They were. They had a GPS.  We were late and missed the actual ceremony, which was held in a guazy gazebo bedecked with fairy lights on the edge of a grassy island overlooking the vast vastness of shimmering white.

The speeches were tear jerkers.  There were giant bonfires to hold back the cold desert night;  cool boxes galore and feasty food deluxe.  Caig's cousin cranked up the music system and the party on the Pans eased naturally into being.

Being a Harley man, Craig had invited his Harley to the party.  It was parked on the edge of proceedings, the chrome gleaming enticingly. The keys were in and it was a small matter of time before the first adventurer fired up the big engine and opened the throttle.  The Pans are notorious for an unstable surface however. What looks like endless miles of calcrete - like that place in Australia where they set the land speed records - is however a crust that in places conceals glutinous grey mud. Its always a safe option to follow someone else's tracks - but when you are riding free who cares about the safe option?  They went down, one after another. Despite the fact that Craig's brother already had a massive deep burn on his leg from falling with the Harley the day before - there were several attempts. Most of the falls happened within view of the party - some were impressive. Luckily, and by some quirk of fate, there were no more injuries.

so far so good
next...

It grew dark and the fires blazed cheerily. The music was great. I remember thinking it a particularly appropriate place to listen to Dark Side of the Moon. The camp fires created two different atmospheres. The one in the hub was crowded with people sitting, walking around, chatting, laughing.  The other fire was a bit further away and here was a more circumspect crowd - or so i thought. but trouble was brewing.  Some people wanted to make this fire enormous - piling on huge leadwood boughs without a thought for the environmentalists.  In the crowd was one who particularly cared for the disappearance of Africa's hardwoods. He works with wood, and knows how scarce it is.  They couldn't agree and it became a game. More wood was piled and then pulled off, and then piled on again. Our pal tried to explain his viewpoint, and eventually, in extreme frustration climbed into his bakkie and drove it right through the fire. Thank heavens he didn't get stuck on the top.  I just saw people scattering, grabbing chairs, looking shocked.  The people at the other fire, turned. They saw that it had turned out fine and no one was hurt, and they resumed their conversation. 'Is there any more wine?'. The people at the circumspect fire regrouped and the moment was gone.

oh wait, are those headlights in the distance?

There were some in the party that needed to return to Gweta that night, so that they could be at work in Francistown the following morning.  Against all advice they set off into the night in completely the wrong direction. It is so easy to get lost here in daylight. Night time is a given. There was half a moon still but that didnt seem to help.  For three hours the wedding party watched their headlights driving back and forth in the distance, like some phantom creature or UFO , they drew closer apparently mistaking our lights for Gweta, then took off again reappearing from random directions.  Finally they pulled in again to pick up a guide.  

One by one, and two by two, people drifted away from the fire to climb into their bedrolls and sleep under the magnificent stars. 

*names have been omitted to protect the innocent

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.