Maun Metropolis

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Out of Namibia & Hello Botswana

The truck sounded really sick this morning. It took a few good minutes before it even felt like making a sound. Just a few empty clicks.
“Come on, my beauty queen! Last time before Maun Camp,” Derick pleaded. Finally, she coughed back into life and we were on our way to Botswana.
“That’s my beauty queen!” he crooned while I looked on with slight concern about this unhealthy attachment for a vehicle.

A guard stood at the barrier as we were heading into the Kavango province. The nausea washed over me and I fought hard to keep it down. I hugged my pillow and curled around it hoping I wouldn’t have to ask Derick to make an emergency stop down the track. It was the Doxy. Curling didn’t help so I went for the head on the dashboard pose.
“Check that out!” I looked up just in time to see a buffalo cow running across the road with a spindly young calf trailing behind.
“Wow, that calf must only be a day old. Buffalos leave the herd when they are about to drop. They’re going back to join the herd.” Derick explained in awe. It was a beautiful and rare sight, even through my nauseous Doxy haze.

As soon as you enter the Kavango, past the border and into Botswana, the landscape changes dramatically. Trees full of green are ever present across the undulating hills and open rondavels are but meters from the road. It is Africa as I remember it. The maize plants tower out of solid grey dirt and the days limp harvest lie in a bundle by the roadside. Baobab trees loom majestically above all else. These centurions of the tree world look like someone had uprooted them and plunked them back in upside down. The gnarled branches twist its way across the sky creating little kaleidoscope patterns on the ground beneath. Then there are donkeys. The unofficial national animal of Botswana. ‘Beep, beep, beeeeep.’ Every five minutes Derick tooted the horn to hurry the donkeys across the road. They didn’t hurry.

There are about 10 Batswana to one elephant and about ten donkeys to every Batswana. We swerved around at least a quarter of the population of donkeys before we stopped for lunch. It was the usual cuts of meat and some sardines. For a change. A sticky sweet pastry was on offer but being an acquired taste, we left it. Halfway through our lunch a family of Batswana carrying everything but the kitchen sink dumped their wares and suitcases next to us. Our lunch spot was a local bus stop. I looked up to see the tin pan that was nailed to the tree. The Batswana’s version of a bus stop sign. The children looked at us while we ate a king’s lunch in their eyes, smiling and giggling a little. My guess is that we did look a bit curious to them. Derick handed over the sticky sweets, left over sardines and bread to the children who shyly but gratefully accepted them. “Are they going to eat those sweet things? Can it be good for them, all that sugar?” Anouk whispered to me.
“They probably don’t get many treats often, besides if there are a bunch of kids in need of cholesterol, they are it.”
“How much longer will it be till we get there?” Nicole asked.
“About three hours,” Derick answered.
“So what time will we get there?”
“Look at your watch, add three hours and that will be time,” he retorted.
Back in the truck, it began to splutter.
“Uh oh, its turned into a day thing,” Derick worried. But it did turn over to his relief.
“You know, I don’t know why I bother briefing. Its not like anyone remembers what I say. I just keep repeating myself.”
“No kidding,” I sympathised, trying not to take offence at the ‘anyone’ in case I wasn’t just ‘anyone’.
“They must be stoned or something, because they just…” he didn’t bother with finishing the sentence. We all need to vent.

The trees grew more sporadic as wide dusty tar roads widened to accommodate the busy traffic of Maun. Square concrete block, single room stores began to appear behind wires, then the first cross road. We were on Maun’s main street and possibly the main intersection. Four cars were lined up at the stop signed junction.
“Welcome to the metropolis of Maun.” And that was it. The only double story building was that of a newly constructed Spar warehouse on the outskirts as we drove out of the deaden hub of Maun.
“That’s the panhandle of the Delta,” Derick pointed to the left. The banks were bursting with water and I wonder if the lodges surrounding it were at all worried their decks were within crocodile snapping reach. That is joy of having shotgun and having a guide. Even better when it’s a friend.

Drifters Maun Camp

Drifter’s Maun camp is right on the river and for Jeremy and Sandra, the best backyard in the world. Jeremy was waiting for us at the bar to welcome us.
“Feel free to put your tents up anywhere on the lawn. The toilets and showers are over there,” he was pointing to the right of our entrance. “The showers are warm, but at six it will be really warm because that is when we turn on the generators. It is warm now, but wait till six if you want a really warm one. Dinner is at seven thirty and will be in the boma. The sunsets have been really good lately and it goes down about five, five thirty. Feel free to have a dip in the pool to cool down.” At the moment one of the dogs took the opportunity to demonstrate exactly how after taking a couple of licks and then splashing in. “Is anyone thinking of doing the scenic flight option tomorrow?” Nicole, Albert and myself put up our hands. “You know we need to fill a whole plane, so at least four of you will have to agree to it.” Anouk decided she need more time before parting with forty US dollars.

“The water here is slimy,” Nicole commented as I helped to put up her tent.
“What?”
“Didn’t you notice that the water is slimy when you went to the toilet?” I racked my brain, and shook my head, I had soaped up so I probably couldn’t have felt it anyway.

Alex and Harald settled down for a game of chess, while I sat down with Carl to read some National Geographic Magazine. What can I say, a boy after my own heart. Jeremy and Derick fussed around with the battery of the ‘beauty queen’. Albert was somewhat subtly trying to convince Anouk to take the scenic flight.
“I’d be really disappointed if we can’t take the flight,” Nicole confessed. “I mean its one of the things I really wanted to do here. And it will be my only chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I am not going to come back here ever again,” she replied.
“Why not?”
“Why, are you?” she answered with a question. I thought about it, “Yes. Four days here is not enough for Botswana. I would definitely like to come back and see the Makgadikgadi Pans and the Savuti. I would have done the Botswana trip and Namibia trips separately, but I didn’t have time. Or money for that matter.”
“I want to see another part of the world like South America,” she said. I completely understand her sentiments. The world is so large, I refuse to believe I won’t be able to see it all in this lifetime.

Alex loss the chess game and decided to take a shower while Carl played the victor. The sun was beginning to set and I was sitting by the bar resting my wrist from a writer’s cramp, listening to Jack Johnson. I walked over to the boys playing chess on the pool deck, it looked serious, but not serious enough for them to stop and watch the sunset. A flock of birds took off across the river and silhouetted against the pink and purple sky. On the rickety pier I tried to balance my sundowner and take a shot of Albert and Anouk simultaneously. A feat less difficult if Derick wasn’t rocking the pier.

The water was slippery. It slid over your body like warm baby oil. It was from all the minerals and it felt unusually good. What didn’t feel so good was the mild electric zap from the taps. I guess when the generator kicks in, so does the laws of electrical conduction. Lucky the current wasn’t strong enough to give my hair a Diana Ross effect.

“If there is one day that we have to be on time, it is tomorrow. Our flights leave on time, they have to stick to a schedule, so if we miss it, we miss it. I will drop you guys off in town to get some money before we go to the airport. If you need to change money, you can do that at the airport. For those taking the scenic flights, you need to have your money to pay either in US, Pula or Rands.” No one had any questions, and the night was left to us. I settled down on the Mokoro bench with Clive Walker’s The Vanishing Savuti. A year ago, I started reading it at the Drifters’ private game lodge out in Hoedspruit. I never finished it, I was up to where Leroy was about to be shot. Leroy is an elephant and if you want to know why he was about to be shot, read it. So poor Leroy just got shot when a hunk of orange landed in my lap. It was Jasper, Jeremy and Sandra’s pitbull. He snuggled down and showed no signs of moving. I was up to Clive’s description of the famous Savuti pride when my legs started to go numb from Jasper’s weight.
“He’s not bothering you is he?” Jeremy asked.
“Not really, but he is slightly heavy,” I replied, trying to move some circulation back to my ankles.
“Come, Jasper.” Jeremy beckoned. Jasper lifted his head up and bolted up onto his front legs but kept his backside firmly in my lap. He looked at Jeremy and Sandra.
“Come, Jasper, come boy,” he tried again. Jasper looked at him and then looked at me with his brown eyes.
“Come, Jasper, come,” Sandra tried. But Jasper looked at them once before snuggling his battle scarred head into the crook of my neck and sighed with contentment.
“Sorry, looks like he likes you,” Jeremy conceded. It was okay, I liked Jasper too.

“What are you reading?” I looked up to see Derick standing over me. Jasper had moved, probably to go snuggle up to his partner and child. Men.
“Clive Walker’s Vanishing Savuti. Its really well written. I started reading Ellry’s copy last year and never finished it.”
“Well you better finish it tonight then, its your only chance.” Somehow, I doubt that. The soft hum of insects flitting about, ebbing laps of the river and the contented way everyone seemed to pass the night away is Africa to me. Albert and Anouk turned in early, Hendrik and Nicole back on civil terms were playing with their cameras, Alex reading while Carl beat Harald for the third time running in chess. Eventually, we dragged ourselves to bed and Jeremy switched off the generator leaving only the moonlight shining over our tents.

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Photos

Okavango River
Jeremy & Sandra's backyard. Lucky Devils

The Pier
Beginning of the sunset

Extreme Chess
Carl & Harald