Sudz-tastic

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With our increased group we entered Zimbabwe; I was particularly excited to explore the country having heard so many things from Kate, a Zimbabwean who had been living in London for the past 9 years. She and her husband were moving back to Africa via a 4 week safari.

We crossed the massive dam separating Malawi and Zimbabwe, which apparently was the biggest in the world. I had disbeliefs as I had seen much bigger. Unfortunately our guide was unable to expand on biggest, whether this meant height, capacity or length. These types of comments followed by a lack of credibility was a common occurrence in Africa, I was learning fast not to believe everything I heard (‘of course the water is safe to drink!’).

The border crossing was painfully slow and the staff gave the impression that we were rudely interrupting their day. Nonetheless we eventually crossed over. Our group was to spend the first 3 days on Lake Kariba, cruising on old barge that had been transformed to a raw, yet functional house boat.

The waters were infested with crocodiles, their sly eyes gazing up as I carefully balanced across the gangway onto the boat. I shared a room with Ash and Liv, a loud mouthed Kiwi girl with an appetite for booze and mayhem.

The landscape was stunning, small islands broke the horizon in all directions. Closer to shore branches reached to the sky through the waters, a reminder that just a few years ago the 3^rd largest manmade lake in the world did not exist.

As we reached deeper waters the crew assured us that we were fine to swim. Having just seen the prehistoric predators and hippos a few moments earlier I was sceptical, and downright disbelieving. However, not wanting to be left out I soon followed the rest of the group as we took turns jumping off the roof. It is safe to presume that I was already swimming towards the ladder before I had even surfaced.

The journey was a great opportunity for everyone to bond, which everyone did over gin and rum each night. I found myself starring into the night sky enjoying my solitude or slinking away to my room when the night became overly raucous. My own hesitation to join the booze fuelled nights since the start of my safari had surprised me and also Ash, who was disappointed in my mellow change of attitude since we had last lived together.

Although I may have lacked vigour during the night, I certainly embraced the day light hours. I was always keen to jump off the roof whenever we stopped for swimming and join in on the laughs as we crammed too many bodies into the roof top ‘Jacuzzi’, which was really more of a large round bath tub with lake water pumped through.

Each day was stunning, each room held no barrier to the outside; instead a small balcony looked out across the stunning scenery. Each morning I watched elephants eating their breakfast as I enjoyed my own, mere meter away. The days were lazy, yet full of laughs.

I could have stayed on that boat for a many more days, having a real bed to sleep on, cooked meals with curios on lookers, a fresh breeze and plenty of books, I was more than content. Unfortunately back to truck/tent life we went.

We arrived to Antelope park, home of the famous (perhaps famously failing) Lion programme where via stages the park hoped to breed, train and re-introduce Lions into the wild. With the Lion population dwindling, numbers would never be able to return as they once were, however there was hope that the numbers would raise above endangered level.

The park was self-funding, in efforts to fund the project the park doubled as a holiday retreat, catering for camping, luxury lodges and events such as weddings. The park was gorgeous. I took advantage of the advanced horse safari, galloping alongside wildebeest, giraffes and zebras were incredible experiences. I raced my horse freely across the plains and enjoyed the raw freedom.

I was lucky enough to view the four month old lion cubs, which were much bigger than expected. The young siblings gnawed on an impala’s leg with the cheek and clumsiness similar to a domestic kitten. Watching in great amusement I was distracted when the single armed owner walked past, a firm warning that these cute and cuddly cats were anything but.

We drove onto Bulawayo stopping overnight on route to stay at what will always be referred to as spider camp. I hate spiders, and I try to use the word hate sparingly, but I hate spiders. Their gross hairy legs that carry them too quickly for my liking, freaky multiple eyes, stealth like stalking skills and horrendous poisonous dagger like fangs…. perhaps my fear is slightly exaggerated in my own mind but you have to admit, sand spiders are foul (massive!) things.

Setting up the tents was no easy feat as the unwelcome arachnids scuttled over the ground every few moments. To contribute to my restless night’s sleep and constant feeling that something was crawling over me; there was a massive tarantula that decided to visit the camp. My skin still tingles at the thought.

We safely arrived the next day at Bulawayo, Kate’s home town. Having Kate with us was a huge treat and I happily followed her as she showed us her school, local shopping haunts and favourite take away store (the best spring roll in the history of spring rolls). Watching Kate as she excitedly showed us through town it was impossible not to catch her enthusiasm.

We stayed a few nights in town at a large home/ camp site, I was surprised that the owners had managed to hold onto their property following the land embargo some 10 years back. All whites were required to surrender their land to blacks, the ‘rightful people of Zimbabwe’ (then Rhodesia) without compensation. As the white man left they also took with them their knowledge, soon all farms and businesses were in dire straits. As a result, Zimbabwe’s economy failed, within a month a standard monthly salary could not purchase a single loaf of bread.

With the current unemployment rate set between 94% - 97%, expensive education and health care, there was a huge divide between the well off and the miserably poor. The government set the poverty line at salaries of $500USD and under per month; however the minimum wage was a mere $30USD per month. The government was corrupt and the people hungry, it would be some time before the country (if ever) would be back on its feet.

Regardless of their grim and uncertain future, the Zimbabweans, like majority of the black Africans I had met, maintained a smile on their faces.

Just out of Bulawayo we joined a small safari with a guide who had been living in and around Matopous national park for over 20 years. Ian, a white Zimbabwean who has an immeasurable amount of passion for the local environment and its tribe people. Although I found his talks interesting and informative, his perception on everything not African was arrogant and at times downright racist.

Apart from highly opinionated views, Ian was a fabulous tracker. I was intrigued at his interpretation of broken branches and dust patterns; Ian was able to tell a story to captivate any audience as we followed him throughout the bush. Ian explained that since the countries wide spread poverty, illegal poaching had been on the drastic rise. 5 years ago the park once held over 2000 white and black rhinoceros’s, and now a mere 22 were left. Worldwide the population had decreased 90%. He was desperately trying to push for the legalisation of farming Rhino horns to eradicate the unnecessary killings of the great beast. With a horn selling for $100,000USD per kilo and gun with ammunition selling for just $5USD, for some it was a quick decision. The law which allowed illegal poachers to be shot and killed on sight was an indication of just how desperate times were. Last month 24 poachers were shot dead.

These numbers are shocking; however without researching these figures myself I am inclined to not hold these facts as gospel. Although interesting, Ian did have a habit of ignoring questions he could not answer, exaggerating simple facts and contradicting himself. In short, he was a theatrical twat, albeit an interesting twat.

Ian had genuine concern towards conservation, with so much passion is it is pity that he failed to consolidate his efforts and work together with others to create a wider spread impact. My opinion is that personal differences, arrogance and pride are the real issues

The national park was lovely, apart from sitting closer to a Rhino than I thought safely possible; we visited a local tribe of bushman. The bushman barely reach 5’3 in height and used to be completely self-sufficient on the land (as all indigenous people were before the introduction if disease and the reduction of their land), now they open their village to tourist to sell their wares and graciously accept food and medical support donated from Canada.

The Bushmen’s infectious smiles and laughter soon spread. The local children along with the chief performed traditional dancing, hearing their joyous singing and watching their spirited dance moves were a cultural delight.

Leaving Bulawayo we drove to Victoria Falls, the adrenalin capital of Zimbabwe. Although we were visiting during dry season, the falls were still impressive, cascading down over sheer rock, thundering into the water below. There is a majestic beauty within waterfalls, Mother Nature and her raw fury, giving life to those who depend on her waters for miles. People stood still watching quietly, taking in the ancient and famous sight. Regardless of the roar, I found an inner peace as the mist surrounded me. A rainbow reached up from the pools below stretching to the lip of the falls. It was beautiful.

During the night we were again treated to local performances, fire throwing, bongos and dancing, though much more provocative than the local village dancing we had seen a few days earlier. This dancing, performed by adults, was full of hip shaking, pelvis grinding and chest shimming.

While majority of the group spent their days chasing the next thrill, I enjoyed walking around the town, trying the local cuisine and spoiling myself rotten at the local beauty salon. For less than the price of a facial in Europe I was able to purchase a 4 hour pamper package. I was cleaned, buffed, polished and feeling like a woman for the first time in weeks.

The only adventure I was interested in (in-between my manicure and massage) was the Devils Pool, a natural rock pool on the precipice of the falls. I had seen the pool on a travel show as a teenager and quickly added the visit to my must do list.

As I walked to the edge of the falls I felt excited and slightly daunted by the magnitude of water spilling past on the small boat, I can only imagine the force during the wet season. The boat skivvied between rocks before arriving on Livingston Island where we swam across a small body of water to reach the falls. The swim would have only been 15 meters from the edge. I felt small and insignificant in comparison.

I stood over the pool which was only 5 meters in diameter, yet 3 meters deep. The water seemed to spill over the edge, hiding the wall siting 2 inches under the water. Our guide flashed a winning smile and assured me it was ok to jump directly in, as long as we pushed ourselves forward to land in a very specific section. Jumping was something I had declared I would not be doing, no point in daring ventures with only your life to gamble. Yet as I stood on the edge with my toes pushing into the coarse rock surface, all rational left my mind and I leaped forward, less than a meter from the edge.

I hit the water; it was a cool relief from the scorching sun, as I surfaced I was pushed to the edge. Thankful does not even start to describe how I felt when my arms hit the underwater wall, saving me and the others to soon follow from toppling over the edge.

My smile stretched across my face, straining my cheeks. What a feeling! We spent the next 10 minutes leaning over the edge taking pictures as we balanced on the edge (with the guide holding fast to our legs).

The pool was as incredible as I had imagined. Although pleasingly I did not share the pool with the devil, I felt I was definitely touching the fingers of God.

My entire journey though Zimbabwe was rich in culture, history and laughter. The land and people have an abundance of beauty to offer. It is a shame that the people depended so desperately on tourism, its last and only real source of income. As a whole, Zimbabwe is a stunning country, my time here was far too short.



*for Ingrid, through my eyes, you will continue to see the world*

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Comments

[Bree]

Amazing- she would have loved it.