AFRICAN ADVENTURE 2018 - Chapter 9 - Madkgadikgadi (Contd)

Gerald’s Dad’s birthday and the birthday, too, of my brother Ian.

This camp runs differently to most other Adrian camps, and after breakfast we leave about 7.30 on a boat trip down the Betoti River, just the four of us and KB.  It’s a glorious view, and within an hour, we come across the most splendid sight of elephants, bathing and playing and mock fighting and swimming and splashing and jumping on each other and dunking each other.  It’s a scene of such sociability and such joy, such unabashed pleasure in what they are doing, we are 50 metres away, and they are totally unconcerned about our presence. We can hear the sound of their tusks clashing as they mock fight, they trumpet and spray water over themselves, they submerge under the water and swim surprisingly long distances before resurfacing.  They seem to call others for they keep coming over the horizon, encouraging them to come for a swim.  There are lone bulls and young males - no Mothers or babies here, its too dry for them to make the journey, they’ve stayed behind where they can ensure their babies are fed.  Some of them have enormous penises, which graze the ground as they walk, and a few mount each other.  Are they gay, I ask?  KB laughs, and says that elephants do display homosexual tendencies.  This is such a delight, we do not want to leave, but we have another safari planned.

After lunch, we set off for Madkgadikgadi Pans National Park, its a long hot drive - we are headed to see The Migration, which KB calls The Amazing Migration.  We pass by Kumaga Village, along huge potholed corrugated roads which jolt and jar, but the area is alive with wildlife.   There are wildebeest who are racing towards water somewhere, three large kudu, Burchell zebras, and so many birds:  spurring, violet crested rollers, vultures, Maribou Stork, guinea fowl, wildebeest, giraffe, hippo, elephants and bucks of all kinds. 

 Jorge and Steff are good company, respectful of the land and the space and curious, intelligent people.  On the drive we see zebra - so many that KB says “Zebra Crossing” - impala, giraffes including a baby, wildebeest, African Jacana birds, and birds of such colour and beauty, they take my breath away.  KB is very knowledgeable, not only of wildlife, but the environment and he has a great sense of humour. He has a bird app which he plays when we spot a bird, it mimics the sound of the birds, and encourages them to call back.  It’s a bit of a mean thing to do, I think, for our benefit, but he says the animals like to hear other birds of their kind call out to them.

 We have to take a ferry (150 pula each way, about $15) across the river to reach the pans, and we wait by a peaceful river, watching the ferryman ferry back and forth, we are fourth in line.   Two young women and a boy walk by, he waves and smiles and I rush to say hello and shake his hand.  He points to the camera, and thinking he wants a photo, I ask one of the girls to photograph us.  She does, then points to the phone and asks “Do you have a spare phone for me?”   Errr, no, I don’t.

 There are donkies and goats grazing, and birds singing, its a peaceful wait in the shade. The ferry has a tiny motor, much smaller than the one on our boat at home, and its working hard, screeching in pain, battling to get the short way across.   A car drives up, driven by a woman, and all the men snort in disgust as she revs up the planks on to the ferry and almost off the other side.  By KB guides us up quietly and skilfully, and its about another hour to get to the pans.  

 It’s UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE when we get there, for we are literally surrounded 360 degrees, by elephants, zebras, buffalo, antelope, giraffes.   It’s an animal highway, criss crossed with hundreds of tracks across a dry, dusty, cracked river bed, there are hundreds and hundreds of animals in every direction, and its impossible to know where to look first, every which way is a photographers dream photo.  

 The heat is relentless, the animals are thirsty, and they run like the wind for the muddy water, their noses high in the air, Mother’s with babies, ensuring they stay safe alongside of them - mothers are the same in any place any where - the heat shimmers on the salt pans, the trees and shrubs are brown, leafless, broken to bits by the elephants, it seems impossible these animals can survive without what seems to be literally nothing to eat - in this heat, without water, and the sun is baking them, and us, the ground, and the metal of the land rover is as hot as an iron.

 We are speechless, in absolute awe of what we are witnessing, and we are the only people here.    We are reluctant to leave, but its growing dark, and its an hour to the ferry, but KB has told the ferryman we will be about 10 minutes late before his last departure at 6 pm.  Gerald however, is cautious, and asks KB several times, how are we doing for time?   But KB is confident and lays out the Sundowners on the landie specially made table which drops down from the front of the car, and we eat nuts and belting and drink gin and tonic and beer.   We head back to the ferry, bouncing around at 60 kph in the thick sand, swaying and jolting in an African Massage, we are friends now, us four, and lubricated by gin and tonic (which Steff has not drunk before but is now a complete convert!) we laugh and try to keep the gin in our tin cups, but it sloshes out and over us and we smell like a gin distillery.

 We arrive at the ferry 8 minutes past six, and can see the ferryman on the other side, washing his car.  KB waves, but he ignores us.  KB waves again, and shouts out, with no response.  Then, unbelievably, we watch the ferryman climb into his ancient car, and chug away, up the steep, sandy slope, and off into the night.  We are stranded.   KB gets on the phone and calls him, but he’s switched it off.  He calls the camp, and a plan is hatched.  Us four guests find this incomprehensible, this would never happen in Germany or Australia, but we are in Botswana, and a bit tipsy, we fall about laughing, except for Gerald, who is making plans for our survival in the bush overnight, as we speak.

 Eventually, its decided that we have to head back the way we have come, and then an additional long drive back to the opposite side of the river to our camp.  The night has fallen and its black, there are hundreds of animals everywhere, the ‘road’ is a sandy track, we have some water but no food.  Gerald looks serious, but Steff, Jorge and I are somewhat hysterical, with laughter and or fear.  But KB is a composed machine.  He hits that track like Jack Brabham, focussed on getting us home safely, and I know we are in safe hands.  After retracting back to the pans where we saw all the animals just hours ago, we travel along the long, long fence which was unsuccessfully erected to try to keep the domestic animals and the wildlife separate.  It’s in ruins, we can see in the headlights, with metres of deadly wire swinging in the breeze, and laying on the dusty ground, waiting to wrap itself around the vehicle, or more dangerously, around our necks or to rip our faces.   My eyes are bad, but KB’s are as keen as an eagle, and he stops regularly, to remove deadly wire which dangles in front of us, or waits to wreck our motor underneath.

 It’s cold and I am glad of my big jacket, the dust stings my eyes, which are dry dry dry, and we struggle to stay upright as he guns the motor on those precarious tracks.   It seems interminable, but we eventually arrive at the river bank, directly opposite our camp, on the same side where just yesterday, we sat for some hours and watched the elephant family bathing and playing and socialising.   Justin waits for us, he has brought the boat over to fetch us, and they carry the sundowner box down the rocky track to the water.  Phi Phi has come to greet us also, with a torch, and he and Jorge take my hands and guide me down to the water, and I am aware, clearly, that I am the Old Lady, and these men are taking care of me.  It was not long ago that I was the Young One, helping others, and my heart softens for their care, remembering my care of those Older Ones I loved and respected.

 It’s a short drive across the river and a steep climb up the other side with my two trusty guides, and then we are in camp, all the guests are sat around the boma fire, and there is a spontaneous round of applause front the other guests.  We laugh and clap each other on the shoulders, The Dream Team has made it, The Crazy Germans and the Crazy Aussies, and we are handed large gins.   The whole camp has waited for our return before eating, and its now 8.30 pm, and TT asks if we can eat.  You waited for us?  I ask, flabbergasted.  Solemnly, he says, “Of course.”  

 I am seated next to a Swiss woman who has arrived today from Maun where she has lived for 27 years, and her companions on holiday from Switzerland.  The Young Ones are at the other end of the table, and conversation is about where we are from and what we do and where we are going.  She listened intently as I tell her our plans for Botswana and Zambia and then Malawi.  She gives a diffident sniff at Malawi, and says somewhat patronisingly, “And WHAT do you propose to do in Malawi for four days?”  I respond “Make love to my husband.”  The whole table stops speaking, I swear.   The Young Ones white faces stare up from the other end of a table of 16 people in disbelief.  The Swiss sit open mouthed.  She blinks, she has not heard correctly, and says “What?”  I say “Make Love To My HUSBAND”.  Jorge and Steff burst out laughing, their faces shining in appreciation and fondness for me.  Roxanne the young Australian leans forward and says “Wow ......”. This leads to a conversation about Tantra for Couples in Bali, which our friends Diane McCann and Robert Matthews lead, which we assist on every year in April.  Diane, I think we enrolled quite a few people tonight.

 We head to bed as soon as dinner is done, tomorrow takes us to Sable Alley, and these few days have been wondrous.