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Tag: Canoe

  • African shoestrings – Mozambique Day One Hundred and One Bordertown

    With a GDP of only US$104 per person Mozambique is one of the poorest countries in the world. The Portuguese up and left in the mid 1970’s after decades of plundering the country and a fifteen year war of independence. They took with them valuable skills and capital reserves leaving behind nothing but chaos.

    A Marxist state eventuated and before long the cherished ideas of socialism had the country’s economy in tatters. A civil war that left 900,000 people dead, 1.3 million refugees and a countryside strewn with over 1 million unexploded land mines followed. Finally, in 1990 peace reigned and with the aid of the United Nations a democracy of sorts emerged. The economy is still dependent on foreign aid and its infrastructure is only now being rebuilt. Soon after our visit a devastating flood decimated the country setting back its efforts to rebuild.

    The Tete corridor is an area of Mozambique that juts out between Zimbabwe and Malawi. A lot of the guerrilla warfare during the civil war was staged here leaving behind a legacy of land mines and poverty. This is the area we needed to cross on this bus to get to Malawi.

    After several stops for police checks and simply to avoid the huge crater called potholes in the road we got to within 100 kilometres of the Malawi border and it was getting late!

    The Mozambique border post at Zobue apparently closes at 6 pm and there was some real concern that we might not make it.

    As we got closer there was an awful sound of clonking and scraping as the driver changed gears. Finally, as the bus began to climb a steep hill, it stalled and came to a standstill. It was almost dark as the driver restarted the engine and then attempted with no luck to select first gear. Some of us got off to lighten the load but that made no difference. As we got back on the driver rolled the bus back down the hill so that he could make a run back up in second gear. I shook my head in disbelief. We’re rolling backwards down a hill in the dark, in the middle of nowhere, in the infamous Tete corridor of Mozambique. If he goes off the road there’s a chance that a landmine could be waiting for us and then its ‘good night Irene’. In fact, we did meet a truck going up as we were going down but it overtook us without any mishap. Eventually we got going and the bus limped into Zobue sometime later. Of course the border was by now closed, although only just, and despite some animated conversation outside one of the border official’s house, it stayed that way.

    Then the fun began. Most of the travelers on the bus were apparently from Malawi, going home after doing a bit of shopping in Harare or having a break from working in Zimbabwe. They did not take kindly to this situation and I had to interfere to stop the bus driver from being lynched. They accused him of being in league with the town traders who they believed would profit from our enforced overnight stay. I can’t say I was convinced. The town wasn’t exactly busting with tempting designer label goodies or food stores. The hotel was full, which was just as well as it looked and smelt like the pits. The only place that appeared to be initially open was a small tin shack of a store that sold cold beer and by that time we sure needed a drink. Within a few minutes more tin shacks opened and vendors came to us with fruit, potato chips, drinks and various currencies.

    Initially the place was quite scary. Apart from the street sellers, there were street kids and other suspicious individuals hovered around, including a man with a rifle who was obviously guarding something but we were never able find out what. With Portuguese sounding to us just like Spanish, the whole town reminded us of one of those dusty, rundown Mexican or South American towns portrayed in the movies. All we needed was Clint Eastwood to ride in on a mule wearing a Mexican poncho and wide brimmed hat, cigar in mouth and the comparison would be complete.

    We spent the next six hours on the steps, watching our bags on the top of the bus, of what we think was the town hall within full view of the bus. It was one of the most bazaar experiences of my life sitting there guarding our bags from a distance, drinking beer, listening to Led Zeppelin (Jenny had a tape player) and playing cards whilst the man with the rifle wandered around looking for something to guard.

    Andy and Jenny told us of their search for land on the North Mozambique coast (when they eventually get there) for a tourist camp. Due to the bad roads and infrastructure, the only way to that part of Mozambique was via Malawi and they were set to meet up with other members of this venture in Blantyre, the only other major town in Malawi.

    Eventually sleep got the better of us and we returned to the bus to risk sleep and luggage stealing. Sleep was rather fretful, with snoring from half the passengers that were asleep and constant chatter from the other half that were not, adding to our rather cramped conditions.

    At first light I ran up to an overland truck that had also got there too late to cross the border, to see if we could get a lift. It was driven by a young woman from New Zealand, a relative neighbour, and the travelers were all women, a single guy’s paradise I thought. They were going as far as Dar es Salaam. This was our eventual destination and they would take us both for US$40 each. We were in business or so I thought. Our problem was getting our bags and the bus driver refused to offload them until we had crossed the border into Malawi. The bus somehow limped the kilometre between border posts and they then began to offload the baggage for the Malawi customs officials. The overlander was already there and I appealed to the driver to wait. She said they would and then promptly drove off never to be seen again!

    Footnote:

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    Buffalo near the Zambezi River watching canoes in Zimbabwe
    Buffalo near the Zambezi River watching canoes in Zimbabwe

     

  • African shoestrings – Zimbabwe Day Ninety-Nine Zambezi River

    Later that morning with us bringing up the rear as usual we were paddling alongside an island to avoid a pod of hippos.
    Suddenly a flurry of activity brings four hippos scurrying out of the bush and into the water just metres in front of Peter and Greg. They disappeared into deep water and four pairs of eyes popped up about twenty metres from us and watched as we tentatively crept past getting as close as we could to the bank.

    After such an exhausting morning (we had covered 20 kilometres as well) we were thankful for a stop for lunch and a couple of hours siesta followed by a swim in the shallows later in the afternoon under the watchful gaze of a few hippos.

    Still by the time we had got to our overnight stop at a deserted beach we were all pretty much exhausted and aching. The excellent food and some elephants strolling down to the water’s edge for a drink a mere 150 metres away soon resuscitated us.
    We were now in Mana Pools National Park and the hunting camps and other signs of humanity gave way to thorny bushveld and groves of Acacia and other trees. It was a full moon and as it rose it lit our campsite with a soft glow and turned a nearby perfectly formed thorny Acacia tree into a silhouette.

    The distant roar of a lion, the call of hyena and the munching of the hippos nearby seemed to be with us all during the evening and overnight. Despite our soreness, exhaustion and apprehension this was as good as it gets!

    Peter and Greg allayed our fears somewhat about hippos. Apparently like most wild animals they only attack only when they feel threatened. The stories of canoes being turned over are greatly exaggerated and usually caused by accident. In deep water a hippo may be right underneath the canoe and its occupants totally unaware, so if it decides to pop up and you’re in the way, bad luck!

    These guys seem to know their stuff. Peter was from the Shona, the most populous people in Zimbabwe and Greg was a young white guy from a farming family. When talking amongst themselves they spoke Shona. It seems that even though English is the official language Shona is more commonly spoken. They also told us of our biggest danger. “We (meaning Peter and I) will stand guard overnight to watch for Zambians paddling across from the other side. They ‘ave been known to raid a campsite and steal belongings from the tents and canoes whilst everyone slept.” Greg said.

    Great I thought, we have to watch out for crocs and hippos by day and thieving Zambians by night.

    Our final full day at 24 kilometres was a lot shorter and allowed us to leisurely enjoy the sun rising over the Zambezi.
    This was our best day!
    The river was mostly a series of tranquil channels and the wildlife was everywhere. Lots of hippos to be seen but none that were close enough to trouble us; a herd of elephants on the Zambian side; more elephants near our lunch spot; waterbuck, buffalo and impala also darted in around the national park edge, whilst little bee eaters probed small openings they had created as entrances to their nests inside the cliff face of the riverbank. But the piece ‘d’ resistance was yet to come. Swimming in a shallow channel we dried off and under Peters leadership we approached, by foot through the water, a large pod of hippos. We got within four metres of them as they watched us whilst closely bobbing up and down, ears flapping and noses snorting. They were watching us as warily as we were they. I snapped away around ten shots only to realise that I had the camera still set for a much dimmer light. By the time I reset, the hippos were almost completely submerged and moving away. Curses!

    Ten metres beyond them an elephant descended the bank and paddled across the deeper channel up ahead to join his mates strutting on a small island. Later that afternoon we stopped our paddling and drifted as we watched more elephants frolic in the water just in front of us. Peter was pretty keen on ensuring that we didn’t get too close but some other canoeists were foolishly a lot closer and came very close to having their canoes turned into firewood.

    Five kilometres on and it was time to set up camp for the last night on another sand island. First we had to navigate our way through a narrow channel with, you’ve guessed it, another pod of hippos in the way. No drama. Peter and Greg slapped their paddles against their canoes and off they went to safer waters.

    On dry land we were all busting and Sue managed to grab the spade before anyone else and headed off to an inconspicuous place. She was had been so absorbed with finding a hidden spot that it wasn’t until relief had come that she realised that there was a hippo lying on the bank asleep a mere five metres away. Any alien who had no prior knowledge of humanity would have gone away thinking what strange toilet rituals we have once he saw this mad women running towards us waving a spade with one hand and holding up her shorts with other!

    Footnote:

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    Elephants in the Zambezi River walking across the river in Zimbabwe
    Elephants in the Zambezi River walking across the river in Zimbabwe

  • African shoestrings – Zimbabwe Day Ninety-Eight Zambezi River

    We got to the Bronte at 5.00 am the next morning ready and waiting for our guide Peter and his offsider Greg who both turned up at 6.00 am with a driver Showee.
    We were heading for Chirundu some seven hours drive away via Breakfast at Chinhoyi and picking up the final two other members of our group at Makuti, Peter and Susan. They were Aussies as well, like us travelling on a tight budget and (shock horror) were about our vintage.

    Chirundu is a small town set on the river and serves as a border post with Zambia. It’s here that the real business begins.

    A leisurely lunch was followed by a lesson on Canoeing and some tips about animal behaviour. This last topic made us all sit up and listen. “Iiif you are feced with hippo, den puddle towards shallow water und keep you distance. Iiif a hippo charges und turns oover de canooo den geet into anoother”.

    Great!

    I noticed that Peter (the Aussie) had some bad scratches on his legs and arms. “Oh that. We were charged by a hippo in Matusadona and I jumped into a very thorny bush” he said.

    This was getting worse!

    Now it was time to get on the water. The canoes were twenty-foot Canadian style (whatever that meant) and we climbed in after all our bags and supplies were loaded into the middle of the canoe. If this baby turned over not only would we get wet but so would all our belongings.

    That afternoon we covered 16 kilometres and it felt like 100! I had the rear seat so the art of steering was all mine to conquer and needless to say our progress was a series of zig zags along the fast flowing water.

    This part of the Zambezi is around 800 kilometres downstream of Victoria Falls and 140 kilometres from the eastern edge of Lake Kariba and the infamous Kariba Dam. I say infamous because when it was built in the 1950’s, nature (in the form of the god Nyaminyami according to the local Tonga tribe) did its damnedest to destroy the project with three unprecedented floods and a heat wave causing the deaths of many workers and severe damage to the work in progress.

    The river was wide with the seemingly uninhabited terrain of mountains and hills of Zambia on the north side and the steep riverbanks dotted with hunting camps of Zimbabwe on the south. In between both banks, islands of marshy wet lands split the river creating tranquil channels with lush grasses and lily like growth. With the current flowing with us it all seemed very easy at the beginning. But it didn’t take long to realise that I needed to get the hang of this steering quick smart to avoid the hippos that seemed to be lurking around every corner and the odd croc that lay patiently at the water’s edge.

    By the time we reached our destination a small sandy island a couple of hundred metres from the Zimbabwe side, we were ready to rest.
    As with the rest of trip there are no washing or toilet facilities here. A spade with a toilet roll at the water’s edge is as good as it gets.
    After we erected our tents around the dining table and the fireplace, Peter and Greg presented a feast fit for kings.
    Amazingly we had steak and fresh vegetables washed down with the local Myuku red.
    Add that to the good conversation and the odd snort of a hippo and roar of a lion and I felt like we were in paradise.

    Not so Sue.
    Her arms ached from the paddling, she was also concerned as to whether she could paddle the 38 kilometres the next day and she felt really worried about the hippos.
    We later attributed the latter to the malaria tablets, Lariam that we taking. One of its side effects is anxiety and as you can see there was plenty to get anxious about.

    If Sue was worried about hippos the day before then the morning doubled her fear. Soon after we set off we rounded the bend and the channel narrowed.
    Suddenly out from the tall grass on the left bank, rushed a huge hippo straight into the water towards the opposite bank.
    Steering and stopping a two berth canoe was still beyond Peter’s and my capabilities as first our canoe, then Peter and Susan’s jackknifed into the bank. We both came to a halt facing back the way we had just come, a few metres from where the guides were waiting patiently in their canoe.
    Peter (the guide) opened his hand, drew it down his face and took a deep breath. “OK” he said, “You can’t turn around here so you’ll both have to go back and turn around keeping as close as you can to this bank”

    Peter and Sue set off first and successful negotiated the turn. We (well actually me) didn’t do so well. We ended up with such a huge turning circle that before we knew it we were heading directly for the spot in the water where the hippo had last been sighted. There was nothing we could do except, as I yelled to Sue

    ” Paddle for fucks sake just paddle!”

    Which is exactly what we did as the canoe passed right over the top of the hippo as the others watching in amazement or was it amusement.

    Footnote:

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    Hippos in the Zambezi River watching canoes in Zimbabwe
    Hippos in the Zambezi River watching canoes in Zimbabwe

  • African shoestrings – Botswana Day Seventy-Eight to Eighty Okavango

    The Delta itself reminded me of a vast flooded field with pockets of dirt that support large trees and palms. It actually consists of a maze of meandering channels, with dense masses of papyrus and other aquatic plants; many shallow, water-filled basins; and numerous islands, or elevated wooded areas that remain dry during flooding. The delta normally covers about 16,000 square kilometres, but this year the rains had been good and it was at its highest level for many years, which translated into covering a larger area than average.

    PT our Polar seemed to be the number one man when the number one man, who was a lot older than the other polars, didn’t go out, which was often. Our first experience of riding in the Mokoro was on the way to the next camp on a nameless island near Qokoqere, deep in the heart of the delta.

    In no time at all we reached the new camp. This time there are no facilities whatsoever, just a hole in the ground for a toilet and the water of the delta for washing. Once we had set up camp again we went back out in the Mokoro and stopped on an adjoining island. PT took us all for a walk and told us of how his people use the trees and plants, what animals and birds are around and the danger of crocs and hippos. Because the water was so high most of the animals had moved away to higher ground so all we saw apart from the odd croc were some Letchwe, a small water antelope that kept their distance.

    After lunch we went for a swim, well some of us brave enough did. It’s a bit scary knowing that we were in the same territory as a croc or hippo but we were assured that this particular spot was croc and hippo free. I did notice however that a couple of the polars were continually scouring the water for any gatecrashers.

    For the next three days we had a set pattern, up early and out on the Mokoro, back for lunch, back out again after a siesta and the heat of the day to return at sunset. Travelling by Mokoro is a restful and mostly relaxing way to travel (apart from the odd pampas grass brushing our face and the zillions of insects). It just glides through the calm, crystal clear water without any noise, just a gentle splash of the pole as it too moves through the water pushing us on past the papyrus and water lilies that are dotted almost everywhere. Apart from the pole the only other noise is that of the polars chatting and laughing amongst themselves and the odd motor boat disturbing the serenity. We seemed to drift here and there in this water labyrinth, sometimes getting out for a walk or a swim or (as if we needed it) a rest.

    Occasionally these guys would get a bee in their bonnet about finding a particular bird or animal that we had been discussing the night before. We spent three hours one morning looking for Pel’s fishing owl and finally found one hiding in a densely leafed tree on a remote island. Then we spent the same afternoon searching for a Sititunga another antelope that was so rare and extremely shy that we never actually found one!

    Evenings were spent chatting and talking whilst waving away the persistent mosquitoes. These mosquitoes were not, we were assured, the malaria carrying variety, not that it mattered because the insect repellant that we used was capable of killing small animals at twenty paces.

    Andre and Annie did their very best to make us all comfortable and served us up basic but excellent fare.

    As I said before we were, apart from Klaus and Hilda, the oldest of the group by some years. The other four were all Uni. students taking time out and we became all reasonably friendly except for the ‘oldies’ who seemed to keep themselves aloof. Mind you they were only with us on the delta so I guess it probably wasn’t essential that they get to know us. It might have been though the fact that none of us had khaki safari suits and they felt the odd ones out.

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    Polers on the makoros (canoe) in the Okavango delta, Botswana
    Polers on the makoros (canoe) in the Okavango delta, Botswana

     

  • African shoestrings – Botswana Day Seventy-Seven Okavango

    Whether it’s because of the high fees they charge tourists or their natural resources of diamonds, copper and nickel, all of which are mined extensively, Botswana is a relatively wealthy country. It has one of the fast growing economies in the world and its GDP per capita is the highest on the African continent outside of South Africa. None of this was apparent in Shakawe where we stopped to buy ice and other supplies. Dusty run down buildings and shacks were everywhere as were dusty rundown vehicles. Even the townsfolk looked a bit dusty and rundown and seemed to just wander or sit around fairly aimlessly.

    At Supopa we were meant to have two motor boats waiting for us but this is Africa and things don’t often run to plan, so we had to wait an hour or so before being guided onto one of them and our baggage loaded onto the other. About an hour into the three and a half hour journey our boat began to cough and splutter a few times and the second boat, now some distance away, returned to take some of the human baggage and hence lighten its load. We eventually made it to our destination, an island in the delta near the village of Jao, which we could just see from the distance.

    This campsite was in the process of being constructed by a few locals and another bloke from Audi, Brendan and was supposedly near completion but you could have fooled me. But it was just about habitable.

    By now there was ten in our group; Louise (a Pom), who had traveled with us from Windhoek, John and Ann (more Poms), Elizabeth (a yank), Klaus and Ingrid (Germans) and our guides Andre and his more experienced sister Anna. So the night was spent getting to know each other around the campfire. Of course with a South African there as well (Brendan) the topic of conversation never strayed far from Rugby Union and Cricket although we did have a friendly argument about the Southern Cross.

    To Australians and New Zealanders the Southern Cross is an important part of our psyche, it’s on our both our flags, is used extensively in official and commercial advertising and most of us know roughly where it is. But it’s by no means unique to Australia and New Zealand. It can be seen almost anywhere in the Southern Hemisphere all the year round and it’s pretty distinctive. Now I can understand people from the Northern hemisphere not knowing anything about it they can only see at certain times of the year low in the sky plus of course places like England are lucky to see any of the night sky. But Brendan, a budding tour guide, was under the woeful misapprehension that it couldn’t be seen outside of Australia. After much discussion I eventually fired up and marched him, followed by some of the others, away from the fire and pointed into the sky at the five stars that make up Southern Cross to put to bed that woeful misapprehension.

    The next morning our polars turned up one Mokoro short! We needed six not the five that were brought; two people to each boat and one for the luggage and supplies. After much hand waving and gesturing eventually one of the polars went back to Jao and found an extra Mokoro and Polar.
    Mokoros (otherwise known as dugout canoes) are carved from Ebony or the Sausage Tree and take around three months to make by hand. The forked pole the polars use are made from the Silver Terminilia tree and it’s this pole that in the hands of these guys enables the Mokoro to move quietly and effortlessly. Like the gondolieriers of Venice, these guys make it look so easy. Unlike the gondoliers of Venice the Mokoro is economic in design and whole lot less comfortable. A hard wooden plank was to be home for our rear ends for the next few days but we managed to get used to it.

    Only one of them had back rests and that was literally jumped into by Klaus and Hilda. They were to be fair, a lot older than even us, let alone the rest who once again were all young enough to make us feel parental again (grand parental in Klaus and Hilda’s case).

    You know you can pick people a mile off. I had Klaus picked as a bit of a know it all from the time we first met as he stood in his khaki safari suit puffing on his pipe on the bow of the motor boat, trying his best to look like Mr. ice-cool as the boat jumped up and down and spluttered from time to time. I can never quite understand why some tourists believe that buying and wearing the latest safari suits will enrich their time in Africa. I know all the blurb suggests you wear green or light brown clothing so that you don’t stand out when on a safari but 90% of that time is spent in a minibus or 4WD which stand out a lot more than we will, regardless of what we wear. In Uganda four years before, we came across two American ladies impeccably dressed in all ‘the gear’ plus polo hats. You can imagine what colour their clothes were after the jungle trek to find mountain gorillas. In fact I’ll swear blind that I heard some of the Gorillas laughing at them.

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    Young Poler on a makoro (canoe) in the Okavango delta, Botswana
    Young Poler on a makoro (canoe) in the Okavango delta, Botswana

     

  • The A-Z of places: Botswana

    Canoeing on the Okavango Delta

    Young Poler on a makoro (canoe) in the Okavango delta, Botswana
    Young Poler on a makoro (canoe) in the Okavango delta, Botswana

    Makoros

    Dug out canoes or makoros at the Okavango delta in Botswana
    Dug out canoes or makoros at the Okavango delta in Botswana

    Peek-a-boo

    Young boy peeking in a hut in a small village in Botswana
    Young boy peeking in a hut in a small village in Botswana

    Lion

    Lion in chobe NP, Botswana
    Lion in chobe NP, Botswana