A very surreal day

Saturday 19th September

Boekenhoutfontein, North West

No-one came to pick us up.  The agreed time came and went with no movement in the bush and no sign of the Land Rover which would take us back to civilisation.

There was absolutely nothing we could do about it - no phones, no contact with the outside world.  We had to just sit there watching the ostrich and facing off the monkeys, ever hoping that someone would come to our aid - a very surreal feeling.

Eventually, and nearing the point when we seriously considered hiking through the wilderness, some rangers passed on a bakkie, heading to the bushcamp.  We managed to get them to send a message back to reception and at last, help was on its way.  (While all this was happening, a monkey managed to rob us of a loaf of bread, so breakfast ceased to be a possibility!)

Leaving here also meant leaving Botswana.  We headed through the capital Gaborone and out through Tlokweng Border, possibly the most confusing and intimidating border crossing yet. 

Giving no clue as to how to proceed, the official grew increasingly angry as we did it wrong - things like not realising that the duplicate paper form she gave us shouldn't have been filled in as duplicate, but separated and each leaf filled in individually.  Eventually, we made it past immigration with just customs and condom distribution to go.

The South African side of the border was much easier, and soon we were heading down past Madikwe to the N4, past Groot Marico and Woodridge Palms back to Rustenburg.

The visit to Rustenburg was for a very important reason - the purchase of a Springboks top.  The Rugby World Cup started yesterday and tonight saw South Africa's first game, against Japan.

We're spending the next three nights at Boekenhoutfontein, once the farm of former president Paul Kruger.  Now it is given over as a Kruger memorial and museum of the Anglo-Boer War.

Strangely, this means the place is full of colonial memorabilia, and as we sat in the bar to watch the rugby we were surrounded by military honours, British Empire weaponry and looked over by Cecil John Rhodes.  Members of staff were dressed as their former oppressors, carried guns and swords and wore Victoria Crosses.  Another very surreal situation.

In the end, South Africa were beaten on the last play of the ball by Japan of all teams.  Now, that was surreal, and the Springbok's top was soon carefully packed in the suitcase, destined to jinx the team no more.  (Although, "too many old toppies" seemed to be the verdict of the gathered company.)

Oh, and speaking of surreal, we are currently chasing a frog around our bedroom.

Alone

Friday 18th September

Mokolodi Nature Reserve, Botswana

We're in the middle of nowhere... well, we're all alone, deep in Mokolodi Nature Reserve.

 

A ranger dropped us here around noon with just a backpack, some matches and a can of Jungle Formula and he'll be back tomorrow morning to pick us up.  Apart from that, we're alone, with only a remote control panic button as a means of contacting the outside world.

 

Mokolodi Nature Reserve

We're staying in a small rondavel overlooking a dam which has almost dried out due to the serious drought currently gripping the country.  When we arrived, we were greeted by a rather large ostrich, but it didn't hang about long.  A single eland drank from the waterhole, but after that, all was quiet.  Until, that is, the warthogs came along - one family at a time to roll in the mud next to the water.

 

Soon after, a troop of baboons arrived and were fascinating to watch.  The alpha male sat back, arms folded and in a pose like Buddha, surveying the scene while the rest of the troop, including several infants, drank from the water and foraged in the mud.  Then, after a good half-hour or so, he changed posture and this signalled they should get ready to move.  He led the way and the others soon followed him over the horizon.

 

While the baboons were at the water's edge, a giraffe and a hartebeest arrived, but each held back and formed a queue.  The giraffe got bored od waiting and left for other pastures, but the hartebeest patiently waited until the last baboon had gone then proceeded to the water for a drink.  Clearly the baboons rule the roost around here.

 

Springbok

As the midday sun began to cool, a herd of springbok arrived, but to our surprise did not approach the water.  Instead, they climbed the bank and began to graze around us.  They came to within 3m of us and didn't seem bothered at all by our presence.  Each had three or four birds on its back, presumably they were eating some kind of parasites from the boks.  They stayed beside us, freezing if we moved but not running away, for about fifteen minutes until they were chased away by our next visitors - monkeys.

 

About twenty vervet monkeys surrounded us, their leader with his bright blue balls choosing to sit alongside us.  Unlike the springbok, they never froze or startles at all - quite the opposite.  These monkeys had arrived with the sole intention of terrorising us, or so it seemed.  They prowled around us, refusing to be chased and one proceeded to rip open our bag of charcoal and strew its contents around.  Not frightened of us in the slightest, they were rather intimidating with their group movement and their incessant chatter, which was clearly monkey-Tswana for "Come ahead!"

 

Vervet monkey

Like the springbok, they were only to be chased away by another group of visitors - this time baboons.  They stayed with us until darkness fell, but kept their distance unlike their smaller cousins.

 

After that, a single wildebeest coming down for a drink brought in the sunset.  As darkness fell, the chatter of the baboons ceased, replaced by the barking and howling of wild dogs and the gentle trill of crickets.

 

There's a lot of action around the waterhole at the moment, and something large is splashing about, but it's too dark to tell what it is.

 

Sunset

Our eyes are instead drawn upwards to the most spectacular sky imaginable, with distant galaxies clearly in view.  The scale of it all reminds us of what a tiny part we play in this vast universe, and for such a short time, rather like the fleeting visit of animals to the water.

 

"When I consider the glories of the cosmos, I cannot help but see a divine hand behind it all." - Einstein

Standing out

Thursday 17th September

Mokolodi, Botswana

Today, everything seemed closed.

 

We had heard about a collective of weavers in Oodi, set up in the 1970s by Swedish missionaries as a way of creating employment for local women.  They produce tapestries showing scenes of rural life and enjoy showing off their skills to passers-by.

 

Interested to find out more, we headed off to Oodi, only to find the road there closed and the diversion causing us to once again go off-roading in a VW Polo, this time across the fringes of the Kalahari Desert.

 

When we arrived in Oodi, there were few signs of life.  Approaching the weavers' building and peering through the windows gave a glimpse of their magnificent tapestries, but everything was locked and bolted with not a soul in sight.

 

Mochudi

Oh well, never mind.  We headed instead to Mochudi to visit a museum depicting Tswana life.  We followed the signs to what we thought was the museum, but it turned out to be a community centre where we gate-crashed some kind of adult literacy class.  A street vendor eventually gave us directions up a steep mountain path and after a lot of climbing we arrived at the museum's huge iron gates and pressed the intercom.  No response.  Eventually, after much scouting around, we concluded that this, too, was closed so headed back into Mochudi to visit the market.

 

The village is under tribal authority, and we had been advised that we should first visit the tribal offices and ceremonially ask for permission to enter.  To this moment, we have been unable to locate said office, so proceeded to without the relevant permissions.

 

From nowhere, a woman began shouting to us and instructed us we must enter the property she was pointing to.  Ah! we thought, this must be the Tribal Administration Office.  But not so.  In fact, the woman who lived there just wanted to see the white people, so once she'd had a good look at us, we were on our way.  She even asked if we could give her son a job, and was much dismayed when we told her we were only visiting for the day.

 

This quickly became the story of the day - throughout the village, everyone wanted to look at, to talk to and to touch us.  Stall holders shouted, not to try and sell their wares but just to ask to shake our hands.  Every passing person wanted to stop and talk.  Parents chided their children for staring at us, then continued to do so themselves.  One small girl even came up, stroked our arms, then ran off giggling to her group of friends.

 

To be fair, we did stick out like sore thumbs.  We were clearly the only white people in the village.  We dressed differently - while we were wearing what any Scot would in 35° heat, the locals remained wrapped up in long sleeves.  Supposing we'd worn flashing neon signs, we could not have been more noticeable, and yet the level of attention we got could never have been expected.

 

Even in the car as we left, a bus driver going in the opposite direction yelled for us to stop and wind down the window, only so he could say hello and then drive off.  By the time we left Mochudi, it was all rather tiring and it left me glad never to be destined for celebrity.

Dr Livingstone, I presume?

Wednesday 16th September

Mokolodi, Botswana

You can barely move around here without encountering Scotland - Scottish place names, Scottish churches, the "Scottish Hospital" and even Scottish names: who could have guessed that Botswana would be awash with Agneses and Peggys?  All of this is down to one man - David Livingstone - and today we set off in his tracks.

 

First up was Kolobeng, the site of Livingstone's home of five years, as well as the first church, first school and first health centre in what is now Botswana.

 

Remains of Kolobeng Mission Church

When we first arrived, it seemed closed, but as we were driving off, we were chased and encouraged back by a former policeman who has given up everything in order to dedicate his life to the study of this missionary from Blantyre.  Singlehandedly he has excavated the site of Livingstone's house and clinic, along with the Kolobeng Mission Church (or what remains of it).

 

At length - and I mean length - he showed us around the site, recounting every known detail of the lives of David, Mary and their five children - one of whom (Elisabeth) is buried there.

 

His knowledge was excellent, if a little intense, and his delivery akin to Dot Cotton, filling every comma and breath with a barely relevant quotation from scripture.  He affectionately refers to Livingstone as his father, as he sees his entire faith and love for God owing its roots to him.

 

Several kilometres up the road in Molepolole, we passed the London Mission Church, and the cave responsible for the Batswana's conversion to Christianity.  As the story has it, all who entered this cave were killed by the spirits until Livingstone took the chief there, entered the cave and came out again alive to dispel this superstition.  The chief instantly believed that Livingstone's god must have protected him and ordered that the Batswana should convert to Christianity.

 

Whatever Livingstone did or didn't do, his legacy endures in this overtly Christian society where every phone box, school bus and hair salon is emblazoned by some exclamation of praise.

 

Driving around these places led us through many towns and villages where life in its many forms was talking place - children waving as they cheerfully walked to school, pastoralist farmers leading their herds, women carrying unthinkable loads on their heads... and queues forming outside each of the many KFCs that pop up out of nowhere.

 

There are many differences between here and the other side of the South African border.  Crime is clearly at a much lower level - people openly display valuables in a way that would not happen in South Africa and houses here are not surrounded by walls, gates and security wire.  The approach to money is different too - no one watches your car to receive payment, no one expects a return for offering to help with directions.  People are warm and friendly and genuinely want to help you along - even the usual greeting of 'how are you?' or 'howzit?' is meant, with the asker taking an interest in your response.

 

Driving standards, however, are considerably poorer, and driving the length of a street is rather like playing Asteroids on an Atari.  The city centre of Gaborone, in particular, requires a foot down, eyes closed and hope-for-the-best mentality.

 

All-in-all, though, it has been a fascinating day assimilating to the local way of life and learning of the links between here and the far off land we call home.

 

Even the name of Livingstone's first mission holds a personal connection - 'Kolobeng' means "place of the wild pigs" - almost a Tswana translation of my home town of Bathgate, which means "wild boar wood".

A very African day

Tuesday 15th September

Mokoodi, Botswana

Today summed up Africa in so many ways.

 

To begin with, when we woke up, there was no water.  Lots of juddering pipes, but nothing coming out of them.  The rainy season here has been very dry, and the resulting drought has led to water rationing.

 

Bathing African style

So, instead of a shower, I went back to basics and bathed in the river instead - afterall, we're 12km from the next nearest person.  While the water was rather bracing, it was an incredibly refreshing way to start the day.

 

Leaving the farm, we headed to Botsalanto Nature Reserve, getting hopelessly lost on gravel roads on the way.  We did, however, as part of this detour encounter a huge rock monitor crossing the road infront of us.  South Africa has a terrible habit of signposting you in a general direction but then never filling in the detail when you need it - a trait it shares with Dundee.

 

Eventually we arrives and set off into the reserve... then promptly ran out of road and once again found ourselves off-roading in a Polo.

 

Botsalano is primarily a breeding ground for plains game, and it was present in abundance - impala, nyala, kudu, springbok, blesbok, eland, buffalo, wildebeest and something which looked like a bontebok, though they're not usually native to this area.  There were also several ground squirrels, some guinea fowl and the occasional ostrich.

 

As the day wore on, as our poor we car dragged its underside across the rocks, a rhino came into sight, and then a line of three of them ran alongside us, one of which baring the largest horn I've ever seen.  Even more spectacular was the giant secretary bird which put on a marvellous show, strutting about infront of us.

 

One further rhino crossed our path, but was a little spooked by us and started running in all directions.  Fortunately, we managed to avoid it then by some miracle came across the road again and were soon crossing the border to Botswana.

 

Customs and immigration are rarely a fun experience, though this was the most intimidating border crossing I've ever had, with no-one making any effort to explain what they wanted you to do, but getting incredibly angry when you don't do it correctly.

 

After several stops and a car search by an officer more interested in discussing the Rugby World Cup, we left South Africa and entered Botswana, where matters were even more confusing.

 

Much to-ing and fro-ing later, we had our passports stamped, road tax paid and were on our way.  The Batswana border force even issue you with free condoms on entering the country in a bid to halt the spread of HIV.

 

Barely 200m across the border a police roadblock was set up, so we went through the whole rigmarole again as they checked everything over.

 

At last, though, we were heading up the A1 towards Gaborone and our base for the next few days.  As we arrived, the most spectacular sunset welcomed us in.

 

Bathing in the river, barely passable roads, bizarre border control and breathtaking sunsets - yes, this could only be Africa.

A quiet day

Monday 14th September

Groot Marico

Groot Marico River

We didn't venture off the farm today, just sitting by the river under the warmth of the African sun.

 

Mercifully, this meant not having to traverse the slate cliff road, which yesterday proved every bit as difficult to ascend as to descend.

 

A repeat of that fun is saved for tomorrow when we leave the farm, and indeed South Africa, and head for Botswana for four nights.  We aren't going to any of the usual draws of Botswana such as the Chobe, Kalihari or Okovanga Delta, but are sticking to the small area around Gaborone where the vast majority of Botswana's population lives.

 

But that's for tomorrow.  For now, we've just discovered a mouse running about our kitchen, so that will provide tonight's entertainment.