We were marooned in Xnongwa. I was travelling with Botswanacraft buyers Rick Davis and Gaylord Mahobani. We’d stayed the previous night with Ed Williamson, a Bushman anthropologist living in XnaiXnai, 26 miles away near the border with Southwest Africa. As usual our Toyota Landcruiser wouldn’t start. Twenty Bushmen, Gaylord and I had tried to push the vehicle, but nothing happened. Earlier in the morning, I had watched a very drunk, grizzled, older Bushman riding his small horse in circles around the village khotla. Fed up, the horse kept bucking him off. Each time the crowd murmured “Whid-de-nee-na !” as he went flying into the deep sand.
At times no vehicles would come to Xnongwa for a month, which seemed a long time to be stuck there. I suggested that I ride a horse to Ed Williamson’s, since he had a 4X4 and could give us a push. Rick and Gaylord negotiated with Xnongwa’s Herero’s and thirty minutes later two enormous horses were brought to us as well as a ragged twelve-year-old-boy. I assumed that he would be my guide. He spoke no English and my Setswana was very rudimentary. Ms. CUSO of course was provisioned with canned juices and crackers, but the boy had been given absolutely nothing. Mounting our horses with help, we set off. An hour later the boy fell off his horse. I rode after it, grabbed its reins and rode back to him. Bending very low to help him mount the horse, I did not dare get off mine, fearing I might never get on him again – he was so high. I shared my rations with my young companion and we rode another couple of hours, mostly along a dried river bed. Every so often the track would branch into three to five forks. I’d ask the boy which fork to take and he’d just shrug. I then realized he had probably never left Xnongwa in his entire life. Dusk fell and I was concerned whether we were on the right track. In the distance, I heard something behind us. Ten minutes later the grizzled Bushman showed up on his little grey horse. He rapidly clicked away to me in Bushman. I responded “XnaiXnai, Ed Williamson.” He repeated this and then said the equivalent of “suivez-moi” in Bushman, taking the lead at a gallop. We rode like this for almost two hours, my head and arms around my horse’s neck like a jockey, praying my long curly hair would not get caught in the thorn trees like Absolom. Eventually we reached a group of rondavels surrounded by giant stakes in the ground. Hearing distant voices, I shouted “Ed, Ed, it’s Susan” – but no one came. Once again, I didn’t dare get off my horse. Fifteen minutes later, Ed walked over with Liz Wiley, Botswana’s Bushman anthropologist. They’d been trying to decipher what “Ed, Ed, it’s Susan” meant in Bushman, never dreaming that I’d come there on horseback.
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This is a condensed version of a travel blog entry I posted (https://bob-brink.travellerspoint.com/129/) shortly before arriving in Kasane (for a sunset cruise) on June 8, 2018, about an evening spent in the Chobe River with Dave Hellard on August 25, 1980.
Sunday had been a strange day. There were lots of stray dogs running around the village. Someone in authority decided that they should be euthanized. They also decided that the method would be shooting them, and the location happened to be behind the hotel, virtually behind my rondavel. I fled to the hotel patio where a group of Canadians were enjoying an afternoon drinking beer. There were two main topics of discussion, the fact that hippos were the biggest killers of people in Africa and a debate about how long a person can survive cold conditions before dying of hypothermia. Little did I know how relevant those topics were going to be for my evening. Dave and I had decided to go on a river cruise that night. I thought we would go on the double deck houseboat called the African Queen, but Dave came back to tell me that he had arranged for us to rent a small fishing boat from the hotel. It would be cheaper. There were five of us on our little boat, the two of us, the driver, and two Batswana who had asked if they could come along. We headed out just behind the African Queen. We were the only two boats on the river. I was amazed at the amount of game. Spread out on the flood plains were elephants, hippos, kudus, Cape buffalo, sable, water bucks, and impala, many in big herds. The skies were alive with various exotic birds. After about an hour we looked back and saw that the African Queen was turning around. When we carried on, Dave and I had a good laugh as we agreed that we were getting a better deal. We passed through a large herd of hippos. As we exited on the far side, someone shouted, “I think that one chased us!” We all thought that was quite hilarious. We drove on for only a few more minutes before the driver turned around to return to the lodge. The only way back was through the same herd of hippos. Dave was standing up in the bow with a fishing pole, optimistically thinking that he might catch a fish. I was just basking in the wonder and excitement; the entire ride had been a real thrill. I was snapped out of my reverie by a loud thud. The bow went up and Dave and his fishing rod went flying out of the suddenly stopped boat. I reached over to help him back in. “Whew, that was close,” I thought to myself. Then I looked down. The boat was filling with water. We tried to bail with our hands, a rather futile gesture. We all ended up in the river. As I went under, I became entangled in Dave’s fishing line. I had a moment of panic as I felt trapped. Could I get free or was I going to drown? But the line parted, and I kicked to the surface. We desperately held on to the swamped boat. We were surrounded by the herd of hippos. I felt total terror as I looked over my shoulder at a hippo that was only about 20 feet away. He was likely the one that had attacked us. He submerged. Was he coming to attack? Someone yelled, “He is coming”. I put my head down and waited. Then nothing. He resurfaced. Once again, he went under. Again, we waited. We eventually concluded that attack was not imminent and could breathe again. At one point the boat seemed to be sinking, so we decided to swim to shore. I could not see much as I had lost my glasses, so have always relied upon Dave’s account about what happened next, which was that the driver was tossed into the air by a hippo. I certainly was aware that something had happened. There was shouting, followed by a retreat to the boat. The sun went down. We thought the hippos would leave us, that they would go to the shore at night. But they stayed. It would get quiet, then we would hear the sound, “Huh Huh Huh”. One would sound on one side of us. Then others would answer, behind and to the sides. It sounded like they were laughing at us. I was getting cold and thought back to the conversation at the lodge and wondered how long we could stay in the water. We heard a boat engine, a faint sound in the distance. Then it got louder; it was getting closer and closer. Help was coming! Then it was getting fainter. It was going back. We could no longer hear it at all. A couple of hours passed. No one spoke. It was quiet except for the occasional sound of the hippos. We had been in the water for about five hours when rescuers finally appeared, hauled us into the boat, and took us back to the lodge. We were met by a large contingent at the dock. Dave and I were bundled away by the Canadian crowd. We never spoke to our boat mates again. They hurried us down to my rondavel, stripped off our clothes and put first me, and then Dave, into the shower. I was lucky. I had hot water. They put us into bed. I was shivering and shaking. Dave was lucky now. He was put into the second bed in my rondavel. He had Kele to get him warm. Some years later Dave was back in Kasane for work and heard stories about a couple of guys and hippos overturning their boat. Many facts had changed, including our nationalities, but there were enough similarities to know that we were the subject of the story. We were somewhat of a legend. The story of our drive through Northern Botswana in February, 2015, starts with a footnote from a travel guide: “NOTE: This is only a suggested route and some areas are not accessible during the Okavango's wet season when the water reaches far into the Moremi and flood many of the roads. Please check with Botswana travel experts regarding the conditions at the time of your planned self drive safari.” From Safarico – Africa Travel Made Easy. Needless to say, after having lived in Botswana for nearly 7 years a young man, I was the “Botswana travel expert” and needed no warnings from any internet web sites. We left Maun in Northern Botswana at 5 am for the town of Kasane, a distance of some 350 km. Kasane is located on the Chobe River in the far north of Botswana where the four countries of Botswana, Namibia, Zambia and Zimbabwe all meet. The idea was to pass through the Chobe National Park, which is famous for its large herds of African wildlife, with a brief stop at the Savuti Channel. It was at the Savuti Channel where I had spent a memorable New Year’s Eve in the year 1979. Driving off in our four-wheel drive Ford F-150 Ranger truck, we felt invincible. We drove the first 30 km on a paved road heading north, while avoiding the various cattle, donkeys and goats which had chosen to use the road bed overnight to take advantage of its extra warmth. The paved road soon turned into a dirt road passing through the magnificent countryside of this remote corner of Africa. As the sun rose, we were greeted with herds of giraffe silhouetted against the rising sun, Cape buffalo moving across the road forcing us to stop and wait for them to move on, and the plentiful elephant, the true owners of this part of Botswana. About 126 km north of Maun, we came upon a sign which simply said “Water”. Thinking that odd, we proceeded up the road until we did indeed hit a stretch of water completely covering the road. The road entered the water and we could see the road emerging from the water on the other side, about 100 meters distant. We stopped the vehicle to better ponder the situation. Thinking we could get across, I put the truck into low gear and ventured into the water with the hope of reaching the other side. Unfortunately, once past the point of no return, the water just kept getting deeper and deeper until the vehicle was actually floating. In short order, the engine failed, the electrical system shorted out and the vehicle started to sink. During the relatively slow sinking process, we instinctively grabbed our backpack containing passports, money and iPad and shoved it onto the dash board above the steering wheel. As the vehicle slowly settled onto the bottom with water above the bottom of the windows, our luggage, food, equipment and ourselves were soon a soggy mess. Very fortunately, the driver’s side window was open which meant we were able to quickly vacate the vehicle by squeezing ourselves out the window. Chest deep in an African watering hole at dawn and not knowing if there were any crocodiles around, our first inclination was to get to dry land. We waded back in the direction from which we came. We now found ourselves wet, disheveled and more than a little disheartened in the middle of the African bush. We were also confronted with the realization that we were utterly defenceless at a watering hole in the middle of the African bush. During our drive from Maun, we had seen no other vehicles along this road so rescue could not be taken for granted. Compounding our worry, we surmised that we had somehow missed a “Detour” sign somewhere back where we saw the “Water” sign. In hindsight, I had noticed a small track disappearing off to the right and had wondered at the time where that might be going. Whatever the situation, we were now off the main road and rescue by a fellow vehicle was not likely. Any hope of rescue would now have to depend on our walking back through the bush to the “Water” sign in hopes of flagging down another vehicle for help. As my brain slowly started to kick in, if we were going to walk out of there, having that backpack with our valuables and identification would be a good idea. Trying hard to ignore the possibility of crocodiles, I waded back to the truck to retrieve the backpack. Back on dry land, I realized that having some water and food might also be a good idea for our survival. So, once again, it was back to the truck. This time I had to squeeze back in through the window in order to rummage through the floating boxes in the back seat. Having retrieved some water bottles and sealed crackers, I once again returned to dry land. Luckily without incident. Trying hard to forget the surrounding African wilderness and the wildlife that it contained, it was time to walk out of there. Holding hands, we quietly and carefully started back up the road, trying to look (and feel!) as big and as brave as possible. It took only 10 minutes before we were accosted by an elephant that moved onto the road blocking our way. While keeping a wary eye on us, the elephant lingered on the road for a few minutes before moving on. Another 10 minutes had passed when I heard an ominous rustling in the bushes behind us, accompanied by the fierce snort of a Cape buffalo. We quickly moved on. After about 45 minutes, we found ourselves back again at the now famous “Water” sign. By this time, the sun was fully up and the temperature was starting to rise. Sure enough, tacked onto the bottom of the sign was a small piece of wood with the word “detour” scrawled on it and a small arrow pointing to the right. Off to the right, there was indeed a small track heading off into the bush. While certainly no safer than anywhere else, if rescue was to happen, this was the place to stay. There was no point in walking back to the sunken truck or walking further back to the nearest settlement which was about 40 km. Despite having seen no other vehicles in the entire trip from Maun, we had no choice but to settle down and wait and ponder our situation. About 30 minutes later, we heard then saw a convoy of two trucks coming up the road. Both of these vehicles were big “unimogs” with oversized wheels, well-suited to the African bush. We immediately flagged down the first truck whose driver referred us to his “boss” who was in the second vehicle. His “boss” turned out to be Dube, who was driving a container of thatch to a safari camp further north near the Caprivi Strip. Dube quickly ordered his truck helper, Isheto, to vacate the cab and he scrambled to a perch on top of the container. Mira and I thankfully climbed up into the cab with Dube. Dube could not restrain his amazement at finding two “elderly white people” at 9:30 am in the middle of the African bush. We were clearly in trouble, however, so the unwritten law of the bush stated that Dube could not leave us behind and would help us to the best of his ability. When Mira exclaimed, in expressing our thanks, that “You have saved our lives,” Dube looked at us as quizzically if we were aliens from outer pace and stated emphatically “Yes, there are many lion here.” He was amazed that we had not seen any (or that they had not seen us) as lions were very common along that particular stretch of road. Following the Detour sign, Dube launched his vehicle along the two ruts disappearing into the bush. We passed through any number of elephant families along the way, thinking how lucky we were that the elephant that had accosted us on the road was a bachelor and not part of the family grouping. As we chatted, Dube clearly thought that we were crazy to be in such a situation. Dube eventually came back onto the main road and followed it back to the water hole where we could see our forlorn Ford truck nearly submerged in the water. Backing his massive vehicle into the water, he instructed Isheto to attach a chain to the front axle of the Ford. Isheto stripped down and dove under the water bearing the heavy chain which he managed to somehow attach to our truck. Dube drew in the slack in the chain and began slowly to haul the now utterly sodden vehicle out of the water. Within seconds it was a dripping mass on dry land. Clearly it was beyond immediate repair and was not going to start again any time soon. Getting behind the wheel of the Ford, I steered while Dube and the “unimog” pulled us about 4 km up the road to where there was a very small village by the name of Mababe. Dube was taking a left hand fork at Mababe and could not afford to take us any further. But again, according to that unwritten law of the African bush, he could not just leave us to bake in the African sun without assistance. Dube took the time to ask a teacher at the local primary school if we could borrow her cell phone to be in touch with Maun. He then used the same phone to call a mechanic friend of his in Maun to request his assistance in Mababe. The mechanic, Chaka, said that he would buy some spare parts for our vehicle and get on the road to Mababe. At this point, Dube and Isheko left us as they headed further north, leaving us parked near the main road through the village of Mababe. The village of Mababe is very remote with a population of about 300. We soon become objects of great curiosity and fascination for the local residents who found these two strange people suddenly parachuted into their midst. We quickly made acquaintances with the local primary school teacher, staff nurse at the local clinic and policeman as well as the various school children and village residents who were passing by. Taking advantage of our long wait for the mechanic to arrive and having nothing else to do, we started to dry out our clothes. We spread them out on the grass and the bushes around the truck where they soon started to steam and bake. The temperature rose to the low 40s celsius, which was good for drying our clothes but was hard on our bodies. We sought what shade we could under a neighbouring tree and against the wall of an unused general store called “The Good Life”. Chaka, the mechanic from Maun, finally arrived at about 3 pm. He seemed competent enough as he started to take the motor apart and drain the water from the watering hole from the various pieces and hoses of the engine. After about 3 hours of work, he miraculously managed to get the vehicle started, although the engine ran rough and most of the electrical systems were not working. As dusk approached, having only one headlight, we started the return drive back to Maun. Chaka was not going to leave us given the tenuous state of our truck. We also needed his headlights if we were to navigate safely back to Maun. So with Chaka in the lead, we headed back down the road. When we came to the detour heading south, we wisely took it and headed off into the bush. During the 30-minute trip on the detour, we encountered three or four different elephants families which were happily working over the forest. Back on the main road, with sunset shortly upon us, we were left with one half-functioning headlight and Chaka’s tail lights as our guide. His brake lights signalled either animals on the road or water damage which we took extra care to navigate around. Following an exhausting and nerve wracking 3-hour drive back into Maun, we drove to the nearest ATM to get the cash to pay Chaka for his services. We later managed to find a room at Riley’s, the same hotel which we had left some 16 hours earlier. Safely checked into our room, we showered, put on our least dirty clothes and headed to the bar to reflect on the day’s adventure. The best beer of Botswana has the unlikely name of “St. Louis Lager”. But whatever the name, that beer at the garden bar of Riley’s Hotel in Maun, Botswana, was the best beer that I have ever had in my whole life! (Postscript: Little did we know at the time, but the place where we sunk the truck is commonly known as the Mababe Depression. Following our accident in the Mababe Depression, the people of Botswana who helped us were so incredibly kind and helpful. From Dube the driver, Isheko the truck labourer, Kebogolo the primary school teacher, the nurse who kept checking on us, the young students who wanted to practise their English, Chaka the mechanic, the receptionist at Riley’s Hotel, to the Europcar representative who helped to get us back on the road the next day – all will be remembered for their remarkable kindness and their assistance to their fellow human beings in need.) |
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