The Essence of the Journey!

Making the Crossing: From Zimbabwe to Zambia

 

by  Celeste

Every kilometre is further from South Africa, home, familiarity. Zimbabwe had

been wonderful but cloyingly sad. That said, moving northwards into Zambia was fraught with mixed emotions and tainted and probably faded memories of our previous travels here.

The border post was everything we had feared. A new, large one-stop at Chirundu, out the Zimbabwean side no hassle. Getting into Zambia was a different matter entirely. We had to get past a certain Mr. Somebody, planted largely out of his too small chair under him, with ego to match. He was the Interpol Man and would find something to say over us powerless mortals who dared into his ego space. We had to get another insurance letter for the vehicle, which after two hours had still not come through via email or fax, the joys of Zambwian networks.

Marcelo had gone elsewhere to conduct this business and the children and I stood in front of Mr. Somebody all that time and watched him play ‘Diamond Rush’ on his cellular telephone – very busy. Blah, blah, blah, boring border story but we were sure glad it was all over when somehow it sort of resolved and we were granted entrance into the Land of Oz, or something like it. Beautiful valleys and trees, lush and green with a good road led us into the ‘Emerald City’, Lusaka.

 

Here for car and trailer stuff and to re-stock, we were pleasantly

surprised at it’s friendliness and safety. Eureka campsite is on a farm (gardens, pool, impala, zebra, a reindeer, nightjars, owls and even bushbabies) and is just within the southern boundaries of the City. We achieved all we set out to do here within record time: tyre checks, shock absorber replacements for the trailer at Ironman; foreign exchange, malaria muti (Coartem) (in case), laundry, groceries, new slip-slops for the kids (AGAIN!), great breakfast and coffee all at a new centre just 6kms up the road, Makeni Mall.

Up, up and away….

 

Lochinvar National Park

It is hard to believe that Lochinvar is a National Park or that it is designated as a ‘Wetland of International Importance’ by the WWF. Not because of its lack of beauty or ability to instil wonder, but rather due to the tragedy, the farce and pretence of these labels. There is a blur between settlements and the boundaries and park use with about 15 gun-toting game scouts seemingly either having given up or in cahoots with the local activities. The story of people and wildlife pressure, human rights,

regulations and enforcements, access to raw materials, game, fish and ….. thoughts echo round and round in my mind.

 

“African skimmers! There, there, there!” I shout excitedly. Lifers. Moving swiftly and surely over the water of the Chunga Lagoon which reaches all the way to the horizon in the darkening sky. Amazing how they use their bills to catch fish, snapping them closed. Just imagine those mechanics. That was just the beginning of all the delights: crowned and crested cranes in their thousands; ducks; spur-winged geese; storks; ibises – all day long, flying over us, in front of us, behind us – a sheer spectacle of delight. A single pelican. A pair of fish eagles and pied kingfishers kept us entertained whilst our afternoon cricket game kept a single marabou stork entertained as he edged closer and closer. Ever had that feeling you’re being watched?

 

Red Lechwe in the floodplain. Marcelo gets some great shots. I am fascinated by the history of the area. An old, dilapidated once farm house, once Lodge, now ruins, wide-eyed window holes staring vacantly over the plain, soured with gross graffiti. Drum rocks (Ibbwe Lyoombwa), considered sacred by the locals for their echo when tapped and used as a part of manhood rituals.

A baobab sporting a 2×2 m ‘cave’, which was supposedly formed by a man with a magical club, according to the area’s Chief Hamusende. Beware all who enter without upholding the local customs or the entrance will seal up and close forever behind you. Sebanza Hill, occupied since the Iron-Age and a great look-out in times of turmoil, which were frequent between the fierce Tonga/ Ila tribes and the Batwa with hundreds of men being killed and their mass burial sites.

Gwisho Hot Springs with waters varying from about 60 – 94 degrees C surrounded by lush vegetation, gorgeous African star-chestnut trees (Sterculia Africana) and Real fan palms (Hyphaene petersiana), salt encrusted rocks reddened with algae. Poor belly-up frogs – the proverbial frogs in hot water, just like the two scorpions who came limping out the massive log we had burning for 24 hours already. Suddenly they decided to budge.

 

We were very quick to budge the morning the fishermen

and their boats arrived from far and wide, laden with 100s of kilograms of fish. Market day. Having no campsite, no facilities at all, we had camped right at the end of the road at the water’s edge, two pairs of hippo’s eyes staring whilst we shut our eyes to the litter and focused on the vast waters and its abundant birdlife instead. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder ….