The Essence of the Journey!

Bumping and bouncing as we travelled village corridors towards the Benguelu swamps.  To find the shoebill, perhaps the most sought of birds on any birders list.  The rear view mirror showed a disturbing sight, the trailer was sagging.  Perhaps I could limp to Chikuni, 13kms away.  The axle was cracked on one side, there was nowhere to stop and repair her.  Pretty soon it was evident that Chikuni  Scout Camp was a bridge too far.

As darkness fell, we emptied the last of the diesel from our jerry cans into the vehicle, this in an effort to reduce what weight we could from the trailer.  100m, and the trailer was hanging even lower, impossible to go further.  This left us stranded and could be potentially terminal.  We pulled in to Mr Manson’s place, a 39 year old Zambian national, with 6 children.  We were the focus of attention as you can imagine.  A smiling face, brilliant white teeth, Mr Manson greeted me as I came around the car to see what our options were.  “You can stay here, he offered”.  I gave him 60 pin, some chicken and lamb sausages, we were welcomed around the fire with his family.  Earlier I had mentioned to the children in Lochinvar that in Africa, no fire is owned, it is there to be shared.  This was just such an example.

I was really tired.  Mentally, physically tired.  We had been on the road from Kasanka to Benguelu for 10 hours, averaging 12km an hour.  The road was really crappy, and used more by pedestrians and bicycles, full of potholes, bad ones.  As well as this, there were hordes of children, screaming out “Hello Bwana – sweets … “.  There is a never-ending tug-of-war of wanting to help everyone, and it’s just not possible.  I found that this really had a draining effect on my energy levels and emotions.  When we were travelling dead slow, there was a group that formed of about 30 children that followed the vehicle.  They were touching the vehicle, and one even pulled the plastic cover that guards the spare wheel bolt right off the back of the vehicle.  I did not know at the time, however gone forever.  Was this the end of our trip?  Would the trailer be written off?

After some cheese sandwiches, we chatted briefly around the fire with Mr Manson’s family.  There was a young lady of 15 that was breast feeding a child of about 6 months.  She was full of comments, giggles and smiles.  In fact there were 8 young ladies huddled around the focal point (fire), giggling and chatting away in Bemba – no English.  Each seemed to have an opinion.  After about 30 minutes, we said our good nights and retreated to the car, which would be our bed for the night.  With towels as pillows, windows slightly opened, the night had the sounds of mozzies and hippos, juxtaposed.

The mother was the first one up in the morning.  She had her thatch brush, and in her familiar bent over position, she forced the dust away, leaving the hardened mud behind, an improved surface.  From about 05h30, there was a dull, timely thud that started up.  One at first, but within 15 minutes there were 5 others, ladies grinding the cassava into a fine powder that would be their main meal of the day, porridge.  I had to make some decisions, put some plans in place.  I suggested to Nicolai to pull out his football and play with the other boys, there was a 7 year old, and a younger 5 year old up and staring at us.  Nicolai was shy, and so I got the ball and started the process off by kicking the ball back and forth to Mr Manson.  Nicolai joined in and then the other boys.  The international language was at work again.  Within minutes there were smiles, laughter and joy.  Shoes made up goal posts and two teams made up.  In a makeshift yard about 30m2, there was one goal, victory. 

I moved the Staffie out the way and Celeste and I went about taking items out the trailer, transferring them to the car and packing them on the roof rack.  I had decided that we would leave the trailer with Mr Manson and push on to Shoebill Island Camp.  We had booked two days there, and I would then consider our options.  The trailer was insured,  considering that the axle was the core of the trailer, perhaps she’d be written off?  This would mean putting a claim in, the cost of getting the ‘wreck’ back to civilization would be prohibitive.  In the mean time we had spent so much time and effort getting to Benguelu, we had to give ourselves the reward of searching for the elusive shoebill.

We waved a cheerful goodbye to Mr Manson and confirmed that we would see him in a few days, returning with a plan and a way forward.  “No problem” he assured us.

The rest of the way was as awkward as what we had been through. 

I idled along in a somber mood, with the extra load of six more ammo boxes on the roof, I moved forward cautiously, aware of the additional load and strain on Staffie.  We arrived at the muddy floodplain to a marvelous reception of a few thousand Black Lechwe, Wattled Cranes and other birds – everywhere. 

As we arrived, there was a waving group leaving the plain – recent visitors to Shoebill Camp.  Once you’ve chosen your track you are set.  You cannot steer off it.  We were greeted by Padson, Emmanuel and another.  I left a solar panel on, powering the freezer left on in the car.  A watchman would be appointed – 50 pin – “… these fishermen”.

After a 45 minute mokoro trip from Chikuni, we arrived at Shoebill camp.  We were treated to a neat setup with canvas tents, bathrooms en suite.  Everything is flat, so there is no gravity feed and without power, no pressure pumps either.  Water for ablutions is manually fed.  Although we brought our own food, there is a cook or and waiter that service the dining room and guests.  What a treat. 

We decided to take it easy the rest of the day, having not slept well in the car, we took an afternoon nap, followed by a walk around the camp.  There are resident Brown Firefinches, Hartlaub’s Babblers and Woodland Kingfishers.  Hippos are around and the evenings bring the calls of the Swamp Nightjar, Spotted Eagle Owl and Spotted Hyena.  The fishermen have their say too – beating drums herd off the elephant.

David Phiri is the camp manager, and he was unfortunately suffering from Malaria.  He had no muti and I promised to get some for him from the vehicle the next day.  We set off for our four hour Shoebill excursion in search of said bird.  1 hour – nothing – 1h30 – nothing still.  Then more in hope I asked about a grey form in the distance.  With Padson and Emmanuel as paddlers and Shoebill looking outers, they crouched down suddenly – shoebill they confirmed.

Slowly we edged forward.  I took some quick snaps in case the shadow flew off.  We moved closer and closer.  Mr Shoebill’s focus seemed to be otherwise.  He was looking sideways at a movement in the reeds.  In a flash he seized a Barbel, large at about 30 cm and maybe 2 kilograms.  This allowed us to get up fairly close, as he tried, and tried, and tried to swallow the fish whole.  The Barbel is notorious for it’s hard skull and ability for living out the water, and was proving a menace of a meal.  The Shoebill’s bill is designed to crush the skull of any fish, and obligatorily this was done. 

Fascinating minutes were spent, enjoying the spectacle of this half stork half pelican having a meal.  “Thank you Mr Shoebill” we said as we reversed backwards, into the swamp, without disturbance to Mr Whale beak.

The news came through, Dave had arranged for a truck to collect the trailer and it would be taken to Chinaponde where the chassis would be welded.  So I set off with David, Emmanuel and Padson to the trailer.  After a 45 minute mokoro trip to the car, we got into Staffie and travelled a further

90 minutes to where the trailer was parked.  We had left at 12h00, with the expectation that we would rendezvous with the truck around 14h00.  This was David’s (whose reputation precedes him as a superlative bush mechanic) first look at the trailer.  He immediately jumped into action, as a sergeant commanding his troops would.  Jack, 4 pound, lift.  He tried lining up the axle, inspecting the damage thoroughly, tobacco rolled with newspaper, one eye half shut.”We can fix this,” he said.

Well, with no sign of the truck, we set about lifting, knocking, shoving the axles so that they lined up.  The ideas was to leave the trailer jacked up with rocks, wooden planks, return to camp, then make a trip in the morning with materials so that we could bolt the chassis and be able to tow the vehicle out to where there would be power so as to weld the chassis and complete the repairs.  This was because David did not have much confidence of the truck arriving or any other back-up help.  Well, after 4 hours of shifting and shoving the trailer and her chassis and axles were in place.  Ten minutes later, the truck arrived.

The truck was not a monster, it was probably a 1989 model Mitsubishi Canter.  This meant undoing the alignment and work that had been done.  In the fading light, we positioned the truck between the winch and the trailer.  The winch then pulled the trailer towards the truck, whilst 16 men grappled on a hold, lifting the trailer onto the loadbed.  The trailer only just fit onto the truck, with one of the dropsides down.  The decision was whether it was now worth taking the trailer (which hardly fitted on the truck) to Mpika 200km away, when the road was in such awful condition.  One bad pothole and lapse of concentration, and the trailer could bounce off the loadbed.  Besides scratching, scraping and breaking the trailer, this was a serious risk to the driver and passengers too.  I must say that this was my feeling all along, but with the trailer now visibly on the truck, David agreed.  Offload the trailer.  The truck got stuck in the maneuvering process and Staffie winched her out.  We’d have to come back tomorrow and try the original plan.  12v drill through angle iron, jack and bolt.  At least there was a plan…