by Sarah Anderson
'Travels with my Aunt' sounded appealing. Graham Greene had done it, but would I match up to his fictional Aunt Augusta, or the exotic Auntie Mame?
“96 what?”
“96 hours till we go, of course.”
I had been planning to take my eleven year old nephew, Alexander, on safari for months, but had only told him about the trip to Zimbabwe five weeks prior to our departure as I reckoned the excitement factor would have been unbearable to live with had he known any earlier.
'Travels with my Aunt' sounded appealing. Graham Greene had done it, but would I match up to his fictional Aunt Augusta, or the exotic Auntie Mame? Would 'Travels with my Uncle' (although it does not have the same ring) be something that Hugh Grant would have considered in the new film Notting Hill which is set in the Travel Bookshop [the shop I started in 1979], or is he too involved with Julia Roberts to want to travel with a spare niece?
With the final 96 hours somehow survived, Alex (as he was known in Africa) and I found ourselves alone at Gatwick. He told me that he thought travelling with just two people, something he had never done before, seemed promising and we settled down on our overnight flight to Harare. We had been warned that the October heat could be stifling, but the Harare morning was cold and it was not until we arrived at Imbabala, a small family run camp, on the banks of the Zambezi near Victoria Falls, that we began to feel warm. Our first evening was spent drinking sundowners, drifting down the Zambezi on a pontoon absorbing the sunset and watching large herds of elephants swimming across the river supporting their calves in the deep water. After dinner Alex organized a night drive for himself with Gavin Best; I had determined on an early night for both of us, but found my arm being fairly easily twisted by his enthusiasm. I was too exhausted to go, but lay in bed unable to sleep, thinking unimaginable thoughts until his safe return.
During the day, between different safari activities, I found it wonderfully peaceful sitting outside our chalet watching the blue Zambezi flow past, and in the cool of the evening we went on a walking safari with Gavin who was armed with a gun. Walking is the way to feel most at one with the animals; hearing becomes the most important sense and although we did not see much game, having the tracks and spore pointed out was fascinating. There is also the added frisson of danger. We did see a porcupine in the dusk, and on the night drive that evening (which I joined), we saw a leopard, the animal I had most wanted to see, and had a well-camouflaged boomslang snake in a tree pointed out. What the guides are able to see will never cease to impress me, but it is astonishing how one's own eyes develop and start to 'see' after a while on safari. At this stage a warthog, which kneels on its front legs to eat and which is born with callouses on its knees in preparation for a lifetime of foraging, was Alex's favourite animal, because he liked the way it put its tail in the air when it ran.
We spent one day in Chobe National Park in Botswana. We were dropped at the border and picked up the other side; going to Botswana meant that we got extra stamps in our passports. Chobe is renowned for its plentiful game and from the river in the morning we saw herds of buffalo, one of Africa's most dangerous mammals, hippos, giraffe, crocodiles, elephants and a multitude of birds. Because October marks the end of the dry season, game flock to the remaining water, making it an excellent month for viewing. Alex had heard about the Big Five (lion, elephant, leopard, rhino and buffalo ) and was determined to try and see them all before we left Africa. He was also keen on seeing predators which produced an unfortunate conflict of interests when we were lucky enough to come across eleven lions by the side of the road no more than six feet from us. A woman at the back of our land-rover was petrified and wanted to move on fast, while both Alex and myself wanted to stay and watch for as long as possible. Her fear won.
Arriving at Imbabala that evening felt like going home. In Chobe we had lunched at a large hotel and it was wonderful to be back at the small camp where everyone knew everyone else’s name (I had my own special memory booster in the shape of Alex who was always on hand to remind me of names of people, animals and places). Shay Best, the manager, told me how refreshing it was to have someone as enthusiastic as Alex to stay, as most boys of his age appear bored and spoilt. I was also profiting from his enthusiasm. He'd constantly ask interesting questions about the animals and their behaviour and about the political situation in Zimbabwe. I am used to travelling on my own and carry some innate British reserve with me, but his ease and friendliness with everyone we met rubbed off on me and I got none of the suspicion that often accompanies a lone traveller.
We were both sad to leave Imbabala where we had felt so welcome and where wild water-buck had come up to our chalet, but the sight of Victoria Falls was so spectacular that we had little time for regrets. If we who have seen the Falls in films and photographs can still find the sight amazing, how much more amazing must it have seemed to David Livingstone in 1855 who would have heard the roar long before he sighted the water? It was here that I had my second panic attack. At some of the vantage points round the falls the barriers are flimsy and knee-high. I suffer from dire vertigo, but have learnt to cope with it on my own by not going anywhere near the edge. Alex had no such fear, going right up to the brink; I was already rehearsing the telephone call to my sister...
At Elephant Camp we helped wash and groom four of the resident elephants: Miz Ellie, Jumbo, Jock and Jack before riding them, sitting behind a groom, in the evening. The elephants are orphans from a cull and are unquestionably well-treated, but both Alex and myself felt slightly uncomfortable when the elephants were asked to perform tricks even though we were assured that this was only to ensure their continued obedience. As we were having dinner, jackals, kudu and bushbuck (kinds of antelope) wandered in and out of the floodlight, and on our elephant ride the next morning we were lucky enough to see a wild dog.
Our next camp was Jijima, on the edge of Hwange National Park where the rooms were tented chalets with thatched roofs. This was a slightly bigger camp than the previous two but we were welcomed with the same friendliness we had found everywhere. We had arrived just too late for the afternoon driving safari but when they noticed our disappointment we were immediately offered the chance of a walk. Jijima has a resident tame orphaned impala named Maa, an antelope with beautiful markings aged six, who walked with us. I felt that if she were with us we would be alerted to the danger of lions or elephants, but evidently she thinks of herself as human and only flees from wild dogs. There was a long drive into Hwange National Park the following morning, and at the pan (water-hole) in the middle of the park where we had breakfast we saw several herds of elephants, zebra, wildebeeste, a warthog with babies, impala, giraffe, baboon and buffalo. Giraffes have an endearing way of drinking: the majority spread their front legs wide apart and lower their necks into the water, but a few bend their front legs. It was these drinking poses which enabled the giraffe supplant the warthog as Alex's favourite animal.
We spent one night at Induna Lodge on the outskirts of Bulawayo and because of limited time there had to make the difficult choice of either going to the Chipangali Wildlife Orphanage or to the Natural History Museum. Rob Macdonald our host advised the museum, partly because it was so often robbed that if we were ever to come back there would inevitably be less to see. It was a good decision; by now we had seen so many animals (some at quite a distance) that to be able to see them at close range was satisfying and the displays of insects and the history of Cecil Rhodes were extremely well done.
By now we had seen four of the Big Five, but still had the hardest to find. The black rhino had been poached almost to extinction, but there are now 73 in the Bubiana Conservancy our last stop. After an hour's flight south-east from Bulawayo in a small plane we arrived at Barberton Lodge situated in the middle of the conservancy and built out of the side of a granite hill. There are only four bedrooms, each with its own particular view, and the open circular dining room which is up a flight of steep stairs has a stupendous outlook to distant hills. We arrived, the only guests, in the heat of the day, and went for a drive with our guide Liesel Crooks when it had cooled down. The next morning I could hardly believe the change in the weather; it was cold, grey and wet. Was I really still in Africa? This was also bad news for seeing game, as the animals, like us, tend to hunker down in the cold. Time was running out for rhino-spotting. Liesel took us on a walk to see some Bushmen Paintings which have only recently been discovered and are anything between 4 and 10 thousand years old. The paintings, done with a mixture of animal fat, ochre and blood, are of people and animals, about five inches tall and extremely lifelike. We picked out a pregnant woman, a man with a bow and arrow, a zebra, a sable-antelope and people dancing.
I had barely ridden since school but was determined to try the following morning. I was given what was said to be a quiet horse, but was warned that it might try to jump anything jumpable. Alex, who rides at home, expressed his concern that I looked somewhat unrelaxed but we did not go faster than a walk and I found riding a particularly enjoyable way of absorbing the landscape. The weather had improved by the evening and we watched the sunset, drinking cocktails from a boat on the reservoir. The following day, our last, was Alex's 12th birthday and our last chance to see that elusive black rhino. The conservancy employs 55 scouts to check on the rhinos’ whereabouts and to catch poachers. When a scout has sighted a rhino he radios the camp and interested parties then drive and walk to where the [usually sleeping] rhino has been seen.
After riding again on the morning of our last day, a scout rushed into the camp (his radio batteries had failed) to say he had seen the rhino called Alfie. Liesel went to retrieve her gun and we were given instructions about what to do if he charged. We set off firstly by car and then on foot through the bush; we walked for about twenty minutes and the closer we got the slower and quieter we had to be until the scout leading us took off his shoes and we had to almost hold our breath. Suddenly there he was, only about twenty yards away. It was both exciting and frightening. While he was lying down he looked exactly like a rock, but then he got up, having sensed us and we glimpsed his unique horn before he ambled off. We had seen the Big Five.
Alex had not minded at all not seeing anyone of his own age on the trip and when someone suggested that maybe we should do a series of 'Travels with my Aunt Round the World', I said I'd need to win the lottery and he crossed his fingers expectantly. My young Boswell helped my memory with this article which I said I needed to write while it was fresh in my mind. He told me not to worry 'as it would always be fresh in his.'
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Zimbabwe Safari Lodge
