Day 5 & 6: Final days

I decide to sleep in today being tired from going to bed after 5am. Again, I'm surprisingly not hungover. Astrid's already gotten up so I have the tent to myself. The previous night we were moved to a bigger tent with proper beds at no extra charge.

The sun is up and it's getting hotter but I'm reluctant to leave the bed even though sleep is proving elusive. I toss and turn and eventually in my frustration I start to cry. Not because I can't sleep but because I have to leave the next day. Because I'm so incredibly grateful for, but also in disbelief of, this wonderful experience.

At around lunch time I pull myself together and head towards the communal area. We've booked a basket weaving workshop and horse riding for the afternoon. I'm still tired and lazy and I welcome Astrid's to not go basket weaving anymore. We would need to walk to the workshop and I'm just not up to it. However, some American Peace Corps volunteers are also going and I figure if I can get a ride in their car I'd still go. But they're walking. So I sit down, get myself a drink and order some lunch. When it starts raining the Americans return to fetch their car and I change my mind again since I can now get a lift with them. I give my drink away and leave instructions to have my lunch boxed.

The baskets in the workshop are gorgeous and I have brief dreams of making something similar. There's a reason my dreams were so brief. It's not easy. It's also slow and monotonous and the Americans don't seem to talk much. I get a bit bored after the first hour and realise that I'm not going to have much of a basket at the end of the workshop. I shouldn't trade my day job for basket weaving just yet. After 3 hours I have a "basket" about 5cm in diameter. I'm all the more appreciative of the beauty of the baskets knowing the time and hard work that goes into it.

Yes, it took me 3 hours to make this

After the workshop we head back to the backpackers so that I can yet again take on something I've never done before: horseriding. Again, I'm terrified and asking myself why I'm doing this. Again, I don't chicken out. We're driven to the horse stables in a big ol' Landy. The roads are muddy with big pools of water in the road. Thankfully the Landy handles the mud and pools a lot better than Americans' car did.

My terror has not subsided by the time we get to the stables but I get on the horse anyway. It's a lot easier than I thought it would be. I'm given instructions on how to handle the horse (be firm, show him who's in charge, etc) but it doesn't help that I got the most stubborn horse ever and my firmest command only reluctantly gets him to move.

We take the route along the river. I'm getting the hang of it and am slightly more at ease. What? The horse, San, is afraid of water? I'm regretting the decision to go along the river. At some point we have to go into the river to avoid thorn trees. San seems intent on sticking to ground and doesn't give a damn about the rider being scratched to shit.

We head back through a smallish forest. There are brilliant flashes of lightning in the distance. We're on solid ground so San is handling better. But not for long. He seems to be reluctant to even walk through the pools that formed from the early afternoon rains. Bastard. Again I'm heading for thorn trees except now I'm at risk from more than a few scratches as a branch wraps around my throat. The more I'm trying to steer the horse away the closer he goes to the tree. I have brief visions of my throat being slit be the vicious thorns until I finally decide that it's in my best interest to remove the branch wrapped around my neck with my bare hands before getting the horse under control. After all, some punctures in my hand is preferably to punctures in my neck. I managed to get San under control and he seems more complacent now. Probably since his attempt to murder me failed and he's given up until next time. There won't be a next time.

Back at the stables I dismount ungracefully. In fact, I wouldn't even call it dismount. I'm congratulated by the owner on handling the murderous horse so well. Is she being sarcastic? I should sue.

Back at the backpackers I take a shower to rid myself of horse smell. Halfway through there's a power failure and I'm left showering in the dark. Now, I'm not afraid of the dark. Or of the frogs and lizards that share the outdoor showers. But I am afraid of stepping on a frog or lizard in the dark, falling and breaking my neck. And probably killing the frog/lizard to boot. Luckily my shower is incidentless.

I head to the bar to get something to eat. Have to line the stomach before the Last-night-in-Maun celebrations starts. Jens thought it appropriate (and so did I for that matter) that we say our goodbyes with bottles of booze. The power is still out and I'm annoyed. And it really has nothing to do with darkness or my perceptions that the bar service is slow or that I might miss dinner because the kitchen has no power. I'm annoyed because I'm sad. I'm sad because I'm leaving.

I work through my annoyance with a drink, delicious ribs and mash (thank god for gas cookers) and some ice cream. The power comes back on, there is much rejoicing and Jens goes to fetch the first bottle of booze. Thankfully (for my liver) he only got 2. Also thankfully, the American Peace Corps volunteers join us. We start with the tequila and having it with pineapple instead of lemon or lime since it's better this way. Everyone's a bit skeptical but after the first shot and segment of pineapple we're all congratulating Jens on his genius pairing of pineapple and tequila. Astrid initially did not want to drink but I made up the rule that the pineapple can only be had with tequila and well that was it.

We work through the tequila quite quickly after my suggestions to take it slowly were shot down. I've managed to develop the alcohol resistance of professional drinker. Graham hasn't and is drunker than anyone else. Much hilarity ensues, mostly at the expense of Graham (or Gray Ham as he affectionately became known).

Everyone is quite exhausted and soon after finishing the second bottled (Spiced Gold) we say out goodbyes and head of to bed. I feel sorry for those who have to get up early to leave and I'm grateful that I'll be able to spend a few more hours staring lazily and melancholically at that peaceful river.

I'm fairly well organised the next morning (it's no longer a surprise that I'm not hungover) and manage to pack everything without having a nervous breakdown. I got a few extra hours of sleep after Astrid left which helped a lot. Our goodbyes were short. I'll see her again in Cape Town before the year ends.

After breakfast and another nap it's time to go. I've accepted the inevitable and am no longer harbouring fantasies of abandoning my normal life. I don't even take it as a sign that I should stay when our plane breaks down right before we are to leave and have to wait for a further 2 hours for another plane to arrive. Ok, well maybe I consider it a sign for at least a second or so.

This was the last entry. I wrote this mostly for myself even though I've forced a few of you to read it anyway. I wrote it in case I forgot. And because I thought that something this special should be recorded somewhere. But I doubt I'll ever forget and this trip came at the perfect time to cement what I've learned about the world and myself over the last year and even taught me that I'm capable of more than I thought previously.

Day 3 & 4: Mokoro Trip

I'm terrified. And at this stage I'm not afraid to admit it. They make us sign an indemnity form before departing and I exclaim loudly: I'm going to die. I tell anyone who cares to listen (they don't have much choice) what to do in the event of my death. I want a gravestone, even if there are no remains. If I'm crushed by hippos, my gravestone must state this. If I'm eaten by crocodiles, my gravestone must state this. In the all too likely event that I'm crushed by hippos and then eaten by crocodiles, well, you get the picture.

We're going to be spending 2 days in mokoros, canoes dug out from trees. The evening we'll be camping in the wild. As in, where wild animals roam. I pray that the mokoro doesn't sink or capsize. We head off to the mokoro station in a motor boat loaded with all out camping gear. On the way I finally manage to snap that fish eagle.

The are people moving from one village to another and they've got their goats tied up on the banks ready to load into their mokoros.

At the mokoro station, at the first glimpse of mokoros filled with water I ask myself: Why am I doing this again? Time and again the answer: For the adventure, to do something new and exciting, just isn't enough. But I can't chicken out. I won't let myself.

If I thought getting in and out of the motorboat without losing my balance was challenging, getting into the mokoro - especially when you have to use other mokoros as 'stepping stones' to get to yours, is a downright nightmare. I manage to get in without any mishaps. Our guide is Andrew who is incredibly sweet. We have 4 mokoros for a 5 people, 1 for luggage. The guides need to go back to their village to fetch their overnight bags. Everyone else gets out to go view the village. I stay put since I'm not up for the incredible mission that is climbing out and back in again.

We set off. My terror has subsided to mild nervousness. Little movements set the mokoro swaying but Andrew assures that the mokoro is quite steady and won't tip over. Not like the newer fibreglass ones. We got the authentic, carved-from-a-tree ones that won't tip over but that also leak and water occasionally needs to be scooped out. I trust Andrew and relax a little and start to appreciate the experience. The delta's dead silence is interrupted only by the buzz of insects, the gurgle of water and the varied calls of the many bird species. And occasionally our singing including Björk's It's oh so quiet and german christmas tunes from Jens.

After about an hour we reach the island where we'll be camping. I'm greatful since the sun has really been beating on me. The guides set up the tents and start making a fire. They also set up the toilet. I'm incredibly grateful for the toilet. I won't have to squat. Technically, it's not ours but belongs to the 'British' couple, Marg and Pete, who we met on the sunset boat ride the previous day and decided to share the trip with. They'd taken the catered option, which comes with toilet, duvet, pillows, food and cook. We only share the toilet with them.

Astrid, Jens and I have our tinned food and some bread for lunch which we share with our guides. Marg and Pete's cook brought sandwiches from the backpackers for them. Marg is Scottish and Pete is Manx but they both sound English since they've been living in England for 40 years. I never knew the Isle of Man was independent.

After lunch and some rest we set off for a game walk. The game is scarce (wrong time of year) but the birdlife is abundant. We see and hear storks, kites, herons, plovers. We see lots of spoors but the animals responsible for making them have moved on either the night before or early in the morning before the harsh sun made an appearance.

Warthog

Hyena

Marg and Pete's guide, Pilot, is incredibly knowledgeable. I reckon he must be the smartest man in the delta. He knows all the birds, insects and spoors. The walk is long and it's hot. I remind myself that next time I will opt for a game drive instead. The flatness of the delta is broken intermittently by tall palm trees.

We keep walking and spotting other people out on their walks. We notice a bunch of them crowded around a pool but we're not walking in that direction. I want to tell Pilot that we should go in that direction since I'm sure there's a hippo there. I'll be damned if I'm going back without seeing any animals. Although I could do with seeing animals less ferocious than a hippo. Pilot hears a hippo call and we finally head in that direction. Soon we're standing less than 50 metres away from a territorial hippo. He knows we're there and putting on show telling us to steer clear from his pool. At some point it looked like he was coming out of the water and I was ready to make a break for it despite the rule to keep still.

Pilot tells us we have to get going since the sun is setting and we don't want to be here when it's dark. Well, that's encouraging.

We get back to camp safely. Not even a catered trip comes with a shower so I settle for changing my shirt and dousing myself in deodorant. The mosquitoes come out in full force after sunset and I start applying insect repellant. Big mistake. On the game walk I'd gotten sunburned without realising. The flesh is being seared off my cheeks. That's what it feels like anyway. It's still burning even after rinsing with water. Trust something like this to happen to me. I decide to quit all use of insect repellant. Eventually the burning stops. I am, however, being eaten alive by mosquitoes.

We eat our tinned food: spaghetti in tomato sauce with cheese. Marg and Pete get freshly cooked spaghetti bolognaise. We chat and sing camp songs. Except I don't know any camp songs.

The sky is a mess of stars and I even manage to spot a satellite orbitting and 3 shooting stars. Pilot points out Orion's Belt, Pleiades and other stars to us. There are fireflies in a nearby bush trying to mimick the sky.

We retire to bed after Pilot discusses the plan for the next day with us. I'm exhausted, happy but exhausted, and briefly protest getting up at the ungodly hour of 5am. I'm contemplating letting everyone else go on the early morning walk while I sleep in but I'm too scared to stay at the camp by myself.

We still don't see any animals on the walk the next day except for more birds and some bugs. Including a dung beetle that tried to use Jens' shoe as a hiding place when we wanted to take photos.

We'll leave early from camp to avoid an incoming storm. The storms here are short but it rains hard and you don't want to get caught in it. Astrid and Jens go to swim but I'm too lazy. Also I'm not keen on muddy water filled with reeds. And then there's the ever problem of hippos and crocodiles even though the guides make sure it's safe to swim.

We head back to the mokoro station in the late afternoon. By now I'm quite comfortable walking from mokoro to mokoro to get back on land. Upon getting into the motorboat I spot a coolerbox that's not one of ours (our luggage went on another boat) and the boat driver says the magic words: There's cold beer in the coolerbox. I'm ecstatic. After spending a night in the wild, a night with no booze mind you, an ice cold beer couldn't be a more perfect bonus.

Back at the backpackers, David, welcomes me with a tequila (after I've helped myself to another beer from the boat). And so starts an epic night. My dear Romeo is at the bar. He's there everyday and if you're there early enough, he might still be sober. I wasn't that lucky when I met him on my first night there. He is the most belligerent drunk I have ever met and my tattoos seemed to upset him and for some reason made him think I was lesbian. He still bought me a drink though. I tell him this now but he can't remember. I've moved on to Savanna now and David instructs the barman to ring the bell. I've been waiting for this since my first night here. Ringing the bell means everyone at the bar gets a free round. So I have another Savanna.

We meet some filmmakers from Johannesburg who've smuggled 12 bottles of Spiced Gold from South Africa through Namibia and into Botswana. They have 4 bottles left and we help them finish it. I'm so wired from all the coke I had with the Spiced Gold that I cannot sleep and stay up til 5am with an Aussie, and one of the filmmakers that I've taken a liking to. I give up on the idea of him after I find out that he's 21. The security guard comes round multiple times to shush us and I decide to go to bed before the sun rises.

I still can't sleep and neither can Astrid so we stay up chatting for a while but manage to fall asleep eventually.

Day 2: Write off

I'm surprisingly not hungover and make my way over to the bar area for breakfast after the customary visits to the bathroom. Later, showering in the morning will become optional. Though feeling fine there doesn't seem to be much chance of doing anything this day. We settle for hanging out next to river on the comfy day beds. Only one person is still passed out on one of the 3 beds. Tomcat, who was ridiculously funny the night before and had on one the most hideous pair of boardshorts I have ever seen. He's still wearing them. Astrid and I are having more them a giggle at him and break down laughing when he rolls over, reaches into his pants and scratches his balls.

Tomcat and hideous boardshorts

We actually manage to do some reading today, alternated by naps on the day beds. It's far too hot to even think about sleeping in our tents. Even if it's in the shade.

We need to go into town to buy food for the mokoro trip we'll be taking the following day. Town is some ways out. There are 4 of us and it'll cost each of us 10 pula (a little over R10) to get a taxi. But everyone else wants to hitchhike. I'm not keen. I'm not in the mood to walk in the heat and even less in the mood to stand waiting by the side of the road until we get picked up. Also, I've never jitchhiked before. I bow to peer pressure. Just outside the gate of the backpackers a bakkie is pulling away and Graham, a 20 year old Brit looking for work as a scenic flight pilot in the Delta, gets us a ride. This was too easy. I get the front seat since I'm the prissy city girl.

The driver is Reuben. He's not from Maun but is helping with the construction work at the airport. A Chinese company is responsible for the construction and Reuben is not happy working with them. They are taking jobs away from locals, their work is of inferior quality and many of them do not speak English.

Reuben drops us in town and we head to Choppies which I reckon must be the cheapest grocery store in Botswana. The equivalent of Shoprite in South Africa. We buy a lot of water, some tinned food and bread. We only have a short walk before getting another ride and this time I actually sit in the back of the bakkie. We're dropped off and have to walk some to get back to the backpackers. I get to walk over the old bridge that the backpackers is named after. It's made from logs and packed earth.

The old bridge

Once back we get a couple of drinks to take with us on a sunset boat ride. The boat ride is free but not because we went out too early to see the sunset.

Now I've been on a few boats. And I quite like being on the water. But all the boats I've been on moved a little slower than this one. Also this boat was completely open and I was terrified of falling overboard (and being eaten by crocodiles). The rest of the passengers, including Astrid, Jens and Graham, a 20 year old Brit pilot who'd joined us sometime the previous night, and an elderly 'British' couple, were highly amused at my yelps and gasps everytime the boat veered right or left and at my complete unsteadiness getting in and out of the boat.

The surrounds are beautiful. There are tons of waterlilies on the river. And at times the river is a near perfect mirror.

Mirror mirror

There are cars parked all along the river. Some are playing music. Weekend recreation for the locals.


We go around a corner and spot a giraffe grazing on the trees. I'm in awe.


We also spot a fish eagle but it flies away before I can take a photo.

Back at the backpackers thunder makes promises of a storm that would relieve the heat. We have a few drinks but make it an early night in preparation for the mokoro trip that starts early the next day. The storm breaks later that evening after we'd all gone to bed already. I'm woken by a combination of thunder, lightning, loud rain drops on my tent and by Astrid closing her tent flaps. I'm woken again later by the loudest clap of thunder I've ever heard. For a brief moment not even my love of storms can keep me from being scared but my tiredness and bliss win out and I drift back into peaceful sleep.

Maun Day 1: Getting there

It took 3 planes to get me to Maun. 4 for Astrid. On the plane from South Africa we meet Joss, a student from Stellenbosch who's going home to Francistown for the holidays. Joss is more than a little hungover.We get off the plane at Gaborone airport and the heat is unbearable. I make a beeline for some shade but this takes longer than it should since the airport is under construction. I think that if the temperature remains as high as it is there is no chance I'm going to survive in this country.

We spend some time with Joss while we wait for our respective flights. He's done the smart thing and gotten a beer. I've been craving beer for the last 6 hours but have made a resolution to stay sober until I reach my final destination. We say our goodbyes to Joss, who has another 3 hours to wait - in the unairconditioned airport, for his flight to Francistown. We take the long walk back to the plane in the sweltering heat. We do not smell like flowers anymore.

An hour later we land in Maun and I phone the backpackers who have arranged for someone to come and pick us up. The backpackers is some way out of town which is good since it's a pretty bleak town.

The Old Bridge Backpackers is situated on the tranquil Thamalakane river (I sound like I'm writing a brochure for this place).

David, the owner, welcomes us and offers us something cold to drink. I've made it. I can finally relax and graciously accepts his offer. If I wasn't exhausted I probably would have rejoiced by jumping up and down and shouting Hallelujah at the top of my lungs. I collapse into the nearest chair while waiting for our booking to be sorted out. I realise things work at a different pace here which is all good with me.

About 5 minutes after we arrive Jens walks in. He's from southern Germany and after our brief introduction we go to our respective tents to freshen up. Later we meet back at the bar and all being tired decide to fetch our books and spend some quiet time reading. That was not to be.

We've been trying to decide what to do while we're here and been getting advice from the other backpackers. Richard, a Peace Corps volunteer in Botswana, recommends we talk to own of the locals since she's quite clued up about what to do. It's her and 2 other girls' birthday. There was going to be a party. Did someone say party? So, of course, we join in the celebration of these total strangers' anniversary of their birth. Soon the books are lying forgotten on one of the table corners as the table is populated with beer cans and bottles.

The bar/restaurant area

Everybody is having an amazing time. Every is talking to everyone else and occasionally our books are mentioned and then dismissed. This is by far the best introduction to a place I have ever had and already I'm reflecting about what a fantastic place this is and how much I love it.

No, it had nothing to with the booze.

Okavango Delta

I've been back in South Africa for a while now and have almost completely adjusted back to my normal life again. At first it was strange taking a shower indoors, putting on make-up and perfume, having clean feet. I was only in the Delta for 6 days and you might ask how it's possible for me to have trouble adjusting to normal life after such a short time away but time moved much slower there. You lost track of days and after 2 days it felt like I was there for 3. After 3 days, it felt like a week.

I keep asking myself why did I come back. Of course I have family, a life, work here that I had to return to but I still allow myself the fantasy of missing my flight back on purpose, finding a bartending job at one of the lodges or backpackers (preferably the one where we stayed) and living out the rest of my life in an Africa a little rougher than what I'm used to.

At the risk of sounding sentimental and melodramatic, if there's something like a soul, I left a significant part of mine in the Delta. I'm regretting my decision to stay for such a short period. I wasn't sure what to expect and thought there might be a chance that I'd be miserable 'roughing' it. That I'd have difficulty coping with the heat and the insects. That wasn't the case, much to my surprise.

My heart started breaking on my second last day there and I failed miserably once or twice at keeping the tears back.

Over the next few days I'll recount my days spent in one the perfect places on earth.