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.