Zimbabwe – Once a Lush Landscape
It was time to return to England to visit family. Working for an international airline, I always looked for ways to make the long journey from Australia exciting and exotic. The African continent beckoned me again. This time, I planned to fly into Johannesburg from Sydney and transfer to Harare, Zimbabwe. The warm climate and lush nature always melted my jet lag quickly. Triple, one-hour flights between Hwange National Park, Lake Kariba, and Victoria Falls would give me plenty to talk to my relatives in England about.
The aircraft arrived in Harare and I was met by George, dressed in shorts and a patterned shirt, the kind Afrikaans wear so well. He gathered my luggage and told me how excited he was for me to stay at his private game park on the outskirts of town.
“My wife is a wonderful cook. After you have freshened up, we’ll check out the game in my park.”
He introduced me to his wife, Dorius, and showed me to my rondavel. Traditionally round or oval, with stone walls and mortar of sand or soil mixed with cow dung, they are cosy and perfect for the climate.
Arriving at the main house for dinner, Dories asked if I had any dietary requirements. “I do, actually. Mainly fish, vegetables and salads. I’m a pescatarian, but not a vegetarian.”
She paused for a moment, exclaimed, “Thats exactly what I had planned”, then joyfully returning to the kitchen, probably to remove the meat from the stove before the aroma reached me. Her hospitality was touching.
George entered the room dressed for dinner and asked, “what can I get you to drink, Jen?”
A Pimm’s would be nice,” I replied, “or a thirst-quenching lemon shandy”. Seeing his confusion, I clarified, “A lemon shandy is fine, thank you.”
Our first course was an appetiser of dried kapenta, a tiny fish common to the Zambezi River, similar to sardines, served with a delicious, homemade tomato-based sauce.
Two other guests arrived, snapping me back to the present; engineers named John and Mark. In Zimbabwe on business and focused on work, they were not as keen as I was to talk about wildlife. But as I dipped my kapenta into the sauce, I couldn’t help bringing up the zebras and giraffes I had seen that day. Eventually, George, Dorius and I were able to pry their minds away from work. We moved on to the similarities between South Africa and Australia; the good and not so good fauna. I explained I was heading to Lake Kariba and Victoria Falls, and was concerned about contracting bilharzia.
“Oh, I’ve had that many times,” Mark reassured me. “A few pills for a few days will fix it.”
My expression indicated I would not take it as stoically. He and John chuckled. Recalling sage advice a travel agent once gave me – “If it’s not flowing, say you’re not going” – I silently vowed to avoid stagnant water.
George brought out our main course – muboora made of pumpkin leaves – a rare skill to prepare correctly – complimented with tomato, onion, blended herbs, and a swirl of cream stirred in at the last moment. This was accompanied by rice in large, ornate bowls Dorius said were handed down by her grandmother. Following Dorius was her beloved helper, Batis, with a large platter of two medium-sized,
baked Zambezi River tilapia covered in Creole spices.
George sat and said Grace but I sensed somewhat rushed “amen’s” before all present set upon the sumptuous dishes to the soundtrack of Africa through the window speaker, and the mixed aromas of jacaranda trees and wildflowers dancing on the savannah.
The good company and abundant food (my second lemon shandy) whisked away the rest of my jet lag. That’s the thing about travel – one never knows if they’re intoxicated by the cocktail, or the exhilaration of movement. The breeze stirring the curtains was not just any breeze – it was African wind, and it carried with it the essence of a place mythologized the world over – a place of wild, dark rituals, blazing fires in deep jungles, and magnificent beasts that would be as magical as unicorns if they weren’t so common.
George and Dorius regaled us with stories – entertaining warnings really – about tourists who had visited this unforgiving land inadequately prepared. But the jet lag came roaring back, so I excused myself and toddled off to my rondavel like a child with a head full of fairy tales. George escorted me, shining his torch light left and right to check for animals until I was safely inside. He said they would take me to the airport in the morning. I thanked him for a lovely evening.
The flight to Hwange National Park was blessedly short. I declined the in-flight snack and asked the flight attendant for hot water and milk, then added a tea bag from my handbag – a touch of home away from home. I looked forward to breakfast served overlooking the waterhole.
I checked in, left my bags in my room, walked around the grounds, then headed to the pool for breakfast. I was taken to a seat under a sprawling flame tree. Gazing at the outdoor breakfast set-up, the aroma of mixed, gentle spices rubbed into meat sizzling on the Braai (barbeque) and the dazzling array of fruit on display aroused a kind of delightful dizziness in me.
In the tree above, monkeys watched and waited for an opportunity to sample my breakfast. I looked out over the glistening waterhole toward the haze of the arid land and could just make out a tribe of small dark animals making their way toward us, bypassing the waterhole and continuing into the garden area. I realised they were meerkats.
“Oh, my goodness,” I thought, “they’re coming for me.”
They approached each table, standing on their hind legs, struggling to see what treasures the plates held. I was so distracted by them, I didn’t notice a monkey approach my table from the other side. With lightning speed, he took everything he could grab from my plate, and I didn’t dare try to take it back. With a flick of his tail, he was back up the tree in a moment. It seemed the meerkats acted as decoys to divert my attention from the monkey!
A waiter watching their scheme unfold chuckled good-naturedly, accustomed to this spectacle, then quickly brought me a new breakfast, one I now had the experience to protect. The meerkat/monkey double-team would not work twice.
I spent that day basking in the legendary African sun, until a new spectacle began at sunset – animals arriving at the waterhole. Big animals, Elephants, giraffes, buffalo and zebra drank and frolicked like kids at a waterpark. Sunset colours blended together like hippy tie-dye, silhouetting the great beasts. The waterhole became muddy as water was displaced by the animals and evaporated by heat that
would not relent until it was far below the horizon. The sun lives here. No sooner has it left than it comes screaming back every morning, burning tourists right through their safari hats. A few more lemon shandy’s and snacks from the bar kept my hydration up. As the final light began to wane, I watched the animals playing in the cool mud and thought of an old Dostoyevsky line – “Love the animals. God has
given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled. Don’t trouble it, don’t harass them, don’t deprive them of their happiness, don’t work against God’s intent.”
I wondered how they would adjust to an ever-increasing human population. I took dozens of photos of them, as if personally capturing proof of their existence for future generations; something for someone to hold ages hence and say, “Look what lived here once.” I silently envied the traveler of the last century, who could simply appreciate wildlife so abundant it didn’t seem possible to lose them all. And I prayed as I fell asleep that night that humanity would deviate from its destructive course.
My dawn flight took me to the freshwater Lake Kariba, 300 kilometres long, covering 5,000 square kilometres, and bursting with delicious fish. Resting on the balcony overlooking the lake that morning, I perused the tea selection – blend 49, English Breakfast, Afternoon Ceylon, Chamomile, Peppermint, and Fennel. I chose Afternoon Ceylon as I absorbed the peace of the lake.
I woke up before my alarm, rare in my experience. Pure air, delicious food, and novel experience had removed the restlessness that often plagued me at home, demonstrating the value of adventure to the soul and proper nourishment to the body.
I grabbed a quick shower and headed to the jetty for an afternoon cruise on the lake. A jolly fellow called my name and escorted me onboard. No seagoing vessel had ever had more relaxed passengers, savouring the vibrant colours of the sunset and enjoying the commentary.
Nibbles of various snacks were offered. I settled on a few plain cracker biscuits with goat cheese, and salad options with crab and prawns, compliments of the lake. I kept it entree style to avoid spoiling my draw card fish dinner by the pool later that night. The local fisherman sell their daily haul to the local hotels, whose chefs possessed the accumulated knowledge of generations in its preparation.
I listened to the narrative and sipped water with lemon, no ice, when another guest asked, “Why no ice?” I explained that the body has to break down the ice to body temperature to digest it and I didn’t want to cause my body any more stress than necessary. She said, “I never thought of that. Makes sense, but I couldn’t live without my ice.” “I miss it sometimes, too,” I joked.
She smiled and sat back to enjoy the sunset (and her ice) some more.
I was escorted back to the foyer of the hotel and headed straight to the pool area for an exotic fish dinner. I decided on Tilapia again, grilled whole with a few vegetables in a tomato base. After mingling with the other guests, I returned to my peaceful room for some more of amazingly deep sleep I was getting here. Maybe that’s why this place is often referred to as “deep, dark Africa” – I had never had deeper, darker sleep in my life, and when I woke, I was awake. Gone was the tepid drowsiness that followed me at home. I had a child’s eyes again, eyes that burst open at dawn as exuberantly as the sun itself.
I arrived early at reception, ready for my transfer to the airport, eager to begin the next leg of my journey; the most exciting yet – Victoria Falls.
On board the aircraft, I asked for hot water and milk so I could choose a tea from my bag of home comforts. A snack of rice crackers sustained me for the one-hour flight. A prearranged transfer waited to take me to one of the seven natural wonders of the world. Like a child on her first school field trip, I spent the twenty-minute drive from Victoria Falls Airport to Victoria Falls Colonial Hotel gasping with
excitement at the changing scenes, like pages from a 1930’s travel brochure. Places like this don’t change in decades or even lifetimes. They are as they have been for millennia – like gods, oblivious to the mortals who clamour at their feet. But that didn’t diminish my excitement, for now it was my turn.
The heavy spray from the falls was somewhat alarming to me, but just another day for the driver, who simply swept it away with windscreen wipers.
The iconic Edwardian Victoria Falls Hotel was the first hotel built in the area. I was greeted warmly and offered a cool fruit punch in the foyer lounge during check-in. I left my bags in my room, anxious to see the famous Livingstone, I Presume Bar. I imagined it might resemble the bar from Casablanca, frozen in time, and I wasn’t disappointed. I could imagine Humphrey Bogart wandering through it, brow furrowed – and the solemn, stately air whispered stories of dusty archaeologists, kings, rajah’s and vagabonds of every nationality who had rested their miles between its ancient walls. I promised myself to return later in the day for my usual lemon shandy. After all, only a leisurely, ten-minute stroll separated me from Victoria Falls.
Mist from the falls kept me cool as I walked through the gardens. Then, suddenly, I arrived. One could never prepare oneself adequately for their first sight of the roaring, magnificent Victoria Falls. There are no words, and even if there were, I wouldn’t use them, because if I described it too well, you, dear reader, might be satisfied enough to forego seeing it for yourself, and that just won’t do.
The next morning, I had some miles to rest, too, so I relaxed with a book by the pool. It was, of course, a travel book, perhaps one of the greatest ever written – The Royal Road to Romance by Richard Halliburton. I had found it on a back shelf of a dusty bookstore at home months earlier, and had been waiting for the perfect moment to open it; this moment. The book had to be as grand as the place.
Soon, the long-anticipated boat cruise on the Zambezi river was upon me. I really did feel like Doctor Livingstone, the first European to see Victoria Falls from the Zambezi. At some points on the river, the wind lifted the water disrupted by the boat’s movement, covering my face with mist, timelessly flowing as it always has I closed my eyes and savoured this anointing by the legendary Zambezi.
The evening brought another exquisite African Braai – grilled fish of my choice with vegetables. A perfect ending to a perfect stopover.
Rested and with a full heart, I returned to Harare for my long-haul flight.
One’s hometown always feels smaller after a long trip, but this time it actually was. Everything in London, even Big Ben, was dwarfed by Victoria Falls.
The time difference between Zimbabwe and London was only an hour or so. With jet lag out of the way, it was time to be reunited with family. They would be excited to show me their vegetable gardens. “Come! See what we’re preparing in the greenhouse” my Uncle would say with wide-eyed excitement. The cuisine of Africa was extraordinary, but I was glad to be home picking wild blackberries for homemade pie and drinking Pimm’s in the beer garden. Every place has its charms. It’s a delectable world.
