Botswana and Chobe National Park

After two glorious days at the Royal Livingstone which I’ve already reported, it was time to move on again. We were driven to the border between Zambia and Botswana, about an hour’s drive, where we were to take a ferry across the Zambezi River to yet another African country--Botswana.

Mark was in Botswana while he was in medical school and brought home some wonderful pictures and a funny story about being stuck in an outhouse all night because through the small window he noticed a huge elephant eye staring at him. The elephant didn’t leave, and neither did Mark. Thus the night in the outhouse. Now that we’ve been to Botswana, we can certainly relate to the story. There are 100,000 elephants in Chobe Park where we stayed.

It rained torrentially during the drive to the border. Thank God that by the time we arrived the rain had stopped. Otherwise we would have been in big trouble.

We have seen some border scenes in our day, but this one takes the cake. The crossing only takes five minutes, but no bridge has been built--although it continues to be on the drawing board according to our driver. Instead of a bridge which could expedite the crossings exponentially, there is a car ferry which can hold maybe ten cars or two or three large trucks. In addition there are several small pontoon boats and motorboats which ferry passengers with all of their luggage from one side to the other. This is how we were to cross the river.

In addition to hundreds of passengers waiting to be transported across the river by pontoon or motorboat, there were hundreds of trucks, of every variety from huge semis to smaller delivery trucks, parked on both sides of the river, waiting their turn to board the larger ferry. Our driver told us that the trucks often sit there from four days to up to three weeks! The drivers set up housekeeping beneath their trucks where they cook and socialize. They sleep in their trucks and apparently a thriving prostitution ring has sprung up due to the entrepreneurial spirit of ladies on both sides. These ladies of the evening are, for obvious reasons, among several factions who are fighting the building of the bridge. The trucks are parked for as far as the eye can see.

We, fortunately, did not have to wait three weeks for our crossing, but rather we skirted the parked trucks and the waiting natives and went immediately to the edge of the water where we gingerly boarded a smallish motorboat and the ever present helpers loaded all of our gear onto it with us. Five minutes later we were in Botswana and met by yet another driver who would take us to our next lodging.

This is an interesting area for more reasons than just the long-suffering truckers. From this vantage point on the Zambezi River one can see four countries: Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana and Namibia, as well as the coming together of the Zambezi and Chobe Rivers. Near that spot the Indian and Atlantic Oceans also meet.

After the helpers schlepped our stuff into the vehicle we were driven by Innocent, our new driver, to Mowana Lodge, deep inside the Chobe National Park, where we would spend the next two days doing game runs of a different kind. As we were checking in, a large wedding party arrived complete with bride and groom and attendant guests. We loved their colorful outfits. The word Mowana means baobab tree, a most interesting tree with bark that looks like elephant skin and a huge circumference. The one on the grounds of the lodge is said to be more than 1,000 years old.

Our first activity at Mowana was the afternoon river cruise on the Chobe River. We had taken a river cruise in Livingstone on the African Queen which held at least 100 people and where each group had a table with drinks and snacks while watching the hippos and the sunset. This cruise was a much more intimate affair—a small covered boat with 12 passengers plus AG, the guide and navigator. In some ways the small boat was much better than the big boat because AG was able to navigate right into the weeds to get close looks at giraffes, elephants and the huge variety of antelopes like kudu, springbok, bushbucks, impala, lechwe, and the newest variety in our repertoire—the puku. He went right up to the shore and showed us some crocodile eggs, one hatched and the other cracked and ready to hatch. He said that crocs can lay 60 to 90 eggs, but only 5 to 10 survive because of the monitor lizard which is their principal predator. It’s not easy to make it to adulthood in the jungle.

Then AG took the boat right up to a sleeping crocodile about 10 feet long who dutifully slept through all of our picture taking before changing position and slithering into the river. Crocs can live for more than 100 years and continue to grow all of their lives. AG surmised that this one was about 45 from its size. I’d hate to see it full-grown.

The trees and shoreline were alive with birds, most of whom I can’t remember but I do know there were storks, African darters (a type of cormorant), sacred ibis, vultures, fish eagles, and even the common egret which certainly seems to show up everywhere in the world. We saw lots of fish eagles, which look just like our bald eagle, one of which kamikazied into the water and pulled out a good sized fish. There are 450 species of bird in Chobe.

We returned to the lodge at sunset quite satisfied, yes thrilled, with the cruise.

The next morning we went out with Lungu, our new land guide. We were still somewhat in mourning over having lost William, but Lungu proved to be a formidable replacement. We entered the park after a ten minute drive and immediately began seeing more animals than we had seen before, even in Kruger. Lungu noticed that there were three or four other vehicles pulled off the road and we soon discovered that they were watching two sleeping lionesses. We watched as well and after a few minutes the other vehicles drove off, having seen enough. Just as we were about to drive off too, one of the lionesses got up and with great purposefulness started to stalk—what we didn’t know. Then the second lioness woke up and was stalking too. Don and Gwenna had said that seeing a “kill” would be the coup de grace of an African trip for them, although Tom and I were not so sure we wanted to see one. There was a group of impala just down the road and it seemed that the lead lioness was headed straight for them. McDonald’s for lions. It was fascinating to watch the two females inch slowly slowly ahead staring into the bush, ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey.

We watched the lions for a while but no kill materialized. Just as well, for my money. We drove on.

Ahead were about 60 hippos grazing out of the water, our first sighting of the massive beasts outside of their element, and now we understood why they are so dangerous. We didn’t test their patience. We learned from Lungu that a group of hippos is called a raft as well as a pod. A raft of hippos…cool.

Lungu had said at the outset that our quest for the run was to see hyenas. We didn’t want to burst his bubble by telling him that we had seen one in Kruger—he seemed determined to find them. Apparently they nest inside a couple of huge drainage pipes within the park and at the beginning of the run he went there and parked and looked and then drove around the area looking, but no hyenas. At the end of the run, after we had seen so many other animals, he went back to the drainage pipes and parked again. It was almost dark and we needed to leave the park by 7:00, and no hyenas. Then Lungu started to call the hyenas. Haaaaaa-RUP! Haaaa-RUP! Haaaa-RUP! He did this with his hands cupped around his mouth, softly and melodically. It was almost better than seeing hyenas!—listening to Lungu sing Haaa-rup, Haaaa-rup, Haaa-rup. So slowly, so softly.

But alas, the closest we came to seeing a hyena was some movement inside the darkness of the drain pipe which both Don and I, using binoculars, saw as clear as day. We think the movement was a hyena, too scared to come out and greet the love of his life—Lungu.