THE ULTIMATE SAFARI IV

MALAWI AND ZAMBIA

This last of three group safaris in central and southern Africa began with a bang, literally. An Israeli couple and I had been met at Namibia’s Lilongwe airport by our guide and were almost to our city hotel when we stopped to wait our turn to overtake a very slowly moving vehicle. We were on a major thoroughfare, and it was well lighted; nonetheless we were suddenly and violently struck from behind by another vehicle. The impact threw us into the seat in front of us or onto the floor–seat belts are unknown in most of Africa–but fortunately no one was injured, at least not in our vehicle, a three-and-one-half ton Chevrolet four-by-four mounted on sixty-psi tires and armored with very heavy bumpers at both ends.

Our consensus guess was that the offending driver had planned to pass everything in front of him, but oncoming traffic caused him, probably wisely, to select the less damaging alternative of hitting a stopped vehicle rather than continuing on into an almost certain head-on collision. He paid a price, however, for selecting such a massive target; his car's front end was badly bashed in, the car itself was on fire, and his passenger's head was a bit bloodied by impact with the windshield. Our driver took both men to the hospital after we were safely deposited and checked in at our hotel, where their injuries were later reported to be superficial.

After breakfast the next morning we met a fourth safarist also staying at the hotel, a young Austrian woman working as a travel agent near Munich, and after the usual obligatory visits to the local market and to the city's main arts and crafts area, we drove out of town past the spot where the accident had occurred; happily the wreckage had been cleanly removed. We then stopped at a nearby villa to pick up our fifth and last member, a young travel journalist living and working near London. Born in Africa of English parents, he expects ultimately to establish himself in Namibia. Meanwhile, he is traveling everywhere, and I do mean everywhere, in his present capacity, before which he worked as the education officer in an English zoo. His knowledge and travel experience added up to the equivalent of at least one additional guide.

After a long and rather uninteresting drive, punctuated only by the contrast between the supercilious treatment given us by Malawi border officials and the helpfulness of their Zambian counterparts, we reached our camp in Zambia's Luangwa Valley just at sunset, which we of course saluted with sundowners. Named Nkwali and operated by one Robin Pope, it contains six guest chalets, each furnished with two beds cum mossie nets; the units are quite basic, with thatched roofs but without electricity. Attached to the back of the building are two enclosures, each about two meters high, that are connected by a short hall containing a washbasin and a small mirror. Only the toilet enclosure has a roof, also of thatch; presumably the addition of rainfall while one washes in the other areas is not a problem. Of course I'm an old hand at African candlelight shower techniques, and I relished the addition of running hot water and the Southern Cross above me. The first evening there was only a second mosquito net adjacent to my bed, but on the second afternoon a bed frame and mattress appeared, and on the third afternoon that second bed was made up; curiously, the progression stopped there.

The night sounds were much too delicious for me to sleep soundly, so I alternated repetitions of the nap-think-fantasize-and-pray cycle that is so necessary on long winter nights, with periods of serious attention to the grunting of the hippos across the river, the barking of nearby baboons, and the roaring of middle-distance lions. These sounds seemed to weaken during subsequent nights, but on the fourth we did hear a leopard growling just across the river. On leaving the river to graze at night, hippos regularly passed between our chalets, and at least once, one paused to chomp the grass beside my door; elephants occasionally wandered through camp at night as well. One afternoon we watched a small herd of elephants grazing in a grassy area right next to camp–the scout brought out his rifle just in case–and a little later a sole hippo took up residence in the little pond in the middle of the field. We later realized it was an old male that had been driven from the herd; he spent most of the daylight hours there, evidently nursing his wounds. All in all this arrangement seemed much more like the real Africa than does Arusha.

A typical day began with a drum beat awakening call at 5:30–I was up, showered, and outside by then to hear it more clearly from a log beside the mopane or leadwood fire; one drummer was especially adept at going from pianissimo to fortissimo and back again–some coffee or tea, and then we were off to Southern Luangwa National Park for a game drive. We came back around 11:00 for brunch, some coffee and chatter, and a couple of free hours. We then returned to the Park for another drive that lasted well into darkness and got back to camp for a second quick but hot shower in the dark–the word that will live longest in my memories of Africa is “dusty”–dinner, and a little more small talk around the fire. A shot of whisky helped abate the fear of meeting a hippo or elephant on the walk back to one's chalet, and then it was the alternation of the nap cycle and wilderness noises again. Park regulations are rather relaxed here, as I imagine all administrative procedures are, so we were allowed to drive through the bush, get out of the vehicle in certain places, and use a spotlight from sunset until 8:30; it is even possible to arrange walks in the Park escorted by an armed guard.

The mood of the Zambian phase of this two-country visit was set early the second morning when I realized that the bird on the river in front of me was a black egret, a rather uncommon bird in my observational experience. In characteristic fashion it spread its wings to form a full canopy over its head, stuck its beak under water, and came up with a good-sized minnow. Then I spied a pied kingfisher, in its characteristic fashion, hovering over one spot near the egret for many seconds before diving into the water and coming up empty billed.

Bird watching was better here than anywhere else I've been, and by the end of that first full day I had seen over 60; after five full days my count was about 115. The river itself was very important in offering habitat to aquatic fowl–it's winter here so the migratory birds are not present, and the game is well scattered because water is abundant elsewhere. It seems almost choked with hippopotamuses and monstrous crocodiles; never before have I seen so many per mile of riverbank.

The first night drive remains my favorite. We typically left about two hours before sunset and went into the Park. The forests are varied and alternate with open spaces, but the terrain is essentially flat. The deepening shadows add an interesting third dimension, and the cries of the mammals and birds contribute a fourth, almost mystical, element. This park is especially lovely because of the many pools of water it contains–they are dead-end oxbows of the river–each half-filled with plant life, supporting a sizable population of birds, and providing drinks for thirsty animals.

This first night out our driver was Harry, the camp manager, and our guide sat beside him; this is a typical arrangement and one that must be avoided, but I shall postpone until later a discussion of more rules for successful safaris. Harry is typical of the English expatriates who staff many of the camps in Central and Southern Africa: young, self-reliant, talkative, knowledgeable, and a frequent consumer of tobacco and alcohol. His presence added a lot to my enjoyment of this drive, and I particularly regret that the illness he contracted the next day prevented his further participation in our activities. We had barely left camp when he spotted a bird I had often looked for unsuccessfully, the racquet-tailed roller; it was a good start.

The less familiar animals are always fascinating to observe, and here the puku is particularly abundant. Then Harry spotted a kingfisher, chestnut-bellied it was, sitting on a dead bush beside a lovely, small pond, and on the ground right next to it was a pied kingfisher. This was very interesting because the former feeds on insects, and it did quite frequently jump to the ground and back, while the latter, of course, does what most of us expect kingfishers to do. Then suddenly our journalist, Richard, remarked quietly, “There's a monitor lizard on that tree nearby.” They are common here, both in and out of the water, but no one present had previously seen a monitor poised vertically on the trunk of a tree, as this one was.

Sunsets are often very beautiful in Africa, at least in the eight countries I have visited, and we always stopped for sundowners and relaxation while watching them here. While doing this on that first night, we observed an African skimmer in action, the only time I've seen this bird. Looking rather like a tern, colored mainly black and white, it flies low over water with its longer lower mandible immersed to scoop up food. At first the bird was much more visible than its reflection as it skimmed back and forth along the stream in front of us, but as darkness deepened, the reflection dominated, and the bird itself became almost invisible. Later, after the two drivers had satisfied their thirst for beer, we drove on, using a spotlight to search for nocturnal birds and animals. Of the former, we typically saw coursers, dikkops, and nightjars, and of the latter, hyenas, mongooses, civets, genets, and scrub hares were quite common. That first night we also saw a frog, numerous four-toed elephant shrews, and some hunting spiders, which together constituted, as Harry was quick to point out, “three of the small five.” I suspect that the remaining two, like his choice of the first three, are completely optional.

I think it was the fourth morning that camp pretty much fell apart. The previous night I had been the last to bed, a pattern that continued through the rest of our stay, and when I went outside a few minutes before the scheduled time for the drum roll, it was clear that my wristwatch alarm would sound alone on this day. The water was not yet turned on, so even a cold shower was impossible, and no water had yet been boiled, so coffee was unavailable; the best I could do was resuscitate the fire and enjoy the sunrise. Later on I learned that the only scout on duty had inexplicably disappeared the previous afternoon taking with him the only rifle in camp, so even the walk scheduled for that morning had to be postponed. From then on our after dinner fires were regrettably given to overconsumption of alcohol and excessive telling of tasteless stories.

A day later we managed to take our morning walk, with scout and rifle, and it was very useful in identifying the vegetation and learning about its use by indigenous peoples. We also spent considerable time identifying the tracks and droppings of various animals. Our last evening game drive produced a pride of twelve lions followed by four Toyota loads of gawking tourists. It looked a bit like the Rose Parade escorted by its police marshals; game viewing in Africa provides many a bizarre sight.

It was good on the seventh morning, just before our departure, to see Harry re-emerge from his cabin, barefoot as usual, with sparkling eyes, a ready quip on his lips, and a smile on his face. We headed off to Malawi confident that he was okay.

Our re-entry to Malawi was even more distasteful than the first two border crossings. It was only when we left the country at journey's end that I was treated respectfully and efficiently by Malawian officials. At first the customs officer was a bit cold and officious regarding the papers for the vehicle, but then he loosened up, finished his share of the paper work, and went off to find the immigration officer. The latter was barely able to stagger through the door, he was so drunk at about 2:00 in the afternoon, and it took him the better part of an hour to process our papers; he wasn't trying to be difficult, he just couldn't do any better. And when I noticed the Israeli woman's temper rising fast, I held my breath, but happily she didn't lose her poise until we were outside.

And then just a few minutes later we were held up again, this time by a bridge under repair. The workers said it would take an hour, at which point the Israeli man evidently offered a bribe, much to our guide's displeasure, and we were across in about two minutes. A loud cry of protest to the rear suggested that he then reneged on the agreement, but I think he ultimately did pay. We got to journey's end right at sunset, with everyone exhausted, particularly the driver, and spent the night in a forestry rest house. We were high enough in the mountains now to feel winter's chill, and some of the group struggled to survive the night. The Austrian had three beds in her room, and I think she used all three sets of blankets plus her sleeping bag. Wimps, these Europeans.

After stopping at nearby Mzuzu to reprovision we pushed on into the mountains to take up residence for four days in the Chilinda camp of Nyika National Park. I shared a house with Richard and our cook; we had bedrooms, but the cook slept on the kitchen floor. His only shortcoming was that he fell asleep early in the evening and then awakened to finish his chores in the middle of the night, like washing the dinner dishes right next to my bedroom at three in the morning, for example. Dinner was served in my house as well, so I didn't even have to go out in the cold night air to be fed. Each house had a huge fireplace, and the roaring fires we kindled in late afternoons usually survived the night to be revived the next morning.

The Park is essentially a huge plateau at an altitude of 8,000 feet. Coming up from lower altitudes, we passed lots of protea plants, but they were long since dried out. Unfortunately they are in prime condition at a time when seasonal rains make travel difficult. For the most part the plateau is covered by grasslands and rocks with here and there a small forest. A few decades ago the new government planted a number of forests, Mexican pine our guide said they were, to initiate a paper and pulp industry in the country. Nothing came of it, so now the forests are a lovely, if hardly endemic, part of the Nyika. One of the best features of the Park is that visitors are allowed to walk freely anywhere. The only large predators are leopards and hyenas, which are both principally nocturnal, so encounters with humans are allegedly rare. Still the stories about the four leopards living near Chilinda that amuse themselves by making mock charges at tourists near dusk or dawn are a bit frightening; the theory that all one need do to avoid trouble is to stop and stand quietly is one I have no interest in testing.

The stop and stand tactic did come in handy one morning, however, when Richard, the Austrian, and I were out for a rather long walk. Our guide had fallen victim to a malaria attack, his third of the season, and he was totally bedridden for about 36 hours and rather handicapped for another day, at which time he came up with a toothache that resulted in a badly swollen jaw; it was clearly not his week, but it allowed us to take some healthy, and for me very welcome strolls. I was in front of the others when Richard suddenly yelled, “Stop!” I did just in time to see something shaped like a hyena charge across the road a little in front of me and then stop in the grass; a closer look revealed it to be a bushpig. I fancy it glowered at me a bit, took a stride or two in my direction, and then ran off into the distance. We saw many of these animals later, always from much farther away, but I will forever believe that this first one I ever saw is the biggest and meanest of them all.

The two antelopes seen most frequently here are the reedbuck and the roan. It was particularly exciting to see the latter since they also were a first for me. A lovely family of bushbuck was in residence in the ravine just below our house, and we also caught an occasional glimpse of a duiker fleeing from us as we approached. The bird population was a bit sparse, but many I did see were endemic to the area. One morning our guide took Richard and me into a dense forest where he whistled two or three barred trogons into the canopy above our heads, but we were still unable to see one, despite spending an hour at it; it was during this walk that the fever hit him. Our night drives were not very productive, but I always find it entertaining to fill the empty minutes with a bit of stargazing. On our last evening out, our armed guard escorted us through another dense, dark forest just before sundown, and when we emerged into a clearing his amazing eyesight spotted a leopard for us. I could barely make it out through binoculars, but I've now seen seven; surprisingly, it was the very first one Richard had seen in the wild.

The most exciting feature of the Nyika is its apparent vastness. Just as in Namibia the view here goes on forever. Every turn in the road unveils another panorama. Richard often commented on how the barren, rocky landscape reminded him so much of Scotland and England's Lake District. And here, since the park extends a little into Zambia, the views are decidedly of two countries.

Our final destination was Lake Malawi; some 350 miles long with a maximum width of about 50 miles, it is the third largest of the Rift Valley lakes. Our first two nights were spent at Chinteche Inn, on the north lakeshore. This hostelry is not much to begin with, and government management has punished it badly, but its setting and the beach are magnificent. The beach extends only about a mile to the south, but to the north it apparently goes on forever. Occasionally a headland of rock had to be bypassed on shore, but usually I could walk barefoot on the sand, or even better, in the shallow water. The vistas continuously changed: sandy beaches, marshes filled with reeds, rocky shoreline, and forest. The bird population varied to match the environment. I came by fishermen who set nets offshore from a small boat and then came ashore to pull them in with a long rope. Young men stopped to ask if I would be their friend; they asked to exchange addresses, not for money or pens. I'm only sorry I didn't head off early that second day with a bottle of wine and a picnic lunch so I could have walked all day.

Our final lakeshore stop was at the resort-style Livingstonia Beach Hotel to the south. The facilities are very nice, but despite private ownership the food is mediocre. The hotel's beach is short but beautifully sandy, and the slope is gentle enough that one walks out quite a distance to reach shoulder depth. The water is amazingly warm even in midwinter, and the waves not nearly so vigorous as farther north. It is a place for water sports and suntans. I took a long walk down the next beach to the south, one that is lined with the substantial vacation houses of moneyed Europeans; local fishing communities filled the less desirable land areas adjacent to the water. It took over an hour for me to reach an inn that catered to Caucasians, during which time I had not encountered a white face. In East Africa I would long since have been stripped of everything and perhaps even killed. It was a strange sensation for me, but here there was no threat. In general I was greeted warmly everywhere; very rarely did anyone seem even to resent my presence.

Johannesburg is probably the most convenient gateway to the countries of central and southern Africa, but they all have national airlines so one can fly directly to their major cities from a variety of European airports. I have used those of Kenya, Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Malawi, and although I arrived at my intended destination without problems, I have found that South African Airways offers a better standard of service. The suburb of Sandton is the place to stay in Johannesburg, and the best hotel I've found so far is the Balalaika; it's a fine facility, but poorly run. The shops of the adjacent Village Walk are quite fine, especially after a year in Arusha, and the Chablis restaurant is reliable. The nearby Sandton Center is certainly the continent's biggest and finest shopping arcade–it is absolutely huge–and if you want to spend your dollars in posh surroundings with thousands of other hotel guests, the adjacent Sandton Sun is for you.

Cape Town is a little out of the way, but it is one of the world's great cities, a bit of Sydney, Vancouver, Seattle, and San Francisco all rolled into one. There is no better place to stay than the Victoria and Alfred Hotel, right on the restored waterfront with all the activity and excitement you could want. The hotel's restaurant is quite fine, the Green Dolphin is very good for jazz and decent food, all sorts of specialty eating houses abound, Vaughan Johnson runs a fine wine shop nearby, you can get a quick and very inexpensive fix of prime beef–done rare!–at one of the Republic's ubiquitous Spur restaurants, and I even found some antique maps of Africa to add to my University's collection. It is a fabulous place, its only problem being the nearness of that other star attraction, Roggeland Country House. But I’ve already written that story.

After fourteen months of wandering around eight African countries, I obviously can't evaluate travel here with the innocence of a first-time visitor. The best I can do is to point out some principles that I think are generally applicable and that I at least, intend to apply to future travel. The several prearranged group tours in which I've participated have all been good fun, but I think it's now time to set trip specifications and objectives myself.

For game drives and bird viewing only one type of vehicle will suffice, one without a top. It should have space for eight, including the driver, but only four passengers should be aboard: one beside the driver, two in the row behind the driver, and the fourth, the video-cam operator or the most unrelenting photographer, in the back. This last person will require instruction on the rules of civilized behavior in the presence of others who simply want to enjoy nature rather than record its every breath.

To drive across country requires an enclosed van, with all windows clean and operational, that has nine seats. Once again there should be a maximum of four clients in the van. The person who sits beside the driver must keep him in check, communicate to him the wishes of the other three passengers, and generally keep the safari on track. Two people should sit in the next row; this facilitates communication and also gives them a fairly good forward view. The relentless photographer can then share the other five seats with the baggage and the beverage cooler.

If the intervening countryside is not of interest, fly-in safaris can easily be arranged. It is also possible to substitute a Range Rover for both of the above purposes, but only if it has clean and operational windows, a working sunroof, and is limited to two passengers plus driver. Again, one person sits in front, the other in the seat behind; it is quite easy to move from front to back to look out the roof hatch without stepping outside. This arrangement is clearly more expensive, but particularly if the vehicle has an augmented suspension, it is both more comfortable and timesaving.

There are many good driver/guides around, but they must be forced to adhere to the group's plan; otherwise they will busy themselves with such things as sketching out the family tree of a local pride of lions, taking prize-winning game photographs to enter in competitions, or going off on a search for a rare and previously unseen bird, instead of attending to their clients. Careful readers will note I didn't make up these examples.

A second driver or guide in the vehicle does bring aboard some additional knowledge and experience. I'll be generous and say that the two have half their knowledge in common, so half of each one's information is unique; this amounts to 1.5 effective guides. So it appears at first glance, but it simply is not true. At least 80% of the time they are jabbering to each other and paying no attention whatever to either clients or game. So you have 1.5 guides 20% of the time, at best, which amounts to 0.3 of an effective guide. If the second person is a cook or caterer, the situation is even worse, because that person too will talk 80% of the time but has very little, if any, unique knowledge; then you're down to 0.2 of an effective guide. And what's even worse is that their trivial talk will distract you from what you came to see, degrading the situation even more. If you are forced to have two such people in one vehicle, absolutely insist that they sit in diametrically opposed corners.

To set up one's camp and to prepare one's food wastes a lot of time, so I don't recommend doing it unless there is no alternative. I suggest using the best facilities you can afford but retaining maximum flexibility. For example if a lodge does not require full board, don't sign up for it in advance. You may want to go out with a picnic lunch or even skip dinner on occasion.

I've many ideas for additional travel in Africa, but I've grown a bit weary of setting off alone. So in future I hope to persuade a friend to come along. I'll sit up front to manage the care and feeding of the driver, and she will sit next to you to point out things you may otherwise miss, leaving the rest of the space to the recorder of events.

But Darling, you'll have to pay the entire bill, so if this arrangement appeals to you, your companion had best be your banker.

W. Vance Johnson

17 Jul 93