| Lloyd
had promised his three children (Ashley, Alistair
and Savannah Storm) a holiday with a difference.
A difference that is, to their usual and much looked
forward to holidays, in Savuti (to once again relive
their childhood of living in their cottage on the
banks of the elephant trampled channel) or Shakawe,
where they have played on the banks of the wide
and respected Okavango.
He
had instead, promised to take them and their to
the lower end of Sua Pan, retracing their great
Grandfather's footsteps of so many years before.
Eric Cronje Wilmot had written so lovingly of a
natural spring, which trickled out of limestone
ridges of the Mosu escarpment. Lined with groves
of tall Ilala palms, it weaves it's way to the very
edge of the Mosu flats, before being ironed out
by hundreds of cattle hooves that graze its meager
mantle of desert grass.
One
so easily forgets the excitement that children create,
in their belief of a new adventure. Our lives are
filled with the reality of every day business that
we tend to look past the magic of flying carpets
and caves filled with treasure. Our party of eleven
people completed their early morning ritual of tea
and rusks (a dunking biscuit) and the loading of
the vehicles began in earnest. Soon the three vehicles
took on an appearance of a great expedition as they
left the driveway one by one. Filling up the fuel
tanks was the last ritual as we left the ‘civilisation’
of Maun and headed south.
After
some difficulties and time lost at the first veterinary
cordon, we eventually turned off the main road and
headed down a little track towards the great open
spaces of the Mkgadikgadi Salt Pans. The setting
of our first Kalahari sun reminded us it was time
to set up camp and feed our brood of little smiling
faces. We found a suitable camp site under a small
clump of weather beaten trees dwarfed by a couple
of tall palms and began unloading. The firewood
we had gathered on the way with every penny stop,
was soon giving warmth to the chilly winter's night.
The eleven bedrolls jigsawed their way under a wide
gazebo as everyone chose their spot. I warmed up
the prepacked meat dish in a heavy cast iron bread
pot on the coals and a good supper was had by all.
The children were worn out after playing a ball
game on the sandy pan. The dust kicked up by their
game, reflected surreal images of golden shapes
in the fading light, darting back and forth as they
chased the ball. I fell asleep smiling as I recalled
their laughter and sheer delight of being such free
spirits
At
first light, the staff shook the cold ash off the
insulated coals and kindled a little flame into
a warm fire. Bodies crawled out of warm duvets and
huddled around waiting for the kettle to boil. I
admired the way they stood around the table and
made tea for each other, courteous and caring. The
tea ritual once again strengthened their friendships
as they discussed what the day would bring. After
a heap of French toasts were fried and eaten with
ladles of honey, the children all helped to pack
up camp and we set off towards Qubu. We drove past
seven baobab trees, growing together as one, called
the Seven Sisters. Everyone clamoured over their
branches as we photographed indelible memories.
But time was marching on and the heat of the day
was increasing. We drove on through golden plains
of winter grass, dotted with cattle grazing, catching
the morning's sun on their backs. Suddenly, we were
on the dry salty surface of the great Sua Pan and
our horizons melted away into the distance.
Travelling
at speeds of fifty kilometres an hour, we relied
on someone else's tracks, hoping that they knew
where they were going. There are many different
tracks that head to Qubu via cattle posts or lime
stone wells and we had to find the most direct track.
These change from season to season, when Summer
rains fill the pans with sweet water and a new beginning.
New tracks circumvent the pan and can go for many
miles in a different direction. However, good sense
and instincts prevailed and soon we were unpacking
the vehicles again. It had been a long hard ride
and it was well after dark when we were shown our
designated camp site by a member of the community
who now looked after this historical site.
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At
first light, Lloyd took everyone for a long walk
over the boulders of this rocky outcrop, amidst
baobab trees that are hundreds of years old. They
stand defiant in the face of changing weather patterns
and are protected from man only by their remoteness.
The wind-blown salt air colours their limbs with
a tinge of rich brown. In stark contrast nearby,
the grey boulders accumulate the salt and appear
snow capped. Against all odds, lichens grow in protected
areas, clinging to the rocks with tenacity and completing
Nature's palette of desert colours. Jumping from
rock to rock, everyone explored the area and photographed
the ancient stone wall. The children peeped through
the port holes still intact, as if looking across
the high waves at the approaching enemy in their
rafts of reed!!!
Once
again, after a good breakfast (why were we always
so hungry?) we packed up camp and headed for the
village of Mosu to find the River of Palms. The
village had grown and with it the changes of civilization.
A Post Office now stood near the tree where elders
used to meet and discuss matters of the day. Piped
water stands had taken away the laughter and chatter
of the women and children who filled their buckets
for their daily needs from the gurgling spring.
Instead, cattle and goats grazed nearby on the green
grass which grew from the seepage of this fresh
water spring as it wearily meandered to the salt
flats. At odd intervals, one could see old cement
walls which had been built to dam the flow of water
in earlier years, where this life giving spring
had sustained a village and its livestock. Further
from the village, the river had healed itself, taking
on an unspoilt look of tranquillity. Tall palm trees
lined the sides of sandy banks, cutting deep into
the soft lime stone bed. Shaded glades encouraged
smaller palms to take hold, hiding the river course
beneath. I look forward to seeing this spring flowing
again in the wet season and to see it as it was
perhaps, so long ago?
We
found a wonderful camp site under a large Star Chestnut
tree, facing onto the pans of limitless horizons.
While the staff were unloading the camping equipment,
Ursula, Jane and myself walked into what we soon
termed the"ghost forest" of stunted and
leafless paper bark trees. We photographed Gordon's
hoodia, a cactus type plant with brown moon-like
flowers. The moon which was high already, gave us
more than enough light in which to prepare supper.
Lloyd and the gang took off to find the jackal that
had called nearby. After a while, someone raced
back for the cricket bat for a game of cricket by
moonlight. Thankfully, this rush of activity gave
us time to prepare dinner quickly before they returned,
ravenous. One by one and sometimes, two by two,
we took our baths in a great big metal tub. The
boys ganged up on the girls and threw cold water
over the top of the canvas cubicle. The squeals
and threats made me laugh out loud.
Time
had come for us to head back home. We took a short
cut across the bumpy grass plains, searching for
a track that would take us back to Nata. Before
long we were unpacking once again, this time in
a river bed. Lloyd took us by vehicle to see the
remains of my late Dad's first trading shop. This
was a corrugated iron building with wooden counters
over which he traded beads, material, tobacco and
maize meal, amongst many other essential items.
We had travelled with him for two years, living
in an ox wagon and trading from another. Each wagon
was pulled by sixteen cattle and both Lloyd and
I have wonderful memories of those times, To this
day, certain smells of cloth and material rolls
will bring back memories of peering over the counter
as yards were unrolled and sold in pounds, shillings
and pence. Very often, I would be perched on top
of the counter, sitting cross-legged and watching
the bushmen as they came in to collect their money
for the slabs of rock salt they had sold. Donkeys
were used as pack horses, for carrying these squares
of pink and grey crystal blocks of solid salt. A
wonderful remedy for sore throats, was to suck a
few of these crystals.
We
stood on the high banks of the river and could see
the acacia trees growing in the fertile river bed.
How I remember having to strip their leaves to feed
our baby buck we kept as pets. So many memories
of our wonderful and different childhood.
We returned to Maun on a Saturday afternoon and
immediately started repacking and restocking for
our next leg to Chief's Island. We had five wonderful
days of seeing lion (everyday) and driving to the
bottom floodplains that had recently flooded. Lechwe
and wildebeest ran in shallow water, kicking up
sprays of liquid glass against the sunlight. We
took our fill of the wild outdoors, spoilt by nothing
and by no one. We crossed deep water to get home
again, the floods racing in to quench the dry soil
of the burnt floodplains. The children returned
to school and Lloyd and I repacked for the next
safari.
Twelve days of wonderful experiences with wild dog
(discovering a new den), lion, cheetah hunting kudu,
hyenas at night on a baby dead elephant, getting
stuck in rising flood plains and many many more,
we said good bye to our dear friends as they carried
on to Madagascar. We could now take a well deserved
break and catch up with life at home. I returned
to Johannesburg and flew to Dubai to join Claus
(sending this from my hotel room) and will be here
until the 22nd August.
I hope you have shared my love for these wonderful
areas of unspoilt beauty
Great
salaams from us both,
Daphne and Lloyd
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