The Time was Right – it had to be Done

The Beginning

It all started with another one of those unwanted emails which often get deleted without much more than a glance. This one happened to be from the Falcon Old Boys club inviting me to the upcoming 60^th anniversary celebration of their inception to be held in July 2014. Falcon is in Zimbabwe, Southern Africa so I hardly gave it a thought. I had left there 45 years ago – it no longer had much relevance to me.  And then I saw the list of old boys from my era who were considering attending and I discussed it with my brother Alan, who works with me in Toronto, who had also been at Falcon. Bottom line we decided to give it a shot. We invited my older brother Neville and brother in law Roy, who live in Johannesburg to join us. They were gung ho to go, we were hot to trot and so the trip was on. We decided to make it a Boys Trip to Africa down Memory Lane (a When We trip) to visit all of our old haunts when we grew up in the carefree, good ole days in Southern Africa when the sun had not yet set on the Great British Empire (GBE) of which we were part.

Launch – Ethiopian Ahoy

It had to be Ethiopian Airlines – the price was too persuasive to ignore. $400 cheaper than the next best option. Their reputation was to be the best regarded airline in Africa so worth a try. After all it was a Boy's Trip to Africa. In for a penny in for a pound – let’s fly there the African way. It was a mad dash in Toronto to the airport in time for an 11am departure and into the hands of the “best in Africa”. As it turned out the service, food and seat spacing were all great. Our 90 minute connection to Johannesburg in Addis Ababa was a bit dicey with confusion being the operative word. At various points we were told to stop and then given the go ahead to stand in a line up looking to be at least an hour long  followed by being told to move to the front of the line much to the dismay of others waiting in line who were boarding the same flight. After a bit of a dash we made it to our connection on time – only to wait for close to an hour while all those other losers, who actually waited in the line up, to have time to board. Whew – we were on our way.

People along the Way

On the second leg of the flight I tried to make conversation with an Ethiopian guy whose first and only comment was “no English” which slowed down my conversational tendencies a bit. After that downer he was moved by the hostess, guilty of anti-social tendencies I suspect, and replaced by a young Islamic couple from  Gaza on their honeymoon having just concluded an arranged marriage.

The End of the Beginning

We were met in Johannesburg by my sister Rose, husband Roy and their two grandchildren Mariah and Talya. We took a brief trip to the bank to get some local currency and then on to Nev and Maureen's house where a family dinner was arranged.  Much stretching of family yarns ensued followed by lots of laughter as we played the game of “tell a better story than the previous guy”. Then it was off to bed early. The adventure was about to begin.

Botswana Ahoy

We began our day with a bit of pleasant sibling discussion as we had a reasoned and calm discussion about how much “padkos” (food for the road) we could/should take. Things were settled reasonably amicably with various amounts of padkos being discretely secreted into nooks and crannies by the pros while the cons were not looking. All's well that ends well. Yiaahhh !!! Francistown,(Botswana) here we come.

And so began our journey with lots of idle chatter which has been a feature of our trip more or less nonstop so far. We did agree fairly early on that if the driver was going to take photos while driving they shouldn't be doing more than 100kms/hr.  So far that seems to have worked.  The border crossing into Botswana was a bit of an education for us Canadians who have become used to a somewhat seamless experience in North America. Permits, triptiks, carnets de passage, road use charges, visas, vehicle insurances  were all the order of the day. The border officials were very pleasant but at one point the four of us were nonplussed as a female official carefully explained in perfect English, but flawed accent, in our opinion, what had to happen next. It got a bit exasperating all around when she repeated herself for the third time. We finally got it, but by then we were all pretty desperate, especially her. Why couldn't the British have taught all of their colonial subjects to speak English with the same accents? It would have been so much more practical. We finally ended up the day in Francistown in a lovely old colonial hotel with sprawling lawns overlooking the Shashi River, which being the dry season right now, was completely dry. Dinner on the deck and we all turned in for an early night which as it turns out has been the order of the day all along. No one said this trip down memory lane was going to be a vacation. The next day was going to be a big day.

Bulawayo, Zimbabwe – the Place of Killing

Another border post and onwards and upwards into Zimbabwe, at Plumtree, early the next morning – we were scheduled to connect with our Falcon Old Boys group on a guided tour at the Matopos, burial place of Cecil John Rhodes, the originator and founder of Rhodesia, now Zimbabwe.

We were on our way to commemorate the man who we were taught by our colonial teachers was a genius, hero and founder of erstwhile Rhodesia. He was the man responsible for the signing of the treaty with Lobengula, the king of the Matabele people, who were the dominant group at that time. The treaty, unsurprisingly, turned out to be rather lopsided in the favor of the settlers. When Lobengula proved uncooperative later he was duly removed from his capital of Bulawayo (the Place of Killing) where upon he disappeared into the bush.  Now that the GBE has lost its clout, and CJR's reputation is not what it once was – his statue in Bulawayo has been torn down and it is no longer fashionable to speak his name loud in modern day Zimbabwe. CJR chose as his burial site the top of a huge outcrop of granite in the Matopos with an outlook called “World's View” which is still a world heritage site. It is spectacularly beautiful but proved difficult to capture by camera.

We were pleasantly surprised to encounter various school groups visiting the site. We asked the teachers what they teach about CJR. They laughed and said “we teach them that he was a great man and what his achievements were – we only introduce political discussion at high school”. It was good after 15 years of fighting between colonials and freedom fighters followed by 24 years of troubled independence to find such a laid back outlook on the arch enemy of all things African in Zimbabwe. In general we found the Zimbabwean people to be a generous and pleasant-natured people bearing no apparent grudges.

Next up was to check in to our B&B in Bulawayo where our school reunion was taking place. We had time for a quick clean up and then on to meet a bunch of old guys at our reunion dinner who, as it turns out, bore  very little resemblance to anyone I had ever met. We all dutifully played the game of sharing old stories and professed to remember each other whilst maintaining a straight face.

 

Around 300 Old Boys and spouses enjoyed a good meal interspersed with numerous speeches. It was good to see that many modern day boys are black Zimbabweans, being given a first rate education. They are surely destined to be amongst Zimbabwe's future leaders – it felt good. The next day we attended the Annual Sports day in which our school played their arch rival Peter House at rugby, field hockey and soccer. It was gratifying to win all three of the first team games – those losers who attend Peter House never were quite up to scratch – especially in my day.

Al added a fun component to the day. He had been the school squash champion in 1967 and had asked if he could have a game with the current champion. The Old Boys were quite pleased, as it was good that at least one old timer was still not only alive but fit too.  Al, who is now 64, handily beat the 17 or 18 year old whippersnapper and all of us old guys felt surreptitiously pleased that such things are still possible. We left the celebration early – the Old Boys were getting set to engage in an old Rhodesian/Zimbabwean past time of eat, drink, smoke and be merry for tomorrow we die – I'm sure many of them do. We were heading for, Hwange, one of Africa's largest game reserves – we hoped the poachers who plague Africa had left some animals for us to see.

Hwange, Zimbabwe – Feast and Famine

We took a five hour drive up the west side of the country which is dry and lonely. The scent of beautiful African bush filled our nostrils and took us back to a time when we felt it all belonged to us and was put there for our personal pleasure. Those days have changed but the memories have not. We checked in at Miombo Lodge on the outer perimeter of the park and headed out for a couple of quick hours of game viewing to whet our appetite. We were greeted by a feast of wildlife and saw more elephants than I have seen in my life to date I think.  It was very special.

We had got carried away with our game viewing, I had been navigating and had temporarily misplaced my sense of direction (I never get lost) and we had to be out of the park by 6pm before dark. We made a mad dash and got to the gate with a few minutes to spare and back to Miombo for a nice dinner and yarn time around the camp fire.

People Along the Way


Our host for the evening was Sharon, who had moved from South Africa 26 years earlier to own and run a horse stud farm. In the last decade, she, along with thousands of other white farmers had their farms taken away, without compensation, and given to black Zimbabwean's who were noted more for their political connections than their farming prowess. Needless to say Zimbabwe, which was once known as the “breadbasket of Africa”, is now importing food and hundreds of thousands of farming jobs have been lost. Sharon was the first of three such farmers that I met in a two to three day period. The amazing thing was that each one of them indicated that they were glad to no longer be farming as they had found easier, more pleasant occupations. What a loss of critical infrastructure to the country.

Unfortunately the next day we saw very little game and all we saw were a few circling vultures who looked like they were keeping an eye on us. Perhaps they thought I was navigating again. We decided to cut our losses and left for the next leg of our trip to Mlibizi, on the western end of Lake Kariba, where we would meet the ferry to take us on a 24 hour ride to the dam wall in the east. Lake Kariba was created by damming up the mighty Zambezi River when we were children. It was designed to produce hydroelectric power for what was then the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland, now Zimbabwe, Zambia and Malawi. It stretches 275 kilometers and is about 30 kilometers across at its widest. It touches on some of the wildest and most inhospitable areas in Zimbabwe.

Manzini Lodge, Mlibisi, Zambezi Valley, Zimbabwe – Errol's world

The Zambezi Valley is known to be extremely hot and if one is going to pick up a tropical disease or meet an unsavory animal that's going to be the place. We were greeted at Manzini Lodge in Mlibisi by Errol the owner and our host. No one else was booked in. I guess that should have been a clue, but we were pleased at the solitude. Manzini Lodge was beautifully positioned on a bay at western end of the lake with gardens which made us feel like we had landed in a tropical paradise. We noted that Errol had a sad looking pontoon boat at his dock and asked him if it was for rent. “Yes, but you have to buy gas for the motor” was the reply. I went off with him to find the one and only gas station in Mlibisi and we duly boarded the boat. Errol struggled in vain to start the pull start engine until he rather sheepishly spotted that he had forgotten to switch on the ignition. We enjoyed our first intro to Kariba as we had a sunset cruise and then enjoyed a nice drink on the deck at the lodge. Errol produced a fine meal of fresh caught fish, but we were a bit perturbed when no dessert was forthcoming. When we enquired, Errol's comment was “Oh you want dessert??” at which point he dashed off to the kitchen and opened some canned fruit and custard which was good enough for us. I was a bit disturbed as we tiptoed our way to bed through the darkness remembering Errol's earlier comment that when he had first taken over the lodge a few months earlier he and his staff had found at least one snake a day. Being a nature lover he told his staff to only kill the green ones and the black ones (deadly poisonous mambas) and leave the others alone. For me the only good snake is a dead one, so I had to bite down hard from running for my life as I tiptoed gingerly through the darkness to my room. We arranged an early breakfast the next morning at 6am as we needed to meet the ferry at 7am. At 5.45am there was no sign of Errol, so I went and knocked on his door and it turns out his alarm had failed him. To his credit he produced a breakfast fit for a king in about 20 minutes flat and we all left on good terms to catch the ferry.

Kariba Ferry

Boarding the ferry was an experience not to be missed. We had to pay a levy to the National Parks Board for “the right to float on the water” and we felt had taken a step back in time as a rickety wooden outdoor table was set up for the receiving of money and issuing of receipts. The NP person had a little wood fire going on the side for warmth along with a blackened metal kettle for the necessary cup of tea as and when needed. It was rather perplexing that all the vehicles had to be loaded in reverse, so those at the back of the lineup had to back in first. The ferry staff did an incredible job of loading 15 vehicles, with the final vehicle being squeezed in with 2 inches to spare on either side leaving the driver no way of getting out other than through his sun visor opening at the top of the vehicle. What an experience. We enjoyed 24 hours of three meals delivered with old fashioned good service and close company with forty or so other adventurers from all parts of the world. We all enjoyed a gigantic sleep over party as our chairs folded down into beds and we all slept side by side in sardine style.

People along the way – Clements

One of the waiters on board was, a very cheerful and capable Zimbabwean called Clements. We got chatting and it was heartbreaking as he expressed his frustration at the lack of opportunities for people such as himself, with a good education and yet no avenues of employment. The destruction of the economy by the current president, Robert Mugabe, was a constant theme as we moved around Zimbabwe and a number of Zimbabweans freely expressed that they are all just waiting for him to die. Clement's final comment was “Zimbabweans are patient people. We will wait and things will improve” I long to see this country turn the corner and begin to realize it's potential.

The Home Stretch – Zambian Copperbelt

After leaving the ferry the next morning we crossed the dam wall at Kariba into Zambia, the country which we had all grown up in. The Kariba dam is an amazing structure, standing about 400 feet high and holding back 275 kilometers of water behind it. It supplies hydro power to both Zambia and Zimbabwe. It's construction in the late 1950s is testimony to the rapid development of each of the countries that was taking place at the time under the much maligned colonial governments.

We had a long day's drive to Chingola, the northernmost part of our trip, and also the town in which most of our youthful memories took place. Google maps told us it would take us 8 hours or so, so we added fifty percent to that and were about right. The Zambian railways have almost ceased operating, so truck traffic to the copper mines on the Zambian Copperbelt, of which Chingola is part, has exploded. The roads were not designed for the weight or volume of traffic and many of the tarred roads have six inch deep ruts in them along with a good supply of potholes scattered erratically here and there. There are two classes of traffic – trucks and everyone else. Trucks are subject to numerous checks and road controls, so it is very common to find a long line up of truck traffic on the left with cars and other light vehicles passing them in the oncoming lane while oncoming vehicles find a way forward on the far side of the road in the dirt to the side of the tarred road. Police roadblocks are prolific and vary from a cheery wave through (because we’re foreigners?) to a rigorous turning on of lights and testing of brakes in search of a fault which might earn them a “gift”. Out of probably over 100 roadblocks in Zimbabwe and Zambia we were only propositioned twice for such “gifts” so were pleasantly surprised by that in fact. We had expected much worse.

Our targeted accommodation in Chingola was with a missionary couple, Ian and Marilyn Campbell who are with Emmaus Mission and have been in Congo and Zambia for twenty five years. We arrived around 9.30pm after 12 hours of hazardous and stressful driving, three hours of which were in the dark, to be cheerfully offered a meal by Marilyn who turns out to be the Cheerful Host Champion of the Year. We were grateful to have arrived in one piece, and with our tummies full we fell asleep easily, ready for an early start the following morning. We had two days in Chingola and we had a lot of memories to recapture.

Hunting Old Haunts in Chingola and Kitwe, Zambian Copperbelt

Nchanga Mine, situated in the town of Chingola, at one point boasted the second largest open pit in the world. Those glory days are over but it is still producing above average grades of copper. Both Neville and Roy had worked on the mine as young men. We had arranged a tour of the mine and were extremely well looked after by the various staff who had been set up to show us around. It was very interesting but my enthusiasm began to fade after the first few hours, whilst the engineering types amongst us would have been happy to stay all day. We eventually extricated ourselves in the early afternoon for a quick bite to eat, followed by a drive around Chingola to visit the various homes we had grown up in.

We managed to talk our way into a couple of them and we reviewed and rehashed some of our memories as today's realities met face to face with our idealized and sanitized recollections of yonder years.

The next day we had planned to play golf at Nchanga Golf Club, previously run by the mine, but no longer. We were expected, and were met by the Zambian Greens Keeper who introduced himself as Johnson and notified us that he would be making  up our foursome as Roy had decided to visit friends. It turns out that Johnson is the club champion and he proceeded to play a flawless game of golf. I am not a golfer but enjoyed my first ever game with a caddy, called Kingsley. It turns out, Kingsley has a 12 handicap ie he's a pretty good player. He sized up my level of golf real quick and he proceeded to hand me the correct club for every shot for the rest of the game and proved quite adept at finding my ball in the rough regularly. Our game of golf cost us $8 dollars to play and $5 for the caddy with the freedom to tip what we liked. So Kingsley who after acting as my personal golf consultant for 4 -5 hours would earn approximately a dollar an hour. It broke my heart. He has a wife who doesn't work and two kids. To make it worse the golf club is grossly underused at present as it is mainly expatriates who play golf. Needless to say generous tips all around were the order of the day.

The next morning we headed towards Kitwe where Al and I had done quite a bit of our growing up. On the way we visited the Kafue Rapids where Al, myself and other friends used to swim, risking our lives in the water from crocodiles and the rocks as we enjoyed letting the current carry us downstream.

On the way in to Kitwe we discovered the sight of our first real home where we started life in the colony in 1955 in a two bedroom wattle and daub mud house. My Dad had later built a large house on the site and with lots of luck and detective work we found it and met the current owners who are missionaries from Florida, with eleven children – not much to watch on TV in Zambia I'm guessing. We then drove around the town of Kitwe unearthing various old hang outs and I discovered that the swimming pool of our old home around which I had proposed to Cheryl is now part of a very nice Lodge and Conference Centre owned by a lady from China.  I also discovered the old Astra movie house, where I first plucked up the courage to hold Cheryl's hand, has been demolished and is now a construction site.

We left on a high note as we had lunch at a very nice, brand new, safari type thatched roof restaurant close to the centre of town. We had found the Copperbelt to be a mixture of decaying old infrastructure along with new growth springing up here and there, which leaves us feeling hopeful for the long term future of the country. We found our way back to Lusaka for a sleepover at a very nice hotel in a small private game reserve. The next day would be the beginning of our Victoria Falls leg of the trip.

Victoria Falls – Wonder of the World and Jewel of Africa

We headed south west from Lusaka towards Livingstone on the Zambian side and Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwean side of  the border. 

En route we took a quick detour to visit what had once been Eureka school, now Namwianga Mission, run by US Missionaries, 7 kms outside of Kalomo . Al and I had been sent there for two terms when I was seven and Al was nine when my parents had to visit England for an extended stay. On the second or third day we were invited by two other older boys to run away from school and hop on the daily mail train which came through Kalomo, once a day and so find our way home to our parents who would no doubt be delighted to see us. We managed the escape and the 7 kilometre walk into town, but missed the train and were duly rounded up. After being threatened by the principal, with a very large cane we settled down to two very happy terms living in fairly remote and primitive conditions. In those two terms those missionaries managed to teach me big chunks of the Bible and I attribute them with planting in me a spark of interest in the gospel, which later brought me to salvation in my early twenties.

After we left the school, Neville remarked over and over again that he couldn't get over the fact that our parents had “plonked us down in such a dump, stuck out in the bush like that while they took off to England”. Al and I never felt hard done by and I think by the standards of Northern Rhodesia at the time, we didn't feel any undue hardship.

We ended our drive sitting on the Zambian side, on the deck of the Royal Livingstone Hotel overlooking the Zambezi River above the Falls and watching a spectacular African sunset.  Life doesn't get much better than that. We dragged ourselves away from that, crossed the border back into Zimbabwe and headed for what was to be a very nice couple of nights and a day in Vic Falls, staying at the Victoria Falls Safari Lodge.

Our lodge was perched on the side of a hill and is situated in the middle of a game reserve with our rooms overlooking miles and miles of bush. The dining and deck area has three levels all of which overlook a large water hole. It is home to several crocodiles, a large population of water birds and over the course of our stay we saw elephant, a herd of buffalo, impala, kudu, warthog and hyenas in the area. It was truly a spectacular outlook.

 Our one day in Vic Falls was jam packed. We started with walking over the bridge over the Zambezi gorge which is hundreds of feet high and has the best view possible of the Falls. There we were overwhelmed with vendors of all kinds, which I was glad about as it saved me having to think about shopping I needed to do for gifts for family as the vendors were adept at pitching their products. What captured our attention the most was the bungee jumping and drop/swing from the bridge over the river.

We almost were persuaded to do the drop/swing which consists of a long free fall drop followed by an even longer swing. It looked like fun but the price was high and I had promised Cheryl I would come home alive so I took refuge behind that excuse. We then did a long walk along the face of the Falls in the rain forest which gave us breathtaking views.






Later in the day we visited the grand old Victoria Falls hotel which used to be one of the five African overnight stop overs on the float planes that used to fly to South Africa from UK in the 1940s when life was slower and lived at a more leisurely pace.


We had promised to drink a toast to our cousin, Robert, who grew up with us in this part of the world with us and who died of cancer a few months back. We shared some of our favorite stories of Rob, said our farewells, and drank the toast in one of the most gracious environments one could imagine. Rob had become a believer in recent years, so we know we will meet up with him again.

Beautiful Botswana  – Will Heaven be as Good as This?

In some ways we had saved the best till last and that was our trip to Chobe in Botswana, about an hour’s drive from Vic Fall over the border from Zimbabwe and into Botswana. Botswana is one of Africa's best kept secrets. They achieved independence from Britain in the 1960s and have been run well ever since. With a population of about 1.5 million, stable democracy, a well-run diamond industry and some of the best game reserves in the world, they have a lot going for themselves. It shows in the roads, law and order and general demeanor of the people who appear confident and proud of their country.

 Chobe Game Reserve is home to 75000 elephants. Elephants can be incredibly destructive to vegetation and can really trash the local environment.

We asked if culling the elephants is a necessity to preserve the land being ravaged beyond recovery. The authorities have taken the view that the elephants will control their own populations so hunting and carrying of any weapon in a game reserve is governed on a shoot to kill policy which is intended to limit poaching which is the scourge of Africa. They estimate in recent years over 400 poachers have been killed in this undeclared war.

We arrived in Kasane, Botswana at our accommodation which was a bit disappointing in some ways as we had been a bit spoilt at Vic Falls and elsewhere. However the staff  were a pleasure to deal with and by the end we had managed to overlook some of the things which us stiff necked foreigners get so worked up about. One example – the bathroom I was using had no shower curtain, and so about half the bathroom would be a flood every time one showered, including the toilet paper roll which was inconveniently placed next to the shower. I made a plan and life carried on.

 
 

 

Over three days in Kasane, we saw concentrations of elephant, buffalo, birds and other animals like we have never seen in all our days in Africa. We were almost within touching distance of elephants on numerous occasions. 










We took a Chobe River cruise and viewed islands which the animals swim to to escape marauding lions and to find green forage in the dry season. These islands are what I imagine heaven will look like one day – teeming with game. It was a wonderful experience.

End of the Road – Makgadigadi Pans, Nata, Botswana

 All good things must come to an end and it was time to say goodbye to Kasane and head south on our way home to Nata, Botswana. The 300km road south was the straightest road I have ever been on and in beautiful condition.


 It was wonderful to see elephants on the side of the road, outside of the game park proper. This is how Africa used to be and I pray my grandchildren will live to see it this way - perhaps not quite as close up as the photo implies. This is not photo shopped - it actually happened at a game reserve in the last couple of weeks in the Pilanesburg Game Reserve. 

Nata is a major Southern African crossroad connecting north to Zambia and Zimbabwe and then on into Congo and beyond. It goes east to Johannesburg and from there into the rest of South Africa. It heads west through the Kalahari Desert, final refuge for the Southern African Bushmen, who have been hunted and hounded by white and black Africans for centuries. From the Kalahari the road goes west to Namibia and from there north to Angola.

We checked in at our accommodation at the Nata Lodge, had a quick snooze and then headed out on the real reason we were there and that was to see the Makgadigadi Pans. It is a huge flood plain area in Southern Botswana which acts as an overflow catchment area from the Okavango swamps when there is flooding in the north. I read it is the remnant of what used to be the largest inland sea in the world. It was spectacular in a quiet, eerie sort of way. Extremely flat, it was a mixture of grassland, with patches of beach like sand interspersed with pans of water. We drove as far as we could to a lookout post without risking getting stuck and overlooked an area of water as far as the eye could see. The feeling of desolation and quiet was quite unnerving. Without a compass I imagine one could easily get turned around in a place like that.

Nev is an expert birder and we added a number of birds to the list we had been building up. It was time to head back to a nice dinner and an early night as we had a long drive home to Johannesburg the next day. Our hotel packed us a picnic lunch and we left on our 1000 km drive home at 5.30am arriving at our destination having done 5000 kms of driving in just over two weeks.

Final Thoughts

We had survived the trip with three siblings and a brother in law without coming to blows, which is an an achievement in itself for four strong personalities. We managed to check off visiting virtually all of the old haunts which formed part of the DNA of our early years. I am glad to have done the trip – it has enabled me to bid farewell to a part of my life which has long since evaporated, but lingered on in a state of romanticized suspended animation in my memory. Southern Africa the way I once knew it is gone – the sun has set on the Great British Empire I was once so proud of. The ashes remain, which make me sad and frustrated, but there are signs of hope for the future if only the politicians in Africa would begin to act for the people and not primarily for their own purposes.

I end with a prayer for Africa in the English words of the South African national anthem “Nkosi Sikheleli”

.

God Bless Africa

Let it's horn be raised.

Listen also to our prayers,

Lord bless us, we are the family of Africa

Rob Cornish

August 2014