A Good Thick Skirt

A leisurely breakfast, and then time to go to the school.  Along the way to the elementary school we met a swarm of Early Childhood Development students.  This is a three year program for 3-5 year olds before they start elementary school.  When I used to come they used to run and hide, but this time a couple of them came and shook my hand, and then all of them followed.  You can’t imagine how your hand feels after you shake hands with about 30 pre-schoolers…and, by the way, can anyone tell me why their little hands are always wet? If the answer is gross, never mind.  I think it was a wonderful sign that they have become used to seeing a white person in their midst who is just a person…I’m not an official in a suit who arrives in a big car, just another person who walks and talks and eats just like they do.

After the elementary school, we visited the secondary school, and I stood there, amazed.  Four years ago we started Form 1 in the early childhood development classroom with volunteer teachers and great deal of faith.  Now we have a real school.  There are classrooms and labs.  The yard is neatly marked off with stones painted white, and there are shrubs planted along the drive. There are flower gardens in front of the buildings, and the whole things is maintained by students.

I met with the Headmaster and we talked about the success of the students.  In November, they write a national exam, to test admission to University.  Anyone who scores a B+ will be financially supported by the government, so university is essentially free.  The Headmaster believes that we will have one or two students who will make it…amazing considering where we were when they entered high school.  We also talked about the needs of the school.  The girls’ teams and the boys’ teams are starting to make their mark in inter-school competition, but they only have one set of uniforms.  Whoever plays first wears them and then quickly strips off and gives them to the other team to wear.  I can’t imagine wearing someone else’s sweaty sports uniform, but they want to show off their school pride.  For about $250 we can buy them another set of uniforms…16 sets of shorts and shirts, so I’m hoping someone will read this and want to help.

The Headmaster asked me to address each class, so we went from one classroom to another.  A real cultural difference hit me: in Canada if some students were sponsored and some paid their own way, I can’t imagine that we would point it out publicly.  In Kenya, in each class the sponsored students were asked to identify themselves by putting up their hands.  I was actually gratified to see that a number of them were prefects or head girls or boys…clearly “my” children are competing nicely with the others.

After I gave inspiring talks to each class, the sponsored students gave me letters that they had written to me, some of which made me want to cry.  I’ll put some of the quotes on the Facebook site.  Then the Headmaster asked two boys to come and meet with us.  These two were apparently not living up to their potential, were not taking their studies seriously, and were taking up sponsored spaces that could be used by more diligent students.  First a lecture from the Headmaster, then a lecture from the pastor, then a lecture from Mama and then I had to talk to them.  I talked about the kind of jobs that they would get without an education: 3D jobs…dirty, dangerous and difficult (or sometimes demeaning).  What I told them was that I wouldn’t tell them to study, that it was up to them, but that the choice they made now would have a big impact on the kind of work they would get to do, and left it like that.  Later in the day, one of them sent me a note to tell me that he hadn’t thought that much about it, and would rather be an engineer, so he  would be diligent from now on.

Home for lunch, more visiting and suddenly it was time to go.  Having been without news, I missed the fact that there had been protests in Kisumu all day.  http://www.nation.co.ke/counties/anti-IEBC-demos-Migori-Kisumu/-/1107872/3234532/-/r1kvsd/-/index.html

The protests had died down by the time we arrived, but on each speed bump as we got close to the airport there was a pile of smouldering truck tires, stinking and filling the air with black smoke.  There were piles of rocks all over the road, and in one place someone had burned all the traffic cones.  To me it doesn’t make much sense…if you put all of that energy into constructing something instead of making a mess there would be all kinds of progress.

We arrived safely at the airport in time for the flight, which was packed because the earlier flights had all been cancelled.  A no-excitement trip to Nairobi, a pick up by an AKU driver and then on to the guest house only to find that I am staying in the same apartment as before, just in a different room.

Up far too early in the morning for a nice breakfast buffet and the bellman/waiter gave me a bill for my spaghetti, and I was on my way back to the airport.  Sunday morning there is virtually no traffic so we sped along Uhuru highway.  The Nairobi Airport has instituted a new security idea since I was here last. All passengers have to get out of vehicles and walk through a screening station.  As I prepared to get out, the driver told me to stay in, and just tell the police that I was old.  I did what he said and we zoomed through with no trouble, rather than me having to join the line through the mystery building.

The plane to Kisumu left early because there were very few passengers.  When it was time to board, we were shepherded out of the building and pointed down the runway.  We all wandered along until someone in a uniform pointed us in a different direction and then we wandered that way in between some planes.  Eventually we came to another person in a uniform who pointed at a plane.  All aboard, I assume, and then we left. It’s only a 45 minute flight, so getting us boarded took almost as long as flying.

Flying over the end of Lake Victoria I had the familiar feeling of going home, and was pleased to see how green it was.  Apollo and his family were there to pick me up and we set off in the same direction as always, although the road has been completely rebuilt, along with the requisite speed bumps. It was amazing to arrive in Ndwara and see every one, although I was greeted with bad news.  Someone had stolen my dog Willy, probably because he was an exceptionally nice dog.  They had gotten another dog for me, also named Willy, but it’s not really the same, since the original Willy was a gift from Auntie Rose.

After lunch we had a meeting with the sponsored students and their parents.  We have now sponsored a total of 30 students, and the first ones are completing Form 4, which is like Grade 12.  The parents spoke again about their despair in not being able to provide for their children, or in many cases, grandchildren. They spoke about how they had prayed for help and never imagined that their prayers could be answered.  And, as usual, they brought me gifts.  One of the mothers made me a beaded mat to put under my teapot on the table.  If you saw this thing in a second hand store you might dismiss it as something cheap, but the fact that this woman who has almost nothing saved enough money to buy the beads, and took the time to make it when I know she has no lighting in  her house makes it a truly remarkable gift.  The parents committee bought be a beaded handbag that says Kenya so when I carry it everyone will know where I belong, and the Widows and Orphans Society also gave me a beaded bag, this time made with wooden beads.

Home for dinner and then visits with the uncles, and time for bed.  Auntie Rose walked over from her house, which must be about 4 miles, and she’s 77,  to visit with me.  I gave her a bottle of Tylenol Arthritis for a present and reminded everyone that they have turned me into a drug dealer among other things.  When she heard about Willy, she promised to find me another puppy that would be just as special.

An uneventful voyage, which I have come to appreciate.

Air Zimbabwe flies directly from Victoria Falls to Nairobi, sometimes.  It has a bit of a problem with understanding that a schedule is like a commitment, and not like a suggestion.  Yesterday they failed to fly, and today they changed the departure time to two hours earlier, which could have been a big surprise to anyone who arrived at the airport on time.  Fortunately, the Zimbabweans knew to check.  I didn’t book with AZ, so consequently I had to fly back to Johannesburg and then on to Nairobi.  I wasn’t bothered,  I had enough time for a leisurely dinner at the J’Burg airport.

That was the plan…the reality, as always, was different. We got to the airport…no plane.  One of my colleagues offered to buy me a drink, so we went to the cafe.  We decided not to eat because the plane was due to arrive “soon, very soon”.  One beer and two cappuccinos after the scheduled arrival time, the plane was spotted flying over the airport.  After a couple of circles it decided to land.  Naturally, we then had to wait while they groomed the plane…which always makes me imagine a squad of monkeys picking fleas.

As we finally boarded the plane, an agent pulled me out of line to tell me that my connection was now very short (good-bye dinner) and that when I arrived I must run as fast as I can to make my connection.  She clearly disregarded any evidence that I  am not built for running.  The cabin attendant helpfully  moved me and two other people to the front of the plane so that we could be first off, presumably to give us a head start on the running.

When we arrived, I had to go through the same connections area that I spent many hours in on my way.  This time I rushed up to the desk, and a lovely little man not only managed an immediate boarding pass, but rushed me to the front of the line in security and waved me on my way…to the end of a very long line that had to go through passport control.  There were only two agents and the line went down the hall and around a corner and then doubled back on itself.  I watched for a few minutes and estimated that it would take about 90 minutes to get to the front, and I had about 30 to catch my plane.  The man behind me told me to go to the front and push  my way in; feeling very unCanadian I went to the front and looked for someone official to give me advice.  No one.  The agents never even looked up from the person in front of them, and they were being very methodical.  I was looking at my boarding pass, and looking at my phone and wondering what to do when a nice Chinese man asked me if I was OK. I told him my problem and he lifted up the barrier and said come with us.  I somehow got swallowed by a tour group from Shanghai who were exploring Africa.  He was the tour guide and the only one who spoke English, so I kept smiling and saying xiexie and nihao, which is about 50% of my Chinese vocabulary.  People kept patting me and smiling, so I must have looked a little wild-eyed, but every time I’d say my two words they would nod and clap.  If nothing else, I think I provided them with a little entertainment while they waited.

I finally made it up to the agent, who looked at my passport and told me to run, since they had already called my flight, and the monitors said “boarding”.  For the first time ever, my gate was A1, the first one that I came to.  The boarding sign was flashing but no one was moving, and the agent told me to sit down. We waited, and we waited.  Finally they let us start boarding, but actually all that happened was we waited in the tunnel to the plane because the door to the plane was locked and no-one had a key.  We waited and waited.  Finally an out of breath and very harassed looking young woman ran up with a key and opened the door, and we boarded.

Arrived in Nairobi tired and hungry and feeling a little grubby to face the immigration line up. At this point I couldn’t decide whether it was really confusing or I was just not interpreting well.  There was a line that said Kenyan Citizens, and one that said COMESA citizens, and clearly that wasn’t me.  There were two more choices, on that said Other Passports, and one that said VISAS.  I had an e-visa but that needed to be traded for a real visa so I went in the VISAS line. The woman behind me was from Nigeria, and she also had an e-visa so I felt reassured as the line gradually inched forward.  After several minutes, a woman in a uniform spied our paperwork and told us we were in the wrong line…we should be in the Other Passports line.  This was actually good news as it was a shorter line and our line had only progressed through two people while we were waiting.

Eventually I got to the front of the line.  The e-visa has a barcode on it, but the agent had no barcode number.  He had to enter all my information into the computer by hand and then write out my real visa by hand and then stick it in my passport and then stamp it with great authority.  All the time he was asking me questions: “is this your e-visa?” ummm, yes.  “Are you Margaret Law?” ummm, yes, (and only in my head, no, I stole this passport from a New York shoe store owner named Beverly).  “Do you have a place to stay?” ummm, yes, strangely it’s the hotel that is listed on the e-visa.

Eventually I was set free to find my luggage, then my driver.  Nairobi airport has been rebuilt since the big fire in 2013.  The terminals are actually very nice but I suspect that the parking and road access were designed by a camel driver. After we got in the car it took up 32 minutes to get out of the parking lot because it was so congested.  The hotel was nice, I had booked it on Expedia based on the pictures which is always a bit of a gamble, but this one actually matched the description.  By then I was starving so I asked the bellman who showed me my room if food was available.  He told me that his real job was in the restaurant, which was closed, but he could bring me some pasta.  By the time I was showered he was back with a decent spaghetti carbonara and an apple.  Then I found out I couldn’t pay him because I had no Kenyan money, so I gave him a tip in USD and he said we’d sort it out in the morning.

We presented our paper this morning, and the conference ended after lunch and then we all went to Victoria Falls.  No matter how many times I go there, each time is different. It really is one of the most beautiful places on earth – mystical and natural, and the Ministry of Tourism has managed a nice balance between making it accessible and keeping it original. The fence that separates the path from the edge is made out of a local vine that has nasty long spikes so that it is a reasonable deterrent but doesn’t stand out from the background.  A determined person could certainly climb over it, but my Zimbabwean colleagues are of the mind that if you do that, you get what you deserve.  It’s a very different perspective on our Canadian approach to protecting idiots from their destiny.

Victoria Falls was “discovered” by Doctor Livingstone and at one end is a large statue of him and a wooden canoe that he reputedly arrived in.  It’s an interesting interpretation, since one assumes that the Falls were here long before he was, and the local people certainly knew about them because his guide told him about them, so discovered, in this case, means something like got a story about them in the UK press.

From Livingstone’s diary: “no one could perceive where the vast body of water went; it seemed to lose itself in the earth, the opposite lip of the fissure into which it disappeared being only 80 feet distant. At least I did not comprehend it until, creeping with awe to the verge, I peered down into a large rent which had been made from bank to bank of the broad Zambesi, and saw that a stream of a thousand yards broad leaped down a hundred feet, and then became suddenly compressed into a space of fifteen or twenty yards.”

He describes it far better than I ever could.

Because there have been unusually heavy rains the water level is very high.  Rocks which were above the water last time I was here are now deeply under water, and the noise of the falls is incredible and unrelenting.  It was a brilliant sunny day, so there were rainbows at every corner, and in many cases, you could see both ends.  I even walked through one, and although my companions said they could see the colours of the rainbow on my jacket, there was no pot of gold.

At the other end of the path is the bridge to Zambia.  Before the bridge was built, people crossed on rafts pulled by a cable, something that looks unimaginable to me…travel today is so staid.  The bridge was part of Cecil Rhodes plan to build the Capetown to Cairo highway, which was never completed.  It now carries heavy traffic carrying copper ore, since Zambia has no seaport.  The trucks travel in convoys, many from Chinese companies with Chinese drivers, making a person question the contracts with the Chinese that are supposed to ensure work for qualified local people.

As we were admiring the bridge we saw someone bungee jumping off it.  I’m just not that brave, as we watched her swinging back and forth under the bridge, upside down, until someone was winched down to turn her over and winch her back up again.  All I could remember was that in 2014 the cord had broken when an Australian woman had jumped from there.

Eventually we had to leave, although I could stay there for days,  Back to the hotel for our final party, at which I discovered that my Russian speaking friend was actually President of the association that hosted the conference, as well as host of the party.  Ended up chatting with him quite late, as he tried to encourage me to consider the Zimbabwe Open University as my next employer.

Tired, happy and time for bed.

The staff at this hotel are excellent and very well trained.  They greet you every time they pass, and always smile. The only thing odd is that instead of saying “good morning” or “good evening” they all say  “refreshing morning” or “refreshing evening”.  It’s gotten so that I try to trick them by greeting them first, with a question, such as “how are you?” but after they answer, they still say “refreshing…”. I must remember this for the next time that a librarian says that you can’t make staff smile.

The day started with a person who was responsible for reviewing everything that was said yesterday.  It was fascinating to hear someone’s rendition of what I said, and to see which parts he underlined or bolded as being really important.  I felt like I had cracked a code today because I finally figured out what people were talking about when they referred to the Permsec.  It’s the Permanent Secretary for Education, similar to our Deputy Minister, who spent the day with us yesterday.

There was an amazing presentation this afternoon about how your perspective on reality shapes the way in which you do research – I realize this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea – but I wish I had heard it before I tackled my thesis.  I ended up going for a beer in the bar with the speaker, which led to another beer. We were joined by two of his colleagues.  He had purchased a bottle of bourbon and wasn’t going to drink it all by himself, which led to the inevitable outcome: .a large and noisy, and somewhat incoherent  argument about reality.   Lots of laughter. The Zulu  dancers came along, and the learned professor, a man of substantial proportions, got up to dance with them and did a creditable performance.  I was admiring them, one in particular was very fine…The professor then came back and told us that they all had day jobs: one was a teacher, a bank clerk, and one, the one I admired, was a truck driver (Perhaps only my husband will think this is very funny and nod his head wisely.

About the time that my sense of reality told me that it was time for me to quit drinking, two hippos appeared on the lawn grazing.  I didn’t realize they came this far out of the water, nor did I realize they grazed. I doubt if I could bring one home though – a middle-sized female weighs something like 2600 lbs. It was a mother and a daughter. They are glossy and quite beautiful in a stately sort of way.

It seemed that there was time for another drink after all, and I ended up talking to one of the prof’s friends who did his PhD in Leningrad.  Back when the USSR had money they used to take bright students from Africa to do their PhD’s for free. The first year was spent learning Russian and studying Marxism.  When I really decided that it was time for bed, out of my mouth came “Dozvidanya”, more or less good-bye in Russian.  I was quite surprised since I didn’t know that I knew that…as was he.  I wonder if I drank more if I would become fluent?

Oh for a cup of coffee! The coffee in the restaurant is self serve, generated one cup at a time by a machine.  The first surprise is that the default setting is to add sugar to everything – you have to press a special button to hold back the sugar.  First cup of undrinkable coffee.  The second surprise is that the other default setting is to add milk – you have to press another button to hold back the milk.  Second cup of undrinkable coffee.  Press three buttons and you get a cup of hot black liquid that leaves a scum in the cup.  Switch to tea.

Lunch was served as a buffet, and I had fish and steak.  The chef came up to me, worried in case I didn’t like the chicken since I didn’t have any. I told him I could only eat so much, and he told me that I needed to eat more to stay “well”.  I smiled, and the next thing I knew he brought me a piece of chicken on a little plate.  If I get any more “well” my clothes won’t fit.  The man next to me was crunching his way through a bowl of what looked like black cheezies – I had to ask…he offered me some…they were some kind of worm that drops out of trees, deep fried…I declined.

After lunch, the MC talked about the challenges of speaking after lunch because people were saying their prayers.  He then demonstrated someone nodding off to sleep.  The speakers were good, though, and we all managed to stay awake.

While it is beautiful outside eating beside the river, at 11 degrees, it’s a little chilly.  This morning, the mayor of Victoria Falls warned us about the dangerous animals, and reminded us that they were not pets.  I know that elephants kill a certain number of tourists each year.

Dinner was accompanied by a marimba band, starting up with Yellow Bird, another multi-ethnic experience. The instruments are actually apparently called Esmaraldians, and are home-made with dried gourds underneath.  I found a picture of one (below) made with bamboo. When the band was taking a break, a small boy ran up and started playing the marimba with a toy truck. His mom ran up and I thought that she was going to remove the child, but no, she just wanted to photograph him.  Then he picked up the Hosho  (a thing like a maraca made out of a gourd) and started using it to beat on  the marimba.  His dad appeared and I though he was going to remove him, but no, he wanted to take a video of him.  I’m not sure of the etiquette of musical instruments, but I’m guessing this isn’t really appropriate.

When the band came back, they tried to take the maraca from the child but he started to yell, so they played around him.  Eventually his parents came to get him but he kept escaping and running back to hide under the instruments.  I’m not surprised that elephants kill tourists, but I am surprised that musicians don’t.  The child stopped me from complaining about the German gent who was dancing by himself in front of the band and taking a selfie video.

I dozed and read novels in the sun for most of the day, enjoying the river running by, and the birds yelling in the trees. I didn’t realize how much we hear familiar birds in the background and don’t really attend to the them, until I was surrounded by the tweets and whistles of unfamiliar birds.

I managed to phone the endlessly patient and helpful tech guy at work who talked me through the 197 steps needed to unlock my computer.   That guy deserves a medal! Once that was dealt with I decided to write my blog, but managed to trigger the hacker-blocker by entering the wrong ID and password…clearly not my best day, technologically speaking.

My friend, Peter, arrived from Nairobi at that point and we headed off for a beer. I always ask for a local beer – there were two from Zimbabwe and I chose the lighter one…it was one of the oddest tasting beers that I have ever had, vaguely sweet, and vaguely flat.  An experience not to be repeated. We sat and watched the warthogs wander by, eating the grass.  I’m not sure that I could get enough paperwork to bring one home, and they’d probably be hard to keep through the winder, but they are awfully cute.  I feel that they might be my totem…they are cute, they take care of their children, they are useful and non-threatening.

When Peter left, I ran  into a friend from Zimbabwe, and we went to dinner together. Dinner was a choice of stir-fried meat accompanied by various vegetables.  Crocodile or warthog? I had chicken…During dinner there were traditional dancers, accompanied by drummers.  As we were having a drink and watching them dance (it’s not hard to watch bare chested men do athletic type things) we turned around and saw two elephants strolling across the lawn about 20 feet from where we were sitting.  It was Africa as everyone imagines it is.

So I was happy to be on my travels again.  Edmonton to Calgary was an uneventful event. In Calgary I had a chance to charge my Kindle in preparation for the very long flights ahead.  First surprise, my Kindle became very fussy and would only charge if I held it upside down.  Even my technology has become demanding…but I did manage to hold it upside down long enough to feed it enough electricity to get me to London.  On the plane I was seated next to an enormously fat man, and I had visions of unwanted physical intimacy for the next several hours, but, miraculously, the seat next to him was empty and he was able to move away from me and take up two seats.

Eventually we arrived in Heathrow for my 7 hour wait…if anyone is interested it takes very little effort to walk 5 miles in that airport.  Fitbit provided me with lots of entertainment as I walked through the underground tunnels of Terminal 5 from one wing to another. You’d think with all the money they spent on that terminal, a few more hundred to buy some cheerful paint for those tunnels would have been well spent.  It also gave me lots of time for people-watching, and by my calculation only about 47% of people look pleasant…at least when they are in Heathrow airport.  I tried changing money, but there were no Kenyan shillings to be had.

We finally set off for Johannesburg.  For the first half of the trip there was a beautiful crescent moon outside my window, and for the second half I got to watch the sun come up over the Sahara.  The plane was a brand new airbus, and all along the windows there were these little bins between the seat and the side of the plane.  They weren’t big enough to keep a purse in, so I’m not sure what the designers had in mind?  Perhaps yet another place to lose your glasses, Kindle, or other small items.  British Airways does issue every passenger with a toothbrush, however.  The dinners on both BA flights were quite good, and the breakfasts were oddly inedible.  One of them was an icy granola bar that had been perhaps stored on the plane’s back porch, and the other one was a futon embedded with something that might have been created by an alien who had heard about sausages but never seen one.

Eventually, after about 30 sleepless hours we arrived in Jo’burg.  I had no boarding pass  I’ve done this before, so I went to the desk to get one.  My plan was to find my gate and treat myself to breakfast.  No one at the desk.  No one due at the desk until 3 hours (more or less) before the plane is due to leave.  I met a nice young woman from Maryland who was in the same predicament, and we sat and chatted.  It was her first time travelling outside of America, and her first time travelling by herself.  First she showed me the secret pocket in her pants, and I didn’t tell her it wasn’t a secret if she showed people.  Then she told me that her mom said that if she was left someone alone she should find a nice middle aged lady to sit with — apparently, whatever my friends and family may think — I look like a nice middle aged lady.

Finally, about 2 hours before the place was due to leave, the person appeared at the desk. . Several people handed over their passports and got boarding passes.  I handed over my passport and the computer made an ugly noise.  The agent continued to swipe my passport and the computer continued to reply with an ugly noise.  The agent asked if I minded stepping aside and waiting while she dealt with the rest of the line.  Then we did the swiping ugly noise thing a few more times. Apparently the computer hadn’t healed.  She then phoned her supervisor (from the Air Namibia desk because her phone wasn’t working).  The supervisor helpfully walked her through the process over the phone, resulting in the same ugly noise.  This was repeated, but I think the agent was getting frustrated because this time she held the phone up to the computer so her supervisor could also hear the ugly noise.  Once again I stepped aside to allow her to process the line that had built up.  Next step, a phone call to the British Airways main office, who also talked her through the process that resulted in the ugly noise.  Repeated again, with the phone held up to the computer so they could also hear the ugly noise. She kept apologizing to me, and I could see that she was doing everything that she could think of.

Suddenly, she realized that it was 10 minutes before I was due to board, and she phoned someone and spoke in another language, extremely urgently.  This produced a little man who hand wrote me a boarding pass and very quickly led me through security and pointed me at my gate.  I arrived just as they started loading the people with small infants.  I had now spent 4 hours in the airport without even a cup of coffee and felt a little sorry for myself.

When the gate agent tried to check me in, the computer made an ugly noise, remarkably similar to the previous ugly noise.  She phoned her supervisor who helpfully talked her through the process that resulted in the ugly noise.  She tried phoning the transfer agent but I told her that wouldn’t work because that phone wasn’t working.  Then back to her supervisor, more ugly noise, then British Airways main office, more ugly noise.  Finally the entire plane was loaded except for me, and she said to me that she had to let me on the plane because my luggage was already there, so why didn’t I just go, without being checked in and she would worry about it later.  OK.  When I got on the plane everyone stared at me, probably wondering why they didn’t want to let me on the plane.

The cabin attendant on the plane handed out immigration forms for Zimbabwe, and helpfully gave me one that had already been filled in by one of the pilots.  At least I was assured that the pilot was old enough to know what he was doing, and young enough to be alert…he was also single.  I returned that form in exchange for a blank one.  When we got to Zimbabwe everything was straightforward.  The immigration officer apologized because my visa was $75 and,he said, if I had only been American it would have been $30.

Finally, 36 sleepless hours later, I arrived at my hotel, and made it to my room.  The bellman reminded me to close the sliding doors when I was in the bathroom to avoid having monkeys and baboons come into  my room and help themselves to things.  I  thanked him, had a shower and fell into bed.

Hunger woke me in time for dinner.  It was beautiful sitting in an outdoor restaurant by the Zambezi River, listening to a band playing what I think were marimbas. In a moment of cultural confusion, I realized they were playing Never on a Sunday, and wondered if they knew what the song was about.

I thought I could blog before I went back to sleep but, alas, by fumbling, I managed to lock myself out of my computer.  I didn’t know you could actually do that, so I am blaming lack of sleep.  I held my Kindle upside down for a while, and went back to sleep.

After a leisurely breakfast, we set off for Hwange National Park, the largest national park in Zimbabwe. It’s much different than Nairobi National Park…much more remote and wild, and the animals are much more wary of cars.  There is only one road through it, a single lane track that was tarred about 25 years ago, and hasn’t had anything done to it since.  The road was constructed by the military during the war, so there was no reason to ever upgrade it.  It’s partly tarred, partly gravel, interspersed with lots of dirt.  In some places its incredibly rough, and we felt like our teeth were being shaken loose in our heads.

Between Victoria Falls and the Park we passed a coal mining area, that was as black and bleak as the old photos of mining in Wales.  Everything was covered in black dust, and it looked as though nothing would ever grow there again.  The coal is essential here, it is one of the main sources of electricity.

Inside the grounds we saw lots of animals: herds of zebras and various kinds of deer, giraffes, warthogs and mongooses (mongeese?).  Hwange is famous for its elephants, however, and we saw lots of them.  They are so impressive in the wild. We saw them drinking, with little ones swimming alongside their mothers. We saw them rolling in the mud and blowing dust on themselves.  We even saw them chasing some deer, kudu I think,away from the water hole where they were drinking. It is when they cross the road in front of you that you realize just how big they are.  They are wary of cars, and are always watching out of the corner of their eyes.

We saw giraffes drinking from a water hole – it appears to be a very awkward activity, as they have to keep spreading their legs until their heads can bend down far enough.  Then they hop back up all in one motion when they are done.  They were also wary, and one of them seemed to be keeping watch the whole time that the smaller ones were watching.

Just as we left the park, we were amazed to see a family of lions drinking from a water hole. Even Buhle said she had never seen them in the wild before. I doubt if my pictures will turn out, they were quite far away, but it was amazing to just sit and watch them drink and then go and lay down in the sun.  They are a beautiful colour, and amazingly hard to see here as they really match the colours of the savannah.

Just as we got to our hotel, the sun went down.  The hotel is built in a crescent shape overlooking a slight valley that has been busy all evening with elephants walking back and forth.  We ate dinner outside, and just watched them go by.  I was surprised by how noisy they are, calling to each other, and grunting and bellowing.  There are lots of babies, and you can see how cautious the mothers are.  The restaurant is outside, with tables under thatched roofs, and as we ate, there was a steady parade of elephants passing by a few yards away.  I had eland for dinner…they also had warthog, but I just couldn’t bring myself to eat it.

When we came up to our rooms, we were surprised to find that there was one very large elephant in the parking lot, on the outside of the crescent, just below our balcony.  He was nosing around, checking the garbage cans, moving a ladder out of his way, and tearing branches off the trees.  Every once in a while he would bellow.  He was big enough that he was sweeping the roof of the garage with his trunk, apparently looking for any fruit that might have fallen out of the trees.

I have been sharing a room with a Ghanaian colleague, and it has been very easy.  Tonight was the first time I wished I were along – I would have slept with the window open and listened to the animals in the night, but she didn’t feel safe without it closed and locked.  I’ll just have to come back.

Buhle and I decided that no trip to Victoria Falls was complete without afternoon tea at The Victoria Falls Hotel…the oldest hotel  here.  Unfortunately, we just couldn’t fit it into our schedule, so we settled for lunch instead.  The building is typical colonial grandeur…a huge sprawling white building with wood paneled smoking rooms and sitting rooms.  There’s furniture covered with animal skins, and large photographs of members of the royal family.  There are old maps showing England’s dominion over the world, including one that says “the sun never sets on the British Empire.”  The doormen are clad in white trousers and pith helmets, and the guests appear to be largely wearing safari garments.

The location of the site is spectacular, below the falls and looking across the bridge to Zambia towards the falls.  It was started in 1904, originally to house the engineers for the. bridge, which was an essential part of Cecil Rhodes dream for a Capetown to Cairo railway.  There is a sign on the grounds showing the distance to Capetown in one direction and Cairo the other way.  As soon as the railway from Capetown was open, a tourism industry was started.  Apparently there were trolley cars down to look at the falls, but staff had to push them back uphill. We sat on the terrace and had a very nice (expensive) lunch, and watched the world go by.

Later we went for a boat ride on the Zambezi River.  The ticket included all the wine, beer or spirits we could drink, but strangely, not cider, which was $5 a bottle.  We sat looking out at the river bank and drank our wine and floated along the river, between Zimbabwe and Zambia.  Apparently sometimes there are elephants and other animals, but today we only saw crocodiles and hippos.

I learned lots about hippos and they really don’t sound very nice.  A family has one male and several females.  The male is so protective that he will kill any other males, including his own male children, so the mothers hide male children in the bushes until they are old enough to make their own way.  The thing that surprised me most is that hippos can’t swim, they walk along the bottom, staying submerged for up to none minutes, and then pop up to breathe.  That explains something that I heard here earlier…that in high water times, sometimes hippos get swept over the falls.  The other things that I learned is that when they open their mouths, when they look like they are yawning, that is a sign that they are very angry and about to charge.  The males mark their territory by flicking their dung around with their tails…which led to several jokes about shit hitting fans.

Although hippos are considered to be one of the most dangerous animals around, and there are really a lot of crocodiles, more people are killed in Zimbabwe every year by elephants than by any other animals.

The name Zambezi comes from a local Tonga word, Kasambezi, which means the place where adults swim.  They believed that the river was enchanted and that you couldn’t go there without magical protection.  As well as animals, there were mermaids in the river. The Tonga are the only local people who swim in the river…they believe that they have a special relationship with crocodiles, they don’t both the animals, and the crocodiles don’t bother them.  Yesterday we actually saw a man climb out of the water, so perhaps it is true.

There were only about 40 people on the boat, but strangely, two were from Edmonton, and even more strangely, one was the ex-wife of a close friend.  The world is indeed an odd place.