16. Elephants On The Road

You’ll recall from the last blog that we had said our goodbyes in South Africa and were about to embark on the journey north to Zambia. For those of a nervous disposition, or those pressed for time and wishing to jump to the conclusion, let me tell you right now that we arrived safely, and in good spirits.

We’d planned our route very carefully, looking at distances, researching border crossings, checking out the online forums for advice (because if it's on the internet it's bound to be true), and we ended up confident that the journey was do-able in a fairly relaxed manner giving us plenty of time to enjoy the view. We even built in large margins for error, so we knew we had more than enough time to get to each of our waypoints while it was light. It’s 2100km, and apparently you can do this journey in 2 days; we planned to do it in 4. 

We decided to go up through Botswana (rather than Zimbabwe), because, although it’s a couple of hundred kilometers further, it does have the twin benefits that the border crossings are apparently easier, and you’re less likely to be kidnapped for ransom by armed despots.

Our days were planned to go like this:

Day 1, 1002km: set off midnight, arrive Martin’s Drift border post 06:30, be through the border by 08:30, be at our campsite in an elephant sanctuary in Nata, Botswana, by 13:30. It gets dark about 18:00, so that’s a nice 4h30m margin in case of delays.

Day 2, 314km: get up early to see the elephants, leave around 11:00, arrive Kazungula Ferry around 13:30, be through the border by 14:30, be at our campsite at Victoria Falls by 16:00.

Day 3, 477km: get up early and see the falls, leave around 11am to arrive at a guest house in Lusaka by 17:00.

Day 4, 319km: have leisurely breakfast, leave at 09:00 after the first rush of traffic in Lusaka, stop at the missionary-run Fig Tree Cafe for lunch around 12 noon, arrive Ndola around 15:00.

Now, before anyone shrieks “Naive fools! This isn't Europe you know!”, we’d talked to quite a few people and looked at a few travel forums, and this itinerary was eminently sensible.

So, day 1, we arrive at the South Africa / Botswana border as planned at 06:30... and joined the back of a queue at least a kilometer long. Turns out this was the day that 200 cars were returning to Botswana from an annual gathering of some international church. Gosh. So a border crossing which was supposed to take a maximum of 2 hours actually took us 6.

We’d hoped to be through the border by 8:30, but in the end we got into Botswana at 12:30 with a 6-hour drive ahead of us to the campsite. By this point our usually patient and compliant kids were showing clear signs that they had just about had enough.

The main road up Botswana isn’t all that great. It’s full of potholes, there are frequent herds of cattle blissfully chewing cud while they wait for you to crash into them, and there is the ever-present risk that elephants will just wander in front of you as you drive.

The other big problem is that speed limits are frequently not sign-posted. You just have to know that the approach and departure of a town is 80kmh, and the bit in between is 60kmh. And for ‘town’ read ‘two or more  huts’. So it wasn’t entirely surprising when, as evening approached, a police officer stepped into the road and waved us in. We [Ed... Jason is being generous here... I was driving] [JCS...You're right, I was being generous, you despicable criminal] were doing 80kmh, but unfortunately this was in a 60 limit. There was no way we could have known.

Before we were stopped, the satnav was saying we’d be at the campsite at 18:00 - just about ok to get there and get the tent up before it got too dark. After we finished with the police it was looking more like 18:45 so we decided to bail out and find a closer campsite. Claire had the inspiration to look at Points Of Interest in the satnav, and found a campsite close by that turned out to be excellent. Not so many elephants, but a lovely spot with a nice restaurant and we decided we deserved a nice meal after a tough day.

Day 2 dawned and we thought we’d pop in to the elephant sanctuary we were supposed to stay at the night before, so after paying the speeding fine at the local police station (and they were somewhat surprised that we had bothered), we set off. The website said that the road was unsuitable for road cars, and that a 4x4 was required. Well we have a 4x4 so we thought we would be ok. Turns out we weren’t. About 1km down the road we got totally beached in soft sand with a full car and a heavy trailer. Claire and I spent half an hour digging the trailer out and turning it round by hand, and, with the weight off the back of the car, I then managed to get the car out, smoking the clutch in the process. It’s quite unnerving to be in the middle of nowhere with no support driving a car which is spewing smoke from the engine compartment.

But, here’s the thing, had we not had that speeding fine the night before we’d have pressed on to this campsite and got stuck on the road in the dark with no other options. It’s not often in this world that you are ever thankful for a speeding ticket.

The good news is that we got the car out of the dune, turned round, and managed to drag the trailer out and back to the main road. The next hour was a bit fraught as we had to get confidence back that the car was ok and not going to break down - a dead clutch on the M1 in the UK is inconvenient - the same on the R1 in Botswana is a disaster. But it was fine, and we got to the Kazungula ferry across the Zambezi in good time at about 14:00. 

On the approach to the ferry we finally saw what we had been hoping to see - a herd of elephants crossing the road. It was a great end to the Botswana leg of the trip.

As you approach the river, people come up touting for whatever business they can get; changing money, looking after your car, selling you insurance. We eventually managed to fend them off enough to enjoy the trip over the river. 

Crossing the Zambezi was quite a moment for us - one of the iconic things to do at some point in your life, only slightly marred by explaining, again, to that guy that, yes, we're white, but that in no way means that we are rich. Eventually we gave him the equivalent of £1 and he promised to sit on our trailer and not steal anything.

Customs and immigration were a breeze, the car was stamped through with no issues, and within half an hour of leaving the ferry we were on our way to Livingstone. Moreover, we were in Zambia. Still two days away from our destination, but nonetheless in Zambia. 

It’s an odd thing, but as soon as we were on Zambian soil, our stress levels went down - I guess something to do with knowing people in the country; having a number to call if anything went wrong. It’s daft, really, because it would be somewhat inconvenient for anyone to travel 14 hours down from Ndola to help us out, in just the same way it would be if your mate called you at home in Manchester/Houston and asked you to kindly pop over and pick him up from Munich/Mexico City (delete as culturally appropriate). Still, it was comforting to know we knew people.

The Maramba River Lodge campsite was great, and within 4km of Victoria Falls. Bounded by a river, at dinner that night we saw a hippo and a crocodile just over the balcony, and apparently an elephant walked through the camp in the night. Quite a cool place. In the morning of day 3 we packed up and went out early to see the falls. 

Considering Vic Falls is one of the 7 natural wonders of the world, the area is pretty low key. There’s a fairly subtle entrance on the Zambian side which takes you into a carpark/curio market. It’s $20 per person to go into the falls and $5 to park your car, which we thought was quite a lot. Randomly we got talking to one of the security guys and came round to the fact that we were missionaries and coming to live in Zambia and he went and chatted to the entrance people on our behalf and got us in half price. In Zambia, it really is all about relationships. Next time we go, though, we’ll be Zambian residents and then it’s only $7 each. If you get chance to go, please visit Ephraim in shop 46 - he was disappointed that we couldn’t afford to buy anything so we said we’d send some rich westerners his way.

At this time of year it’s dry season and the flow over the falls is as low as it gets. It’s still impressive, but not nearly as impressive as it will be in March. Consequently there were few people around and we could wander in peace. Our friendly security guard showed us round for a while and took us out onto the rocks (strictly forbidden for the unaccompanied), and then left us to it. We had a pleasant hour leaning on railings admiring the geology and watching the insane throw themselves down the rapids attached to bits of polystyrene.

Here and there are information boards with some of the history of the falls. They are bizarrely inconsistent - one board tells us that ‘previous generations would have seen the water falling into gorge number 2, rather than the present gorge’. The water has been falling into its present gorge for at least 200,000 years, which would mean that the sign writer counts Homo Erectus as a ‘previous generation’, now I love good prose as much as the next man but that's stretching it a bit even for me. Another board talks about the start of the Jurassic era 200 years ago (that would be 200 million years ago), and still another board describes ‘stone age visitors’ to the falls 2000 years ago, which surprised me because the orthodox interpretation of history sees the stone age ending about 6000BC when some enterprising chap discovered how to smelt copper. It was interesting to me to discover that the Roman empire was, at least according to the historians of the Victoria Waterfalls Trust, a stone age civilisation. Here's a picture of Reuben, shaking his head with incredulity at the folly.

But dodgy history aside, it was awesome, and we’re looking forward to going back there in rainy season to see the falls in all their watery splendour.

We’d been told that the journey from Livingstone to Lusaka, the capital city, was between five and six hours, and since we had booked into a missionary guest house for the night we were fairly relaxed about setting off, so we were on the road about noon. 

Zambia has lots (and I mean lots) of police check points, and the convention is that you approach them slowly with your main and hazard lights on, roll down your window, take off your sunglasses, and greet the officer loudly and cheerfully. We’d done this at every check so far and been waved through with pleasant words. 

Just on the outskirts of Livingstone, however, was a checkpoint that I didn’t see in time, approached too fast, and ended up with the police woman putting her hand out to show me to stop. After that she was looking for any reason to haul us in, and she objected to the way our bikes were being carried on the roof. She waved us in to the police compound and told us they were impounding our car - obviously a nervous moment. 

As we drove in there was another police guy driving out and we stopped alongside him to ask where we had to go. It turns out he was the chief inspector of the division and shook his head when we explained what had happened, that we were new in Zambia, and were not tourists. I got the feeling that this particular police woman was known for doing this. He told us to follow him out and he talked to the guys at the check point after which we were waved through with a cheery “go well” and “God bless your journey”. Again, as I said above, Zambia is all about relationships. Everything happens in a manner dependent on the way you deal with people - in fact, since arriving in Ndola we’ve been ensuring we stop longer than we need to at our local police check point to get to know the guys there; you never know when a friendly police inspector might come in useful.

The rest of the journey to Lusaka was fairly uneventful until we got to about 40km from town and discovered the road had been removed. Literally. There was a guy with a flag waving you off the side of the tarmac, and beyond him there was just sand. Not only that, but the ‘diversion’ was completely un-signed, and basically through the bush. At this point is was 5pm and starting to get dark, and there was hardly anyone else on the ‘road’. But when the only road between the 4th and 1st largest towns in Zambia is missing, there’s little option but to do what a man with a flag tells you. So in approaching darkness, and on one of the worst ‘roads’ I have ever seen, we slowly carried on. At one point the track dove off into a carpark full of trucks and crowds of drunk guys before before emerging again, and then later it went through a quarry - the road actually wound down into the pit of the quarry before climbing up again past a whole village on fire and back to the trail.

I can’t describe how stressful it was - we were both tense, the kids were fractious, and of course the satnav was having a hissy-fit because we were so far from any known road that even David Livingstone would have scratched his head and wondered if he wasn't just a little bit off piste.  After about two hours of this we found ourselves behind a truck, which we guessed, most likely, was going through to Lusaka so we just stayed behind it and went wherever it went - if we hadn’t had that I don’t know what we’d have done because in the dark it was impossible to know which way to go. It took us 4 hours to do 40km, making our easy 5-hour journey into a deeply stressful 9 hours. It’s incredible that the government can just remove the main (and only) road between two major cities without any other provision. 

At least we had the number of the guest house and kept in contact with them, so it was that when we arrived at 9pm they were waiting for us with a hot meal and cheery company. It was a nice end to a tough day.

The next day, our last on the road, was fine. We got up late, had a leisurely breakfast, and left just after nine. After negotiating the Lusaka traffic we were on our way. We stopped off for lunch at a very cool diner called The Fig Tree Cafe, run by missionaries and famous in Zambia, and then arrived in Ndola about 4 in the afternoon. We collected the keys to our temporary house in the middle of a banana farm and let out a sigh of relief for a safe arrival.

The journey had been eventful but now, looking back, it was great and we always arrived safely. We’ve got some good stories to tell, and we had an adventure. Sitting at my desk writing this and looking out at the farm, well, it’s a pretty nice place to be. We have a lot of adjusting to do, not least to really define what we’re here to do, but we think we will be just fine.

So starts the next stage of our African adventure.