Bulawayo And Beyond - Rhino Spotting - 15 Jul 2002
Stuffed animals and old politicians (spot the difference)
Close up with wild life
Shona art
City of Gold
Accident Spot of Colour
Zambesi Flora and Fauna
Stuffed animals and old politicians (spot the difference)
We had a bit of a cultural experience in Bulawayo. This is the home of one of the best museums in sub-Saharan Africa. It houses a huge collection of stuffed animals and artefacts from the various periods of Rhodesian/Zimbabwe history. At the center (pardon us but we seem to have an American dictionary with auto correct installed) of the museum is a display of the life and works of a certain Mr Nkomo. It seems that he wasnít such a bad guy (in fact he put himself into self-exile in Britain, after a dodgy election he ëlostí and his tribes people were massacred, by the same Mr M who is causing problem today)
and was far more diplomatic than his mate Mr McGabe. We decided upon seeing the tartan uniforms of all the school children that all of the African surnames must actually be bastardizations of true Scottish names. The Cecil Rhodes display was incredibly pleasant, also, but it was interesting to see the Tipp-Ex over the Rhodesia references re-labelling them into Zimbabwe.The rest of our time in Bully was full of mundane tasks; getting money, buying shoes etc. On our last day we decided to splash out and take a game trip out to the Matopo Park. Everything had been so cheap in Zim so far that we thought that we could run to at least on luxury.
Sam, our guide, picked us up at 9:00 ñ of course we had booked for 8:30 but weíve kind of got used to Africa time. This is the first time in Zim, though, that things had not been split second punctual.
The first part of our itinerary was a walking safari in an area heavily populated with rhino. We were not prepared for the most totally amazing experience that awaited us. Sam is one of the highly trained guides that Zimbabwe specializes in and we had only been in the park for about 400 yards when he pointed out our first white rhino. We left the vehicle and walked up to get a closer look only to discover a mother with a three year old in tow. We then walked closer and closer and closer and I must confess to getting a tad nervous. I had gone prepared with a teleconverter attached to my zoom lens expecting to be snapping from a distance. In fact I had to take it off to fit the huge beasts into the frame.
We moved on to see if we could find any more. Oh yes. And then more. Not satisfied with finding white rhino, Sam took us off on a big hike to find black rhinos. At this point I started to get very worried. Our instruction for safety at this point petered out. ìIf we meet a black rhino, Iíll tell you what to do if he starts getting shirtyî (In fact, he had said that they will charge, but not to worry, some hope) I figured that in such a circumstance we would have little time to discuss escape plans, but he assured us that the course of action depends very much on the mood of the beast which he would be able to gauge by its body language. In a way, I was relieved that our hour long traipse through the bush yielded no black rhinos. (Meanwhile, I had been walking through the bush with my fingers crossed, hoping that we wouldnít disturb such a moody beast, and at every move calculating which tree I would hide behind). Well, theyíre all the same really!
After a spot of lunch, we had a little bit more of a drive before heading out of the game reserve to look at cave paintings in the area. Just as we were about to turn to leave, he spotted another couple of large grey objects and we again set out on foot to inspect them. This time it was a mother with a two month old offspring. (I must confess to being at a loss as to what the name for the young of a rhino is. Calf, perhaps?)
As the chubby little fellow trotted after itís mother, when a hump for a horn on itís nose, it was the cutest thing I had ever seen)
Hippy and I instantly decided that we wanted to take it home as a pet. I mean it was rather cute. What do you mean ìthey grow upî?
Cave paintings in the area are attributed to the Shona people who our guide constantly referred to as ëthe bush peopleí ñ considered to be something of a defamatory term these days. So whoís PC? The paintings are thought to be between 2 and 4 thousand years old and generally in quite viewable condition. The exception being a cave where a Victorian had attempted to preserve the paintings by daubing them with linseed oil. The predictable result was a sticky mess on the wall and the removal of the colours. I mean weíre not talking about cricket bats, here.
The paintings purpose is uncertain. There are of course various theories about recording the game in the area and ritualistic reasons and so forth. The simple theory that they could be decoration seems to be totally disregarded. I wonder what reasons people would find for the paintings on the wall at our house. To be fair, though, they were a great deal better in quality to cave paintings I have seen before and it was easy to recognize the different animals and their movements were quite nicely rendered.
Onwards and upwards. This time to the grave site of a certain C J Rhodes. A fantastic spot and supposed heaped in mystical relevance to the Matabele people. An essential site, then, at which to expose the Wanderers scarf for a bit of recharging with mystic power before the forthcoming season. I bet youíd all forgotten about the scarf, eh?
We were pretty knackered and so instead of taking in the sun set, we persuaded Sam to whisk us back to our camp site. He insisted that we filled a bit more time and popped into a highly exclusive game lodge on the way back. He reckoned that we might be able to blag a cup of coffee out of them on the pretext that we were interested in staying there for the total eclipse which is coming in December. He obviously did not realize how pathetic we are at blagging and all we got was guided tour of one of the rooms. Nice. Sam chuntered with the manager a while and explained to us on the way back that rooms can be had here for 1000 Zim dollars a night at the moment (thatís one pound fifty to you) or 5000 for full board with game drives thrown in. Depressing time for the Zim tourist industry.
Whack up to Vic Falls. (Dull journey) On the way, I had plenty of time to let my thoughts wander. At regular intervals at the side of the road, were stalls of wooden carvings. All with no customers. I felt for the people who had made these items and there were no tourists to buy them. We have repeatedly missed out on buying souvenirs, due to our lack of space. I have to say I feel at times we are missing out. My thoughts, drifted to my first career plans, that possibly only my mother will remember. That much to my familyís amusement, I announced, I wanted to have ëa shop where no-one ever buys anythingí What I meant by this was a craft shop where people browse, rather than have a set idea of what they are going to buy. Seeing these craftsman trying to make a living, I had an urge to buy their good stock send it to the UK and start my little shop. Now Pat on the other hand decided on this journey he wanted to be a farmer. Why this revelation came to him in Zim of all places I donít know. This is clear evidence that motorcycling addles the brain. It is truly amazing what madness strikes on mindless journeys
We arrived hoping to be able to do all of the activities available at the usual Zim discounts only to find that Vic Falls operates on a totally different economy to the rest of Zimbabwe. Having been paying at most three (US) dollars a night for rooms elsewhere, we were mortified when the first (and supposedly cheapest) backpackers gaff asked 20. We questioned the rip-off and pointed out that we had come all the way through Zim and how much we had been paying ìso donít try to con usî. His reply was ìYouíre in Vic Falls now, brotherî. We beat a hasty retreat and camped down the road for one dollar fifty.
We did have our share of excitement at this quiet family site. Turning in early after the rigours of a 6 hour ride, we were just dozing off when there was the sound of a car slithering across the road and them a heavy thud. I leapt out of the tent to see a huge cloud of smoke blowing over the site from the verge outside the fence. Being the good citizen that I am I pulled on some clothes and rushed off to see if there was a wound I could apply direct pressure to.
I was too late; a chap was scrambling into the upside down Mercedes. ìIs there anyone injured inside?î I asked. ìNo, thereís only meî Clearly this was the driver who was removing things of value before treasure hunters arrived. With his stash secured, he simply flagged down a car and sped off into the night saying ìIím off to fetch the policeî As there was no further excitement I retired to bed.
In the morning, while I was taking a shower, (Nice showers, here, by the way) Hippy was awoken from slumber by another car sounding thud from the road. Right next to the upturned Merc there were a pair of cars that had a head on. We began to wonder how it was that we had formed the opinion that Zimbabwean drivers are the best weíve come across in Africa, so far.
We observed the usual queues for basic commodities at the supermarket. I was surprised as I had assumed the proximity to Zambia would mean that the basics would be fairly freely available.
Strolling up the side of the Zambezi above the falls was quite interesting. After Rhino spotting we felt that we were now qualified to walk in the bush but we spent a lot of time discussing tactics if we should come across and angry croc. Fortunately we did not see any as we still do not know the best course of action. There were a few hippos out in the river who seem to make a mocking cry when they pop their heads of the water and do the yawning thing. We felt that it could be translated as ìyeah, weíre out here but all you can see is our ears and upper headsî.
Our instructions were to follow the river up to the ìBig Treeî. The description is apt as it is indeed a tree and is big. People actually pay money to take a 5 minute drive to see this, which is after all a fairly run of the mill baobab. The guard (I mused that it would be tricky to steal this thing) filled us in on all of the animals that roam around these parts and a fair bit about the flora, too. For once, it was simple interest and he had no intention of asking anything from us for his time and information. What a nice man. He did not mention the mongooses that inhabit the area and we were delighted when we chanced upon a large group of them just around the corner. Fortunately, having been to the museum in Bulawayo, we were not so stupid as to confuse them with meercats which are of course very different. OK, so they may have been meercats but we reckon we might be right on this one!