Excommunicating Ali, Blue Moon Boma feast, High Speed Rhino pursuit and victory at last!

Promptly at 5:30am I heard a Motswana woman’s voice calling out, “Knock knock, knock knock”. How lovely, she did not knock on the door but rather was far more gently bidding us to awaken with her sweet voice. I walked to the door and opened it, realizing that she was carrying a rather heavy tray with tea, coffee, milk, sugar and biscuits, and so did not have a free hand to knock with, but still it was romantic. After fresh hot buttered croissant for breakfast, we spent the morning out with Ali whose driving seemed to have gotten increasingly rough and whose manner was a bit too harsh for our liking. I got the distinct impression that he was enjoying the joy riding himself and actually trying to see if he could bounce us out of the speeding vehicle, like a sport. At lunch time David had a little chat with Elka and insisted we switch guides. To facilitate the exchange, David came up with the ingenious idea of Elka telling Ali that the new arrivals that were due that day had specifically requested Ali and so we would be given to another guide while he attended to his fans. Flattery works beautifully on the vain, and Ali bought it hook, line and sinker.

Luckily for us, we met our new gentle guide Rex. Rex drove like a normal person and took care to call out, “Watch out!” each and every time we came close to grazing an acacia. Rex showed us the Hyena den where his uncle had been gored and the plants that were used to stop the bleeding, fond memories I’m sure. He introduced us to the two groups of male lions in the immediate vicinity; the decrepit Mambo boys (as the group of three old lions are called) and youthful Golf boys trio who had muscled the seniors out of their prized position with the females and killed off their young to boot. Disney clearly bases their animated films on careful research.

Rex also loves singing and enjoyed the children’s rousing rendition of “Awimbabway” in the truck, joining in for the chorus as though part of the family. He even taught us all a Setswana song and didn’t mind our mangling the lyrics in the least. Rex was our man. We ended the say with a sunset cocktail hour out in the bush amidst the animals and a beautiful rainbow. (see pics)

New Year’s Eve dinner was served under the stars and blue moon with a Boma feast; I avoided the Warthog Ribs and Kudu filet in favor of the corn polenta and pumpkin stew. Wild dogs were howling in the distance as we sat entranced watching the approaching electrical storms surround us.

Our last morning had only Justin and I fully committed and up at 5:30am for the final elusive rhino hunt with Rex. When almost all hope had been abandoned, a radio signal from Ali came alerting us that rhinos were in the vicinity. Rex asked if we were up for a punishing high speed drive through the bush, and by god we were. Rex warned us it was only a 50/50 chance we’d see the rhinos, and so Justin adopted a stern focused expression and attempted to cross himself, although as a young Jewish boy, he has absolutely no idea how to cross himself beyond what he has seen in movies and seemed to be merely poking his shoulders and belly with vigor.

Off we went on what can only be characterized as a truly wild chase (never to be referred to as a “chase” for the purposes of the Botswana ministry of tourism whose armed guards are authorized to shoot to kill any guide seen involved in a “chase”) culminating in our seeing 2 male rhinos in the wild running in the bush with remarkable speed. We had done it, the Big 5 sighting at last, and some excellent photos to boot (see pics). Rex, oh gentle Rex, thank you!

Dung dung beetle alert, Botswana Kitchen choir, elephant wake up call and flying termite infestation

We breakfasted on the terrace overlooking the Chobe River and then headed out with our lovely guide, Mushe, for our first safari of the day. This morning we passed a few hundred baboon on the roadside having what appeared to be some sort of town meeting. We headed deeper into the national wildlife park which today seemed like Dung Beetle Central, with male dung beetles everywhere navigating their individual balls of dung, each with a female atop and egg inside hoping to be buried safely out of harms way. Occasionally the males stop their rolling dung balls to climb on top to view the terrain like a live beetle periscope and then adjust the direction of their ball. We sat watching the fascinating site but according to Livvy it is, “Seriously gross mom. They lay their eggs in a giant ball of pooh.” While I obviously see her point, I must say that I found the notion of the male physically moving his mate and unborn egg to safety, rather courageous and romantic. I daresay David would have collapsed of cardiac arrest had he been attempting to move the weight of my pregnant self anywhere. The Dung Beetles sort of make the occasional foot rub seem like a flaccid gesture really.

Livvy and Justin have taken to referring to dead dung beetles as “dung dung beetles” for they will be part of the dung heap in the circle of life again soon, very Lion King of them. The number of dead dung beetles and live ones is so large that as we walk from our villas to the dining room, Livvy and Justin (a.k.a. Muscle and Sweeper) have adopted a new routine. Livvy takes the lead and as she proceeds calls out warnings to Justin behind her, “Black ants on the right, cicada next to the path, dung beetle watch out Justin, dung dung beetle in front kinda squished,” and so forth. This procedure is somewhat more laborious after nightfall with the human caravan of our escort in the lead shining an impossibly bright torch to ward off leopards, and Livvy behind him shining her more modest flashlight on the ground as we walk, while calling out warnings to her big brother. A dung beetle in the wild after dark is significantly more menacing than during the day time given that they fly and are much more difficult to spot as well as avoid accidentally squishing underfoot you see.

A few more safaris and one more night in Chobe, sans scorpions or giant dragonflies, and we were off to Chief’s Camp in the Okavanga Delta bush of Northern Botswana. Our light aircraft pilot, George, was not the least bit shaken by the appearance of impala, zebra, giraffe and warthog on either side of the runway as we approached for our landing. I for one kept my eye on the larger male impala who seemed to be considering a run across the landing strip and hoped that George had "Sully"-esque experience with wildlife landings.

We were greeted by our full figured, gold toothed guide, Ali, “Just like Mohammed,” he explained with an overly confident smile. With our bags loaded into the Land Cruiser, minus the camera bag David had forgotten on board the plane in all the excitement, (which would prompt Justin to insist that I be in charge of bag counting for the remainder of our journey), we made the 10 minute drive to the Camp. Upon arrival we were met by at least 8 staff in traditional bush garb waving and smiling, offering refreshing towels and beverages. We stepped out of the vehicle and met the manager, Elka, think Belgian Bruhnehilda, and her friendly but somewhat diminutive hubby Sean. One could not help but wonder at the amazing feats of physics required to be employed in their bedroom.

We were shown to our luxury semi-permanent villas with wooden floors on stilts and thick canvas walls with floor to ceiling screens to enable viewing of the beautiful bush scenery without risking actual invasion by either the animals or the insects. Justin immediately requested additional cans of Doom for his and Livvy’s quarters.

We enjoyed a sumptuous lunch cooked by the team of chefs trained and supervised by the handsome and ever smiling Zimbabwean executive chef Phineas. After high tea that afternoon, Ali took us out on safari, and in spite of his rather rugged driving which had us gripping our seats for dear life while simultaneously grazing our skin against innumerable razor sharp Acacia thorns as we bumped along the bush. We enjoyed seeing leopards, female lions, giraffe, elephants, sessebes, wildebeest, buffalo, warthogs, impala, and greater kudus (not to be confused with the smaller lesser kudu). We showered, treated our cuts and scrapes with copious amounts of polysporin, changed for dinner, and at 8pm were fetched by Ali, with a very serious industrial-sized torch to ward off the abundant wild animals that wander through camp freely, who then walked us to dinner.

Over cocktails we were serenaded by the 15 person Kitchen Choir who sang half a dozen songs for us replete with yululation and African dancing. The tiniest woman of them all was quite the aggressive and passionate yuyulator, and each time she belted out her yululus I felt sure we were to be seized by a rival tribe at any moment. My personal fave was the penultimate song “I nevah will forget Boot-swana” which was followed by the staff lining up in The Sound of Music, So Long Farewell Aufweiderzen style and singing to us to “Enjoy yo dinnah dear guests, enjoy yo dinnah.” Dinnah was delicious.

Livvy, ever the social butterfly, made friends with a 60-something couple from Cairo, who invited her to sit with them at dinner. There was Livvy surrounded by her new found friends recounting her observations of life from the perspective of a Northern California fourth grader. The laughs from her table mates were audible and plentiful. The only unfortunate event at dinner was the 30 minute long flying termite mating infestation at the other end of the dining room where the flying termites were congregating around the two large chandeliers in a frenzied dance that would culminate in the termites dropping their wings and walking home with their mates. We had to put coasters over our water glasses to prevent the wings from flying into them.

As Ali escorted us back to our villas that night, a large and menacing hyena was waiting on the children’s porch, which Ali scared away with some loud shouting and clapping. I did notice a slight but perceptible tremor in his hand when faced with the creature and its powerful jaws. I also noticed the absence of a gun on his person, which of course begs the question, how is he meant to protect us from being torn to bits by a predator if one decides to attack without a side arm? Has Ali taken some sort of bush oath to throw himself in front of us, a la Secret Service, and if so, how do we know he will actually do that or that the animal will prefer him to us for dinner? Livvy is quite delicious as you know and frequently smells of Suave no tears strawberry shampoo which must be irresistible to wild animals. I decided not to share these thoughts with David or the kids but would check with Elka in the morning on the number of guests that have been devoured on site and the details surrounding the bushman's oath of service.

Safely tucked in bed beneath the mosquito netting canopy, I fell asleep quickly, knowing we would be awoken at 5:30am for our morning safari. It was pitch black when I heard a loud knock at the door. I stumbled to my feet and called out, “Thank you, I’m coming,” and walked toward the door to collect the tray of tea and coffee from the valet. I switched on the porch light and opened the door, but rather than finding the valet with tray in hand, I found a rather large bull elephant who was enjoying the acacia leaves from the tree outside and occasionally knocking the side of the villa with his trunk. He didn’t seem to take any notice of me, and so I quietly returned to bed grateful it was only an elephant and scolded myself for my rookie mistake, vowing that in future I would scan the area through the screen before opening the door after dark. No matter how many attractive pairs of adaptable zippered safari trouser/shorts I own, I am deep down a city girl.

Tomorrow we hunt for the elusive White Rhino...