8/01/2010 Rodney the Rooster's Road Trip

Bright and early August 1, we hit the road for Zambia. Just Katrien, Tim, me and Rodney the Rooster. Up to the very last minute, I was expecting Johan to change his mind, that we Americans would not be able to handle the road trip across three African countries without an experienced guide. My friends Tim and Katrien were helping me move to the orphan center in Mansa so the van and trailer were loaded to the gills with mattresses, a refrigerator, pots, pans, dishes, blankets, towels, and so on. Coworker Christo had thrown in a large ceramic rooster when packing the van as a joke because he knows how much I looooove roosters.

It is roughly 1000 miles from Pretoria, South Africa to Mansa, Zambia, and I mean rough. In between we would battle poorly marked roads (turn left at the Nando chicken), a van that may or may not go into second gear, potholes that can swallow you whole, finding long enough parking places for a van and trailer that also allows a forward escape (none of us could back up with a trailer attached), 4 border crossings, a tipsy ferry, a severe lack of gas stations (which are really hard to find when no one understands what I am trying to find - gas is for cooking, a filling station is for cars) and numerous road blocks with corrupt officials wanting bribes.

At the first border crossing, from South Africa into Botswana, the customs guy was inspecting the bulging van and noticed the box of bibles we had conspicuously placed on the back seat. We needed to convince border guards we were delivering supplies to an orphan center (which of course we were) so they would not charge us import fees and have us unpack the van and trailer at every border. He asked me, “Are you a Lady of God?” Does he mean am I a believer? “Yes, I am a lady of God.” Maybe he meant a nun? Oops, I didn’t mean to pass myself off as a nun. I gave him a Bible - cuz that’s what nuns do. He passed us through.

Then when we showed our customs stamp to the border guard, he said, “I like your T-shirt, I want to eat it.” So perhaps I didn’t look so much like a nun after all. Or perhaps that wasn’t the English word he was searching for. Another possibility is my bad hearing. He might have said, “I like your rooster, I want to eat it.”
Driving through Botswana, we stopped several times to take pictures of animals, BIG animals. This was not in a game park, the animals are just naturally there on the side of the road. We saw giraffes, baboons, elephants – up close and personal with no ranger to stop us from exiting our vehicle. Nearing sunset, we saw the silhouettes of a line of more than 50 elephants single file crossing a field. They were too far away for my camera to capture the image, but it is seared on my brain as a perfect African memory.
The next day we entered Zambia by crossing the Zambezi River at the Kazungula ferry. The line of big semi trucks stretched back from the river for a mile, it would take all day for these truckers to wait their turn to get on the ferry. We drove to the front, having been thoughtfully warned by Johan that cars don’t have to wait in that line. Tim and Katrien were dismayed to see how small the ferry was, expecting to see the big thing that hauls hundreds of cars. I probably shouldn’t have told them how important it is for the ferry to be loaded evenly. In the past, the ferry had tipped over and all passengers died – either drowned or eaten by crocs.
There were already two big semis loaded on the ferry and the men were waving me forward. I would have to fit into the tiny space left at the back of the ferry by driving across a narrow ramp. I would have to get it right the first time because there was no way I could back up the van and trailer and keep the wheels on that narrow ramp. Tim and Katrien showed their faith in my driving abilities by quickly jumping out of the van and watching safely from shore. The van and trailer made it onto the ferry, but didn’t quite fit. No problem, as the ramp was raised to become the back wall of the ferry, the trailer just poked up into the sky. I prayed the trailer wouldn’t snap off at the hitch, and it didn’t. We safely reached the other side – disappointing the crocs and hippos.

Then the real ordeal began - the bureaucratic mess of six different offices to get approval and pay fees in to officially be IN Zambia. It took us three hours to navigate this minefield: Immigration, Customs and Excise, Carbon Tax, Counselor Fee, Road toll tax, and Third Party insurance. It was like a scavenger hunt, after endless waiting in a dusty stuffy office then negotiating to get the paperwork we needed, that official would tell us what we needed next but not where to find it. So the hunt was on to find the next unmarked office and stamp we needed. Katrien and I collected stamps and negotiated hundreds of thousands of kwachas (approximately 5,000 Zambian kwacha = $1US), while Tim guarded the van and trailer and fended off the touts and scam artists and beggars. He saw the young women earning money to feed their families by jumping into the cabs of the waiting truckers. Tim witnessed firsthand how AIDS spread across Africa along the major trucking lines.

Once we cleared the border minefield, it was not too far a drive and we were soon enjoying the sunset from the Zambezi Waterfront Lodge’s deck on the river. We had reserved tents there for a few days and they were set up and waiting for us. The picture at left is Katrien and I at breakfast at the Zambezi Waterfront. The cloud on the left is actually the spray from Victoria Falls.

The next day, we were up early excited to be whitewater rafting the mighty Zambezi! We first had a lesson on rafting, paddling, safety, emergency rescues, etc. The guides said nothing about the real danger – how we would be getting TO the river. The river is at the bottom of a 350 foot deep gorge. Somehow we had to get down the steep cliff sides of the gorge holding onto our paddle, wearing our lifejackets and helmets. They had kindly nailed branches into the sides of the cliff which were supposed to serve as a ladder of sorts, but the branches (really more aptly described as sticks) would often break off, sending you sliding down until you grabbed the next branch, boulder, or thorn bush. There were eight boat loads of us adventure tourists laughing at how our home countries would never allow such an activity – due to extreme liability issues. But TIA! By the time we reached the bottom, we were hot, dirty, sweaty, bloody, and quite proud of our accomplishment and we still had a full day of class 4 rapids ahead of us. We had survived the first challenge and had a pretty good idea of who we would vote off the island first.

It was beautiful rafting through the gorge and the guides were good at their job, keeping us alive and entertaining us. We got the most experienced of the guides since Tim, Katrien and I were on the “special boat” – our three boat mates were paddle challenged and severely hung over, having done the sunset booze cruise the night before. Our boat became a laughingstock as Tim spent the entire day yelling out “stroke – stroke - stroke” so the timing was right or our paddles just became entangled and we couldn’t get anywhere. But we managed not to flip the raft all day, which is something four of the other boats can’t say.

We were only truly terrified twice, mostly it was a blast! Thrilling rapids, monkeys playing on shore, crocodiles sunning on the rocks. One of the rapids was only class 2 so we had the option of riding it outside the boat, floating on our backs. What a crazy ride - bobbing and spinning, and hills like a roller coaster. I couldn’t contain my “Wahooooooos” of happiness, even if it meant gulping in water. When we came out the other side, we all clambered back into the raft grinning from ear to ear. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 – we’re one short. Where’s Dan? Dan was not a good swimmer. Dan?! We all shouted, “Daaaaan!” He was nowhere to be found. We paddled upstream, all seriously worried Dan had actually drowned. Ten minutes of paddling upstream later, we found Dan clinging white-knuckled to a rescue kayaker.
After the last rapid, a cable car took us back up the sides of the gorge. Thank goodness, after paddling 18 rapids and digging in especially hard to make up for the three hungover Australians, I did not have the arm strength to climb back up. On the drive back to the Zambezi Waterfront, we stopped for a herd of elephants. It was a great day.
Back at the lodge, we watched the video of our adventure – the rafts flipping, the bodies flying. Fun! Let’s do it again! Then Tim, Katrien and I headed to Livingstone for some traditional Zambian food for dinner. We ate a plate of mopane worms. Tastes like chicken. Bad, chewy, charcoaly chicken. Ok, so I only ate one. The rest of the plate we shared with a table of Danish tourists who we felt shouldn’t miss out on the cultural experience either. I must give extra kudos to Katrien here, a devout vegetarian, who gamely ate a worm to be part of the experience. Although technically, are worms meat?
The next day I paid 100 rand ($14) to have a man hold my hand for an hour. It was fantastic. Has it really come to that? Not quite. Yet.
The man was my guide for crossing the river at the top of Victoria Falls so I could traverse the rocks to get into the middle of the Falls at the very edge where one million liters of water per second careens down 350 feet. But I am getting ahead of myself.
First we walked the tame side, the side of the gorge where you look across and view the magnificent falls.
Victoria Falls is the largest waterfall in the world and the Seventh Natural Wonder of the World. The waterfall is a mile wide and so much water hits the bottom of the gorge that a wall of mist and steam rises up into the air that can be seen for miles away. The local name for it is Mosi O Tunya – The Smoke That Thunders.

When you enter the park, you rent ponchos because you become completely soaked by the water in the air. Photos cannot do justice to the size and majesty of Mosi O Tunya.
At one point, there is a bridge to cross and to the left you see the gorge that we rafted through and to the right you see the wall of water. You are surrounded by a rainbow, but it is not an arch, it is a complete circle of rainbow. This moment of incredible beauty was interrupted by a baboon leaping onto the railing and chasing us off the bridge.
We returned our ponchos and headed to the other side of the gorge, the side where the river dropped off the edge of the mile long cliff. We noticed little people specks out on the rocks at the edge of the falls. I wonder how they got there? This is where my handholding episode comes in. Local man steps up, “I can show you how to get there.” Tim is up for it too. Katrien feels class 4 rapids with crocodiles, cliff sliding, monkey attack, and mopane worms is enough risk in a 24 hour time period and opts to sit on the banks.

Tim and I held hands with our two guides who showed us where and how to cross the river. You hold hands because you are balancing on a concrete ledge submerged in water slightly above your knees. Your toes must grip the edge of the ledge to keep the current from pushing you backward (I knew my hideously curved toes would come in handy some day). After an hour (that’s ten minutes in real time which only feels like an hour in “waterfall crossing” time), we reached an island in the middle of the river. Then we had to boulder hop to get over to the edge. Our guides showed us step by step where to place our feet so we would choose a boulder that would not give way or was not too slimy/slippery. But again, the hardship and difficulty was worth it (I find myself saying that a lot in Africa). The view, to be IN Victoria Falls, was a once in a lifetime, awe-inspiring, THANK YOU GOD experience!
I’ll let the photos speak for themselves, although they may be too humble to speak the truth…