Cats on Safari Chapter 6 - Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika

Him Outdoors was still on his mission to klap the kilometres, muttering that the time we saved here could be spent in Arusha so yet another 4h30 wake up call on Boxing Day. Dab hands we are, within minutes we were packed, flask filled and ready to go. Except – one cat short.

“We have to review our cat departure procedure,” HO announced. “This is now a big game for them.” We found Speckle eventually, curled as tightly as she could under the curtain in a dark corner behind the dressing table. Gotcha!

A good cup of coffee on the go gave us the chatters and we were so busy debating the lack of personal life of the famous and intrusion of the public and paparazzi into every minute of their day (I know, right, but it was 5h12 and we were on our 2^nd cups of strong Jacobs!) that we missed the turn towards Mpika, today’s destination. A fairly bright braincell tugged the alarm when I noticed Ndola Road School.  Ndola? The wrong toll road, surely?  Pulling off at a roadside market, we made enquiries. Indeed, several kilometers past the turn, it appeared. Henry did a U-turn (very rare) and we motored back the way we’d come. It’s a pity we had little time to linger as the veggies in the market were magnificent, beautifully piled and arranged in a medley of colour and shape.

The excellent road droned away beneath Henry’s tyres and the lush, fertile landscape rolled past. Occasionally we passed pedestrians, all of whom, no matter their age or gender, carrying a heavy hoe. Little boys swung theirs enthusiastically at weeds as they lagged behind their parents. Sometimes a woman, holding a chicken by the legs, brandished it at us, a kind of very fresh, still feathered KFC drivethru. Once, a child pushed his reluctant goat onto the tarmac, indicating that if red meat was on our shopping list, to look no further.

We were way out in the sticks about 2 hours later when HO mentioned that diesel would be a good idea if we saw a garage. On a scale of 0 – 10, 0 being no worries at all and 10 being a dead stop, he rated us a 7, with no  clue where, on the 87km stretch of road between the last village and Mpika, we were. We were giving two chaps on their way to church a lift, although unfortunately, they had little English and even less idea of distance measured in kilometres but still, Defcon 7. Concerned but no panic. This just as we’d noted Livingstone’s Memorial on the map, off to the left somewhere but not enough fuel to risk it. 

So close but still too far to visit what was sure to be a fascinating monument.

Uh oh, the light appeared within a few minutes of this, as we crested a rise in the road and saw a petrol tanker stopped a few metres ahead. Pulling alongside, I asked if we could buy some diesel from him. To our utter astonishment, and after a negotiation led by our two hitchers, he agreed to sell 20l to us. We pulled over, he filled a container and produced a hose, we cut a water bottle funnel with a supersharp, credit card knife HO got for his birthday and, with the assistance of our passengers, Henry was resuscitated and we were off on our way again.

The cats disappeared under the bed the minute 2 strangers climbed in to share their ride, reappearing only when we stopped at Mango Grove Lodge in Mpika. They missed their first roadside assist!

It is completely inexplicable to us how time and time again when travelling various lonely roads, our vehicle emergencies are dealt with in the most extraordinary circumstances. Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika.

                                                                                                                                                              

Cats on Safari Chapter 5 - Happy Christmas, North We Go!

We woke up at 4h30 for our early start – we’d designated Christmas Day as a pre-dawn takeoff and a lengthy stretch to Lusaka and beyond if possible. Him Outdoors was impatient to get more traction on the route and as the cats had been uncomfortably hot on the sweltering journey so far, the plan was to travel as far as possible as early as possible and rest up for the rest of the day. The aircon fan belt stretching to screeching point was of concern to HO, who preferred to use it as little as possible. If that snapped, a bunch of things under Henry’s weeny bonnet were likely to cave in as well, so it wasn’t only the felines who glowed, although they sulked when tossed off my lap. I was perfectly overheated enough without donning a fur lapblanket.

Yikes – a late night thunderstorm had marooned Henry on a muddy island, and our campervan was now a houseboat. Squelch, squelch we went, disconnecting the power cable and packing the final bits and pieces, including Anushka. The Idiot Cat had gone midnight walkies and wound her leash around the front tyre. She was now muddy, soaking, sulky and very, very noisy. I was pretty mad with her as well – the luminous yellow leash, so useful for finding her when she holed up and preferred to be lost, was now a gritty chocolate colour. Grrr.

Henry’s 3 litre diesel engine gunned, wheels spun and we were away through the damp, grey morning. Leftover Christmas dinner in the coolbox and plenty of hot water in the Stanley thermos for some very necessary Jacobs coffee. The road was almost deserted and we purred through pristine countryside. This part of Zambia is lushiously green and fertile and even at this early hour, splashes of bright yellow, orange and cerise pink shone through the emerald green as women hoed and weeded their fields. Ploughs drawn by oxen became commonplace on the route which gently rose and fell as it wound it’s way through an abundantly fertile landscape. The soft drizzle couldn’t mute the rich colours and all was very well with our world until the first comfort break. HO needed an urgent stop and Anushka seized the opportunity to escape. Without her leash. We spent 15 minutes tramping up and down the soaking verge and into the bush, the drizzle stirring my frizzy mop into a frenzy and my feet squelching in drenched canvas shoes.

Anushka exploring Zambia

Defeated, HO began emptying Henry to see if, by chance, she’d hidden herself under the spare wheel and voila, there she was. Dry and snug with that smug cat look all over her furry face. I was so stressed, cold and wet by this stag that the only thing to do (at about 9am!) was to take the open bottle of bubbly out of the fridge and slug it back. After a while, it was a very merry Christmas day indeed!

Lusaka on Christmas afternoon didn’t offer much in the way of wow, so we pressed on towards Kabwe, getting another 196kms under the belt. But Kabwe wasn’t on our trip planner, nor did we have Zambian data on our phones so we spend a fruitless hour driving the town looking for lodgings of a sort.

Lusaka

Deciding that when in directional doubt, ask a policeman we pulled into the Police Station and did just that. “Camping? Nowhere in Kabwe,” was the reply. BUT, the Police Chief on duty kindly offered us the use of their front lawn for the night. Why not? Ignoring the 3 guys in the outdoor cell, hanging through the bars, we moved Henry around the station onto the front lawn, causing quite a spectacle. The Chief hurriedly came out to request that we turn Henry around so that the side door opened onto the station rather than the street side, thus blocking the onlookers view. “This is Africa,” he insisted, “the people will keep watching you all night, and it will make our job easier if you stay with your vehicle at all times and the access is close to our front door.”  Reassuring thought indeed.

Meanwhile, a passerby referred us to a lodge on the other side of town and for the same cost of a campsite in Livingstone, we had a lodge to ourselves. Our suite of rooms was basic to say the least but a decent bathroom, large bedroom, lounge and kitchen, including fridge and kettle, was a welcome sight in the cool, wet weather. HO haggled over the price, seeing as it was after 18h00 on Christmas Day and we were the only guests, and the canny receptionist agreed, providing we were out of there before 8h00 the following morning and didn’t complete the guest register. Hmmm. 

Weirdly, the cats immediately made themselves at home and settled down for a snooze on the couch. Anushka was an escape artiste supreme, at every opportunity she was off out of the door to investigate the premises and we spent ages over the next 12 hours walking her in and out of plants, the guardhouse, restaurant and whichever nook and cranny she could find. This was the first brick and mortar building they’d been into in a week and clearly, they thought the neverending journey had, in fact, reached it’s endpoint.

Cats on Safari Part 3 - Bots to Livingstone

Being a few kilometres away from Sowa Pan, one of the magnificent Makgadigadi Salt Pans ensured that the pre-dawn chorus was magical. Elegantly clad in my PJ’s, I raced from angle to angle, Nikon in hand, desperate to capture the vibrant, flaming sky as it unwrapped. Sadly, no amount of shutterspeed adjustment got the unique shade of pink just right, so that memory remains firmly in our brain cells.

A cup of coffee later and we agreed to press on to Zambia. Freshly showered and packed, Henry started up and headed for the gate. Anushka had enjoyed her brekkie and immediately returned to her spot on the bed and I was pretty sure that Speckle was aboard – there was no trace of her at the campsite and neither of them wandered more than 5 metres away from base when we stopped overnight. At the gate, HO pulled over for a final check, saying that the last thing we needed was to turn around in a couple of hours. Rattling a few bits and pieces finally produced her inimitable howl – the cheeky cow was well hidden but on board. Off we go!

The road from Nata to Kazangula was, if possible, even straighter than the previous day’s. It drove straight as a die over the horizon, at times becoming an airstrip, a magnificent demonstration of dual purpose efficiency.  After all, if you are laying a tarred surface in the middle of nowhere, make it useful!

And then…ahead of us an elephant crossed the road. Seriously. The first of 8 or 9 pachyderms we saw on or next to the road, as well as 3 Ground hornbills, a Leopard tortoise and a herd of impala. Please note, this is not a conservancy or game reserve. It’s a major highway connecting Botswana to Zambia without a fence in sight. The sighting of major game in our dash to the border was simply thrilling and incredible to us. What a country! The cats were hugely unimpressed but Anushka did begin making a bit of noise so we pulled off the road, clipped on her leash and allowed her out for a pitstop. Which she immediately refused to do, being far more interested in investigating the outside world. 

Unfortunately, right behind us was a police van and, suspecting we had a problem, the cop pulled off too and asked for our paperwork. His face when he came around Henry and saw a cat on a leash! That broke the ice, he summoned his colleague from the van to see this amazing sight. Cats for them, elephants for us, everyone likes an unexpected sighting. 

Processed through the Botswana border, the next challenge was a ferry over the Zambezi river. All well and good, I watched Henry and his cargo board then began to follow, faltering when the juggernaut horse and trailer sprinted on board ahead of me. Share a flimsy little boat with that? No chance to rethink as the ferry began to pull away, leaving me no choice but to rapidly leap onto the rising ramp and cling to the guard rail.

Andy’s guide recommended using local help to survive the onerous Zambian border proceedings and he was so right. Two hours at the border, complicated by the fact that although we (and Henry) think he is a campervan, his offical papers refer to him as a commerical vehicle and apparently we needed special documentation. Which we didn’t have. Without Boniface and his contacts, we’d probably still be there. The furries and I sat it out in the offending vehicle but man, it was hot. This was when we needed S and A to be discreet, not that they’d have got out of Henry in the first place – many, many huge trucks and so much noise. I made a tent of a damp towel and persuaded them to lie under that, pouring small amounts of water into a cup for them which Speckle greedily drank but the temperature kept rising.

After coughing up a chunk of US$ we finally got away and stopped at the first local for a cold beer. Anushka was dying to get out and, securely leashed, explored her new turf. A cat on a leash proved irrisistible to the pub patrons who came out to introduce themselves and pet her. Thus began the first of many offers to buy our cats!

Reaching Livingstone, we flowed into Maramba River Lodge 4kms away from Victoria Falls and found our base for a few days. Shady, lush sites, an open lounge with WiFi, pub serving icy Mosi beer overlooking the river and a swimming pool. Heaven. HO climbed down and went around Henry to open up the side door while I gathered up the clutter in the cab. I didn’t think much of his driver’s door opening and looked up to make a remark which escapes me now – HO had shrunk about one metre and gained substantial head and bodyhair – the biggest baboon I’ve ever seen was casually scratching around the cab shelf, treating with disdain my Karen Blixen ‘shoo, shoo’s’ and leaving only when he’d found the lollipops we keep on hand to offer roadside cops. He then sauntered across to the rubbish bin and proceeded to unpack it in the hopes of finding some tasty titbits.

We ‘lost’ Speckle somewhere in Henry’s depths but, leaving the door open and the cat comfort station prepared in the shade, we headed poolwards. She was still MIA on our return which was, I confess, rather delayed as we’d met up with an interesting couple from Johannesburg and shared some war stories. My heart leapt skywards when HO called from the van “I’ve found Speckle. She’s breathing but unresponsive!”

Jumping inside, I swept her up and took her straight to the water bowl. She refused to drink initially, but rubbing cool water behind her ears and across her gums revived her enough to begin slurping up the liquid. We took the water away from her after a bit, thinking her insatiable thirst could lead to digestion problems but her recovery was remarkable and in no time Speckle was bounding up and down, in and out of boxes, stopping every now and then for a drink and some food. Phew.

Cats on Safari – Botswana

I woke up really early on Day 2, just as the sun raised an eyebrow over the horizon. The premature start was initiated primarily by the fluttering cacophony of the high density residential real estate above our heads – weaver birds by the ton twittered, buzzed, flitted and chatted vociferously, getting their avian equivalent of 30 000 words in before breakfast. What a to-do, while Anushka stared lustfully up at the Paperbark Acacia canopy quivering with feathered residents. One day she’ll get her bird, but today is not the day.

Oh, yeah, and the truck stop next to Big Fig Tree Inn belched flatulently as the overnighters gunned their engines and pulled away on the next leg of their journey. A great pity to site such a pretty, tree-strewn campsite alongside.

It is an indisputable fact that neatly packed and stashed luggage will, once raided enroute, refuse to return to its departure state and here we are in that situation. Henry was looking rather shabby as in frustration, items were tossed onto the bed or lashed in the central space when they simply didn’t slot back neatly into their allotted niche. S and A hopped in willingly and snuggled down for stage 2. As usual, the turning of the engine prompted a cat travelling singsong but they soon settled and were perfectly composed (ok, snoozing deeply and absolutely oblivious to the goings on around them) as we navigated the border formalities.

Through Martin’s Drift border post and on we rolled, heading for Francistown. A long drive on a good road, straight as an arrow through countryside populated by goats and donkeys with no sign of human habitation, villages or even a little shop. After a couple of hours we stopped at one of the many roadside picnic spots and laid out the cat’s comfort accessories – food, water and litter tray, which they were ignoring in the car. Clipped on the leashes and persuaded them (with a touch of force!) to exit but try as we might, these hosses were NOT going to eat, drink or use the box.

Our original intention was to bunk up for the night in Francistown but to be frank, after a long drive through a landscape remarkably South African in nature, to be faced by what could be any South African town (every possible SA chain and franchise, bank, petrol station and so on) it lacked appeal so forward to Nata we forged. Proofing and editing Andy Tinker’s Guides to the region came in very handy at this point and his advice invaluable as we knew exactly what to expect both along the way, in Nata and at the dreaded Zambian border post. But I’ve run ahead too far, that’s tomorrow’s chapter.

In the meantime, we turned off the road without bend or end into Pelican Lodge just minutes before the approaching storm we’d been watching hit. Henry’s advantages were immediately apparent as we raced the bulging black clouds – stop, open the side door, roll out the side awning, set up the chairs, open the fridge and enjoy a cold one while spectating the Gautengers a few metres away desperately putting up their tent in the deluge then retreating to their car to sit the storm out.

The Pelican camp site had the cutest stone and thatch personal ablutions for each of the three sites, containing a shower, basin, toilet, mirror, beautiful handwoven grass lampshade all discreetly hidden behind a curtain. At the rear of the building, a kitchen sink and draining board made for convenient washing up. The silence and refreshing coolness after a really hot day and long drive made for a very good night’s sleep.

Cats on Safari – The Beginning

Finally the big day dawned and no, true to form we didn’t leave at sparrow glow. Him Outdoors chose this day to complete many tasks he hadn’t got to during the week, most notably, buying forex. Needless to say, the bank five days before Christmas was exactly as you’d imagine – overflowing with people taking ages to complete their business. Serves him right, but needless to say, we both suffered!

Taking pets across international borders is not for the faint hearted, and if it wasn’t for the impassioned plea of our catsitter, and the indisputable evidence of feline pining and heartbreak, we’d have left them in the loving and capable hands of Joseph and Arlene. Anushka and Speckle had different ideas, though, and we bowed to their anguish and began the arduous process of admin and medical checks and interminable documentation. Headspinning and wallet emptying indeed, although we discovered a vet who home visits rather than have a surgery of his own, and a very friendly State Vet but still, government processes grind painstakingly slowly in a rather convoluted fashion.

Eventually, Henry the Campervan was loaded to the gills with indispensible household, personal items and cat travel accessories. Bags of catnip, homeopathic salmon flavoured calming gloop and pheromone spray were joined by favourite blankies, cat tray, food and water.

On a weight/size body to luggage ratio, they far surpassed us and looking at the pair of them, laden with their personal travel handluggage, it is easy to imagine that if George Orwell had written Animal Farm in the millenium, and included pop fiction in his prescient social imaginings, 50 Shades of Fur would feature similar bondage accoutrements. They each sagged beneath the weight of a bell and microchip medallion bearing collar, a pheromone infused calming collar and shiny, reflective harnesses ready to be attached to long leashes. For public appearances, you understand, although the harnesses were very effective in capturing Speckle to apply calming goo. Simply grab, lift, slap onto paws waving wildly mid-air and release. 

Joseph, their adoptive father, was almost in tears when we loaded the girls up and they immediately set up their standard travel chorus, ranging from a magnificent impersonation of a Basset Hound howl to a, well, frankly quite pathetic mew. Midrand to Grobler’s Bridge was the first leg of the offical Cat Safari.

We stopped at Caltex in Mokepane for a cat and human comfort break, hooking leashes onto the harnesses and encouraging them to leap from Henry for a leg stretch. 

Not a chance, not for love or money would Speckle emerge and when HO insisted, holding fast to the leash, she howled loudly enough to have every forecourt attendant stop what they were doing and come running. Anuschka, braver by far, descended with her usual grace then, appalled by the crowd of attendants that welcomed her emergence, slipped under Henry and up into the engine compartment. Her neon yellow harness and leash emerged covered in engine grime and HO, through gritted teeth after a painful and difficult extraction, suggested that they be tied onto Henry in future.

Onwards we trundled, Anushka comfortably ensconced on HO’s lap, sighing contentedly every now and then. He is officially her hero, having rescued her from Henry’s greasy, red hot entrails. The sun began dipping and the day, loosening it’s grip on the dry heat, relaxed into a pleasant late afternoon as we drew into Big Fig Inn and Campsite just 2kms before the Botswana border. Time to stop travelling for a bit.

Anushka hopped down and retreated under Henry’s belly but it took Speckle almost an hour to venture from the van into the lush greenery. Together, the Safari Cats explored their surroundings, keeping a firm eye on us to make sure we didn’t slip off into the twilight. Bad HO did suggest that if they didn’t come running when we leave tomorrow, we sally forth a Safari Cat or two short. That musing ground to silence when reminded that, being microchipped, we’d be summoned back from Bots to fetch them by some well meaning, kind person. 

Day's End at Big Fig Inn

Born Under A Wandering Star

'Home' is a moving target these days and what possessed us to leave a perfectly good, nay, actually rather fabulous life for a nomadic existence is hard to define. Him Outdoors is pretty used to it and it suits his Sagittarian star perfectly, but I've pushed Cancerian boundaries beyond breaking point. However, I believe that the fault lies in family genes rather than stars.

My parents sold their motorbike and sidecar, packed up house and sprogs and relocated us lock, stock and barrel way across the globe from England to South Africa. Quite a feat in 1969 when maintaining links with family was much more difficult. Wandering the planet does seem to have infected my mother and her brothers, though.  One uncle was in the RAF and spent years stationed in Cyprus while the other, a ships engineer, sailed the 7 seas and 5 oceans. My brave aunt delivered that set of cousins in Guyana and Sierra Leone respectively. By contrast, I've firmly planted my toes deep into the soil, possibly in protest against being forced aboard a BOAC flight and whisked off to Africa against my childish will.

There, I've said it. I really, really, really did NOT want to leave home and hearth and especially my beloved granny to head south on some barmy adventure of my parents. It got worse (so I thought then). They'd decide on Friday afternoon to pop off to Lourenço Marques (now Maputo, Mozambique) which entailed loading up the old Renault 10 (no aircon, plastic seats, feuding siblings and awful carsickness) for the weekend. It also meant sleeping in the car at the border, waiting for it to open on Saturday. Some weekends it was Gaborone, others Swaziland or the then Eastern Transvaal and Kruger National Park. Hour upon interminable hour spent in the car traversing dusty dirt roads.

Thankfully, the sulky brat grew up and dragged her own offspring through similar experiences. With aircon and a heap more travel comforts but to the same unappreciative audience. Talk about payback!

Home is where the heart is, they say (what tosh, my heart never leaves my body) and Paul Young yodeled on about laying his hat but the best bit of advice I've received about setting up a new life in a new country came from a much loved friend who has had her fair share of intercontinental and trans-continental moves - pack 1 piece of home to take with you. No matter how useful / less it is, having an anchor item at hand helps calm the emotional waves. (Thanks Lynda xx)

Airline weight and baggage limits kiboshed that, and HO very selfishly dumped the 3 books I'd sneaked into his hand luggage when he investigated the cause of nearly wrenching his shoulder out of it's socket. Bust, and it wasn't a pretty moment!

Practical items took preference over emotional possessions but it's amusing to investigate our limited cutlery assortment - we forgot to pack a tin-opener. Look at what emerged from my lime green suitcase though - my dawa cocktail stomper and a Swiss Army knife! Got my priorities sorted, then.

Fortunately, we have a second bite at the household moving apple and are flying back to SA next week to pack up Henry the Campervan with more necessities and home comforts. We have rented an adorable little hobbit cottage in Nairobi and it will bring much joy to have a few familiar things around us once more. One item I reluctantly left behind the first time was a favourite embossed, recycled glass wine goblet. That will be the first item lovingly packed so that Kenyan sunsets can be toasted with a memory-filled glass and all will be well in my world. 

Like it or not, we become ever more true to ourselves and our family heritage as we age. The biggest laugh of all - my mother's family name is Moss. It looks like granny and granddad produced a clutch of rolling stones determined to challenge that!

My essential bits of home!

Long Walks to Decadence

If you've spent anytime reading (and hopefully chuckling) your way through Lightly Green, you are sure to have spotted one truth - life with Him Outdoors is anything but mundane.

Please don't let on to him that actually, despite some intense whinging and broomstick waggling at times, I really miss him when he is not around. The initial sigh of relief as the stormy seas calm to a millpond and things run smoothly to plan quickly turns into a longing for a swell or seven. If personalities were continents, he'd be Africa with all it's bumpy, potholed roads, surprises, curiosity and sheer joy of being alive.

One (of many) areas where we differ is calculating distance. There was the time we decided to take our afternoon walk to Randjiesfontein Spar "it's about 2kms away" HO declared. My veteran walking legs declared the 2km mark at one point but a query was answered by "it's just through this boom, out the other side and across the road."

True, it was, after another 2kms. Over an hour later we limped home and Grumpy had to google the distance to prove her point - 8.6kms in total. So much for his calculation.

It got worse before it got better, too. Briskly setting out to explore our new home in Nairobi, two days in a row I faithfully followed him and both times, legs aching and lightheaded in the heat, we ended up hailing a taxi to get us back to base. Exploring country lanes is one thing and the vistas of grazing cattle and horses, fields of wildflowers and lush overhanging trees was delightful but eventually, feet complain and my tummy demands sustenance NOW. The askari manning the gate must have thought we were totally mad, striding out at 7am only to be Uber'd home 2 hours later.

There is always, however, always a shining light in the darkest hour of life with HO and yesterday delivered a beacon of supreme indulgence. Well, actually, it was just a cup of coffee but served in an oasis of unbeatable luxe. 

Our stomping route passes an enormous, pale pistachio wall trimmed with white, the discreet sign simply stating 'Hemingways'. Yesterday, HO suggested we call in for a cuppa as we returned past the imposing entrance. In we went, guilelessly charming gate askaris and the manager who greeted us at the door. "A coffee? Of course, you are welcome. I'll take you to a table, would you like to join us for breakfast as well?"

Yes, we would, but unfortunately we don't have a spare kidney to sell at this point in time.

No, I promise, we didn't say that, but assured the nice man that another day, we'd love to. 

Plantation splendour, serene, immaculate, jaw-dropping and graciously magnificent, Hemingways is where I want to live when I grow up. There we were in our finest walking gear, muddy sneakers, glowing faces and the wonderful staff treated us like royalty.

Oh, my, what a treat. The coffee was superb but, quite honestly, even Ricoffy would have tasted heavenly in that setting.

Someone asked me a while ago whether when my goals have been achieved, I set new ones. Yes, I do and here is my latest one - a weekend in this palace of tranquility.

But this, ladies and gents, is why life with HO is addictive. Who else would dream of popping into a luxury boutique hotel for a coffee as we walked past? This little indulgence satiated the senses as much as a $1 million treat. 

Or am I a cheap date?