A letter to the elephants of Chobe National Park, Botswana

Dear Bull Elephant, Sir.

I am writing following a recent visit to Botswana where I had the privilege of spending four days in Chobe National Park. The park exceeded all expectations, the list of wildlife we spotted from Cheetah through to the humble Dung Beetle was mind boggling and I would like to extend my thanks to yourself and the entire animal kingdom of Botswana for putting on such a show. There is however one, small, issue that I would like to resolve to ensure that it doesn’t remain ‘an elephant in the room’, if you will.

We arrived in Kasane, Botswana via the Kazungula ferry, an experience in itself. Picture a few pieces of wood tied together supporting a freight truck, a snazzy hired Land Cruiser and a bunch of foot passengers then push out across the Zambezi with a propulsion system resembling something from a science fair and there we were. I decided not to tell Hamish that the ferry had collapsed last year killing all on board, I didn’t think it was relevant, plus I really wanted to visit Botswana. Luck was on our side that day and we made the five-minute crossing unscathed.

The Kazungula Ferry crossing the Zambezi between Botswana and Zambia

Kasane proved to be an odd little tourist trap featuring little more than a fuel station, several safari lodges, a large supermarket and, much to my delight and Hamish’s disgust, KFC. We had been tipped off that the Chobe Safari Lodge, sitting right on the river front, had camping facilities so in we piled pitching our tents between the ‘beware of crocodiles’ and ‘beware of hippos’ signs. Awareness was one thing, but what we could have done about them should they have joined us for supper remains a mystery. 

Hippo's chilling in the Chobe River

After disturbing the peace of everyone in the vicinity of the pool we boarded a small boat for an afternoon safari river cruise. Our travel companions, American’s in khaki with camera lenses bigger than my arm, had managed to fill the downstairs space of the boat so we were ushered to the roof, where the views were hot and the sun was hotter. Three hours later we returned with fantastic shots of hippos, crocs, elephants frolicking in the water and a touch of sunburn.

Anyway I have digressed, let me get back to the heart of the issue. It all started when we arrived in Savuti. The combination of a severe lack of signposting and the worst map in the world didn’t help our situation and it became obvious that self-drive safaris are neither popular nor encouraged in this elite neck of the woods. Nevertheless, after a full day driving through the park spotting hundreds of spectacular birds, but frustratingly little game, we made it to our campsite just before sundown. Our campsite pitch was called Paradise, ironic in hindsight, and was in a beautiful setting among trees right next to a stream – we were the only humans in residence that night.

Paradise, in between elephant visits

Morning and evening drives are said to be the pinnacle of game viewing so at 6am we set off, pumped from the previous evening’s game drive when animals had been out in excess. Five hours and an ever-decreasing tank of fuel later we had circled the impressive marshes and pans to no avail and returned to camp. Bored from passing time in the shade of our tent Hamish and I went exploring the campsite and this is when the aforementioned incident took place. Between our tent and the ablution block one of your esteemed relatives, a giant bull elephant, was enjoying a vegetarian brunch. I admit at this stage the sensible thing to do would have been to quietly continue on our way, however, as elephant experts after our three days tracking your cousins in the Indian jungle we decided to stop and film a lip sync for a rap video we were making. Naturally.

All was going well until things started to go badly. I am not sure if it was the lyrics of Coolio’s Gangsters Paradise or our offensive dance moves, but one moment the big chap was happily destroying a tree and the next he was charging towards us, ears flaring. Hamish took the sensible route and headed for the safety of the fenced ablution block while muggins here raced further into the campsite to put a nearby tree between myself and ‘the reason I am now terrified of elephants’. With Hamish screaming at me to get to safety I whipped off my flipflops (note this must be why they suggest you wear sensible footwear on safari) and prepared for the fastest seventy-metre dash that these lanky legs have ever run. With bleeding feet I evaded Mr Angry’s teasing charge and made it through the gate.

From this moment a floodgate was opened, elephants wandered through our camp so regularly that we got the mobilising time from camp chair to car down to under five seconds. This was more difficult around meal times when the gas cooker had to be turned off and a boiling pot saved. Sitting in a roasting hot car, worried that an elephant is going to try to kill you with a steaming tagine on your lap isn’t ideal I can assure you.

At this stage the campsite also filled up with humans who, probably naively, made me feel much more safe. I attempted to form a friendship with some German tourists when a herd of elephants decided to take over our fire pit just after dark, asking if I could spend the night in their fancy car-top tent. They laughed thinking I was joking. That night little sleep was had.

Horse play

We had been treated to a smorgasbord of wildlife and set off homeward in great spirits. The Chobe riverfront, our last stop before the border was now pulsing with literally hundreds of your relatives. Blindly we trundled along, stopping every few minutes to let a herd cross our path en route to the river, trying not to get to close to upset those with young calves. Soon we were surrounded by what must be one of the most impressive populations of elephants in the world. Our close shave had left me absolutely terrified. Holding back a mouthful of vomit I burst into tears and asked if it was home time yet. With my eyes closed, praying for a quick death, we dodged elephants all the way back to the safety of the park gates.

Chobe National Park is described as ‘the land of the Giants’ and it certainly lives up to all the hype. It’s not a cheap place; camping is 50 USD per person, per night with animal visits at no extra charge, but the experience is priceless. The moral of the story here, Mr Bull Elephant, Sir, is that you elephants clearly don’t like Coolio, which is perfectly fair. I just wish someone had warned us. Thanks for having us, please pass on my best wishes to your extensive family.

Kind regards

Jess Reid – from relatively elephant-free Zambia.

Just like David Livingstone

The Zambian chapter

Pat, our ancient Land Rover, thundered indiscreetly into the Royal Livingstone Hotel car park. We pile out all glammed up. Well, as ‘glammed up’ as our backpacker wardrobe allows: Hamish is wearing trousers though and I have put mascara on so this is almost as good as it gets, but we are fooling no one. The doormen, in their outrageously colonial get up, smile politely knowing that one Mosi (Zamia’s local beer) will be about all that we can afford. One of them graciously pulls us aside to let us know that we forgot to shut Pat’s front door. Talking first and thinking second as always, I start to give an explanation about how the door doesn’t close and how funny it is when you are driving along and it flies open; Hamish meanwhile returns to the vehicle and ties the door shut with a piece of string. Surprisingly they still let us inside.

Once on the drinks terrace, with Pat well out of sight, I feel almost at home with the £900 a night guests. We are sitting a few hundred meters from the lip of Victoria Falls and the view is mind-blowing. Spray from the falls rises high in the air in huge clouds that give away the full power of the water. Beers, as it happens are 15 Kwacha, three times the price of most places but at just under two pounds a pop pretty reasonable given that we are on top of the seventh wonder of the world.

The spray coming off Victoria Falls as seen from the Royal Livingstone Hotel drinks deck

Since touching down in the country we have been amazed at how chilled the Zambian people are. Livingstone is a very touristy town so I guess they see their fair share of mazungas (white people) and so we are largely left to our own devices. Only twice have I been approached for money, both times by drunks, one who insisted if you stopped drinking at lunch time then you weren’t a real drunk, I liked his style and proceeded to engage him in conversation for so long that in the end he had to make an excuse to leave. I was sad to see him go, it was 11am and about 35 degrees, a beer would have been nice.

We spend three weeks of the month out in rural areas on clinic. Whilst away we sleep in a variety of questionable accommodation and eat more pasta than your average Italian (Humphrey our chef loves Pasta). Given that it is the rainy season, travel to and from clinic gets hairy but to date we have only been stuck in the mud once! Generally patients have the same complaints that you or I would go to our local GP with: on-going back pain, headaches etc. It is easy to get a bit jaded, waiting for some one with a real illness to come along, but then I have to remind myself that this is their once a month opportunity to have any kind of medical care and although their tooth ache might not seem like a big deal if they don’t get painkillers for it today then that will be them stuffed for another month. Many patients walk for three or four hours to be in line by 8am in the hope of being seen by a doctor, we currently have two doctors (Hamish and Anne-Marie) who get through about 60 – 70 patents leaving a large queue of unhappy customers behind as we drive off back to camp at the end of the day. We have tried various forms of triage but come hell or high water everyone will insist they are on deaths door only for the doctor to establish that Mr 77-year-old has knee pain, which he has had for 11 years, and back pain, which he has had for eight years. Arthritis is not a suitable diagnoses, in fact nothing is a suitable diagnoses unless it comes with medication.

To try and help out on clinic as much as possible Steve (Anne-Marie's husband) and myself do all the malaria and HIV testing and are in the process of becoming family planning experts. We have an unlimited supply of femadoms given by the government that we distribute often to the puzzlement of the ladies. Last week I saw an old women with a large giggling group huddled around holding up a femadom trying to make head or tail of the monstrosity. Someone asked me to explain how to use it, after reading the instructions several times I got flustered then pretended I was needed else where while in the back of my mind the words of a comedian saying something about the femadom being as inviting as a supermarket bag rang true.

This wee chap was tuckered out after his consultation with Dr Buckley

Home is a guesthouse on the outskirts of Livingstone that we share with Anne-Marie and Steve. While in residence we spend countless hours floating around the swimming pool, with Hamish sometimes treating us to a special appearance in his speedos, and few hours in our small gym. I have found the weights machine to be a great clotheshorse though so all is not lost. There is an extensive team of garden and security staff, headed up by the legendary Elvis, a kind, smiley and gentle African legend. We haven’t at any stage felt that security staff are at all necessary and often, perhaps naively, sleep with our door wide open on hot evenings. I think we all feel a little uncomfortable having these guys running around after us so try and make up for it with over the top thanks every time they open a gate. The final member of the security team is Samson, a massive mongrel of a dog who is terrified of lightening and to this day hasn’t barked once – God help us should there be an intruder during a thunderstorm.

And so this is Zambia, well the first month anyway. We are off to Botswana on a wee jolly in a few days so will hopefully report back with tales of Elephants and Lions, in the meantime we continue to drink glass bottles of coke, which as you are all aware by now is my version of living the dream!