On the road again...

Botswana has twice as many donkeys as people. Since there are only 1.5 million people in a country of half a million square km, that may not add up to a huge donkey density. Yet since most of the three million spent yesterday blocking the highway, and last night clustered near our tent making suspiciously exuberant noises while we tried to sleep, they seem as numerous as the mosquitoes.

We’re heading out now from Planet Baobab, a spartan but comfortable scattering of huts and gravel campsites that sits on the immense salt pans of east-central Botswana. The highway north from Gaborone (itself at Bots’ southern border with South Africa) runs through this fossil of what was once a vast inland sea, which dried only a few thousand years ago. Too salty to grow more than hardy grasses and the weird, disproportioned baobab tree, the pans flood briefly with each rainy season, and become an incomparable breeding ground for hundreds of different bird species. Even now, in the dry season, I see a new (and noisy) bird every few minutes. The variety is impressive, and the landscape foreboding. Tempting posters advertise half-day quad-bike rides out into the pans, and for a moment I mull it over.

But we’ve stopped here only for the night. Yesterday, Nathalie (Quebecoise roommate) and Kathryn (Nat’s Brit buddy) set out from Gabs, and drove 600 (flat, straight, dull) kilometres north to the tiny village of Gweta. Planet Baobab waits in Gweta, its entrance marked inexplicably by a house-sized grey concrete aardvark and a metre-wide replica of Earth, carved of scrap metal and resting atop a five-metre-high termite mound. We’re now about 400 kilometres south of our immediate goal, the confusing quadruple border between Botswana, up-and-coming Namibia, inscrutable Zambia, and troubled Zimbabwe.

We met with Kristy, Elaine and Serena at the lodge last night. Kristy’s another volunteer in Gabs (from Coquitlam, amazingly enough), Elaine’s an Irishwoman who has wandered through some of the harshest parts of Central Africa and now teaches refugees and Johannesburg, and Serena’s a newly-arrive Italian volunteer under Elaine’s tutelage. After a few hours of constant prodding from everyone else present, Serena realized that her work in Joburg could wait a week, and our three became four.

Splitting a couple of tents, we slept fitfully. The salt ground was as cushiony as cement, and blowing up the air mattress for just one night seemed foolish, so tossing and turning was more constant than real rest. I was designated Killer of Critters and Investigator of Strange Noises, since Nathalie’s midnight attempt lead us stoically along the darkened paths of Planet Baobab ended seconds in, when a hidden bird shrieked like all the hounds of hell, sending all of us (but especially her) leaping backwards in terror. As a result, what little sleep could be had was interrupted by those joyful, just-out-of-sight donkeys and the occasional entreaty of, “Paul! Wake up! Something just moved outside the tent!” But, having shown the great foresight to avoid getting my drivers’ license for the last ten years, I can sleep happily in the car. All’s well.

Our ultimate objective is the legendary Victoria Falls, a wall of water that dwarfs Niagara and divides Zambia and Zimbabwe. After a few days exploring the falls from both sides, then we’ll step a bit deeper into Zambia for a couple of nights at Jungle Junction, a small and secluded island hideaway where the bar and library are both well-stocked. The final leg will take us back into northern Botswana for two nights at Chobe National Park, home to 30,000 elephants and more than a few carnivorous beasties. Being the underpaid volunteers that we are (except for accountant Kathryn, who we consistently lambaste for having a real job), we’re doing it all on the cheap: camping everywhere, cooking for ourselves when possible, and haggling over every price that isn’t enforced with an AK-47. May our way be clear, and our mosquitoes non-malarial. Eventually, you’ll find all the details here.