Happy New Years

New Years Eve was upon me. And I woke up early. Very very early, for I was one of the nine people who had decided to go on the optional early morning game drive. For only thirty dollar, how could I resist (my money has been whiling away from all these optional things – but hey, when's the next time I'll be back?)

We took a nine person vehicle out to Chobe National park (the same park we cruised through yesterday) and looked out for all the various animals. Mia (Mya) was a bird watcher, and while I didn't care about birds before, her excitement was hard to resist. Her knowledge and passion led to our whole truck caring about the lavender bellied whatever, and the red beaked whosit.

In the park we watched impala, the new springbok, and saw all number of hippos. They're even lazier than lions. The one we saw yawning at the hippo pool was apparently quite a treat.

As we moved through the park our driver heard a noise off in the bush, and we took off after it. Eventually eight other vehicle converged on our location. What was it? What could have brought everything together like this?

Wild dogs. There was a pack of them hunting Impala. The kill took place in the depth of the the trees, but we could hear the noises, and watched as they proudly came back across the road, past our truck, afterwards.

Apparently these were very rare animals to see, and even Raymond was impressed when we told him that we saw them. I'm glad I was told this, otherwise I'd still be wondering what the big deal was with seeing what appeared to be no more than a pack of German Shepards.

As we were making our final run, we came across the animal that I can confidently say now filled up my sighting of the Big 5. The Buffalo. Once more, I saw them. No longer were they little black dots from a plane, but rather animals that could fill my camera frame, only a dozen meters from me. This was the picture I needed to complete the set. The game drive had totally and completely paid off.

As we were leaving a herd of elephants crossed the road and drank from the lake in front of us. Yes, yes, no more elephants... but they were so close. The six month old baby couldn't use its tusk to drink. It drank with its mouth. That was a sight to behold.

Elephants – maybe they're still alright?

Back at camp our tents had been packed up, and we set out for the Botswana / Zambia boarder. This was said to be the worst boarder we'd have to cross. We were warned it could take anywhere from 2 hours to 6 hours to cross. Everything was taken over the river on a ferry, and problems were well known to occur here at this check point.

Chef said that she had crossed once in an hour – but she had been chased. It had not been good. No more was spoken about this story. We never learned the details. Chef was a good talker, and it was quite mysterious that she let this one peter out.

We crossed in under an hour. Once more our luck was upon us. Again Raymond commented on how lucky our tour had proved to be.

We gave one last “BOTSWANA!” before having to change over to “Zam-BE-Ahhhh!”

And then it dawned on us all that this would be our final trip in the truck, the “blue devil”, the “humdinger”, the “yellow submarine”, to “bus” - whatever you wanted to call it. Just don't let Raymond hear you call it a bus.

We just made one stop – a break in Livingstone to buy groceries and change money. This was not an easy task. It was a sketchy city, and all the money changers said they had no local currency and could not help me. Outside men working the black market exchange were more than willing to exchange my cash for a better rate. Which would have been all fine and well, had it not been illegal – and ending up in African Jail is not on my to do list.

I later found out that the way to exchange was to hold up rand, or some other currency first, and then toss down the American when they'd already agreed to exchange. Sketchy.

What I don't understand is why black market traders are willing to trade for higher than official places? How do they then get rid of it for an even greater profit? Best not to concern myself with these things. Now, I discovered, I was in “real Africa” (should one say such a thing.)

Soon enough we ended up at the Zambezi Waterfront Campground, and set up our tent. This was the last time Hamish and I would set up tent together. Things were coming to an end, and everyone could feel it. After a quick internetting, we headed up to the activity centre to watch a video of all the different things that we could do from this base.

Chef and Courtney both noticed a change in me. I was quieter. Removed. Chef asked if I was alright. I said I was, but clearly I was feeling the divide as everyone raced to sign up for things that would happen once I had already left the tour. Rafting, Helicopter rides, and Elephant rides were all on the docket. I would never hear how some of these went, for I would no longer be part of the group by this point.

But I shook it off. It was New Years Eve. there would be time to be mopey later. Now, it was time to party.

Half the group went off for 250USD helicopter tours of Vic Falls. I stayed behind. My finances were not doing as well as some of the others.

Just before they left, Eric and Mia had the great idea of collecting orders for a beer run. This seemed a good idea, but having a list of orders from twenty four people (all except for Dieter, whom we couldn't find) proved to be quite the cluster [expletive]. Still, with orders placed, we rang for a taxi.

This was another African Experience. As I hopped in the taxi, I wondered just how safe we were. The front windshield was shattered and spider-webbed. The door could only be opened by reaching through the window, and opening it from the outside. And as we left in our unmarked car, a car clearly marked a taxi was entering. Were we all about to be sold into slavery, or worse?

But all was well. We ended up at the Spar, and the driver said he'd wait for us. When booking a taxi, you tell them a return time, and they'll kick around. You are not charged for the wait. It's an interesting system, and one that works quite well.

In the store we hurried to the back. We cleared out all of their cider, and a good chunk of their beer. Again, we were buying for twenty five people. But I like that the employees just thought that we were a bunch of crazy alcoholics. Over 800 000 was spent (never mind that the exchange rate is 4600:1) it still sounds impressive. I thought we should have pushed for one million.

We saw Dieter walking barefoot home from the store. That's why we couldn't find him earlier. The man is a machine.

Then it was back to camp. Now the fun part began. The part that I undertook, and spent an hour and a half completing – breaking up the bill into individual prices, collecting, money – in all different types of currency, working the exchange rates, and then trying to break bills so that people could receive proper work.

I felt like Raymond – I have no problem wandering in the wild, but give me money to figure out, and I'll sweat.

It was accomplished though, and it all worked out. No missing cash. Everyone had their New Years Eve booze, and we could settle in for a good night.

This was also Chef's last dinner that she'd be cooking for us. It was steak, and Broy Burgers (those grilled cheese things I mentioned days past which she always hated when I mispronounced) salads (there were fresh salads for every meal, and I'll miss that most) and all number of other treats. It was like four meals in one. And dessert was four tubs of ice cream. Delicious.

A bitter sweet moment where we realized that we'd never experience her dinners again.

As the night grew on we played King's Cup. A drinking game. I tried to explain that as a Canadian I needed no games to drink, but who was I to refuse on this night of nights.

Basically it broke down like this, a cup in the middle – surrounded by cards. You pick up a card. If you break the ring of cards you need to drink. When you flip the card, depending on what it is, things happen:

2 – two for you (pick someone to drink two fingers)
3 – three for me (you drink three fingers
4 – four for whores (all girls drink)
5 – five alive (you play a game where two people show zero, five, or ten on their fingers and guess the combined amount. loser drinks.)
6 – six for dicks (guys drink)
7 – counting (you can't say seven, or a multiple of seven when you count in a circle. When that number should come up, say anything, next person continues on normally. i.e 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 23, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 16, 15, 16, 4, 19, 20, 21 oh no! 21 is a multiple! drink!)
8 – eight, pick a mate (whenever you have to drink, so do they.)
9 – nine, bust a rhyme (go around the circle rhyming the word said)
10 – toe master / thumb master (whenever the thing is placed on the drinking surface everyone follows. Last person drinks)
J – add a rule (good rules are, no first names, no 3Ds drink drunk drank, and no curse words)
Q – question master (anyone who answers the question masters questions must drink.)
K – add some of your drink to the cup – last king pulled drinks the cup, game ends
A – waterfall. You can't stop drinking until the person to the right of you stops.

And that was that.

Some strangers from out of our area came to join our game, but ended up talking a lot of crap saying our rules were stupid, and that we should go to the party instead. Eventually they were kicked out and shunned. Jerks.

After three games of Kings Cup (aka ring of fire) we stopped. Some people left for the New Years Eve party. It wasn't the ten dollar cover that kept me away – though without it I probably would have gone – but rather the fact that I didn't want to be there. Not on this final night.

I left the two groups and made my way to a spot on the projector room where I sat, by myself, and could hear the party in one direction, and the mumbled talking of the group in the other. This was where I needed to be. By myself, everything seemed to click and all was right in the world once more. I was no longer worried about leaving the tour, though I knew I'd still be sad to go. But here, sitting as midnight crept closer, I realized that I was best on my own, and at peace with that.

There was an ever present sense of calm that came over me. I headed back to grab my book and embark in some creative writing, which I'd been keeping up along the road, but as I neared the site, I ran into Mia (Chef).



For a few moments we talked about how everything was coming to an end. Though the rest of the group was continuing on to Nairobi, they would be doing so with another guide. Mia and Raymond were taking the tour south back to Capetown.

Over the weeks she too had become attached to us. We were her first tour, in this role, and she hadn't learned how to think of us not as people, but as clients. We talked for a few moments, sharing well wishes, and observations. As a teacher I spent a long time shifting my view of students from “people” to “students.” You can't be responsible for all their problems, or allow yourself to hurt when they do. It's a hard line to walk, and a scary one – because they are people, and you lose a little something when you're not allowed to accept that. Still – you have your job, and your role to play. And they have theirs. You walk amongst them, but you are never one of them. No matter how much you may think you are, or want to be. The divide will always exist.

Our chat ended when the jerks from earlier were talking about breaking into a tent and stealing from it. Mia yelled at them in Afrikaans and they bolted, leaving the tent unmolested. Jerks.

My peace was ended, but I was whole once more, and so I went back to the GAP group, where those from the party had returned for the final countdown.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... wait, what time do you have? Mine says this – no mine says that... the party cheered. We waited. Screw it – 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3... 2... 1.. HAPPY NEW YEARS! And there was screaming, and hugging, and well wishes more and more. And we came together. Though the tour wouldn't be over for one more day, we all knew that this was the end. This was us making peace. This was us coming together as family. And everything from here – well that was just a little bit extra, wasn't it?

After the countdown people returned to the party, Christoph continued to build his beer bottle tower, over six feet high – with a burning ember on the top (what could possibly go wrong?) and I sat and chatted.

I bartered some beer for the use of a cell phone to call Katherine, but for half an hour, I couldn't get through. For half an hour the network was jammed. There would be no call this night. But I tried. And tried. And tried. I was later told the networks didn't clear until nearly two in the morning.

By this time I was fast asleep, and the zipper on our tent was broken. Hurray.

No More Elephants!

Not all that much happened today. Well that's not entirely true. We saw some interesting things, but mostly today was dominated by Elephants. Which would have been amazing a week ago, but – you know how it is – just like Giraffes and Springbok, these big guys are totally played out.

Isn't it strange how jaded you can become? I mean when I get back to the zoo in Toronto, I'll either yawn at every cage, or think about how delicious they taste. Seriously – that's how I travel. If I see it, I want to eat it. I'm told Elephant bush meat is quite good, but only the locals can obtain it. Curses.

We drove along the road known as the Elephant Highway. Every thirty minutes we would stop for elephants just off the road, on the road, or crossing the road. And every time, more and more pictures would need to be taken. I mean, sure, we'd seen a good number of them already today – but they were still elephants. So shot after shot was taken, as we watched the giants eating, bathing, doing their elephant thing.

Sleep was always reached for on the truck, but then BREAK! More elephants, and it was back to being awake.

We spent the last of our Pula in town, getting ready to cross over into Zambia tomorrow, and then headed out for a sunset cruise to view more wildlife.

On the cruise we saw a great number of hippos, some antelope of all kinds, a crocodile here and there, and then – of course – more elephants. This time there was a great herd of no less than twenty of them, making their way in parade down to the water to drink, and splash and play.

Yes, yes, I'd seen elephants – but there they were again, and so another fifty or sixty shots were taken. All of us on the cruise were thinking of just how many we'd already seen, but – you know – there they were again, so one could hardly avoid snapping a few more shots.



Truth being told, on the boat I more remember Hamish's bottle opener being broken, and Courtney's strawberry cookies. I mean, the animals were good too – but the little things like that are starting to stand out more and more.

Not to downplay what we saw – because it was amazing, but...

On the way back we saw one more elephant. This one had come to play. It ran into the water, at a hippo, thrashing at the beast with its tusks, as the hippo dove for safety. The boat driver told us we needed to get back to dock, but Eric's words seemed to sum everything up nicely: Apparently you don't realize that there's an elephant fighting a hippo!

The diver was compelled to stop. One wonders how much trouble he could have got in for leaving the park an hour later than he should have. Still – elephant hippo fight is almost as cool as a man vs. baboon monkey fight. And one never forgets their first man vs. baboon monkey fight!

Back at camp we stayed up playing spoons, and then headed off to bed. Tomorrow would be a very long, very late day.

After all, tomorrow was New Years Eve.

Endangering Children For Beer

We woke up to grey skies, that would last all day. No blue was to be seen. And we could not have asked for a better way to start our day! You may think that blue skies are the best skies, and often times that is true – but when it's thirty degrees by nine thirty, you'll pray, now and then, for a little bit of cloud cover.

We packed up, jumped in the mocorros and were polled back to the mustering station in one large group. Watching pollers come through the reeds is a terrifying sight to behold. It looks as if giants are gliding through the tall grass with their large walking sticks. I can imagine people going off to battle like this. And I wonder just how often that might have happened in the past.

On the ride back I was able to relax, and read my book – A Disorder Peculiar to the Country (or something like that – it was about two married people who thought the other died in the September 11th attacks, and have to swallow their joy when they see each other. They had hoped for the death of the other. I thought it would be savagely funny, as the back of the book proclaimed, but it was not. It was quite terrible. And the second to last chapter had a really messed up party happening. Quite distressing. And the part where the wife tried to fix the husbands suicide bomb so that he may kill her, and their kids – which seemed sureal and a dream state, but turned out to be an actual part of the book, well... look – just don't read the book. Terrible. On the other hand, i finished the first part of my hobbit's tale.

The motor boats were in use, so we took trucks back to our camp site. These trucks took us through the small shanty villages where our pollers lived. It was quite the insight into their lives that I don't believe we were ever supposed to have glimpsed. Perhaps this is more along the lines of “real Africa” (again, if one were ever to be emboldened enough to use that term.)

The trucks passed dangerously close to the trees – PORT! STARBOARD! we called out when the branches were too close, and ripped through the doorless interior. We managed to duck them all, no injuries to be spoken of. Back at camp I took a quick, and much desired, shower – after two nights in the bush, it was a delight. Sure in the bush we could go swimming in the Delta – and I did – but there's something about water where you know, for sure, that there are no hippos or crocs hiding just a meter away from you in the tall reeds. Deathly pools are no fun for anyone.

No one could keep their hand underwater in the hippo pool for a full five seconds. Not even I, who instigated the challenge.

After more driving (it's strange how these driving transitions are so fast on paper, but in reality last anywhere from five to ten hours) we came to our new site: Planet Baobab. So called due to the ancient trees that grow there. Our first port of call? The pool.

Into the pool I jumped, taking Mitchel and Hamish with me. Erin, Mark, Sandra, and Ivona, came late – with Niki, Eric, and Mia (Mya) following.

I forget who started what, but a splash was made: ACT OF WAR! And he pool was a war zone. A full on war zone of aquatic death. The eight year olds, and five year olds stopped their games, watching as these adults waged a water fight on the scale they could never have imagined. And then it ceased. Danny entered the pool. And the water was no longer splashed, for fear of hitting him with it. Danny, as you by now know, will kill us all.

The children resumed their games of pushing, throwing, and knocking each other into the pool.

We stood back and watched, rating their splashdowns, and giving instructions on how to better throw each other in. At times they came close to smashing their heads on the steps in the water – but their parents didn't seem to mind. And then four teamed up to push the big kid in. It was a glorious attempt. It failed. He knocked them all in. And as he was bowing to us for a job well done, a little six year old girl snuck up behind him, and sent him flying. Much applause was issued her way!

She did not fare well once he had made his way back out.

Whenever I went to canon ball the children would stop, move aside in a form of reverence, and allow me my great splash. The party bus showed up (ugh... party bus!) And one of my canon balls splashed sand girl. “I DON'T WANT TO GET WET!” The gap crew giggled, but me and Hamish could not hold back, laughing loudly and maniacally into the sky above. She goes to the desert, hates sand, animal walks, hates walking, the pool – wearing a bikini – and hates water. She's a character.



And here's the thing, it was great to think of her as a non-entity... but later we learned about her. She was seventeen/eighteen, first time away from home, no close friends on the bus, and was really homesick. It made you hurt for her. Feel sympathy. In other situations we could have been great friends, I'm sure – but she was a party buser. The enemy. And thus no quarter was to be given.

We hired an eight year old to be our solider and splash them. He was wearing clothes, not a swimsuit. We didn't realize what jerks the party bus could be. Once splashed, one of them said to the other, “Hey Franz. Push the fucker in the pool.” Franz shrugged and shoved the kid into the shallow end, nearly knocking his head on the steps. Party bus...

On the plus side, the father of most of the kids bought us all a round for keeping them entertained. Beer for endangering the lives of children. Sure, why not? Africa!

The day was mostly passed this way, and with the singing of Beautiful Delta – with whatever words we could think of: Beautiful Chef, Mitchel, Burgers, Ketchup, Baobab. You name it, we'd have sung it. I'm sure the other diners appreciated or song as it continued on through all of dinner.

Night was spent talking at the bar, hearing stories from past trips, and sharing personal tales. I ended up back in my tent safe and sound – though one of our crew was found wandering around at three in the morning, nearly lost. She had been walked right to her tent's door. And from there managed to get herself quite turned around. There are known to be lions in this area.

After all – on our drive here, we stopped only a meter or two away from a female lion, and two cubs, ripping apart a cow on the side of the road. The organs had all spilled out on the grass as the great cat started to eat her meal.

Apparently right at that area was where the tour normally stopped for lunch.

With things like this ever so close, what possible harm could there be in drunkenly wandering around late at night?

Into the Wild, and the Hippo Pool

Once again we were waking up before the sun. We partnered off and boarded our Mocorros and headed out to Chief Island in the delta. There our guides took us on foot into the wild. We were all told some vital safety tips. Basically they go as follows: If you see an animal, take your clothes off, run really fast, and climb a tree.

Maybe I should explain that more. Run really fast, cause they want to make you dead – take your shirt off, and put it on a tree so they think that's you and go for it, climb a tree, cause they'll be at the bottom and eventually get bored.

There are some animals for whom this does not work though. The elephant, if you climb a tree, it will knock it down, and make you dead. Just take off your shirt, and run really fast. The lion – if you run, it will eat you up. Just stand still, hope for the best, try not to pee your pants. The Leopard, it can climb really well. They don't like to eat humans though. But, you know, maybe? Just pretend you didn't see it, and all should be well.

This was reassuring as we headed out. Also – it should be said that our guides advice different from the advice Chef and Raymond gave us. For elephants they say to stand tall, clap a lot, and if it charges, sit down in front of it. It will stop. Chef has done this. I trust Chef. Chef is wise; Chef is good. But – when everyone else is running...

On the walk we came across a herd of fifteen giraffes walking through the plains, eating whenever they came to some trees. Giraffes. I had seen so many giraffes by this point that it was hard to even care. But, they were in the wild now – so what's another fifty pictures? Dealing with all these when I get back home is going to take forever.

The giraffes had three zebras with them, and eventually they were joined by a wildebeest.

The girl who didn't like sand, all those days back, from the party bus (ugh... party bus... even in the middle of nowhere, there they were) turned back and said “I hate walking.” She goes to the desert, and hates sand, she goes on a nature walk, and hates walking. Good for her.

These would be the only animals we saw, however.

Other groups came across an elephant, only ten meters from them. Some were scared, but most excited. It's strange how different seeing an animal inside a truck, and on foot, can be. The illusion of safety is a good one.

As a fun fact, elephant poo makes a great fire starter, and the smell keeps a lot of animals away, because they care not to mess with elephant. It's mostly dried grass.

After the game walk we were met with breakfast. Chef had been cooking French toast all morning. This was another one of those weird cultural moments. The Canadians went straight for the syrup – eww gross! came the cries from the Europeans, and the Aussies. Eww gross? Why is putting syrup on French toast gross?

Then I saw what they did. The monsters – the beasts – the horror.



They grabbed the ketchup and spread it all over their toast. Ketchup! (Well, tomato sauce to the Aussies.) What the good god damn was going on here?! Oh they tried to explain it away, it's just egg and toast – you put ketchup on egg and toast. Well that may be true – but no... not French toast.

I had a hard time rationalizing why this should be different. But it just was. Still, I am not one to turn down an experience like this, so I had a piece with ketchup. It's not that it's bad – it's just... Well it's just not the same. It's like putting syrup on grilled cheese. Some people do it, but that's just not the experience I want to have with that piece of food.

After breakfast, when the argument of what belongs on what had ended, we gathered together to waste away the afternoon playing spoons (take a card, pass it, first to four of a kind grabs the spoon, others follow, those without spoons get a letter.) It should be noted that two people (Mitchel and Niki) lost at the same time, as two spoons were removed. The odds of this? Crazy. It should also be noted that I played a perfect game. I am blessed at this – sport – shall we say?

The pollers returned with beer. Those who ordered cider got nothing, as the store as sold out. No replacements. They were without. But Hamish and I had six each. Life was returning to normal. Now, it was off in the boats to the hippo pool.

I shared a boat with Niki, who had thus far been by herself. Hamish teamed with Amy, and all was well. Off we went. And waited. And waited. There would be hippos in this hippo pool, yes?

So much of the experience seemed to be a Disney ride. Polling through the reeds seemed as if we were on a rail, under the water, and waiting at the pond while the sun set, felt like just another part of the ride. When the sun was low, the evil genius laugh “Oh! Ho! Ho!” of the hippo was heard. Clapping brought it closer. And then it surfaced. It would yawn, opening its mouth – but few were ready for the shot. I took one image, and it looks almost fake. As if the hippo were just cloth stitched together. Were you to see it in a movie, you'd not believe it – you'd think it was 1980s technology, not even CGI special effects. Yet there it was. The next time it moved though, I was ready – shooting off thirty eight pictures in the few seconds it had its mouth open. Burst mode is the best mode.

If there was a prize for best lily picture ever taken, I do believe that I would have won it. Sure I took a number as the sun set, waiting for the hippo to show, but it was through that that I ended up with the best shots. Again though, I'll have to sift through all of the images later to pick the best. So many pictures have been taken. So very very many.

Back at camp our guides sang to us. One song in particular stuck out, and became stuck in all of our heads:



Beautiful Delta
[delta...]
Beautiful Delta
[delta, I shall... never forget.]

Beautiful Delta (both)

Beautiful *insert word*
[beautiful *insert word*]

Beautiful *insert word*
[*insert word* I shall... never forget.]

Beautiful *insert word* (both)

This song can pretty much go on forever. Forever ever? Forever ever!

A call was then made for everyone to sing songs from their home country, and it was now that I realized that I don't know any traditional Canadian songs. I'm sure the east coasters have a number, but, all I could think of was this land is your land, through which I got through half the first line. Then I just gave up and sung the Hockey Night in Canada song.

The National Anthem also came to light, and then I helped the Americans with their own. But – to prove us all fools, Hamish sung two Scottish songs, proving himself to be the best:
Loch Loman, and ... something about Heather. And how it kept Scotland from being invaded. A great song – that I completely forget now. The internet will help me to remember.

Bohemian Rhapsody and Yellow Submarine might also have been sung. As Christoph would have said: Is possible.

Once more to the bush toilet.

Polling Through the Delta

We woke up early. All the tents had to be broken down, and all bags packed, before the first group headed out to the island. Being on the second group offered no chance for sleeping in, or for enjoying a moments peace. But hey, we're overlanding. Who needs sleep and peace? Not this guy! What I did need, leaving on the second group, was a chance for a final shower, and an opportunity to use a real toilet, with a seat and everything, for the last and final time before we headed out into the bush.

After an hour and a half was spent in the shade watching monkeys with bright blue balls (not just a saying for these guys, people), steal more fruits from our kitchen, it was our turn to hop on board the motor boat and be driven to the mustering station.

Normally we would have all left at once in a high speed James Bond-esque chance down the river, but one of the boats had been sunk recently, coming too close to a hippo. Did we feel safe? Sure – why not.

At the mustering station we traded our motor boat for mocorros, hollowed out logs that resemble canoes. Each boat took two passengers, and was pushed along by a poller whose job it was to drive us the hour and a half to our camping island. Rather than paddles, they had long poles that they stuck into the mud, while standing up, pushing us through the reeds, across the delta.

There were crocodiles and hippos in these waters, but probably none all that close. Probably.



Moving in silence through the reeds was a beautiful thing, and a definite cultural experience. It reminded me of moving through the shallows at my cottage. I wondered where I could obtain such a pole, to practice my skills once I got back home? Few places would have waters still enough, and consistently shallow enough, for such a mode of transportation though.

Once on the island, we ate lunch, and then started to get restless. An empty water bottle was used as a bat to hit Feeble Berries around, in some sort of bottle ball. But this game became tired, and boring. Still – we had collected and stockpiled so many of these berries, each about the size of a golf ball, that we couldn't just give them all up. A new game would have to be formed.



And after slicing through some of the vines, this new game practically formed itself. Not all that different from bottle ball, we began to play knife ball.

The rules to knife ball are simple, one needs to stand on a precariously unstable log, three feet off the ground, holding a knife – the blade of which should be no less than six inches. Then, a pitcher will throw Feeble Berries a the batter. Points are scored for slicing the berry apart in mid air. This game proved to be quite popular, if not terribly terribly dangerous. Eventually it was stopped.

Sitting around the fire, we started to become bored, and twitchy. What was different? What was making us this way. Of course...

“Chef!” Hamish and I exclaimed, “there's a terrible problem!”
“What? What is it?!”
“None of us brought any booze!”

She joined in our fear, and horror. Something would have to be done. We talked with the pollers and they agreed to go into town the next day to pick some up, two and a half hours out, two and a half hours in. But they offered the worst exchange rate ever – 1:1 local currency for the American dollar. The rate should have been 6:1. But, banding together in this hour of need, we came together and threw in, and collected enough local so as we could all drink in peace.

But that was still a day away.

Now, I sat with pockets full of berries... doing nothing. One was tossed lightly at Hamish. He tossed one back. One was thrown at Mitchel. Then we sat quietly. Foolishly Amy threw one at Haish, “ACT OF WAR!” and it was off. Berries were flung everywhere, and more and more people were dragged into our war which would last hours. Trees were stripped of the berries, and welts, bruises, and red marks formed everywhere.

The battles passed the time, and injured few. Alliances were formed, alliances were broken. People drew shields and called themselves neutral. There would be no neutrality in this war!

The great Berry War was a true success. But then, as all things must, it ended.

Just in time for the winds to pick up, loosing berries on all of us, from above, and bringing branches and trees down on tents.

The only one free from the war was Danny. All sides feared to hit him. Danny, after all, will kill us all.

As the war ended, we headed to the mocorros where we wold be polled to another island to walk around, being told about plants, and animal prints forming in the mud. While nothing was seen on our journey, we did hear the evil laugh of hippos somewhere near by in the waters.

Bed time as eight thirty tonight. The earliest yet. It would be needed.

The bush toilet (a rapidly filling hole, on which sand was used to cover whatever might be left behind) was used twice by me on this day.

BOTSWANA!

I checked my watch – four in the morning. I listened outside. Nothing. Four fifteen. Nothing. Four thirty. Nothing.

Had our pact fallen through? I drifted off to sleep...

“Botswana!” A cry came from outside, an hour later, but the cry none the less. Splash. This was our cue. From in the tent I let out a great “BOTSWANA!” cry, and ripped open the zipper. Hamish and I piled out, still wearing out swimsuits, ran to the rocks at the edge of the lake, “BOTSWANA!” Splash. Splash. The two of us jumped in, joining Chef in the pool.



By this point other campers were poking their heads of the their tents, wondering what was going on. And confused by how quickly the three cheers went up next to one another. All except for Danny and Christoph who had their tent down and packed away. They always had their tent down and packed away. And they were Hamish and I's only rivals on getting them set up first.

Splashing around in the lake, the others came out of their tent, an hour earlier than they would have liked to. But, after all, the screaming was supposed to be at four in the morning. They were getting off easy here! They looked around, saw it was Hamish and I, and grumbled to each other. The two of us would have to be quiet with the mic on the bus (dammit... truck! I had pulled out way into the lead with the bus points by this time. Though some others were catching up) today.

Out of the pool we got dressed, broke down the tent, and helped Chef prep for breakfast – crepes. Those little tiny French pancakes. I had mine with nutella. Delicious. Chef is wise; chef is good.

After a brief stop to grab water we headed to our new camp. It was hot. And for the first time it was muggy, situated against the water. This was never a good combination. Gross sticky clothing, where nothing would or could ever dry.

But there was no time to worry about that, for some of us paid our ninety dollars and headed to the airport to board our hour long flight over the (Oratonga, I think it's called) delta. In the air we spotted a herd of elephants, all number of hippos, and even a herd of Buffalo(! big five = done and done!) When we landed I hustled off the plane. Though i didn't feel woozy in the air, clearly I had been hit with some sort of sickness by all the steep climbs, and sharp turns. We were later told by people in the sister plane, that while they felt ill – they just kept telling themselves, at least they weren't on or plane, as we did tight sharp banks around them.

While we saw animals, and gained an appreciation for the sheer size of the delta, I wouldn't go on another flight like this again. If only because it was hard to get good photos, or appreciate what you saw. And after all, if you can't take a picture of it, it's like you never did it at all.

But we saw buffalo. Still – counting these hippo and buffalo sightings as real seemed hardly fair. If you can't fill your camera with it, well...

At the camp monkeys swung around, bouncing on tents, and stealing butternut squizzers from our kitchen. Water guns were used as defense. And Raymond. Raymond proves an excellent defense. Even the monkeys fear him.

The rain started, and we all headed off to the restaurant for lasagna for dinner. Some people were taken aback to see ground beef (mince) in the lasagna. It never ceases to amaze me how different countries have things so similar, and yet so different.

A bottle of Hunter's Gold was consumed and, surprise of all surprises, it wasn't bad. A cider out here that was good. Hunter's Dry? No good. But Hunter's Gold? Fantastic.

We split into two groups – those that would leave early tomorrow, and those that would leave later.



We were leaving our camp site, and our showers, and our toilets, and heading off into the Delta to camp on an island for two nights. We were entering “real Africa” (if one would like to call it such a thing.)

At night we threw things into the fire, and sprayed bug spray to make flame throwers – hoping that the flame didn't ride back and explode the can.

Every year ten Americans hospitalize themselves by trying to light their farts on fire.

But Sir, Today is Christmas Day

Merry Christmas! Somehow Christmas morning snuck up on all of us. We headed to the bus (err... truck) after a quick breakfast, and said our goodbyes to those who would no longer be travelling with us. We also made welcomes for the new folks. And then after what seemed like forever, we were on our way to the Ghanzi Trail Blazers campsite for the night.

Stop one, crossing the boarder. Exiting Namibia would be relatively painless. My passport now had a Christmas exit stamp in it. However, entering BOTSWANA! err... Botswana, well entrances were never my favourite thing. There were always so many things that could go horribly wrong. I felt that travelling with a group might help smooth things along though.



Just before the boarder we parked in a petrol station to wait for Niki to catch up with us. She had been motoring along at one hundred and fifty kph in the back of a taxi all morning, trying to catch up. When she finally made it, we were able to all climb on board and head off to the wonderful boarder into Botswana. Her taxi fare? Two hundred and eighty dollars American. This is why we travel with insurance, people.

While I had little problem crossing, aside from realizing that my stamp listed me as entering on December 26th, rather than today, Courtney overheard one of the other guards talking. While she was getting stamped a few windows down, her officer looked down at me, and spoke “man, that guy looks like Osama Bin Laden.” Well, it looks like I chose the right window.

And now it also seems as if I spent a full day in noman's land. I'm sure I could make up all sorts of detention stories to back that up. Christmas in “Nowhere.” The girls will come a running.



When we got to the camp, half of us went on a bush walk with people from the Xhique tribe. They had been forced from Namibia due to changing laws, and loss of space. They showed us what berries were edible, what roots could be used for what (all translated from their language, riff with clicks and unknown, to us, syllables.

By combining part of one root, with parts of another, they were able to produce a form of bush soap used for cleaning. By squeezing the larger of the two roots they could produce water which helped them with the rinsing and bathing.

Finally they ended up showing us how to build a fire with two sticks. I have tried this in the past, never getting further than the smoking stage. As I watched these people, who must do it multiple times a day, I didn't feel so bad. Even they had to trade off, and take their time to get to the smoking stage. Finally when it burst into flames, they asked for cigarettes from those on the walk, lighting them over the fire.

These were traditionally dressed people, male and females, with their lower halves covered in skins. The women also carried babies on their backs, wrapped in springbok blankets. This was another example of human tourism where pictures were snapped, awkwardly. But the little French boy who kept poking one of the babies with a piece of grass, as his parents looked on with approval, called most of that awkwardness onto himself.

The tribe used a traditional medicine on his wasp sting to help it. I secretly hoped it made his hand fall off in three days.

After the walk we were transported to the quarry where half of our group had already set up tents. This was a beautiful site, overlooking a large natural pool which we could swim in. While we were out Chef invited everyone to jump in, with a loud scream of Botswana, still dressed in their clothes. They obliged. When we jumped in later, we were told of the biting bugs and beetles that infested the pool. Though we never came across them, we were told hold many there were. Bridget came out with one still in her shirt, apparently.

There are few things as rewarding as a good swim after a hot hot day.

Back in the tent Hamish opened his presents that his parents had given him to travel with. He also let me rip the wrapping off one, gifting me with the gum that was found inside. Thank you Hamish's family! In the tent I opened the letter Katherine had given me to keep until Christmas day, and read it then. With any luck, she should have received my time lapsed email that I wrote to her.

Then it was Christmas dinner.

A feast of corn, and steak, and potato salad, and all wonder of veggies, and broccoli with cheese, and many a cup of hot chocolate (I have really become quite a fan of this drink since travelling.)



Before eating we all crossed arms, grabbed the ends of Christmas crackers, and gave them a great pull. Paper crowns, small plastic prizes, and the most terrible jokes of all time flew everywhere! Crowns were worn (proving that all families wear these on this day) and jokes were read – the best of which was “All toilet seats from the station were stolen, police have nothing to go on.” That was the very best.

After dinner we went to watch the traditional dancing of the tribe we walked with earlier. I may have slipped in and out of consciousness a few times during this, but during their last song I was wide awake. People were asked to come dance with them, but none moved. I wanted to go but didn't lead the charge. Chef pulled Hamish up – thank goodness, now I could go. And the three of us danced around the fire with peoples of the Xhique tribe. That's how I spent Christmas? What did you do?



Carols were sung on the back of the pickup truck that led us from the fire back to camp, through horse stables, and down bouncy dirt roads. Yellow Submarine, and Bohemian Rhapsody may have also been shouted at the top of our lungs. Ahh Christmas.

Late into the night, talking with Raymond and Chef Mia (sharing the beers our truck had given them for Christmas) a pact was made. One that would not come to fruition until the next morning. Early the next morning.

Hamish and I slept in our bathing suits.