The trip began with an early flight to Joburg. Of course, I wisely decided not to sleep the night before, seeing as we were meeting at 5 am. I sat next to my now-friend Felicia on the way and promptly turned to her to say, “Hi. I’m Bryn! I’m so sorry because normally I would talk, but right now, I’m just going to fall asleep immediately.” She laughed. Then two full travel days commenced on our nomad truck, through what seemed like the middle of nowhere, into Botswana. The hours passed relatively quickly reading, chatting, and some long games of hearts. Mostly it was a great chance to get to know the 20 other people from different programs traveling with the 7 of us girls on the bus.
Every night on the trip, we got into camp in the early evening, in time to set up our tents (yes, we were actually camping) before the sun went down. Britt, Taylor, and I were tent roomies each night. We shared a long-running private joke that Brittany would find something to do every time Taylor and I started to prepare the tent. Don’t worry, Britt, you pulled through in the clutch time. Norman, our top chef, prepared breakfast, lunch, and dinner for us every day. It was beyond delicious: chicken curry, steak, spaghetti….we ate very well. The post dinner plans every night usually included bar or bed and a very chilled evening. It was a nice balance to be camping and yet be in a place with sinks, toilets, lounges, and even pools. After a most-likely short night’s rest, we awoke every morning between 430-630 am to take down camp, eat breakfast, and carry on our way.
Then began my favorite part. We spent three amazing days in the Okavango Delta in Botswana. It is the world’s largest inland delta formed where the Okavango River empties onto a swamp in the Kalahari Desert. The delta is home to several ethnic groups, each with its own ethnic identity and language. One such group, with a village in the Northern region of the Delta acted as our guides and new-found friends during our short visit. After a 2.5 hour truck ride through swamp land deep into the bush, these polers picked us up and took us to camp in makoros. A makoro is a type of canoe propelled through the shallow waters by standing at the back and pushing with a pole. The vessels are made out of tree trunks and are anything but luxurious. Yet, their simplicity created a sense of easiness that made everyone instinctively feel comfortable on the wild Delta.
Taylor and I were taken across the Delta by a man called Waco. In his early 30s, Waco is already head of this lot of his village as they take tourists into Okavango even though many of them are older. He speaks English very well, and you should see him dance and sing! Waco is perhaps one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. After a makoro ride up at the front of the pack, Taylor and I adamantly asked Waco to be our safari guide. So, he led us, namely Geo, Tay, Izzy, Lans, Britt, Eliza, and me, that first evening into the bush to take a safari on foot. Having tracked animals for National Geographic, Waco is no newbie. He could pick up a piece of shit (excuse my French), sniff it once or twice, take a wise look around (all while chatting happily with us, mind you), and turn abruptly and say, “There was an elephant 300 meters in that direction 3 hours ago; there are his footprints over yonder…oh but do you see that elephant in the distance?” – at which point we would squint our eyes and spend minutes trying to merely spot the marvelous animal with our only human senses. We saw elephants, giraffes, wildabeasts, zebras (pronounced “zeb-ruz” here), and many a poisonous spider. Waco was a safari god. The seven of us went on 3 seperate walks with him (anywhere from 1.5-4 hours long), and, at every occasion, we learned so much about the Delta and its many inhabitants, about Waco’s life, and about the ways in which our lives are filled with too much business and not enough appreciation.
When we weren’t on pede-safari, we were swimming or lounging as proper campers do. There was a swimming hole down the Delta a bit and several times a day we would all caravan on makoros and act silly in the water. Let me just say that mud fights and chicken fights were not uncommon. The swimming hole was very leach friendly, and it was a popular game to sneak up on each other in the mirky waters (thank you, Taylor Orr). Early on, the polers gave us the freedom of trying to teach ourselves to drive the makoros. Everyone gave up after minutes, but I was very intrigued so continued over the 2 days to try to teach myself to pole. Luckily Waco took an interest in guiding me and, with his coaching, I became half decent at it. It was so nice to be able to take it out for 20 or 30 minutes at a time and just skim down the delta. It creates a sense of peace…the epitome to me of “going with the flow”. It also acted as an escape from a busy, people-filled 10 days. Unfortunately, my new-found poler skills got me into a bit of trouble. I took my friend Julia for a long ride down the Delta on our second day, chatting the whole way. Just as we had turned around to head back to camp, I dug the pole to deep into the sand and the weight of the side of the boat suddenly broke the pole into two pieces. We just looked at each other in shock as the second half began floating away in the unknown, potentially snake/hippo-filled water. On impulse I belly-flopped into the water grabbed the floating half and clambered back into the makoro. Luckily Waco had been on his way to check on us and helped us return with a broken pole. I think I apologized to the older man who had owned the pole about 20 times before I left, making sure to compensate him generously, although he seemed very uncomfortable taking my money. I suppose, that is the best way I can think of to have spent my Pula in Botswana. It will now go to a better cause than I could have put it to myself.
On the last night of our stay in the Delta, our new friends sang and danced for us around the fire. Their songs told us a story of their village, and they were so passionate and fun-filled. Even the women on the trip who seemed so quiet became marvelous dancers and shouted in praise to their past. It was beautiful and so very natural. We, of course, wanted to reciprocate and so, naturally, I led the group in our own Delta version of the Cha Cha Slide, a song often played at homecoming dances or bar mitzvahs when you simply want everyone to do the same thing. It was hilarious, to say the least. Then all of us in camp circled around the fire in the middle of nowhere and sang songs and danced until we were sweating in the night air. It was a magical ending and created a commonality between the lot of us that no language barrier could break. In the morning, our polers carted us back to the shore to be taken back to “real life”. We sang with Waco the whole way. It was a sad moment to say goodbye, and I dare say that there were tears.
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