AFRICANBYWAYS

Report : Garamba murder

2010-01-03T11:12:00.000+02:00

Its the wet season in the Congo where I am currently stationed.The days are hot, humid and steamy.We have just had a 30 minute tropical, torrential downpour. The rain has stopped and its back to square one. Drenching sweat instead of rain now cools the body.

This morning, last rites were paid to the ranger shot dead on patrol on Tuesday afternoon. The company flag flies at half mast and the camp is silent. Tomorrow Kurt and I will go out into the " domain" and gather what evidence there is at the scene and compile a murder docket. Yes, there are no police here or anywhere in the country outside the main centres to document the circumstances of his death and mount an investigation to bring the culprits to book. To them,and many millions of others in the dark soul of Africa, it's just another statistic to be washed away and forgotten where hundreds die daily without a whisper

The first information reaching the base at 20h00 on Tue 8 Aug, was that an ICCN patrol in the Garamba was ambushed by poachers whilst in hot pursuit. The patrol had an initial success when they surprised intruders in the two meter high savannah which covers 90% of the park The initiative lay with the patrol. Shots were fired and the poachers fled dropping bundles containing what later turned out to be sawn off chunks of ivory taken presumably from an elephant into the " Domain de Chasse". Best explained, the area around the park populated by locals into which the elephant stray in search of fodder.

Cock a hoop with their success, the patrol blundered on into the only clump of forest in the vicinity.There the trap was sprung. In a blaze of AK fire, the tables were turned. The rangers dropped their prize, including a machine gun, turned and fled. The rangers left in their wake one dead and one wounded, who was shot through the lower parts of his legs.The unfortunate victim had taken a bullet in his back which exited through his throat. But that was only determined later for the remaining six rangers bolted to their base and promptly went to sleep without posting any guards or making defensive arrangements!

The terrified radio operator who had fled to parts better known to himself, sent in the initial report

That was the state that Kurt found them on his arrival in the vicinity at 01h00 on Wednesday morning. You don't have to tell a Flemish speaking ex Belgian paratrooper what to do next. He recovered the body on indications, rescued the abandoned wounded man, recovered a discarded machine gun, but not the ivory or a high frequency radio with all our channels now in the hands of the poachers , who by all indications, had fled north towards the Sudanese border.

On Kurt's return to base the next day on a ferry over the flooded Dungu river, the funeral cortège was accompanied by wailing men, women and children on its way to the village in which he had lived.

Life in the Congo,death rites, debilitating rangers, lack of resources etc prevented an immediate follow-up, hence the reason for tomorrow' s mission to gather in what evidence remains, and then maybe oneday, with a properly documented record and a highly unlikely arrest, justice can then be done.

On a brighter note, the day proceeding this unfortunate incident, I was in the skies once again being given a conducted aerial recee of the park and its limited resources.
Taking away the devastation of the once highly organized camps, elephant training centres etc visited by thousands, my breath was taken away by the pure majesty that nature had carved in this garden of Eden. Savannah clad undulating country revealed a kaleidoscope of lush green grass, riverine forest and sparkling blue streams, swamps and rivers. Over 400 water courses in all There were herds of buffalo below, Congolese giraffe, prides of lions, pockets of elephants (badly depleted), hippos galore and, and, and. But no sign of the threatened northern white rhino which is the principal reason why we are here.Poachers camps were evident everywhere and I yearned to find one occupied Here a different type of process would have been brought into the equation.

We landed at two ranger camps , and on an instinct, I searched one.The body language was wrong. Need I Tell you what we found? Anyway, the first proven disciplinary action against rangers and " support soldiers" -nothing more than brigands and scum from the many warlords armies which abound who have been added to the equation to " protect" the animals, has now been brought to the attention of the administrators and being vigorously pursued.

The camp itself ; much like those of you who know the Matabeleland village of Nkai. Sprawling, a lot better shaded, on the banks of a river (altho the Shangani river was some distance away at Nkai), a lion cub running around, rescued from a poacher,a young baboon and vervet monkey playing merrily together. And yet another monkey riding on the back of a goat!

And the birdlife????? Throw away all your sightings until you have seen what the Congo offers. Earlier, I sent out a pic of a paradise sunbird to those who really love their birds.

Oh! - I can hear the roars of a lion close by. The night calls

Never in my life have I heard such a melody of tryogodolite sound as I begin to succumb to the stars which shine so brightly above.

Garamba murder ; Examination of the Scene

2010-01-03T11:08:00.000+02:00

Well, I had my first taste of the Garamba park proper when I went out yesterday to follow up the murder and attempted murder of two Garamba rangers from the Advance Base on the afternoon of Tuesday 8th August 2006.

To say that patrolling is extreme, in an understatement.The virtually treeless plateau is dominated by grass over two meters high where a man or animal can easily conceal itself not a meter from you without you knowing it. You follow the man in front by the sound of rustling of grass.He can easily slip away unnoticed.I found this out on several occasions after crossing streams and swamps in chest deep water. On reaching the opposite bank, one plunges into a morass of emerald green foliage tearing at you arms, hoping to locate an elephant or hippo trail taking you in the general direction in which you are headed. I can think of better things to do on a Saturday!

But that is not the gist of the report. The idea was to do a scenes check at point of the crime and to do this successfully, I had to construct the sequence of events, look for clues and compile a dossier.

Kurt, three Garamba rangers and I crossed the Dungu River on a raft made of planks and forty four gallon drums and clambered into a Unimog on the opposite bank to travel to the Advance Base. Forty six kilometers and three and a half hours later traveling across the only " road" leading to the camp,( you can imagine what state it was in) we arrived to find six rangers from the ill fated seven man patrol, huddled together in one hut.

After explaining our mission, two rangers loudly protested they weren't coming. They pointed to gouge marks on their knees sustained when crawling over the hard ground from the scene of the ambush and said that they couldn't walk.

Kurt changed their ideas and after the patrol was suitably attired, we ploughed our way overland to the scene of the murder approx 6 kilometers south east of the Advance Base camp.On our arrival, and after taking GPS readings, sketching and photographing the scene, the full story emerged.

On Monday 7th August 2006, during a routine patrol, the rangers picked up human tracks in the vicinity of their camp and followed them south but to no avail.

On Tuesday 8th August 2006, they again set out on patrol and came across a poachers camp and ashes of a fire. They cast around and found the carcass of a buffalo from which they deduced the flesh had been smoked at this camp.

The continued with their patrol pattern when at about 12 noon, they heard eight shots emanating from the south. They walked a further 2 kilometers and surprised a group of poachers sitting on a beach in a shallow valley next to a river.A contact ensued during which the poachers fled, leaving behind an AK rifle, seven bundles of ivory tusks each containing three to four sticks and other paraphernalia.

The rangers took possession of the ivory and other abandoned kit and walked 2 kilometers north to the only tree in the vicinity on a crest line. They decided to rest and examine their booty. No guards were posted. It appears that the poachers regrouped and mounted a follow-up - or a detached section from the group in another sector, sneaked up through the grass catching the rangers unawares.

The tall grass surrounding their position was subjected to a burst of gun fire (they certainly weren't plainly visible) resulting in the death of one and the wounding of another. Dropping their machine gun (recovered later), a Motorola radio ,captured ivory and other equipment seized earlier, they rapidly evacuated the area and returned individually to base where they went to sleep ( no guards again!) and in which state they were found at 01h00 on Wednesday 9th August. One had the sense to pedal his bicycle down the road to get within range of the relay station from where the report was received at Nagero over the other remaining radio.

Our investigation resulted in the discovery of two torch batteries left behind at the scene of the murder (earlier taken from the poachers), scraps of cigarette papers at the " buffalo poaching camp", also a cracked open buffalo bone, and seven expended cartridge cases (calibre uncertain, but not AK cartridges, but suspected of having come from the Sudan by a Congolese army int. authority stationed with me) at the " river beach camp" where the initial contact took place on 8th Aug. All these have been retained and filed with the docket.

Dr's report on cause of death and what he observed will be recorded and filed with witnesses statements

Then altered by the presence of scores of vultures in the sky, the carcass of a dead elephant (sex not determined) in a rear kneeling position indicating that it was running when it was shot, was discovered not 1 km away further to the south. The tusks and tail had been removed.From where the other tusks originated and reportedly seen by the rangers, there is no indication. Photo's of the dead elephant have been retained for the docket.

Ends.

A Congo Diary

2010-01-03T09:51:00.003+02:00

Apologies for lack of comms but where I have landed near the Sudanese border, is in a dark corner of Africa.The Garamba park where I will be based for two months, is remote, extreme and totally reliant on it own shaky infrastructure. Staffed by Portuguese,Belgian, Congolese, French, and Swiss nationals to mention but a few, the Garamba Park Democratic Republic of the Congo, (DRC) is one of many of the fast disappearing wild life sanctuaries in Africa. To make it worse, its guards who are designed to preserve the ecology, are its biggest culprits it would seem. Avarice, greed,corruption, ill disciplined and openly mutinous, there is a large mountain to climb before any sort of sanity can prevail. But more of that later.

I arrived in Kingali (Rwanda) Wednesday last and was driven through the mountainous passes to the Rwanda/Congo border a few minutes away from the lava ravaged town of Gomo on the shores of lake Kivu. A pleasant interlude at the Kivu Sun right on the beach was followed by the usual intimidation of " so called" scruffily dressed, secret police inside the Congo who wanted to know what was in the vehicle? We are whites you see (!)and anything which they consider would be worthwhile having, is normally handed over to them by fearful " tourists" who want to avoid a confrontation. Well, we didn't fit into that category.Having earlier withstood their banging at the sides of the pick-up, I forcibly brushed my way past one of those leaches from the passenger door en route to customs. The intimidatory tactics ended and we sailed through.

I bedded down for the night at a Lakeside Hotel called the " VIP Palace " - anything but, but a cold beer soon takes away the overall lack of service, confusion and lack of running water. It was to be my home for the next 3 nights for forthcoming days spent in Gomo, which were taken up with admin and log. Huge thunderstorms assaulted the town every afternoon and evening but life continued through the streets which had become muddy swamps and rivulets gushing their way through the rockhard, tyre ripping, fields of lava from the last eruption in 2002.

I suppose my adventure really commenced on Saturday afternoon when in the company of others, we took off in a Cessna 206 in the gathering gloom heading north to Ishango on the western shore of Lake Edward where I had been based earlier this year.I had to leave three quarters of my kit behind due to lack of space with the promise it would be restored to me he next day - its Tuesday now and I am still waiting!

The flight over the volcanoes and lake Edward was an experience not to be missed. One of the volcanoes is still bubbling and molten lava inside the crater is clearly visible from above.

We arrived at Ishango at sunset with my heart in my throat. The Ugandan pilot had misjudged the length of the runway and a cross wind. Running out of airstrip, he had to gun the plane at full throttle to gain height and make another attempt at landing. I was mindful of my earlier flight in an Antonov which was flapping itself through the sky when I was last up there in February (see earlier Congo report) and thought of the other 64 aircraft that crashed last year and another 3 in March this year, when I stepped out of the cabin!

Ishango was different from when I was there last. All tents were now lit up, the kitchen was cleaner and several buildings had had running repairs carried out on them.
The hippos and crocs together with the forest hog, had gone from our front doorstep (I am told they had moved to greener pastures) whilst our kitchen staff had all been replaced. Training which had been undertaken there for the last two months by two French instructors had come to an end. The troops, both old and new, were now awaiting for upliftment to go " operational" in the Garamba.

A pleasant evening was spent in the gazebo overlooking the Semliki River and at 10h00 the next day (Sunday) we were airborne once again in the Cessna bound for a two hour flight to Nagero, the headquarters of the Garamba park.To describe the country we flew over, was something out of a Jules Verne novel. Clouds pregnant with rain scudded below, I had glimpses of creeper, canopy clad, green tropical forests spreading to the horizon as far as the eye could see in all directions. Intermittent brown torrents coiled their way through the foliage to join the Congo river far to the south. Several bald rocky mountain peaks broke through the carpet around which we weaved our way, until 20 minutes before landing, we ploughed into a tropical deluge. My thoughts were once again on earlier casualties. Suffice to say, we aquaplaned onto the torrent of mud and clay which was the Nagero airstrip and another " not to be forgotten" flight had come to an end!

So here I was! Fifteen years earlier I had been earmarked to come to this desperate place to undertake a mission but it never happened. Now it was all for real.As we drove our way into camp through the pouring rain, I was once again reminded of what once had been a viable colonial driven operation in Africa. Buildings which once housed tourists, were now in ruin. Sagging eaves, squatters (families of the rangers!) unpainted and moss covered buildings ; generally accompanied by the total neglect of a place run by post independent Africa. A large storeroom contained skulls of hippos, elephants, rhino, Congo giraffe skins, crocodile heads etc while 3 tonnes of ivory are locked away somewhere.

I was shown to an empty tent which will be my home for the next two months and which I am slowly getting into order, but being Tuesday, with still no kit and no recruits in sight (yes, the cargo plane from Gomo still has to put in an appearance) I will temporarily shut down this diary and update you in due course on my first arrests and
a " flight of angels " over the garden of Eden

Ends

A Congo Story

2010-01-03T09:48:00.001+02:00

As a college student in Grahamstown, South Africa "when we were young" I used to gaze wistfully at a map of Africa and wonder what all the green/red/yellow coloured illustrations and colonial sounding names all meant and what was behind the facade?

On further inquiry, my interest was further engendered by that magnificient soldier and author of many books, including "The Jungle is Neutral" by Federick Spencer-Chapman DSO, an "explorer extraordanaire".

One country, the Belgian Congo, leapt from the pages! Huge rivers, volcanoes, jungles, bonobos, chimpanzee's, okapi, apes, kobs, unparalled birdlife, lion, elephant, hippo, rhino, pygmies ......!!! What did that all mean? Who were the early explorers? What were their routes? Da Brazza , Stanley, Goetzen to mention a few. Here was the cradle of mankind I was lead to believe...

The Congo was in a state of turmoil after the "winds of change" : it has been for over 40 years since. Tshombe, Patrice Lumumba, Mobuto jumped from the pages and the name of the "Congo Mercenary", Mike Hoare!

Earlier, UN secretary general "Dag" Hammersjold was shot down in mysterious circumstances.

What did it mean to a heady youngster whose eyes were firmly set north?

Summarising, a hugely immensly and interesting life in the British South Africa Police (BSAP) of Rhodesia with men that counted, and a less adventurous time in the South African forces who were dismally poor in assessing the revolutionary climate . Most of my service was spent working with self effacing, xenophobic staff officers (God help you if you were an ex Rhodesian!) , but was punctuated by the opportunity of conducting a few external adventures in neighbouring countries.

In between time, I was mixed up with experiences in de-mining operations in Mozambique followed by a stint in Kosovo, coupled with in-depth studies of 19th century warfare in Southern Africa which has lead me down many a byway and meeting amazingly, interesting people and sharing their adventures from around the world.

Then it came!

A call to the Congo. Consequently packing up overweight bags, I made my way to Gomo in the south east of the country. A wrecked town. Swarming with the flotsam and jetsam of war. Lava flows from a recent explosion on the banks of Lake Kivu, a former Belgian enclave with sadly neglected holiday homes, apathetic United Nations troops,and NGO's completely out of touch with reality.

The next day I was winging my way to Beni, in North Kivu province, in the hold of an Antinov crowded with locals, trussed up pigs, goats and other livestock & hanging onto the ropes of the net securing the baggage.No seats or cabin service here!

It was the most terrifying time of my life! With the cowlings shaking visibly over the turbo charged engines threatening to disintergrate at any moment, and climbing into the equatorial mists and tropical rain, I thought my time had come as I peered out through the only port hole f''rward. I could see nothing but forest clad peaks. We cleared them by inches. Russian pilots? No way. "I would walk in future if we ever landed safely" were my thoughts.

Notwithstanding. The trip was a nightmare.Three other planes went in last month (April) 64 had gone down in 2005 it was reported. We landed! The passengers whose whites of their eyes were evident in the interior gloom of the fuselage, burst into spontaneous applause.

Humping kit to the office (immigration?) which I thought I had cleared on entering the country from Rwanda, the authorities also decided to get into the act and I was relieved of more dollars. After all, they don't see Europeans up there every day, it scarcely being a tourist route. So why not make a couple of extra bucks? NGO's who arrive there irreguarly are willing to share the spoils of their government with underpaid officials.. Do they care?

The time spent up in the Congo for the next 6 weeks proved to be one of the most arduous and exhililrating weeks of my life. Interaction with mountain gorillas, illegal fishing fleets ; Lake Edward's fish population has been hoovered up ; also its hippo flotilla decimated. It had numbered in tens of thousands 10 years ago and but barely maintains a 100 beasts today on the Congo's shores.

Forest felling, the illegal trade of wild life, the debris of a 9 year old civil war which involved 9 countries (said to be the largest conflict since the end of the 2nd world war) including involvement of our dear friend and colleague Robert Mugabe. River patrols, night exercises, tornado's, the Rwenzori mountains, ("The mountains of the Moon") mosquitos, tstese fly, "creepie crawlies" & reptiles of every description complete the list of experiences.

The green splodge on the map which I had seen in the classroom now had meaning.

I had realised a dream. In a soldier's life there are no signposts and no final destination.

Where next? I will find a place, make no error!

A Congo Camp

2010-01-03T09:45:00.001+02:00

In many animal institutions around the globe, no matter in what environment, one can walk in on an unexpected creature from the wild, which has been domesticated and part of the human genre (daily life).

Recently whilst on patrol in the Drakensberg in Natal, there was an establishment which had a pet cape otter (Nimrod) and a karakul (Jonty) Both had been adopted at an earlier age, and whilst retaining their own characteristics,fitted in well to daily life of domestic pets and human daily chores.The otter used to make surprise appearances in the guest' s bath tub and appear from underneath cushions in the bar, whilst Jonty used to claw himself up trees and tease the dogs!

Here in the Garamba, a similar scene greeted me on my arrival. A baby baboon had made mates with a small vervet monkey and continuously nursed it from any perceived danger. Another monkey had befriended a nanny goat and clung to its back on patrols around the camp. The goat took its burden in its stride and only once did I see it bucking like a horse in a rodeo anxious to rid itself of its rider which grimly held on!

The pilot had a chimpanzee saved from a Congo bush meat market which followed him wherever he went. Duty took him on several occasions to other parts whereupon he used to leave it in the care of the camp guards. One night they neglected to house it and a sniggering hyena dined out.

We also have a 3 month old lioness named Nagere She spends her night caged in a wooden crate and on a leash out in the paddock during the day snapping at insects, chasing birds and playing with the off duty guards.. Two days ago, she bit her way free & disappeared into the elephant grass. We expected to never see her again. But she turned up meowing and looking for a bone to chew upon. Of course, she had no mother to teach her to hunt and would have proved a tasty dish for some other carnivore or killed by a pride of lions living nearby. I have sent out an SOS for someone/anyone to take her into a home outside the Congo.Do you want her perhaps?

Last night the tug boats fog horns blaring, moved into base and fought a dual not 5 meters from my tent. Bellicose, bellowing hippo tore into each other and there was a moment or two in the pitch black darkness, I thought that I would be paid an unwelcome ,3 tonne visit, through the thin fabric.The commotion died down

Dawn brought in a thick mist. I was about to prepare lectures for the day when local grass cutters drew my attention to the banks of the Dungu river. There, caught up against a dead tree 10 meters out in the water, lay a colossal Nile crocodile with legs pointed to the sky. There was a single wound on the exposed belly.A fatal bite from a hippo perhaps?

Out in the park amongst the high grass, sightings of lions, elephant, kob, hartebeest, oribi, waterbuck, mongooses, squirrels, a sub species of giraffe, Nile buffalo, hyena. But none of the last remaining northern white rhino on this planet which are either extinct or very close to it.

Downstream, the last remaining domesticated elephant remains alive. She was part of a troop tamed in better days to conduct elephant back tours around the park, similar to what is done today in other parts of Africa. This, like everything else, collapsed amongst the Congo's internal wars and strife.One cannot feel deep compassion when gazing into this animal' s eyes. You can almost hear her asking, " Why"? I am one of God's creations after all

Its muggy, hot and humid again. The skies don't hold the promise of refreshing rain, but what will the night bring?

Congo Road

2010-01-03T09:41:00.000+02:00

It takes a while to be come accustomed to your environment in any particular area. In the 14 days I have been at the Garamba, I have been to the scene of a murder of one of the rangers, come across the carcass of an elephant from where the ivory and tail had been hacked from its body, arrested ranger/poachers, traversed across the abutting " domain de chasse" , found abandoned poachers camps and trails, and ....................
In the east of the park, found a one eyed crone over 100 years old living under a shelter, received reports of Ugandan rebels moving freely around the country to the east, picked up stories of bushmeat being sold 100kms away in the west etc etc.

But Wednesday last, I decided to test a Congo road.

My journey from base to Aligi in the east was a mere 25kms. It took 3 hours to negotiate the road on a Semke 125 cc Chinese motor bike- once a national highway accessible to a 2 x 4. Built by the Begians over 60 years ago, a clearing was made through the forest using harnessed locally trained elephants. Imported stone was laid as a base and bitumised. The numerous rivers were spanned with wooden bridges and sturdy cement and stone abutments. There were clinics, schools and other modern infrastructure in the towns. No more. The " road " is a ruin, with cavernous pot holes the size of olympic swimming pools and filled with ooze and slimy green water.

With 5 rangers, I undertook this assignment and marvelled at the sights and sounds along the road. Numerous bicycles travelled east and west, and west and east along the road. Hardy merchants travelling to a far off village up to 200 kms from house base in search of the necessities of life.A three week return journey.Groaning bikes loaded up with 100 kg bags of salt, spare parts for the machine, pedals,a pump, pots, pans and other cooking utensils, a mattress, clothing. All dutifully pushing their bikes in convoys through the mud and slime and riding when a firmer section of the road (rarely) was visible.

Little road side shambas at the edges of the forest along the road ,every 8 kms or so, selling itsy bitsys. A funeral of a baby, a 10 year old boy pushing a bike with a chair strapped to the back holding two wide eyed infants, another with a very dehydrated goat similarily strapped to the carrier.

There was one common factor I encountered on the road. Everyone to whom I spoke was friendly and polite and offered up the information and complaints readily. But the essential info that I was seeking was not available. Namely - where are the poaching gangs operating from?

I cannot tell you of all the magnificent birds flitting through the trees that I spotted. The bird books record them all but we don't have the privilege of viewing these monarchs of the glades further south. Elephant dung seen occasionally but not in the quantity there should have been. They are a seriously threatened species in these parts. Ivory sold by the poachers fetches a mere $30,00 a KG. They are then moved on over the borders where the mark up rises considerably until their final destination in the east it is claimed.

On my return, a motor cycle with 3 pax on it whisked me going in the opposite direction. On stopping at the next village, there were a score of wailing woman,

" What happened?" I asked?

"A woman had died of disease in a village 80 kms away and she was being taken to Faradge for burial" I was told.Her body had been strapped between the driver and the pillion passenger in a sitting up position!

I now know why they both wore face masks! A Congo ambulance in action!!!

After the end of this extraordinary day, one of the rangers came up to me with a smile on his face and said " Patron, do you know that 90% of the villagers we visited today had never seen a white man before" ?

What a world!

"Changa Changa" - Zambia's John Dunn.

2010-01-03T09:38:00.000+02:00

FOR INFORMATION - Material gathered on a recent trip to Zambia

Luangwa township is today a small district headquarters and border post at the end of a road that goes no further. It is the lowest point in Zambia and probably the hotest, being situated at the confluence of the Zambesi and Luangwa rivers on the Mozambique and Zimbabwean borders. In these notes, its ancient name of Feira is used to avoid confusion with the latter river.

Feira is one of the most historic sites in Zambia. Except for the former Portuguese coastal settlements and Tete downstream on the Zambezi in Mozambique, no other place in the whole of Southern Africa has such an early recorded origin as Feira.Although the documents on its subsequent history are fragmentary and at times confusing, they chronicle an eventful sequence of violent struggles between the local people and the Portuguese intruders for control of this stategic site at the junction of what used to be two lucrative trade routes along the river. the records also give fascinating glimpses of life in what is now Zambia during the pre-colonial period.

In the absence of early written records before the arrival of the Portuguese in the 16th century, historians can only rely on verbal legends and on archaeological evidence of events in this area. The latter evidence indicates that the Zambezi was a trade route at least as early as the 8th century A.D. It is probable that the imported goods found in graves at Ingombe Ilede some distance up the Zambesi river from Feira were brought there by intermediaries between the Arabs on the coast and the local people, if not the Arabs themselves. Beads, ceramics, cloth and cowrie shells were exchanged for copper and malachite from Katanga, gold from the country south of the Zambezi, rhino horn and ivory.

The Luangwa was less important as a trade route as it was not so easily navigable. However it did give access to the abundant wild life that can still be seen in the Luangwa valley today - except for the rhinos which have been exterminated by poachers in recent years.During the Portuguese period, the Luangwa valley was also used as a trade route to the court of Chief Luapula, where copper was exchanged for imported foods.

After displacing theArab traders on the coast, the Portuguese followed the Zambesi inland in search of ivory, slaves and precious metals. At first they established ports at Sena and Tete on the river.The earliest record of their arrival in what is now Zambia, is that of the foundation of Zumbo on the east bank of the Luangwa in 1546.It is certain from this base they would have crossed the Luangwa. The exact date of Feira's foundation is not known but it would have been about the same time. Feira means "market or fair" in Portuguese.

Chronology

1600 AD ; Zumbo and Feira abandoned

1726 : Father Pedro da Santissima Trinidade, a Dominican priest installed as vicar of Zumbo ".............with the cross in his hand and virtue in his soul, and also like St Francis Xavier, with a host of remedies for the ills both of body and the spirit, he made an enormous number of converts whom he raised from a state of barbarism.....He rapidly became famous for his piety and virtues.

1729 : First church built at Zumbo.

1751 : Father Pedro dies, "respected by the inhabitants......for helping to dissolve with his advice old standing hatreds, making up differences, comforting souls and dispensing widely from his stock."

1754 : Portuguese driven out of Zumbo by local people, taking refuge in Feira where Jose Pedro Diner was appointed commandant. He fortified the perimeter of the settlement with a massive stone wall, traces of which still exist. However, he did not fortify the river frontage thinking that no attack would be launched from the water. In this he was mistaken ; the local Nsenga tribe did indeed attack from the river and destroyed the town! Diner was gaoled for incompetence and replaced by da Souza

1763 : 200 Portuguese families were living in Zumbo.

1780 : Zumbo occupied by Francisco Pereira, nicknamed "The Terror", no doubt for his brutality

1804 : Zumbo captured and destroyed by Chief Mburuma IV.

1811 : New churches built at Zumbo and Feira.

1813 : Zumbo again destroyed by Chief Mburuma IV.

1818 : Chief Mburuma IV driven out of Feira by the Portuguese who rebuilt the town.

1827 : Captain Jose Manuel Monteiro in charge of Feira.

1830 : Chief Mburuma IV killed during a night attack on Feira.Peace agreement negotiated with Chief Mburuma V by brother Pedro.

1835 : Zwangendaba's Angoni impi crossed the Zambesi near Feira on his long march from Zululand to the shores of lake Victoria and then back to what is now Zambia's Eastern Province leaving a path of death and destruction.

1836 : Feira evacuated by Ensign Jose de Sequeira after further attacks by local Nsenga. Zumbo again overrun and destroyed.

"Easter Sunday 1836 is perhaps the blackest day of all in the history of this small colony which had already passed through so many vicissitudes. From the few trustworthy data now available, it appears that nearly all the inhabitants of Zumbo, including their commandant, has crossed the river to Feira and were the guests of Father Joao.During their absence, Captain Alexandre da Corta, who had quarrelled with the Resident Cactapa and who had refused to accompany the party to Feira, betrayed the town and opened the gates of Zumbo to Chief Zeka who, with his warriors, entered without firing a shot. The first intimation that the people of Zumbo had of his treachery was when they saw flames leaping out of their new convent and church. The few residents that had remained behind were foully murdered, the stores were ransacked and before this impi left, the town was for the second time, practically razed to the ground. After this calamity the inhabitants of Zumbo appear to have lost heart. They did not attempt to rebuild the township ; some went to Feira, others left for the coast."

1856 : Dr David Livingstone visited Feira on his epic coast to coast journey from Luanda to Mozambique. He found the place deserted and in ruins.

Despite all the massacre and desruction at both places there were intevals of peaceful trading and prosperity, notably under Fr. Pedro's wise and benevolent guidance 1726-1751.
At other times relations with the local population were poor.The Portuguese tended to be serville when at a disadvantage and brutally oppressive when they had the upper hand ; a recipe for trouble.

Feira remained in ruins until the arrival in 1857 of Harrison Clark, or "Changa Changa"as he was known to the locals. Born in the Cape Province in South Africa he fled north to escape justice after an accident involving the death of an African. There were still some Portuguese at Zumbo but it had become little more than a base for slave trading and elephant hunting by half caste Chikunda who terroirised a wide area. Clark raised his own militia amongst the locals and restored order suppressing both the slave trading and inter-tribal warfare. He negotiated several treaties with various chiefs highly favourable to himself.

On one occasion he crossed the Luangwa drove the Portuguese out of Zumbo and raised the Union Jack there. His authority extended up onto the plateau as far as the Kafue river. He came to be regarded as a chief and imposed licences and export taxes on traders. He consolidated his position by marrying the daughter of Mapuka, chief of the Chikunda.

A Portuguese who had built a fortified post on the Lunsemfwa river was banished by Clark who destroyed the post. Later he was arrested by the Zumbo Commandant who had to release him when the Chikunda refused to guard him as he was "too great a man to be imprisoned."

In 1895 he moved from Feira to a fortress built at the confluence of the Lumsemfwa and Lukusashi rivers. This was more centrally situated in his vast domain.

However his days as uncrowned king were numbered after Cecil John Rhodes' British South Africa company was granted jurisdiction over the country north of the Zambesi. In 1901 the company sent Shekleton to open a station at Feira. Clarke's treaties with the chiefs were not recognised by the company. However he was granted three farms as compensation.

With the establiashmnent of Company rule at Feira, peace and order was finally established in this lawless area in accordance with Company motto "Justice, Freedom, Commerce."

In the early 1900's Feira became an important transit depot for the movement of cattle bought by traders in German East Africa and walked down through the Luangwa Valley. They were them swum across the Zambesi for sale in Southern Rhodesia. During this period, there were three hotels at Feira.

In 1917 a rebellion in Mozambique and Portuguese discouragement of Catholic missions caused a Jesuit mission to move over the Luangwa to Katondwe in Feira district. This mission now provides medical services to the local population at its impressive hospital.

In later years, Feira became to be regarded as a punishment station for officials who were out of favour. Feira's isolation and intense heat was thought to be a suitable environment for reflection of their errors. During the 1950's one of the District Commissioners (DC's) conducted business in his office sitting in a bath of water in order to keep cool.

During the Rhodesian bush war in the late sixties, violence returned to Feira in the form of skirmishes between communist backed terrorists and Rhodesian security forces based at Kanyemba. Nowadays, the district remains quiet, remote and impoverished. Its soils are generally poor, the rainfall scanty and erratic. There are few economic possibilities tho this could improve with the development of tourism to this corner.

Acknowledgment:

John Hudson OBE. MA. from who most of this material is gathered &collated.
Management -Bridge Camp, Luangwa river

Uganda Patrol ; Feb 2008

2008-07-19T20:38:00.003+02:00

In the footsteps of 19th century African explorers

When the word UGANDA is mentioned, many will have memories of that country's strife after independence in July 1962 and the names Milton Apollo Obote and Idi Amin jump from the bloodied pages of history.
Happily that is not so today for since the accession to power of General Yoweri Museveni, stability of a sort has returned to the land. There are signs however that in common with most of Africa's post-colonial leaders, the incumbent now into his 22nd year of power, is turning the country into his own fiefdom and becoming increasingly intolerant of a growing awareness amongst the middle class for " change".
My first flirtation with the country came about in 2006 when I left the war torn eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) for an emergency trip to Kampala for dental treatment. What I saw, willed me to return, and in February 2008, .I winged into the country and another adventure.
The trip was planned in conjunction with two English ladies who wanted to see the mountain gorillas and chimpanzees in the wild before going on to Kenya for four nights. However the latter half of the plans was thwarted by Kenya's recent unrest so instead we added on another four nights to explore the north.
Entebbe airport, the scene of the daring raid by Israeli Para’s to free hostages taken by Amin's government in June 1976, is probably one of the finest in Africa. An efficient and a smoothly run operation is in place, and it was a breeze clearing formalities after depositing the $50 visa fee. Further paperwork was completed when I met up with Shona, a tour operator out of the top drawer, who thoughtfully provided a driver and a Nissan 4 x 4 for the entire itinerary. My companions arrived the following morning from Heathrow and we hit the road east for Jinja and the source of the Victoria Nile.
Anyone contemplating driving through Kampala should have his head read. The city is bustling chaos. Piled up traffic makes its way in all directions through the city of two million people with no adherence to the rules of the road, if there were any in the first place. Cars three abreast attempt to overtake each other, whilst 'boda boda's' (motor cycles) weave their way through the traffic and pedestrians from all directions. The absence of any kind of sign posts makes it all the more frustrating. Solid white lines are ignored. Groups of traffic police stand idly by watching the chaos without any direction or intervention. But after 3 hours after leaving the pleasant environs of Entebbe, only 30 kms away from Kampala, we emerged on the eastern edge of the city on the main road to Kenya and more hair-raising experiences. This time in the form of hurtling 'matatu's “(taxis), overloaded busses, heavy road transport all with a death wish painted on their foreheads! I will never ever complain about the taxis in South Africa again.
All this was forgotten when the Nile came into view at Owen Falls hydro electric power station. A bumpy ride down the northern bank took us to our accommodation at the Nile Porch on the banks of the river for two very pleasant nights. Dropping off the baggage, we ventured to explore the surrounding countryside in the former Kingdom of Buganda, ruled by the Kabaka. We took a circuitous route down rural tracks with intermittent views of the Nile and its tumbling waters before driving down to the Bujagali Falls, the location of a new power station currently being constructed and due to come on line in a few years time. Many local entrepreneurs approached us with offers of boat rides to the nearby islands at the bottom of the Falls (actually rapids), another who wanted money to view him climbing a pole on dry land, and yet another with a plastic 20 litre plastic jerry can who wanted to propel himself over the rapids using it as a surfboard - for a fee of course! A dangerous occupation confirmed later when I heard that a similar stunt man had died a couple of years previously performing the same feat when his head hit a submerged rock.
My interest lay in organizing a white water river expedition down the river the next day at fee of $75 per person for a 30km ride, but after inspecting the condition of the rafts and hearing that their "experienced crewmen "were no more than co-opted truck drivers and barmen, whoever was on duty and available in fact, we opted for a professional outfit run by ex Natalian John Dahl located in Jinja at a charge of $125 each.
The next day after going through the safety drills at their headquarters, we were taken under the wing of Jane, a bubbly South African lady in her early forties who has tramped around the world on her itchy feet.
Those of you who have ventured down the Zambezi at Vic Falls, try this river with its grade 3 - 5 rapids and falls. Pure exhilaration. Jane whose commendable use of the oars the size of trees, engineered the craft through and over every conceivable obstacle. One island we passed was occupied by an experienced kayaker, also from Natal, who when he is not busy paddling through other streams around the globe, lives contentedly in his modern home and guides/instructs others on the Nile with a similar passion.
Lunch was enjoyed at the Hairy Lemon, yes, an establishment on another island, with a decidedly Australian and South African flavour.
The next day we tied up our laces and headed west, unfortunately through the centre of Kampala again. However we avoided the trucks and busses on the Jinja highway by deviating north from the Owen Falls and along a not too busy road to Bukoloto, before swinging south to Gayaza and into the city – a much more preferable option.
Two hours later we had just crossed the equator when an African bee decided the flesh on my upper arm was a good target. As the sting dug deep, I knew I had half an hour to get medical help. Fortunately there was a nearby hospital off the road and armed with a vial of adrenalin, I received a life saving jab at a bush hospital at Nkozi. Swallowing down some pills, I was soon as right as rain as we continued our way south west towards Lake Mburo via the town of Masaka. En route we sadly stumbled across a road kill of an African civet, a nocturnal animal rarely seen.
We entered Lake Mburo National Park as the sun was setting after paying the proscribed park fees and completed more paperwork. A tip here is to hang onto every paper that you get in Uganda's wild life areas for somewhere; someone will ask you for the receipt. My comments on the reserve are made later in this report.
On 14th Feb it was back on the road again to the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, passing through country side which reflected the the ruins of the civil war when President Nyerere invaded Uganda to oust Amin. It was a long hard ride through Mbarara down to Ntungamo before one heads due west along the last piece of tarmac we were to see for a few days, ending at the town of Kagamba. The scenery amongst the millions of banana plantations is quite dreary. Shabby villages line up in procession, one after the other, all with singularly prominent yellow walls on shop buildings, a legacy of the phone network MTM which saturates the entire country with their receivers.
The countryside changes in appearance after Kagamba; better watered, hillier than what has already been passed through. The shadows of farm paddocks cultivated by earlier colonialists are visible. Working tea plantations climb the slopes of the hills bringing with it a more familiar world to one's eyes. Those of you who remember the eastern districts in the then Rhodesia, will be able to draw comparisons.
Finally, we arrived at the Impenetrable forest, the tale of which has been split in to two parts.
a. The gorilla trek.
b. The arrest of two illegal gorilla operators (con men) by the patrol, which forms the subject of a separate report submitted to the officials of the Ugandan Wild Life Authority (UWA) for prosecution.

The gorilla trek
Gorillas have been known to the world for centuries, the first documented occasion being when about 2000 yeas ago, Carthaginians from North Africa tried to capture some of the apes in West Africa, a bruising encounter that earned them the Carthaginian name for a 'scratcher' - gorilla.
Like many other mammals, there are different sub species. Initially known as the western and eastern lowland gorillas, it was only in 1902 when a German army officer Oscar von Berenge shot two gorillas at Mt Sabinyo that the world of science identified the 3rd sub species - the mountain gorilla giving to it its biological name " Gorilla Berengei". Or that is what I am told!
Ever diminishing forests and uncontrolled hunting has shrunk habitats alarmingly and today there are reputedly only 700 or so in the wild, concentrated in the Virunga Volcanoes (Mgahinga) and Bwindi national parks. My first encounter with these magnificent creatures was two years earlier on the summit of Mt Tshiburima in the eastern DRC with a family of four and a cutie named "Makokhiya" ("the one that greets you"). When we came upon her she beat her chest and put in several mock charges before curiosity killed the cat and she resorted to tugging at my companions army smock and dog tag. An experience never to be forgotten.
Almost to the day then, I was being briefed about the "do's and don'ts" by trained guides at the foot of a large mountain where we were to go in search of the Habinyanja family consisting of 22

members of one family group.
Here are some of the procedures.
First you purchase through the UWA or their agents a gorilla permit at their offices in Kampala. These must be obtained months in advance and the date must be set in stone when you wish to undertake this trek. You need also to forward your full name and passport number together with a staggering fee of US$500 for the privilege.
When you arrive at the park, both your permits and passports are taken to the officials who verify your identity.
They meticulously divide the party into eight people per family group of gorillas. No "extras" allowed! (There are 3 habituated families which the tourist may visit, which means a maximum of only 24 persons can undertake the journey on a single day.)
This is where the "con men" take over. All being equal, the patrols in and out of the forest are back in by 14h00 together with their guides and porters who disappear for the rest of the day. The "ïllegals" furtively approach a would-be gorilla spotter and offer to guide them in to see the apes for half the cost of the permit! Young people with limited budgets are their prey I am told. A little later I was further informed of requests by foreign nationals who have brazenly approached locals to abduct baby gorillas for export. I have no doubt that there is collusion, for how else would they know where to take the tourist?
So, after the briefing is complete, you set off with your guides and porter if you wish - the porter costing an extra $10 each, to find your own "King Kong". It’s cleverly done, for prior to the commencement of your walk, early morning guides are sent out in advance into the forest to track the apes from where they had been seen the day before.
The "modus operandi": As family groups rarely move within a km of their last location, they aren't too difficult to trace. Once spotted, the trackers radio back the information and your guide shepherds you to the spot.)
Two hours later then, after a steep, sweaty climb up a demarcated path, the radio crackles into life and you are aware that you are within 15 minutes of your quarry. You then push, cut and batter your way through the undergrowth, emerging within the midst of a quite unconcerned group of apes busily browsing and scratching away for their morning's meal.
The "silverback” was not immediately visible, but you knew where he was. Every five minutes or so, he would throw back his Neanderthal-like head, utter several penetrating whoops, and beat out a staccato on his chest.
Each gorilla in the group would respond with a low growl, acknowledging his presence, and at the same time indicating that they were in patrol formation. Fascinating, fascinating, fascinating – this oral communication amongst the family.
Now is the time to get the cameras in motion! Flashes are not allowed, so you engineer yourself through the undergrowth to get your picture, and man, do you never stop clicking during the hour or so you are allowed to be in their company. The ranger calls "time” and you make a tactical withdrawal.
Much more to tell if you want to know. On a rather more mundane note, tourist gear is available for purchase - books, caps, T shirts etc, whilst at the village outside, where crude carvings of miniature gorillas are available, there is the usual cajoling to donate for Aids victims, orphans, care centres, etc. Like my later remarks about community projects, I cynically think that this is not so, and a mere trap for the unwary.
After another morning in the park when my two companions went on a forest walk to see a waterfall with a guide whose knowledge of the flora and fauna was zero, (you cannot go anywhere without a guide it seems, except along one short river walk that I heard of), I set about setting up a trap for the two illegal operators referred to earlier.

Ishasha sunset

After lunch, done and dusted, we moved further over to the West to Ishasha, via Butogota, hoping to spot tree climbing lions on the way in. In this we were disappointed, but were rewarded with the spotting of a pride of seven sleek lions stretching and yawning lazily right by the side of the road. Hunting in the QENP cannot be difficult. It abounds with topi, Ugandan kob, warthog and other tasty morsels. What was distressing to note however is the unhindered, unrestricted growth of lantana in the region which is strangling the grazing generally both for cattle and game. While I noticed half hearted attempts by locally recruited labour to clear the verges on the badly pothole gravel road, there appear to be no attempts to divert this workforce to tackling this menace.

We pointed the vehicle north again along the lake shore and popped into a local fishing village, at Kisenyia sprawling shanty, but resplendent with a satellite TV dish pointing heavenwards from the canvas draped tin iron hut called "Salon de luxe - Video shop"
We checked the night's catch, which in the main , were pan-sized tilapia and mudfish lying on drying tables. Several fishmongers were cleaving open their bellies and removing the offal. eagerly pounced on by thousands of flies. Hungry Malibu storks, hamerkops and fish eagles strutted over or swooped down to pick up the cast-offs.. Fishermen were busy mending their nets for their next sally out on the lake, a continuous operation which has already caused irretrievable damage to the fish populations and in the Great Lakes. Whilst travelling around Uganda, we heard of George Bush's magnanimous gesture by donating mosquito nets to all children under 5 in neighbouring Tanzania,a well meaning, noble but short sighted project. Most of these nets are turned into fishing nets to scoop out minnows in breeding areas, turned into wedding dresses or used for some other purpose other than which they were intended. Its quite impossible to police their usage.

THE GREAT LAKES AND OTHER AFRICAN WATERWAYS ARE DOOMED.

After checking in at our nights accommodation, we puttered onto Mweya and the Kazinga channel, a 40km length of waterway connecting Lake George to Lake Edward. After a cursory inspection of the Mweya Safari Lodge, a pricey tourist complex, we went to water's edge to board the UWA pleasure craft on a 3 hour trip of the channel.
The boat trip which is an interesting experience for first time visitors to Africa, crosses the channel and sluggishly moves westwards towards and into the mouth of Lake Edward, taking in sights of game along the way, which have come in off the savannahs to quench their thirst.
Once the home of thousands of animals and a very vibrant and healthy elephant population, civil wars have wreaked havoc. Larger culls of hippo in Colonial times have also left their scar, but in spite of this, one can get up close to Cape buffalo, crocodiles, monitor lizards, elephant and the odd cat should it decide to put in a day time appearance.
"Twitters" will like to focus in on African spoonbills,, saddlebill stork, pink backed pelicans, kingfishers, jacanas ,skimmers, African fish eagles, craiks, squacco's, goliath heron and a host of others. Amazingly at the mouth of the channel , and in the park, a large fishing village is tolerated. Buffalo, hippo and others graze contently nearby as though some kind of understanding has been reached between kindred spirits who need to share the water. If you want to here the commentary, stay on the lower deck. There is no audio system whilst if you are feeling thirsty, take your own refreshments. Nothing is provided except a piece of cloth and cork passing for a life jacket.
The ride back to Jacana Lodge was uneventful except for the bush fire from the communal land now lapping the parks boundaries had brought in several raptors which were plucking insects out of the sky. In one case a Longcrested eagle pounced on an unsuspecting field mouse heading out of the heat zone only to die in its talons.
Comment
What was an enigma, certainly to me, were the presence in the region of several "explosion craters" which dot the area. Common sense will tell they are of volcanic origin which they are, but which are only 8,000-10, 000 years old with some still active as late as 2000BC, some centuries after Egypt's Giza pyramids were built. Some still emit sulphourous smells.
Taking the rift valley as a whole and remembering that the eruptions,rents, upheavals etc that occurred millions of years past, you can but wonder at the fiery surface just below the Earth's crust.
From a tourist's point of view, take time to visit the Kasenda craters where numerous flooded craters exist a short walk from the road, the Mwitampungu (kills birds) - a reference possibly to poisonous gas emissions from the past. Time permitting, visit the Bubyaraguru and Katwe crater areas. the former of which can be explored on a 27km long drive which winds amongst the extinct pipes/vents and includes Lake Nyamunyuka (smells of bad meat) and Lake Kitagata which is fed by hot springs. Many more.
Arm yourself before hand with a 1:50,000 land survey map before undertaking this poorly signposted route and add another day to your itinerary

Daybreak saw the party cross the equator en route to Kasese. The route was lined with cotton fields along the side of the road and a large cement factory billowing tons of dust into the atmosphere. The eastern slopes of the Rwenzori foothills ("the place from where the rain comes") could be discerned through the haze but none of its snow clad and glaciated lofty peaks unfortunately.
The guide books will tell you of the various hikes you can take through this mountain range with three peaks attaining over 5000 meters, the highest of which is Mt Margherita at 5,109 meters, which is a tad less in height than the summits of Mt Kilimanjoro and Mt Kenya .
Baker is credited as the first European who allegedly sighted them in 1864 from the shores of Lake Albert which he named the "Blue Mountains", but it was only on the return of Stanley's mission to rescue Emin Pasha from Equatoria Province in 1876, that Lieut Stairs, a Canadian born officer and a member of the expedition, made a partial ascent of the slopes, reaching 3000 meters. It was left to the Italian Duke of Abruzzi to final plant a foot on the main summits in 1906.

The following day another milestone was reached on entering the Kibali Forest (560 sq km in size housing the largest population of chimpanzees in Uganda) and trekking with 3 others in pursuit of a family of chimpanzees. The particular family singled out for our visit, was said to number over 100 individuals under control of the Alpha Male appropriately named "Mobutu."
During the briefing by the most knowledgeable UWA guide(Johnson) encountered the road , the party was told that in no way was anyone allowed to try and imitate the vocal sounds made by the troop. One soon knew the reason why, for had anyone attempted such a feat, he would have had difficulty being heard above the cacophony of these seemingly aggressive creatures Nothing like the smiling pet chimp you see on your TV screens or in the circus!! You can hear them from afar as they quarrel and hurl abuse at each other, while Mobuto from all indications when we discovered him in a glade, wasn't going to surrender his dictatorial position lightly.Many a younger member was on the receiving end of blows and cuffs administered from the king of the apes.
There was continuous chattering, screaming and movement through the forest canopy., These creatures stir a primeval instinct in the human soul.
The distinct sound of a beating drum could be heard about 500 meters away. "What is that?", I asked.
The ranger replied it was a male kicking his hind feet against the buttress roots of a tree which resonated the sound of a drum beat, another form of communication amongst the troop I marvelled.
A startling sight was a male chimp, detached from the rest, lounging on his back, uncaringly exposing himself to an amused audience!

Kibale Forest

Any further thoughts of staying were rudely interrupted when one of the chimps discovered a pantry filled with honey in the bows of a tree. The infuriated bees rose in revolution. The bees honed in,stinging several rangers who were nearest the hive.
I was the first to leave. I didn't stay to count the casualties. Other than chimps and colobus moneys on whose numbers the chimps prey and rip apart, (as they reportedly also carry out when a miscreant in the tribe is singled out for capital punishment) other animals that may be seen are forest elephant, sitatunga, blue duiker, bushbuck, civets and buffalo.
The cost of a permit to visit the chimps is US$70,00 , again, which you must purchase in Kampala before setting out.

Leaving the the lake district behind , it was again "Westerin'-Ho" to have a tyre looked at on the vehicle and a refueling stop at Fort Portal, named after Sir Gerald Portal who had never set foot in the place. Fort Portal is the seat of the Toro kingdom which for centuries has experienced conflict at the hands of neighbouring dynasty's, even up to recent times during the Amin and Obote eras.
Having completed our chores, it was about -turn through flourishing tea plantations and on the road to Lake Albert Lodge along another bush track doubling up as a main artery to the town of Hoima. How no vehicle doesn't fall apart on a day's outing on this track, is a tribute to the manufacturers.

On reaching Kabwoya, the road angled off westwards towards the lake shore and through the Budongo Forest , the largest and one of the most appealing in the country falling out of the control of the UWA. I learnt later that it is has a healthy population of primates, including chimpanzees and other creations but is heavily under threat from pasturalists, tree fellers and poachers. No-one or organization has stepped forward to arrest this ongoing destruction except in the north eastern sector (See Murchison Falls) other than a loosely formed body under the banner of the National Forest Authority (NFA) .
On reaching the plains on the eastern shores of the lake,construction camps, newly graded roads, air strips, exploration drilling sites all came within view. Not clutter one might add, but definitely the scars of man were evident on the terrain. More pleasing to the eye were herds of Ugandan kob,oribi, side striped jackal, plenty of warthog and a small herd of Jackson's hartebeest recently introduced from the Murchison National Park.Hopping along on the ground in pursuit of insects, were pairs of Abbasynian ground horn bills.
I was later to learn that this renaissance of game was due to South African born Bruce who several years previously, whilst on contractual work in Uganda had seized the opportunity to reclaim this area for nature and was granted a 20 year concession covering 200 sq km's of for this purpose by the Ugandan government

In former days, the plain had supported teeming populations of wildlife, not least the migratory route of thousands of elephants, which for reasons described elsewhere, had been decimated. Now in the space of a few short years, Bruce's endeavours have brought its reward with populations again on the increase.
But there are inherent problems with this ; grazing. Both domestic stock and wildlife compete for this commodity. One afternoon spent on a game drive, several large herds of Anchoni cattle were spotted in the park. The short term solution is to impound the beasts, and then release them back to their owners on payment of a small fine.
But the problem continues. On the day of departure, we spotted at least 1000 head of cattle in different concentrations on the plain. On questioning a herd boy who was persuaded to come to the unmarked vehicle in which I was a passenger, the boy and his companion both aged about 14 years, told me that his father had said that as there was no grazing in Rwanda, (hundreds of miles away). "Take the cattle, he said, "and find grass"
The pair had been on the road for a year!

Other herd boys similarly questioned were from within Uganda's borders but also residing a great distance away. They too had travelled miles with their stock to find grass.
However with the presence of the herders, the necessity to live off the land runs parallel with poaching. These individuals and villagers from the escarpment above resort to subsistence snaring. Bruce continually has patrols looking out for snares and traps. Over a period of 30 minutes in one glade alone, we recovered 6 cable snares and the decaying skin and tusk of a warthog still bearing the deep imprint of a circular wound around its neck. Firewood collectors chopping out the vegetation add to the nuisance.
The Lodge itself , described elsewhere, is the most homely that one can come across. Good interaction exists at every level and many an interesting wayfarer has his tale to tell at the bar at night.

Bruce has a boat on the Nile on which one can cruise to the delta at the confluence of the Victorian and Albert Nile rivers, overnighting on board with all the trimmings. An option I would definitely consider on the next patrol.

On the way out and passing a mighty volume of water (Wambabya Falls) gushing down the escarpment, we had a fleeting glimpse of a genet in pursuit of an agitated angama lizard, darting left and right in a frantic bid to avoid his pursuer. Alas, in a matter of only three seconds, the genet had his breakfast firmly clenched between its teeth.

Back on the escarpment and winding our way through felled, burnt forests and the never ending banana plantations , we reached the outskirts of Hoima.

Nothing to report at this town other than the ruins of Katasiha fort one of a chain of forts built and manned by Major Lugard's Sudanese troops in the last decade of the 19th century.

Down on the rift valley floor once more after leaving Hoima, the road into the Murchison Falls park improved in quality until eventually we arrived at the Nile Safari camp on the high banks of "the great green, greasy" Nile river.The ladies went off in search of the elusive shoebill whilst other guests who had booked in at the same time with a very voluble English guide, opted for a sundowner cruise.On their return they reported sightings of leopard, elephant, Rothschild's giraffe and other plains game

On obtaining local information, the itinerary the next day was adjusted . The patrol boarded the UWA launch at 0900 hrs, one of two daily departures, at the ferry point crossing the Nile to Paraa Lodge (home of the hippo) on the opposite bank and chugged upstream to within 600 meters of the base of the Murchison Falls.

Accreditation for the discovery of the Falls by the first European is given to Samuel Baker who happened upon this roaring cascade of water in 1864. He described the moment: 'Upon rounding a corner in our canoes,. a magnificent sight burst upon us...Rushing through a gap that cliff the rock exactly before us, the river, contracted from a grand stream, was pent up in a narrow gorge scarcely 50 yards in width (15 meters). Roaring furiously through the rock bound pass, it plunged in a single leap of about 120 feet (37 meters) perpendicular into a dark abyss below.'

We were to wait two hours before we were to gaze on this wonder. In the meantime, the craft hugged the north bank on which oodles of game were at the waters edge, bathing, wallowing, and drinking their fill. Much to be seen ; similar to that sighted earlier on the Kazinga channel but more numerous. Giant, pied, grey headed, woodland Kingfishers perched and dive-bombed into the tide. Red throated bee-eaters, Abidan storks in their thousands added to the panorama. At some points the river was nearly 1000 metes across so it was well we were close up! Beware of the tsetse fly though. Unwelcome passengers on the boat, these blighters' sting feel like a red hot poker. The bite is sensitive for days afterwards and can have lethal results.

Gradually the spray of the hidden fall came into view. Areas of foam and scud floated on the surface of the river over a large, dark deep pools guarded by armadas of basking Nile crocodiles. The guide told us of the monster Nile Perch which inhabits the deep, some reaching weights of up to 100 kgs. ( Local lore is that 160kg specimen was caught in a net some years previously)

A catastrophic action by a British official 60 years ago, lead to the introduction of this voracious carnivore into the upper waters of the river.Together with another introduced fish ,the Nile Tilapia, they subsequently found they way into lake Victoria and have eaten over 200 endemic species into extinction. In the last 35 years, cichlids have declined from 80% of vertebrate biomass to just 1%. An example of man the fore again destroying his environment!

All this was forgotten when the cascade leapt into view.It was exactly as Baker had described it. The whirring and clicking of cameras took precedence. All the tourists on the base of a rock in the middle of the river.

Regrettably, the boat weighed anchor and drifted for another hour down the current to the mooring blocks from we we disembarked and made our way to Paraa board zeroed into get the best shots from the decks of the boat nudged into lodge (the home of the hippo) on the north bank for a refreshment. If you want an African experience, this up-market lodge is not for you. It reminded me of a rabbit warren To be sure, everything is available that the visitor could want but it doesn't blend with the environment. A dismissive,arrogant clerk at the foreign exchange desk definitely needs a lesson in courteous behaviour as one of my guests will testify. The only discordant note from a Ugandan on the entire trip.

Time was against the party from enjoying a full game drive on the north bank where most of Murchison's game is concentrated. The ferry's arrival and departure times dictate this. To accommodate the wish of the tour to visit the upper platforms of the Falls, an hour only was spent searching for animals. Rothschild's giraffe, elephant, lion,oribi were all there, but alas, no northern white rhino which were shot out years ago. Numbers of game were badly depleted, again, from the civil wars and a surfeit of automatic weapons, but happily is on the increase.

After disemarbarkation from the ferry on the south bank, a quick stop was made at the Red Chilli Hideaway for a bite to eat, an establishment which will suit the back packer offering reasonably priced packages and accommodation.

The road to the top of the Murchison Falls was an hour away and a must for any traveller to complete the full Falls experience. The entrance gate was un-manned so we parked off in a parking bay and picked up the inevitable lurking "guide" and hived off down the footpath. The most impressive view is on the edge of the first drop where huge volumes of water ricochet off the narrow, solid rock face, shaking it to its very foundations. Because of the closeness that one can get to this seething, angry torrent, (once spanned by a footbridge,washed away and never replaced) it's a better experience than the Victoria Falls for the kind of stupour and total oblivion which overcomes one.
Dragged away from this awesome, unrivalled sight, we climbed higher and had our first view of the equally strong but not as impressive,Uhuru falls on the right bank of the river which is divided from its neighbour by an island in-between both steams and which meet up at the lower terraces and make the Nile one river again. The incredible power of water

Murchison Falls

One can spend a day here watching the spray and swirls of the river.Combined with the movement of the Earth around the sun, rays of light probe dark fissures below, the shimmering rainbows changing in colour and description every minute.

The day was ending at its normal time of 18h30 on the equator when we moved into our accommodation and a good night in the moonlit African bush.

The last day in Uganda was a a bit of an anti climax, though contrary to what I said earlier about the Budongo forest not having any established facility, a tourist centre has been carved out at the Kanio Pabidi complex in the north east of the Murchison park and is ably handled by the Jane Goodall Institute. A one hour guided chimp and birding trail can be undertaken at half the cost one pays at the Kibale Forest reserve. An alternative is a 5 -10 hour chimp trail at US$100,00 a person where one can spend a leisurely day with habituated chimps.

The guide brochure will tell you that you can also see over 465 plant species including giant mahogany trees over 60m tall and over 300 years old. Of the 366 bird species that have been recorded (including the seldom seen purvel's illadopsis) , several are endemic to the area.Basic but comfortable dormitory or cabin en suite accommodation is offered together with a kitchen and refreshment outlet

At 20h00 after reaching Kampala once more, 280kms away from the Murchison park, farewells were exchanged at the airport.all left with our own thoughts considering our next epoch on the dark continent.
Who knows? - The Fish River Canyon in Namibia, the Wild coast hike in the Transkei, Mount Mlanje in Malawi, the Nyika Plateau and the hike to the source of the Luangwa, the source Blue Nile in Ethiopia. Mt Elgon, The Selous ; there are no signposts and no final destinations.

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Other information which the reader who is contemplating a trip to Uganda might find useful, follows hereunder

Hotels, Lodges, camps etc offering accommodation.

There is a galaxy of places where one can lay down one's head in Uganda, ranging from the opulent, very good, fair and humble in this emerald land. Comment can only be offered on the experiences of the above patrol who overnighted in places both from very good, to bad. Notes have been made on each with a subsequent grading of 1 - 5.
Grade 5: Excellent.
Grade 4: Very good.
Grade.3: Good.
Grade 2: Fair.
Grade 1: Poor.
The assessments here break away from what you see in the advertising brochures and the normally sickly comments you see in the accommodation "Remarks" columns posted at receptions, and which I don't think are ever read, and which are usually contain traveller's platitudes in a hurry to get on their way and make no waves, instead of addressing the real issues to put operators on their toes.
These assessments are purely mine and that of my party and are in no way to be seen as negative or destructive as it may appear in some cases. It's tempered by our experiences and knowledge gleaned from personal interaction and where credit or failure is due, it is reflected in the overall rating backed up by personal impressions.

Boma Hotel, Entebbe : Grade 2.
Conveniently situated close to Entebbe airport, the old style colonial building offers basic to average accommodation in what is essentially a night stop. Neat lawns and high walls surround the property which offers no activities within its boundaries, supplies a basic bed, fan and hot shower when the power is on. Reasonably priced meals are served off an "a la carte menu" on an outside verandah, basic, though well prepared from behind a serving bar off the lounge, whilst only one TV set in a communal lounge is available if you want to stay in touch with world affairs.
The establishment scores points for its informal Irish atmosphere and friendliness and a regular shuttle to and from the airport at no extra cost.
A better deal still in my opinion, is their nearby cottages – far more roomy, fit for a family where one can in indulge in self-catering with basic facilities being provided. TV’s are available but to get them to initiate a connection takes some persuading!

The Porch, Nile River, Jinja. Grade 3
A lively, funky spot perched on the high banks of the Nile with breathtaking views of the steaming, surging Nile River 30 meters below. Caters for the young and old alike with an outside bar catering mainly for the rafting community, camping spots and shady en suite tents away from the dining room complex overlooking the river. A clean sparkling swimming pool supplements the complex, very welcome on a summer’s day!
Management generally is erratic, though to be fair, a foreign stand-in was on duty who was not too familiar with handling his staff and worked to English union rules. Staff like most places encountered in the country, are helpful and courteous. As a general comment, anything out of the ordinary which you may require, deal through management however. If you wish to contact the outside world, a 24 hour internet service is available at no charge to resident guests.
The surrounding areas need exploring. Other than what is already mentioned about the entertainments on show at the Bujagali Falls, curios of a limited nature are on sale outside the entrance, quad biking, kayaking and horse riding too are on the list at neighbouring establishments. Try Mama Joyce's tuck shop, a wooden shack, meters away and enjoy a tender steak washed down by a Club or Nile lager, the two most popular brews on sale throughout the country.

Mhingo Lodge, Lake Mburo National Park: Grade 4.
Arriving here, after a long haul through Kampala again unfortunately, this superbly constructed lodge nestles commanding a view of the surrounding plains. One of the best management teams in the country greeted the patrol at the finish line. Headed by Dom and Kate whose are English and experienced in the travelling and catering industry, the short stay was an unbridled success. Everything works. The luxurious en suite tented accommodation is discreetly tucked away in coves that jut into the hillside. Large spacious rooms are completely protected by gauze netting "with views from the loo and bathroom".
Highly recommended.

Besides the lodge, accommodation within the park can also be obtained at the upmarket Matana Tented camp and the budget conscious Rwonjo rest camp which was not visited by the patrol, whilst activities include guided nature walks and a launch trip on Lake Mburo. The variety of game is limited. Burchell's Zebra, bush buck, klipspringer, eland, topi, Defessa waterbuck, etc exist, but I suspect that poaching predates the game. Judging by the free ranging cattle from neighbouring settlements, who are followed by their herders one can always suspect that the opportunity is not missed to add that little bit extra to the pot.
Like many other parks Africa wide "community partnerships" exist on a paper where a common interest is allegedly shared and a percentage of the entry fees accrue to the "land owners", but I have rarely seen any of those so-called funds being channeled back into the communities! When the issue is raised, the usual stories of schools, health care are punted, but I suspect that "big brother" gains a fair slice of the cake. The lake has populations of crocodile and hippo, whilst birdlife is prolific. Pelicans and fish eagles may be spotted. A small piece of tropical indigenous forest exists. A convenient half way stop to the Bwindi Impenetrable forest and worthy of further exploration.

Buhoma Forest Lodge, Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. Grade 2-3.
The road from Mburo to Buhoma Forest Lodge is a maze of inter connecting highways, byways and tracks. It takes an experienced bushranger like our driver Abdu to pick his way around the potholes on what still exists of the metal road south to the Rwandan and Congo borders, down dirt tracks, past cumbersome transport, knowing exactly where to stop for pit stops and stretch the odd bone or six! Sign posts are almost extinct, and but for this ability to navigate like a homing pigeon, one could not expect to make your destination the same day.
But we did and after going through the exhaustive paper work (again) at the park's border, the start point of our trek was finally reached.

Again, friendly, efficient front office staff made their presence known and ushered the party to separate bungalows above the main living area to comfortable accommodation set in against a backdrop of indigenous trees."Take a rest", was the invitation, but this was hardly the case! The quarters occupied were closest to the kitchen from where a never ending babble and banging emanated way beyond closing time and starting again at 05h00 the next day. A comment was made to the Dutch-born manager who responded that he had never received a complaint of this nature before! That was that! He saw it as a complaint, nothing was done, and he wasn't seen again for the remainder of the two night stay.

The food fare was plain and scarce, one of the guests being served with a share of chicken offal which put her off that dish for the rest of the tour. Dining room service was not up to scratch whose staff insisted on putting red hot burning braziers close to the tables on a warm and temperate night. Again, lack of training or understanding was evident. It was a robotic instinct no doubt.

It’s a pity that no planning went into sitting this and other lodges/camp sites within and out of the park. In the immediate environs it has a tired look with shack settlement on its doorstep. The ageing infrastructure of the Ugandan Wild Life Authority also needs attention if it is to provide the magnet for tours into the forest.

Report on the gorilla trekking and other remarks are in the main body of this report.
Grading on Buhoma borders on between 2 and 3. Recommended if one can get accommodation further away from the main building or something is done regarding the hubbub from the kitchen and more involved management overall.

Ishasha Wilderness Camp - Queen Elizabeth National Park (QENP) Grade 4.
What a delightful spot on the banks of the Ntungwe stream flowing into Lake Edward. This is the sort of oasis with all the trimmings that Ernest Hemmingway would have mused on in his subsequent novels had he gone to Uganda.
Again, tented, somewhat dark interior, (although helped by solar lighting), en suite accommodation is the designers choice.
All of the 8 tents are thoughtfully situated on the banks of a meandering stream in the dry season, but probably a raging torrent in the wet.(above) which is balm for the soul. Scores of black weavers nesting in the trees line the banks. Add this to the clamour of Africa's sounds. Hippo’s grunts, unseen elephant trumpet calls, olive baboons which shriek and bark nearby and the eerie calls of hyena later in the evening all provide the orchestra.
En route from Bwindi, QENP was entered from the south via Butugota along a heavily rutted and potholed road by DRC bound transport churning up the main QENP road in their bid to reach Ishasha town and the border-crossing. Progress was slow. (see main report above).

The camp staff was as busy as a hive of bees bringing hot water to the bucket showers which provide refreshment at the end and/or the beginning of the day. The local chef, and I believe, manager, were most obliging, prepared to do anything and everything. Breakfast with a golden egg and not the supermarket variety was a discovery....!
Top marks. This will definitely be a place to stay that I will recommend to all that I come into contact.

Jacana Safari Lodge. QENP – Grade 2.
The approach to this Lodge down a single lane gravel road with the Rift valley escarpment towering to your left above, it’s a paradise. Here both communal grazing lands and the park meet on an undefined boundary.

13kms later after leaving the main eastern highway from Kampala through to the DRC, you enter the Maramagambo forest and arrive at the gates of the Jacana Safari Lodge pinpointed on the largest of the crater lakes in the region A board advertises "forest walks, crater walks, bat caves, river cruises. Dinner on a boat served in the centre of the lake at an extra $30 a head, etc" but no one explains who, what, why and when. An Indian manager hurried us through the paperwork and was never to be seen again. No enthusiasm here!

A staff employee named Robert Mugabe, no less, took over and did the best he could to settle the party in. We got on famously subsequently when he confided that he never mentioned his surname to customers who frowned on his second name when he did mention it, and preferred to call himself merely "Robert" I exchanged many Shona (Zimbabwean) words with him subsequently.

Wooden bungalows provide the setting overlooking the lake, a still, silent, foreboding piece of water with an untold history, and once again the stained dark woods of the lodge didn't make it easier to navigate one's way around, particularly in the rooms. One definitely needs a torch which is not provided.

Notwithstanding, local Ugandan helpfulness, but limited vision, absolved itself into what was a pleasant interlude. The night was noisy in the forest - wonderful, that's what you would expect, and the food was of sufficient quality and quantity.

A sauna is offered but on-one thought of turning it on, so instead one contended the evening in a deliciously cool and well constructed pool with views of the fading sun through the February haze.

Luke warm recommendation, use it if only Mweya Lodge on the Kazinga channel in QENP is unavailable. If there is something better, I did not discover it.
It lacks the touch of personal warmth and supervision. Itinerant staff, possibly yet again, bedevils what could be a vibrant spot in which to stay.

Ndali Lodge- Fort Portal: Grade 1.

The advertising banner for this lodge situated on the lip of an explosive crater filled with water, grandly proclaims "Paradise has some serious competition"!
That it might have been once, but it certainly is not that today. Mind you, from its magnificent vantage point on a clear day overlooking another "explosive lake" and the Rwenzori Mountains, there is no denying the views that "might have been”. Unfortunately the February haze spoilt the view.

But first, Ndali Lodge needs a complete face lift. To start with, it has to get rid of the pack of mangy, worm infested defecating curs whose landmines litter the landscape, and whose presence on chairs inside the lodge and under the dining room tables are an irritant Couple this to their night-time howling at the moon and you will know that this unwelcome addition doesn't come even close to tranquility!

The swimming pool suggests the presence of waterborne diseases, the main building generally reeks of decay (unpolished floors, dirty walls, dog hairs, mud, broken porch timbers, etc) whilst the patchy "lawn" and hedges need trimming. Better lighting in the (also dirty) rooms and a regular hot water supply supply is another matter which is of concern.
Don't try showering in the morning if you want a hot shower.” the askari's did not light the fires", is the weak explanation of the untrained and unconcerned management when asked why this was the case! The cheerful, charismatic owner who we met once after gaining access to the rooms, only cleared in mid-afternoon from its previous occupants, was rarely to be seen.

The only reason why this "lodge: rates a grade 1 rating is because of the excellent food served up by its chef. I shudder to think what the interior of the kitchen looked like through its creaky dining room door if it was like the rest of "paradise".
Over priced and not recommended.

If there is a standard of rating lodges up there, this operation should be suspended.

Lake Albert Lodge - Grade 4.

A place well worth a sojourn reached by road and by air, which rates as "top class" providing a basic cuisine in rather cramped conditions. A huge extension with a sun deck overlooking Lake Albert to the west is presently being constructed will alleviate this problem as I write.

Well-appointed, en suite, roomy "African" designed tent sites whose lights and heated water are supplied by solar heating, have used using local materials in their construction on a sand cliff over looking Lake Albert.

The Lodge is supplemented by a small but cool swimming pool next to a convivial bar. A great place to be at the closing of the day.The lodge offers game drives in a growing, flourishing environment which is being resuscitated after years of serious poaching and overgrazing. A determined management is in place to make sure it happens.

Its drawback is access down the cliff to the water’s edge where changing tides have eroded what was once a pleasant beach to visit I am informed. Boat trips out on the lake are on the cards.

Plans are afoot to import the vanished forest hog, rhinos and eventually the elephant so mercilessly shot out by earlier by the "mzungus" (European) big game hunters, will be persuaded to return from the nearby Budongo Forest Reserve. Said to be the largest partially unspoilt tropical forest in the country it houses a minuscule herd of 15 elephants I am told amongst numerous unrecorded primates.

A blight to this scenario however, might be in the presence of oil drilling companies who have decided that the lake bed of Lake Albert might have huge quantities of black gold to supply a voracious world looking to maintain energy supplies.Already roads, camps, rigs, exploration craft with their seismic equipment have penetrated this wilderness. What is to follow?
Highly recommended. A piece of true African wilderness and discovery.

Nile Safari Lodge - Murchison Falls National Park Grade 2.

This Lodge falls within the same stable of Jacana Lodge commented on earlier. Reached by a rutted bush road from the direction we came down the rift valley from Hoima, this spot has a very pleasant location overlooking the Nile flow on its way to meet up with the Albert Nile at the delta further west. It was passed by "Chinese Gordon" in 1876 and certainly other adventurers of the time.

The staff again was its high point within the limits of what they could provide, which is again refueling the quaint hot water bucket showers outside each room. The rose-bud heads on some of them merely tickled out droplets and within thirty seconds, the bucket was empty! Again the interiors were painfully dark and electric light limited, whilst management again was lacking. The shower closets were dank and badly aired and one got the impression that standing on the rubber mats in the showers could lead to a fungal infection. The pathways leading to the cabins are in need of repair. Hardly a single cement flagstone was chipped and broken, whilst if you miss your step on the paving, beware of all the loose pebbles clustered in against their edges.

The sparkling swimming pool provided a good respite for the hot summer afternoon. The menu was generally good. A point that should be mentioned, and in keeping with most other establishments, is that if you don't like what is on the menu, staff will willingly prepare you do something else. Try the tilapia (bream) or Nile perch!

Bird and other wild life dot the banks of the river - a herd of elephants came down to drink at midday and a river patrol with sundowner guests spotted a leopard. Most sought after though was the elusive shoebill, said to populate the delta regions, where unfortunately, oil seeps are being examined for exploitation.

Sambiya River Lodge, Murchison Falls National Park – Grade 3.

After leaving Nile Safari Camp the patrol embarked on the UWA motorized trip to the base of the Murchison Falls and later the top of the Falls to be dealt with in the main report. The above resort was reached in the evening - yes, we had full days; and which reminded me of the sprawling type of lodges I once knew on the banks of Kariba Lake and the Zambezi River, though there was no water here!

Instead park like, grassy surroundings dotted the landscape with numerous acacia trees spread out before one's eyes, fresh, green and strong. An American lady and her Kenyan husband Mr Malik, ushered us through the formalities. I thereafter departed to the front porch and sunken bar with Mr. Malik the owner, and had a lively and educational discussion about the country generally, a great "fill up" to the rather rusty computer in my head. The lodge has all the amenities needed to keep one comfortable with good food, cold beer and that African bush feeling. The only blip on the screen being to try and get the lady at reception to attend to a few outstanding issues in the rooms (which thankfully had roof fans), who appeared the next morning in the dining room in her dressing grown!

The scented night air was made more interesting by the melodious drumming, strumming and singing of local musicians who entertained the patrons until the early hours, providing some competition to the nocturnal grunts and shrieks of the animals who brought on the second act!

Not 20 minutes drive away from the top of the Murchison Falls; a good spot to retire to for a night or two and close to a bird and chimpanzee sanctuary which has just come into operation under the ambit of the Jane Goodall Foundation.
Recommended.

Early European explorers and adventurers.

An examination of the books and the maps of the 19th and early 20th century will reveal a hall of fame of persons who left their footprints, and sometimes their bodies in this land that Winston Churchill called the "Pearl of Africa" after he visited the country in 1907.
In no particular order or dates, names of European explorers who traversed the terrain include Henry Morton Stanley who circumnavigated Lake Victoria in 1875, John Hanning Speke who discovered the source of the Victoria Nile in 1862, Emin Pasha, Samuel and his Transylvanian wife, Florence Baker nee Von Sass, (who was offered for sale and purchased as a teenager from a Hungarian slave market by her husband to-be), James Grant, General "Chinese" Gordon, Fishbourne, Junker, Evatt, Vandeleur, Frederick Lugard, Bell, McGregor, the Duke of Abruzzi, Owen, Haldane, Grogan, Kandt, Bishop James Hannington who was murdered in October 1885, Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt and many more.

What they saw and marvelled at, included Ptolemy's fabled "Mountains of the Moon" (The Rwenzori's). Lakes Albert (Luta Nzige) – currently being drilled for oil; George and Edward, primeval forests, the Murchison Falls, Mt Elgon with the largest calderas in the world, the Sesse islands in Lake Victoria and much more.
Over and above the extraordinary geographical and botanical discoveries made by these men, probably the most significant of all was the fixing of the new countries’ boundaries by Major Frederick Lugard. It was he who after being drawn into conflict and pacifying the warlike tribes in the west, brought to the attention of Her Majesty's government the need to secure the land against the rapacious King Leopold of Belgian and other foreign interests, the cracks of which he honeyed over by a need of Christian endeavour to contain tribal massacres and slavery. Overwhelming public British sympathy became a national issue and the government was forced to act. An appraisal by the Zanzibarian-based Sir Gerald Portal after whom the town of Fort Portal was subsequently named, resulted in Queen Victoria adding the country to her Domains in 1894.
Subsequent to this, and by a series of bewildering ordnances, huge parts of the territory were sliced off to the north, north west, and east respectively over the next 32 years to form part of modern-day Sudan, Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) and Kenya respectively. The only addition to Uganda's borders, being the south west corner of the country taken from the Congo and German East Africa, the latter land-grab being ordained by the Brussels convention of 1910.

General Info for the traveller.

The Ugandan shilling currently trades at 1720/- to US$1. Change your currency in the main centres, preferably at the airport.
$100 and $50 bills extract a better exchange rate than do smaller denominations.If you have US$ notes, make sure there are no "tears"on the paper and that the issue date is post 2003. A curious feature in rural areas is that every note you tender is examined for this crucial piece of info. If the date of issue falls outside this ambit, it can be rejected
Lodges, game parks etc will bill you either in shillings or in US$.
Travellers cheques are reluctantly accepted at major resorts, but at a huge discount disadvantageous to the seller.
Euro's and sterling are not readily accepted yet.
Major credit cards are accepted in some places, but are best used at ATM's if they are working.
You will pay a $50 visa fee on arrival. Certain African countries bordering Uganda are exempted from this nuisance. There is no departure tax.
Carefully examine your notes when offering payment, the number of "noughts" on the bank notes which range from 1000/- through to 50 000/- can confuse you.
You need a yellow fever vaccination certificate both on entry and at your point (country) of return.
Other vaccinations are optional but Hepatitis A and Tetanus are recommended.
Fuel sells at about 2500/- a litre. It varies fractionally from place to place. There is not much difference between the price of diesel and petrol.
Prepare yourself for power outages. The grid can be erratic.
Tipping. There is no shortage of tipping boxes around the country! Tipping is generally communal and not on an individual basis. Tip only for good or knowledgeable service.
Refreshments. Costs of cool drinks (soda's) and beer vary from place to place. The Lodges charge anything from 2000/- to 3500/- for a 500ml bottle of beer and 2000/- plus for a cold drink, though realistically this shouldn't be more than 1000/-.
Drink only bottled water. Also use same when brushing your teeth. Lodges provide this automatically in your rooms. If you use ice again the same precautions apply. Vegetables and fruit are in plentiful supply, but wash with bottled water before you eat it.
Most Ugandans speak good English and are very helpful. Violent crime is at a minimum compared to other countries in Africa, but always carry your valuables with you if not locked up in a safe!
Essential reading: "Uganda's Great Rift Valley" by Andrew Roberts from where some of the information in this report has been extracted.
"The Blue Nile" - by Alan Moorhead - also "The White Nile" by the same author.
Weather: Uganda straddles the equator and is generally mild all year round except in the river valleys where temperatures can climb to over 40 degrees celcius. It as two rainy seasons. March/May and Nov/Dec when heavy rains fall. It can rain intermittently all year though.

Although the above patrol was conducted in a vehicle staying at Lodges en route, there are other options, camping being a particular favourite with Canadians, American and Australian citizens. In a practice not be advised, I observed a group of mature tourists who had hired a taxi in Kampala to bring them to the Murchison Falls. Although this was probably worked out as a negotiated price favourable to the passenger, there is no guarantee of any insurances being paid out due to death or injury or of any highjacking which may occur along the route. Other fellow travellers I met opted for public transport, but this is erratic in the extreme and you may wait hours or even days for a connection.
I did however meet up with one camping/banda operation who will offer you three nights from Kampala to Murchison and back, plus park fees and accommodation for US$180 pp per night. Definitely an option for the budget conscious!
Conclusion: Go to Uganda! It's an experience. Like all destinations, difficulties will be encountered. Tourism generally is in a fledgling state and standards are nothing like you would expect in the 1st world. But that’s part of the fun. On a scale of 1 to 10, I rate Uganda as a 7, boosted primarily due to its friendliness and helpfulness. You will hear the clarion call wherever you go "You are WELCOME!" Get used to it. They mean it!

This tour can be combined with other options - hiking the Rwenzori's, Mt Elgon or both if you are an avid hiker/birder/kayaker/adventurer etc .Tailor-made tours can be made to suit all pockets and all ages.
Several good, efficient, reliable operators offer their services.
I was lucky and found one!

Malawi Patrol - Chapter 6

2008-07-19T14:50:00.002+02:00

Memories Are Made Of This

In the years to come (and may there be many) I shall look back on the Malawi Patrol. Time of course adds its own patina that will emphasise certain (more pleasant?) aspects while dulling others; some memories or thoughts will have disappeared altogether. This means that now, a few weeks after flying back from Malawi, is the right time to get down in writing about those aspects not covered up to now.

My most abiding recollection would always be that feeling of relaxation that overtook me about an hour after the ‘plane from Johannesburg to Chileka airport (Blantyre). Customs and immigration had been successfully negotiated to a background one-note beat of rubber stamps striking passports and other documents. Outside the airport buildings, while waiting for our car, I mentioned to Paul this feeling of relaxation, a lessening of tension about me. He, too, was experiencing it and knew the reason. We were out of South Africa and its oppressive need for security, the constant awareness of security guards, the high walls, and the obvious alarm systems. There were some, of course, but you had to look more carefully than was our wont. Of course there was crime, but largely of a petty nature; serious, vicious crime a la South Africa there was not beyond what might be termed the expected average. Back packers, singly or in groups, male, female and mixed, were much in evidence around the tourist attractions and their unwinding presence was surely a good benchmark.

Overnight accommodation generally speaking was not too bad, although poorly trained staff were in evidence at some; Mumbo Island and Mvuu Camp were the exceptions but management there had paid much attention to how their staff dealt with visitors. Having to wait an hour and forty minutes at one establishment for two toasted sandwiches, and Paul and I were the only customers, was more indicative than unusual.

At one quite delightful overnight stop, the Chintheche Inn, the accommodation and cuisine could not be faulted. Dinner that night was taken at a table laid out on a grassy area overlooking southern Lake Malawi. Absolutely ideal: stars littered the heavens, a moon lit up the lake waters and there were no mosquitoes. Two young black boys waited on and as long as they were not deviated from their normal duties all went well.

The meal was steak and so Paul asked for mustard. Confusion; both went off to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a tin of powdered mustard, which was placed on the table with great solemnity. Paul looked at the tin, the boys looked at Paul. He patiently explained that the powder needed to be mixed with water. Off went the lads once more, taking the tin of mustard with them. Back they came; no mustard but a small container of water. Paul, showing enormous patience, explained as best he could that the mustard and the water first had to be mixed. Away went the lads again, taking both the mustard and water with them, returning a few minutes later with neither.

Clearly, a battle of differing comprehensions was about to take place. Paul did his best to clear matters up; off went the lads again, this time returning once more with the mustard and the water, unmixed. Side by side they both sat; Paul admitted defeat, the lads took the mustard and water away again, baffled by the sometimes odd ways of visitors.

Another establishment, The Wheelhouse at Salima (again at the southern end of the lake) on the penultimate night of The Patrol before being stood down, supplied the weirdest experience. The wheelhouse itself was an ingenious bar, octagonal-shaped (or something like that) reached by a walkway out into a bay edged by a reef-lined beach; a guide book mentions it as a location high in risk of bilharzias!

Accommodation was fairly basic, consisting of several buildings in which one either went upstairs or downstairs, along darkened corridors into bedrooms of great simplicity where electric light bulbs were mementoes of days when they were worked by switches that nowadays didn’t always operate

Seclusion from the sun

Everywhere you walked made the buildings sound sort of hollow; there were no other guests as far I could work out. A maid drifted in and out, grinned and walked in and out further along a darkening corridor. The whole set up was quite weird, rather like a modern times Castle Dracula.

Paul, doubtless thinking of The Report and the endless opportunities I might seize to tumble down stairs, contacted the management and had me shifted to a beachside cottage. Much more pleasant, except that the famine of functional light bulbs continued. The drifting-in-and-out maid suddenly and silently turned up and placed a bedside lamp in my room, as well as an electric fan to shift the humid air about a bit. She gave me a shy smile and then disappeared; she never spoke a word and I never set eyes on her again.

Time for a shower; no water. Turned on the one tap in the hand basin; again no water but as if by magic or sudden release from their pipe-like dungeon, small black ants came in columns of route (a military term!) down the tap to vanish down the plug hole. Turned the tap off; the parade of ants ceased. Waited for a couple of minutes, turned the tap on, down came the ants and into the plug hole. The reserve of ants must have been enormous. To amuse myself while waiting for Paul to return from some Patrol mission I would turn the tap on and off at intervals; the ants always appeared, bang on cue.

Later on, in the bar, I mentioned to the barman about the water shortage in my accommodation. Looking wise, he ventured the opinion that the water had been cut off. I whispered that I could only agree, having already reached the same diagnosis. Barman promised to look into the matter and, in due course of time, the water ran once more. Later that night, back in my room, I turned on the tap and flushed out the ants, wishing them well on their journey.

Over a couple of ‘greens’ Paul and I discussed The Wheelhouse and came to the conclusion that the fault lay with the management rather than the staff, with the staff in second place.

Other memories. One has to be the men crouched by roadsides chipping away at piles of boulders. This was evidence of the cheapness and availability of labour. Stone aggregate was in heavy demand for the road works passed on several occasions. It was far cheaper to hire such labour than hire expensive heavy plant to do the same task. At other places we passed piles of different coloured stones, crushed by hand into the smallest possible chips. Some of the piles were brilliant white, others the colour of sand, some black. For once Paul was stuck for an explanation. Stopping by a gathering of these piles he asked a young man in charge the reason for them and was told they would eventually end up in the main as decoration in a mosque. Parts of Malawi have a strong Muslim presence (primarily in the converted Yao tribe), evidenced by the numbers of mosques passed in our journeyings.

Heading up into the mountains or skirting around them provided scenic and often quite spectacular changes to the lakeside idylls of local communities, holiday resorts and miles and miles of golden beaches.

Mountains give a sense of security, set boundaries and horizons; they can provide comfort and a challenge. The Mulanje Massif rears up from the Phalombe Plain south of Blantyre and emphasizes its dominance by the number of peaks of over 8,000 feet, some twenty of them. One towers above them all, the majestic and awesome Sapitwa reaching over 9,600 feet, the highest in central Africa. The whole area of the massif is covered by a variety of vegetation pierced by deeply wooded ravines or denied a footing by great faces of granite outbursts. Mulanje is a haven for the walker, the climber, the bird watchers and those seeking wildlife. Too inaccessible for the car, our Patrol Report would have to show that we followed the roads down on the plain, but that didn’t mean we could not appreciate the wonder of this Nature’s vast playground.

Another quite similar area was the Zomba Plateau, northwards of Mulanje but allowing cars reasonable access to the higher parts. Again vegetation reigns almost supreme, with the familiar woodlands and extensive pine plantations. The plateau takes its name from the town of Zomba, a fading colonial outpost that was the country’s capital before Lilongwe took over the honour in 1975.

SS Empress - lake transport of the past

A rotting floating flotilla

Climbing up towards the plateau is to run the gauntlet of small groups of boys selling fruits of many kinds, souvenirs and quartz of different cuts and hues. While persistent in their efforts they were quite cheerful in their approach and most did not have the belligerence of their more sophisticated cousins to be found almost anywhere. The souvenir carvings were good, well executed, nicely finished off and, after much hard but friendly bargaining, reasonable in price.

However outshining these sellers in their efforts to earn some income were the dozens of boys pushing their bikes down from the upper reaches of the plateau. They could hardly ride them since every inch of metal that could bear the load was covered by cut logs. Those logs must have formed a dangerous burden; Paul was certain that in past years some of those boys actually rode their machines down, but the practice seemingly has ceased now for mounted on such a heavily loaded bike must have sent machine and rider hurtling down the hills, sweeping round bends that could have caused nasty accidents.

Once there was a dark side to the Zomba area. Back in the 19th century there was an extensive traffic in slaves, when blacks raided blacks, the prisoners being sold on into the slave markets run by the Omani Arabs. European minds tend to think of the slave trade as the trafficking in African blacks by Europeans, exporting them across the Atlantic into the West Indies and the United States. When that trade route was closed down, the movement of black prisoners reversed, going eastwards to Zanzibar instead of the New World westwards.

Several hours was spent on the shores of Lake Malawi at the rundown town of Nkhotakota where unspoken memory still haunts of the evil trade in human flesh. Here at the biggest slave market on the lake, the captured blacks were herded together to be transported and marched to Zanzibar; most would never survive the journey. Estimates show that out of every 300 despatched, it was not that remarkable that at times only 20 still lived after the terrible journey. Profits were fantastic which perhaps explains why such heavy wastage of lives was countenanced by the slave traders.

A cloud of Lake Flies in the distance

David Livingstone came to Nkhotakota in 1861 and discovered the area as an abode of wickedness and lawlessness, ‘literally strewn with human bones and putrid bodies’. The explorer and the local chief Jumbe, with other chiefs, sat beneath a large fig tree (still standing) and tried to get them to enter into a treaty to put a stop to the trade. Livingstone failed in his attempt and the brutal business did not cease until the mid-1890 when, under the British Commissioner, Harry Johnston, finally got Jumbe to agree to cessation.

Only echo and suggestion bear witness to Nkhotakota’s dreadful past, that and the air of general listlessness. Where once slaves were bundled on to vessels to make the journey across the lake and then onwards, there is a crumbling, rickety-looking jetty, still in use for casual shipping. On the shore stands the once handsome port building, also going the way of so many in the state of Malawi.

A more positive step in historical progress stands not too far from the fig tree. This is St. Anne’s church, focal point of the mission, in which lie the remains of Chauncey Maples, first bishop of Likoma, drowned in Lake Malawi on his way to take up his duties. This was very much Paul’s territory and we spent some time exploring, reading various plaques and taking photographs.

Malawi is a beautiful country, dominated by the great lake, the wide spread of woodlands and the towering mountain ranges. Serving as counterpoints and emphasis were the sprawls of the sugar and tea plantations, boundless acres of commercial enterprise and orderliness; Malawi is not only beautiful but bounteous, if treated properly.

Of the people met, a few have remained in memory’s sight. One was an 82-years old fisherman, black as ebony, long fishing spear in hand, trekking along a dusty road to his favourite fishing spot. Paul and he chatted for a while, agreeing that fishing was not what it was (the world anthem of all fishermen). Then there the two young boys, goatherds, who solemnly refused to come any closer when I asked them to, just to get a better picture. Not that they were averse to being photographed, one suspects rather they feared abduction. Never to be forgotten are the two waiter boys for whom the mysteries of making mustard would ever remain a closed book, a white man’s oddity. Not speaking the language meant I could not fully engage with those I met; Paul on the other hand fell into conversation almost at the drop of a hat, usually good humoured and with much accompanying laughter.

Evening Interlude - lessons in mustard making

For a couple of nights we stayed at the home of a tobacco farmer and his wife, David and Yvonne Lewis. Their home was a big, rather rambling house full of memories and redolent of that other influence on the country of Malawi, its colonial past. Those days have gone, of course, but here we had its good side: a large commercial undertaking that provided income, employment and, carefully nourished, two ways of life that could be of mutual benefit. Maybe not perfect, of course, but then what is.

Here Paul and David spoke of the past, of military times (David, like Paul, a former Army officer), anecdotes, characters and long ago wars almost forgotten. David produced albums of old photographs, some back into the 19th century; pictures of Isandlwana, Spioen Kop, soldiers on parade, Boer farmers in a mounted hunting party, a Zulu wedding group. Groups of officers, the more senior sitting their juniors standing and all dressed in their regimental best; long skirted ladies on horse back decorously sitting side-saddle. There was a slice of history, coming more to life though those old pictures.

But of all the memories, the one that stands out is that of the ladies of Malawi dressed in all their colourful finery, making their way to market. All carried gaily-coloured umbrellas, for the sun was bright and hot, while on their head was carried a variety of things: cooking pots, full shopping bags, bundles of sticks. Some had babies slung in small blankets and hoisted on their backs. All in all, a carefully balanced load; one never saw a man carrying anything at all, or rarely. Maybe these women would bend with age and toil as the years passed, but when young they moved with grace, assurance and a casual posture that many would envy.

A vanishing day on Lake Malawi

oOo

Malawi Patrol - Chapter 5

2008-07-19T14:02:00.000+02:00

Of Crocodiles, Elephants, Hippos and Other Things

Had there been no wildlife reserves nor national parks, it is doubtful if much wildlife, apart from birds and the smaller reptiles, and insects would be found in Malawi. All would have long since been poached or hunted into near or total extinction; even in the massive Lake Malawi the once bounteous fish life is suffering a serious decline with only the smaller of the species eluding the fishermen’s nets and those hunting mediums are getting more deadly as their meshes get small and smaller. On several occasions as Paul drove along he would point out areas where, not that many years ago, wildlife and game was not an uncommon sight; today they have all gone.

However, all is not lost; far from it. Malawi now has several parks and reserves, all carefully managed and controlled; in addition there are the multitude of forest reserves which apart from conserving and protecting the abundant spread of trees also provide shelter (and safety) for many species of wildlife.

Since one could not visit all the parks and reserves as we went about the Patrol, Paul had decided to take me to just one, Liwonde national park at the southern end of Lake Malawi. Again I was to go there alone, Paul dropping me off at the jetty to catch the ferry across the wide and beautiful Shire (pronounced Sherry)River and to Mvuu Camp.

Privately he must have feared the worst. My two previous solo trips had not been without incident and now staying in a camp whose very name meant hippopotamus could be courting trouble. Mvuu was chosen not just to titillate visitors, but also reflect that these great beasts (and the most dangerous) would come ashore at night and graze between the chalets that made up the camp’s accommodation. Mvuu is an onomatopoeic word, being the sound, according to natives, that hippos make. Listening to them in the still of the night, I think they have a point.

Lone elephant

Liwonde had something in common with Mumbo Island: both were reflections of paradise. At Mvuu I had a waterside chalet to myself; sitting in the shade of the small patio I was blessed with a fine view across the Shire. Bank side trees on my side of the river afforded shelter for a multitude of birds, while butterflies and other flying things flittered between the small bushes and undergrowth. Across the Shire about a dozen hippos (all going ‘mvuu’) were half sunk in the water, just a few feet away from the waterside rushes.

Mvuu Camp staff ensured that visitors saw as much as possible during their stay. That evening I would join others in one of those specially designed open vehicles so familiar in game parks and which afforded the best possible viewing for all. Walking around the park was strictly forbidden, unless accompanied by a guide and then both of us under the watchful eye of another ranger, this one armed with a high powered rifle. For next morning I had booked the services of a guide (and rifleman!) to take a very early walk before breakfast. After that, there would be time for a short rest before embarking with others on a small powered boat for a long trip along the Shire.

Clambering aboard the vehicle on the evening ride, I wondered if the combination might not be too much for my camera: fading light, nervous animals, a bumpy vehicle; switching controls would have to be a nippy business. One animal in plentiful supply was the impala. Surely they must be the most prolific of buck, found everywhere in southern Africa. They must have had Mvuu Camp surrounded, for everywhere one looked there were these beautiful antelopes looking back at you, caution manifest in their gaze.

Plunging into the woodlands, the wildlife soon made itself known. Elephants, kudu, the stately, slightly arrogant sable, the comic warthog with young scuttling behind their parents, buffalo, hippos wallowing in half hidden ponds and, of course, fish eagles standing watch in the trees. A cat-like creature, the genet, stopped to look at us and then bolted into the anonymity of nearby undergrowth.

Light was fading fast as we headed out of the woodland and towards more open country, making for the banks of the Shire and, hopefully, one of the sunsets that Malawi is justly famous for. A few more elephants, in twos or three, a small herd of zebra and then into the open and coming to a halt by the river, now darkening as day slipped away.

It was not quite dark, the setting sun giving enough light to see the humped backs of hippos in the water, or the occasional disturbance of water as a crocodile rose and sank once more into the darkness of the river. Our party sat or strolled along the river bank (but not too far away) and listened to rather than saw the creatures of the night. Then a farewell drink from essential supplies carried in the vehicle and it was back to Mvuu and the last meal of the day.

There were two tables at which sat English people. Strange how, despite more travel nowadays, the English reserve still holds off allcomers. Neither table acknowledged the other, even by a nod and ‘good evening’ while the smiling, hurrying waiters were barely acknowledged as they performed their duties. Being solo (and on Patrol) I had my own table, a situation that quickly led to guests at tables either side (filled, I think, with Dutch) soon had me chatting about the day’s events. My waiter quickly realised that when one beer (or ‘green’) was finished, a replacement was required; words were not spoken.

And so to bed. Making my way back to the chalet I passed a notice which warned of the possible presence of hippos, a reminder which caused an increase in pace and maintaining a careful lookout. Never get between a hippo and water. . . .

Once or twice in the night I awoke and could hear the ‘mvuu’ sound of hippos; some clearly were still out in the river’s shallows, but one or maybe two might have been on shore and none too far away. Apart from looking through my bedroom window, I did nothing to check if they were grazing nearby.

Monitor lizard

Just after five in the morning I was dressed and making my way to the appointment with a game warden named Danger (plus armed guard) and a walk through the woodlands to see whatever might be stirring. The sun was well risen, the cool morning air combined with the gentle breeze to make for a pleasant and quite absorbing ramble.

Inevitably there were the usual legions of graceful impala, but also we were rewarded with sightings of an occasional waterbuck, warthogs, a mongoose and a small herd of elephant which, apart from casting suspicious glances at our small party, carried on eating on the edge of the woodland until, searching for fresh pastures, they moved further into the trees and were swallowed up.

Danger proved a fine guide. He would stop, point to a tree and explain its fruit, which animals would eat it or ignore it; there were other trees that could supply a liquid that served very well as washing soap; others were a source of natural medicines; carvings, at which Malawian people were so adept, were fashioned from the wood of other types. Half way through the walk we came across quite a large clearing in the wood.

Coming to a large, circular clearing Danger explained that there had once been a small native village, but had been demolished and its inhabitants moved elsewhere to make way for the national park. I had been lucky, just being the only visitor on the walk and perhaps had more of an insight into the park’s attractions and mysteries. Anyway, time and breakfast were beckoning.

Of the three tours around Liwonde, the river trip was by common consent the best offering. A rest period after breakfast and then down to the jetty and the powered boat. Even to the least imaginative, the Shire River looked like what an African waterway should look like. Broad, handsome and sparkling in the late morning sun; rushes and small trees crowding the shallow banks; where there just grassy banks birds of all hues and sizes gathered to feed, forage and generally make a noise. Our guide was Danger (“I do everything,” he grinned, displaying a fine row of white teeth, in answer to my observation the he seemed to turn up everywhere).

Hippos were everywhere. Their lifestyle suggested just two functions in the water: mostly submerged with just part of the head and raised eyes above the water or, secondly, yawning opening their enormous mouths and displaying a throat that must have had the capacity to take on ox, if they’d been carnivores. Their teeth were of the magnitude that anything could be crushed to pieces. That these huge beasts are herbivores is almost a contradiction when gazing at their formidable display.

Crocodiles were much in evidence; by and large they appeared quite content to just lie and laze on muddy banks of the river. That such apparently languid creatures can move in and out of the water at incredible speeds is again another of Nature’s extraordinary contradiction. The remark of one of the visitors that one crocodile appeared to be dead in the shallow water drew a cautionary shake of the head from Danger, with what must have been an oft times reminder that one never trusts a crocodile’s appearance. One reptile that apparently feared neither the crocodile’s speed nor reputation was the monitor lizards, which made their ungainly way along the riverside.

We sailed gently on, quite blasé now about the presence of hippos, some basking just feet away, and crocodiles of which the occasional one or two would churn up the river’s water as they plunged deep into the Shire. Then a turtle swam by, a creature not that often seen Danger assured us. At first we had though it a small hippo basking almost submerged, but the noise of our approach stirred him into paddling furiously out of harm’s way.

By now our boat was well down river. Danger had steered the boat away from the Shire’s east bank and set a course down the middle. Suddenly he pointed and said, “Elephant’. And sure enough there they were, about half a mile ahead, their great bulks largely hidden as they swam and bathed. There must have been around a dozen, some just floating, a few using their trunks to spray those places where water could not reach. One or two white ibis were perched on elephants’ backs, for what purpose it was difficult to work out for they never moved. Surely they were not there for the ride, for the elephants were hardly making any movement in the water apart from being there, nor did they pick away at any insect life that might have taken up temporary residence on the thick-skinned beasts.

Most enjoyable! A cinnamon breasted roller

For twenty minutes or so Danger gently steered the boat alongside the bathing pachyderms, but not too close for that might cause our small craft to be capsized by a startled or irritated bather. Danger had reduced the engine’s nose to the absolute minimum and so we all were able to enjoy, indeed vicariously share, the morning ablutions.

Then it was time to go. Danger backed the boat gently away as first one, and then two followed by a fourth as the herd laboriously waded out of the river and back on to dry land. Not until viewed in their full size did we appreciate what mighty creatures they were. Emerging now were the almost sunken bodies, the hidden curves of the sweeping tusks, the sunken trunks up to now only seen when being gyrated to send out powerful jets of water. Slowly, majestically the herd moved and rose out of the river, savouring the last exquisite moments of submersion before disappearing along the hidden paths through the rushes.

Soon they were had gone; Danger turned the boat round and back we went to Mvuu. There did not seem much point in lingering too long over the return; we all had so enjoyed the experience and felt that nothing could follow it for the time being. And so we landed back at the camp jetty. All that remained was to pack, arrange for a time to be ferried back across the Shire and then depart to our various destinations.

First thing noticed when I got off the ferry was that Paul was not there. That in itself was nothing to get alarmed about. Timetables in Malawi were of interest not for adherence, or at least that was the impression gained. To pass the time I strolled around where the ferry had dropped me. Nothing of much interest, although a rather large number of different kinds of boats, mostly small, had been abandoned there, or drawn up on the banks and left there to rot away. One or two were dugout canoes which, one assumed, have only a comparatively short life span before disintegration sets in.

Sitting to the rear of the ferry stop was a mixed black community. Quite what their function was did not suggest itself, unless it was to help in any way possible (or maybe just beg?) visitors making their way to the ferry and Mvuu Camp. Or maybe they were guarding visitors cars, parked there while the occupants made their way across the Shire; I couldn’t suggest which.

Paul arrived, apologies for lateness (roads were full of pot holes) but he had something unusual to show. In the boot of the car was a large, brilliantly coloured flap-necked chameleon. Vivid yellow it had been rescued by Paul from two black youngsters who were bent on killing it just for fun. Already they had despatched its mate and then pursued the survivor. But for Paul’s intervention, the second would have been brutally put to death, for no other reason than to kill it.

That night we were to stay at Palm Beach, a B&B on the southern reaches of Lake Malawi, so the chameleon was washed carefully and taken there to be released into nearby woodland. Sadly, it was doubted if it would survive, but maybe there was just a chance.

oOo

Malawi Patrol - Chapter 4

2008-07-19T13:28:00.000+02:00

One Aboard the MV Ilala

Halfway through the patrol Paul and I split up again. For me it was to board MV Ilala at the start of its weekly run from Monkey Bay at the south of Lake Malawi northwards on its many calls to

lakeside communities, delivering or collecting goods and passengers.

‘Try not to fall this time,’ pleaded Paul, doubtless having in mind my recent tumble on Mumbo; it looked Bad on the Report. He was staying on shore in order to catch up with a few friends and acquaintances before picking me up two days further up the lake. Fearing I might starve to death, which would look even worse on the Report, he insisted on my purchasing a few tins of food, such as spaghetti and baked beans. He’d heard, as I had, that food on board the Ilala was a chancy business. So, a visit to a Monkey Bay supermarket for the necessary purchases, topped up with bottled water.

Once on board, I as shown to my own cabin (actually the owner’s) and found everything in order: clean bed; toilet, shower and bath; fridge; air conditioning and an electric fan. Clearly the absent owner had no intention of roughing it; I blessed him.

Monkey Bay is the main port serving the lake and stands on the eastern side of Cape Maclear, and has seen far better days. From here the Ilala sets off on its weekly routine, leaving behind a small harbour that surely shelters as many vessels rotting away as still remain in service. From Ilala’s deck could be seen the now permanently stationary Chauncey Maples, the rusting Mpasa, then another derelict vessel with no name apparent and remnants of other former shipping long since gone. A still in-service launch was tied up nearby as were two small ships the Ufulu and Metendere.

Further round the small bay that contained the harbour lay a long stretch of fine sand, a natural facility that catered for small rowing boats or larger ones fitted with outboard motors. Small boys ran in and out of the water as, like boys everywhere, enjoying the freshness and coolness of the lake. Looking at this quite ordinary scene was also to remember that such bays were the residences of diseases, including the dreaded bilharzias, a condition that is no stranger to the rural poor of tropical parts, particularly in fresh water bays.

While the day was warm and bright and there was hustle and bustle around the Ilala there was no hiding the overall impression that Monkey Bay is a place that has seen better times. An air of tiredness hung over the small port, of decrepitude and slowness. Such a feeling was absent from the Ilala as passengers came aboard, goods were loaded much of them carried on the heads of local women as they hurried down to the jetty to deliver their loads.

There was much shouting as small parcels, big packing cases and bundles of strange-looking shapes were buried in the depths of the hold. Curiously, I did not see a single hen, chicken or goat that I had been assured were loaded in numbers and shared the lower deck with the third class passengers.

A great conversation piece for those travelling on the Ilala, one imagines for crew as well as passengers, was its timetable. There were two constant factors: it leaves Monkey Bay each Friday and returns there the following Wednesday. A timetable is produced by the ship’s owners for the calls and timings in between, of which the vessel simply ignores except for the order of arrival and departure which is kept to. To be fair, the company and guide books (at least mine did) warns that this ship is a cargo-cum-passenger vessel, factors that are impossible to regiment as the Ilala makes its way round the lake. For me, and most other passengers (never a large number), this means regular gatherings around the bar, turning up for meals on time at the restaurant and reading a book. This simple but quite satisfying life style is regularly interrupted as the Ilala drops anchor off some lake side community to send off or take on passengers and a variety of goods in the ship’s two boats. As spectator-friendly occasions they took some beating.

The mythology of the ship’s timetable was best exemplified by my showing a copy of it to the ship’s advisor, name of Nigel. His vast experience ranged from working on the Thames Estuary shipping, restoring a Portuguese gunboat lying in a bay of the lake, to his present appointment as advisor. Not the captain, it was his expertise that had been contracted to bring the Ilala up to scratch in all directions. People who travelled the ship regularly vouched that the restaurant at least – a most obvious target – had improved no end since Nigel’s arrival.

I was having a drink with him when I mentioned my timetable, a possession that took his interest. He glanced down it. Our first port of call according to the printed word was a place called Chilinda. He had never heard of it and was faintly surprised to learn that on the trip back the Ilala was to call there gain. There it was in black and white, day and timings. To add to the mystery, Nigel knew from having done it all before, that the first port of call was a place called Chipoka, on the way up and last on the way back. All the other places named were as normal although the times were in the realms of guesswork: the weather (Lake Malawi can be quite stormy at times) and varying commercial requirements governed the timetable.

Chipoka turned out to be a typical lakeside community. Perhaps bigger than most, for at its small jetty another vessel, the Katundu, was being loaded with sugar to be hauled eastwards across the lake for importing into Mozambique, which occupied much of its eastern shore.

Away went the two boats to ferry passengers off and on and load and unload goods of amazing variety. Watching the busy scene it also proved a good time to get to meet one’s fellow travellers. The lower deck, or third class, was used almost exclusively by the lake’s communities, people born and probably bored by the lifelong use of the weekly ship to help carry life along. Next came the back packers, up on the next deck, who true to the toughness of their calling
slept on the deck, either in sleeping bags or on foam mattresses supplied by the company. There were a few first class cabins, occupied by those beyond the back packer stage and beaten by me to the luxury of the owner’s single cabin.

For some reason I thought the female back packers were university students in the main. So I was somewhat surprised to learn that most were nurses in training taking a well earned break from their studies. Noticeable was that female packers outnumbered male packers. Over a beer I mentioned this to Nigel and he replied that it was a most noticeable trend over the years. In his estimation, the female element nowadays usually comprised about 70% of the back packing element.

Once duties had been carried out at Chipoka, the Ilala upped anchor, turned northwards and headed off into the lake towards the next stop, on which both Nigel and the timetable were in agreement. This was Nkhotakota, once a dreadful place serving as a main centre to the once thriving slave trade. It was on my itinerary to visit, but not from the Ilala which dropped anchor there in the middle of the night. My visit would be made later on the Patrol when I met up with Paul again.

With Ilala settled on her course, I decided to indulge in that well-known ship board pastime, taking a turn around the deck. My ‘turn’ exceeded all bounds. Within a few minutes I went sprawling, tripping over a cable that lay across the deck. Down I went, arriving not far from the feet of a black man who looked down without too much curiosity at the sudden arrival of a white man at his feet. Taking that only as his due, he left me there, to be picked up by a couple of backpackers.

Shaken, I was picked up gently and inquiries made after my condition. Apart from feeling foolish, I didn’t feel too bad. My trousers, torn from the Mumbo tumble were further torn and now smeared with grease from the offending cable. First thoughts were for Paul and how the matter would be dealt with in the Report. (Apart from the shaking I was not too bad although the resulting bang on my left leg eventually led to cellulitis, which Paul, writing some days after the Patrol, with some glee asked how it was spelt.)

The outcome of all this was that among the crew I was now the best-known passenger on board, known as Mr Ted and easily recognised by the awful state of the one pair of trousers then in my possession.

Among the passengers I struck up a conversation with an Englishman also travelling on his own. Simon his name was and it turned out he lived now at a place called Schull down in West Cork in Ireland. From my years living in that country I knew Schull and surroundings quite well and as Ilala sailed into the approaching night we chatted away about a fair land far away.

Next day, a Saturday, was my one complete day on board. Several times the anchor was dropped and off went the boats to the shore to deliver passengers and goods and return with similar loads. At one stop, two small boys paddling in the ubiquitous dugout canoe came out to sell mangoes to shipboard passengers, skilfully weaving their way between the lowering and raising ship’s boats and keeping away from the ship’s gently moving sides. Business seemed good and eventually they paddled off, one bailing out water that had lapped into their craft during the conduct of business.

Most of the communities which we served looked much the same, be they in Malawi or Mozambique. Thatched huts lined up along the golden beach, canoes and other small craft everywhere, including the occasional now rare dhow, and queues waiting for the ferrying boats. They seemed so remote these small villages and while from a distance the population may have lived quiet, maybe ideal lives, one could not help wondering just what the reality was. Despite the colourful setting, the surrounding beauty and down to the shore vegetation, living there was a hard existence and only the poor would choose to be there, or rather had to be there.

Once sighted from the ship was what looked like a cloud of black smoke in the distance. This was a massive airborne mass of lake flies, so dense that if anyone was unfortunate to find themselves in the middle they would think they were being suffocated. Once or twice both on ship and on land I spotted such clouds, but each time mercifully far away.

That evening as day faded we were rewarded with the sight of a full moon rising over the woodlands on shore and throwing a long corridor of light out to our ship. This was after the prelude of the sun setting, an extravaganza of gold and yellow, arched over by sky turning from a plum colour to full darkness.

After these wonderful displays I fell into conversation with Nigel in the bar.

Earlier that day he had taken a photograph of me in my state of ragged trousers, evidence needed for a protective rail to ward off passengers; apparently he had been asking for such a rail for months past; flying passengers were not unknown. Nigel also mentioned that Paul had ‘phoned from a shore location to ask if I was OK, (or check that I still remained on board?).

Biggest disappointment was not being able to go ashore at Likoma Island. Ilala arrived there in the middle of the night and upped anchor well before day broke.

Although lying within Mozambican waters, Likoma comes under Malawian jurisdiction, a legacy of its long association with the Scottish missionaries. Bishop Chauncey Maples was consecrated as Likoma’s first bishop, a post he never took up being tragically drowned in Lake Malawi while on his way to the island. The island’s most extraordinary sight is that of St. Peter’s Cathedral, standing in the middle of the island opposite the Mission Hospital. This building is huge for its location, being of similar size to Westminster Cathedral. Alas, it was not something I would see; anyway with two badly bruised legs I was not going to risk stepping into the ship-to-shore ferry and possibly earning more black marks in "The Report"!

So Likoma remained unseen and unvisited as Ilala set off across the lake and back into Malawian waters. That was my second and last night board. In the morning the ship tied up at the jetty at Nkhata Bay, which seemed the hub of all activity as far as one could see. As I looked down from the top deck on to the busy scene below I wondered how an earth I was going to make contact with Paul. Everywhere there were people, greeting returning passengers, unloading bags, cases and crates and loading more of the same for the journey south. Nkhata was the furthest north Ilala went on this huge freshwater lake.

This final stop for me was in such direct contrast to Monkey Bay. There, there had been an air almost of indolence, of a once busy port crumbling. Here it was so different. Brightly dressed women, bearing the almost inevitable packs on their head, glided effortlessly through the milling lines of people going to and coming from Ilala. Workmen hurried in between, while on board the now familiar scene of miscellaneous cargo items were being hauled in and out. What appeared like chaos were only temporary localized outbreaks of such; overall a time-established routine was in full operation. Beyond the long gangway that connected Ilala with the shore lorries were waiting to be filled or unloaded with goods. Like hurrying ants, the people of Nkhata Bay were scurrying to and fro at their once weekly tasks.

Reluctantly I packed my small bag, said farewell to the steward and barman, waved to Nigel (busy keeping an eye on everything) and barged my way off the Ilala and down the long iron gangway to the shore. On board I had seen the rough and ready order of things; now in the middle of the crowds it seemed so different. Like crowds everywhere, I seemed to be the only one going in the same direction. No-one took the slightest notices of me; wandering tourists were no great news here, neither were bag packers as a couple of erstwhile passengers struggled alongside, also finding they were swimming against the human tide.

Eventually I reached the security gates which controlled entrance to the dock area. Once through I stopped: where was I going to find Paul in this melee? The jumble of people had now been added to by the merely curious, attracted by the weekly arrival. By the side of the dirt road were the inevitable casual traders, selling in the main a variety of freshly picked fruits. Old, battered cars and small lorries added further weight to the confusion. Back in South Africa being in a crowd such as this would have been a wary, nervous experience; here there was no tension, just joining in the general movement and getting to where you wanted to go.

The road divided, now what should I do? Down which road would Paul come? Had I in fact missed him, or had something happened to him? Since there was no sense gained in going down either road, I stayed at the divide, pulled out my camera and took a few pictures. No one took much notice, a few people grinned for my benefit but by and large I was ignored. Just when the crazy notion crept into my mind that I had disembarked at the wrong place, Paul drove into sight down the dusty main road, weaving in and out the crowds. We waved, he braked, glanced at my battered, greasy trousers; “Won’t look well in The Report,” was all he said.

oOo

Malawi Patrol - Chapter 3

2008-07-19T13:15:00.000+02:00

Falling on Mumbo Island, Lake Malawi!

MUMBO ISLAND was the first of three what I might call ‘timetable visits’. Paul had divided the Patrol into two: these visits – meant just for me – and ‘roaming calls’ as I would wish to call them, when we just drove here and there, staying at places picked by Paul based on having been to Malawi before. Such a division probably ensured that I was privileged to have an insight into Malawi denied the more routine tourists. Anyway, I was happy with the arrangement; maybe not Paul since I had an awkward habit of falling over at times and if seconded from the Patrol anything might happen.

Mumbo lies at the southern end of Lake Malawi, situated north-west of Cape Maclear. Many might regard it as an island paradise and they wouldn’t be far wrong. Uninhabited except and for a holiday camp and its visitors, it is a heavily wooded hump of a place. Birds of many species are to be found there. Cormorants were everywhere; fish eagles, magnificent hunters, kept watch high in the trees while below them monitor lizards clumsily crash through the undergrowth. Fish are not so plentiful having been plundered extensively over the years. The small beach used by the fishermen was deserted when I was there and indeed now looked not that much used, although one or two dugout canoes with fishermen aboard were usually seen not far off the shoreline.

Most distinguished form of wildlife on Mumbo was a huge crocodile, just the one, a resident in solitary, undisputed splendour. Apparently he had arrived some years before having hitched a lift or fell asleep on a floating island of weeds and vegetation. Once cast ashore on Mumbo he decided to stay, since life had the promise of being fairly comfortable; in fact according to local understanding he had become rather a shy fellow who might or might not put in a noisy leathery appearance for visitors.

Paul drove down to Cape Maclear to drop me off at Chembe for the jetty from which the Mumbo ferry boat left. Trouble was, we couldn’t find it. Not that there was any shortage of jetties and no shortage of various small craft either, but nothing for Mumbo. Chembe, a long straddling village lying either side of a sand road from which I was supposed to leave, proved one long frustration. Everyone we asked where the Mumbo ferry left from either didn’t know or did. If the answer was in the affirmative invariably they pointed to the direction from which we had just come. At the end of half an hour Paul and I had a thorough working knowledge of Chembe, but no ferry boat. Suddenly, through a gap in the straggling line of buildings, we spotted a jetty with one boat waiting patiently – the one for Mumbo.

For visitors to Mumbo the attractions are various. Privacy is one, followed by peace and then there is the accommodation: tented with a balcony overlooking the lake. There is a bar and a local cook was employed who knew his trade to perfection. What to do? Well there was kayaking, snorkeling, scuba diving or just lazing about. Should you wish, paths criss-crossed the island and a map was provided for those wishing to explore. The latter was essential for, as I was to discover, the paths had a disconcerting habit of just ending, either suffocated by thick undergrowth or blocked by massive boulders or daunting rock faces.

There were just two other visitors on Mumbo: Rupert was in some business at Johannesburg while Debbie, his partner was unexpected, a Lancashire lass from Bolton and something in advertising in Jo’burg. She had the misfortune to be a follower of Bolton Wanderers, a team languishing second from bottom in the English Premiership football league; I followed Derby County, equally stranded at the bottom of that same league (we wept on each others shoulder!).

Making sure our stay lacked for nothing was Pam, the centre’s manager; a Canadian she had been in the job six months and loved it. Presiding over the staff meant treating them as a team; they had to be told collectively their duties, to inform them separately was to court disaster – they compared notes and then went their separate ways! Constant, patient repetition was the key to success. For we visitors, the key led to a pleasant stay.

A feature that made Mumbo so appealing was the fact that the tented accommodation was on a small islet reached by a board walk thee or four feet above the lake’s waters. Each tent commanded its own private view, shared mainly by cormorants which perched on nearby trees. Fish eagles apparently found those same trees a little too close to the island’s visitors and avoided them. For myself, the islet posed problems in that there were obstacles to be avoided coming and going from the main island; to avoid stumbling I carefully noted where each possible impediment to progress was situated

Next day Rupert and Debbie went off snorkeling and kayaking. Since neither appealed to me I opted for a walk round Mumbo with my camera. Borrowing a map I set off, deciding to walk up the west side of the island then when I reached the top, then cut down the middle and so back to base, maybe around four kilometres I judged.

Within minutes all traces of the tented camp and other buildings had disappeared into the all pervading vegetation as I headed slightly uphill, followed the path to my left and entered a shady world of trees, undergrowth and massive boulders. Birds darted about, but difficult to see, no doubt startled perhaps by a rare walker in their part of Mumbo. Heard but not so often seen were lizards. Some quite large, others of brilliant colouring and once or twice the larger monitor lizards, looking quite prehistoric as they lurched noisily into the safety of the undergrowth. Once they were thought to give warning of crocodiles but somehow I doubted Mumbo’s sole representative of that evil-looking breed had bothered himself to venture that far inland.

The suddenly I was lost, well almost. Behind I could see quite plainly the path I had come along. In front – nothing. Everywhere the all embracing confusion of trees, brambles, briars and rocks. Here and there one or two small trees or, incongruously to my eyes, large boulders; both being strangled by powerful roots of what might be termed predatory trees. Strange as these sights were, my dilemma at being lost was not being diminished. Looking at the borrowed map served no purposes; had I read it correctly, then I should have been still on a marked route. My eyes were not deceived: there was no way forward. Through the enveloping trees the lake could be seen peeping through. Birds were still flitting about; lizards popped their heads over boulders to inspect me or simply scurried away to greater safety. There was nothing for it; I had to retrace my steps.

Finally, I came in sight of the base again much to my relief for the sun was well risen and the attendant heat sapping despite the saving shade of the trees. Back in time just for lunch, a cool beer and later a welcome rest at my quite luxurious tent on the islet.

Pam had arranged a boat trip part way round Mumbo as a prelude to the evening meal and after the heat of the day had gone. So around four o’clock Debbie, Rupert, Pam and myself clambered aboard the boat, with its outboard motor in the capable hands of Choice, one of the staff.

The early evening was absolutely perfect. Lake Malawi lay almost still with the faintest of breezes making barely discernable ripples. Feathery white clouds of little substance provided the perfect canvas for the slowly sinking sun to gently paint them with delicate colours ranging from orange to pink. Slowly Choice guided the boat close enough to the shore to let us glimpses of fish in the shallower waters. From the trees fish eagles, often in pairs, perched serenely but no doubt their keen eyes scanning the lake waters below, searching for some unsuspecting, or rather none too lively, fish for the last meal of the day. Suddenly an eagle would rise and swoop, but as far as we could see the target fish were much too aware to be caught – at least on this occasion.

Out in the lake one or two dugout canoes with their two man crews fished away in a lake that by common consent was already severely over fished. Cheerfully the fishermen waved to us, but we were passing strangers; what was their future on a lake that no longer provided the bounty of past years? Choice steered past the small beach where fishermen were apparently in the habit of using as a resting place from their endeavours. No one was there, nor were there signs of any recent casual habitation.

Suddenly there was a mighty turmoil and the calm of the water was broken into a miniature maelstrom as a long leathery body, wicked head and powerful tail rose and then with a quick swirl disappeared again beneath the lake. The solitary hitch hiking crocodile had risen to see just who had disturbed his peace. Curiosity satisfied, he had departed much to our collective relief. Bolton and Derby still had their supporters.

The rest of our slow voyage passed without incident and almost at a snail’s pace Choice turned the boat and headed back to base. As near as possible the evening had been absolutely perfect. Once landed supper was next on the agenda and quiet conversation as we discussed the day’s events and what and where we would be going after the Mumbo ferry and taken us once more to the mainland.

My day was not quite over. Making my way in the gathering darkness over the board walk to the islet I forgot to circumvent a particular small boulder that lay in wait on the route to my tent. Before knowing what had happened my right foot found it and I crashed to the ground, by good fortune landing on the surrounding sandy soil and not the rock.

A frustrated cry of “Oh No!” brought Rupert coming to my aid from his nearby tent. No real serious hurt done: an impressive cut (approaching gash classification!), torn trousers and me all shook up was the total damage. Paul would have to open a ‘Walking Wounded’ section in the Report. A thorough wash down with bottled water (sparkling) cleaned up the wound and the night’s sleep was barely disturbed by an aching leg.

Next morning ushered in the all-too-short stay on Mumbo. Each chose their activity; for me a leisurely read on the balcony, occasionally to watch the cormorants or wave to Rupert and Debbie swimming far below in the warm waters of the lake. I was the only one travelling on; Paul was coming out on the morning ferry boat, joining us for lunch, and then the Patrol would resume activities.

All too soon the morning passed and the pleasant interlude of lunch, with Paul in fine fettle asking how I came to tear my trousers, insisting on seeing the rock that brought about my downfall and an entry in the Report. Then it was in the ferry, the 45-minute trip back to Chembe and ‘goodbye’ to Pam who had come over to welcome the next visitors to magic Mumbo.

These turned out to be what Paul called scathingly ‘bloody diplomats’ from, we later understood the British Embassy somewhere or other. Two of them, both male, neither of whom seemed capable of grasping that turning up rather late for an earlier ferry had thrown Mumbo’s necessarily careful planning into partial disarray. That it might be their fault circled somewhere outside their confused orbit.

A last look at Mumbo, lying hazily out in the lake and then it was into the car and off southwards; the Patrol once more was operational, with one walking wounded.

oOo

Malawi patrol - Chapter 2

2008-07-19T12:50:00.000+02:00

Two weeks in ‘The Warm Heart of Africa' - Malawi

First, a confession: going to Malawi was not at first our final destination. Originally the target was the mysterious ruins of Great Zimbabwe. For various reasons that idea had to be dropped and There then followed several weeks of voluminous e-mailing (how on earth did David Livingstone ever manage?) attempting to put together a tour that would perhaps be more than a conventional outing. Namibia, Mozambique, Botswana, Zambia, Lesotho and others all came under consideration and then discarded. Finally only Malawi remained on the list and so that’s where we went, to ‘the warm heart of Africa’.

There were two of us on ‘patrol’. I use that term advisedly since it was part of the vocabulary of Paul, a former policeman in the then Southern Rhodesia and then a soldier in the South Africa army, finishing up as a major. Since retirement he has built up a successful career as a battlefields guide, organizer of tours around Africa, instructing those wanting to become game wardens and branching out into environmental matters. An ability to converse in the seemingly endless African tongues, Paul was the ideal companion to have on such a patrol and he took endless delight in the fact we were both ex-military, me being a former warrant officer. Just twice he let me go off on my own for three or four days, finally returning rather red-faced having to explain why my trousers were torn, covered in grease and flapping over much battered and bruised legs. I must have looked like Ben Gunn. More ventures ‘off patrol’ might have found me rehearsing the role of Long John Silver himself.

Paul’s abiding interest is in 19th century history of southern Africa. This made him the ideal guide. Much of Malawi’s history is occupied by the time David Livingstone, the missionary-cum-explorer, spent in that country and Paul followed some of the trail blazed by that remarkable Scot. Lake Malawi, that huge expanse of water, the third largest on the African continent, had seen Livingstone’s vessel plying up and down the shoreline, to be followed by ships of various shapes and missions that today make for a fascinating study. Some time was spent visiting people or museums, such as Mandala House in Blantyre (originally a trading post), viewing the fading pictures of the lake and its shipping past and present, even, surprisingly, a Sunderland flying boat in the 1930s. Although the Victorian and colonial ages have now slipped away, Lake Malawi has much to remind one of the heydays of that colourful imperial era.

(This account of a short time spent in Malawi was intended originally to be in diary form, I decided against this, favouring short passages, usually illustrated. That way highlights and background would be better presented and so, hopefully, making for a more interesting presentation.)

Wayside chameleon

First impression was of a relaxing of tension. We had flown up from Durban in South Africa, survived the hustle, bustle and annoyance of a change-over, anthill-gone-mad stop at Johannesburg, and eventually landed rather bumpily at Chileko International, Blantyre’s airport. Going through formalities was a way of meeting a host of officials, suitably uniformed, a-bristle with authority, some armed others carrying millboards. Surviving the corridors of form-filling, rubber stamps crashing down on passports and other documents, and questions about why you were coming to Malawi, Paul and I found ourselves backtracking to our luggage. Passengers’ luggage had been unloaded from the airplane and stacked neatly in rows on a lawn in front of the entrance building, which we had just navigated.

The idea, which seemed sensible, was that each passenger identified their own luggage and then for Customs. That was quickly passed, first answering more questions, then baggage searching, and finally a tennis racquet-shaped metal detector wafted over your body. From leaving the ‘plane to emerging at the other side of the main building was to witness a classic example of job creation. I would imagine that had the ‘plane carried just a few less than its full complement of passengers, they would have been outnumbered by those waiting to process them through requirements.

But there had been cheerfulness about he whole procedure. Emerging into the normal day of Malawi it took me abut half an hour before I realised what my first emotion was: one of relaxation, a lack of tension. Back at home in Pietermaritzburg I had become used to the miasma of ever-present security, the abiding threat of robbery, of violence and the fear of venturing out at night. That first feeling when arriving in Malawi never left me; Paul was aware of it to. Not seen (although there must have been some) were the security gates, the protecting, encircling walls, the private security guards patrolling here and there. Crime was there inevitably, but as we were informed more of the petty nature and not at the encroaching, intimidating and life threatening levels cursing South Africa.

Also greeting us was the heat. Throughout our two weeks the temperature was sandwiched between 38º and 42º; each morning we would dash for the hired car, set off and turn on the air conditioning as soon as possible. Either that or head for the nearest bar and order a couple of bottles ‘of green’, Malawi-speak for Carlsberg lager.

oOo

Malawi Patrol Nov 2007 by Ted Garner

2008-07-19T12:23:00.000+02:00

1 : Malawi Patrol – a General Briefing

In the weeks preceding the flight north to Malawi, Paul had carefully mapped out what should be seen and the route that should be followed. Having visited the country several times in the days when it was still Nyasaland and since after being re-named Malawi, his expertise and knowledge proved invaluable. In those days he had been a policeman, a calling which allowed him to extend his knowledge of ethnic languages. No better man could have organised this particular patrol and. He warned me, a Report would have to be submitted.

Malawi, once Nyasaland, lies at the southern end of Africa’s Great Rift Valley. Much of its activities lie to the south, presided over by Lilongwe, the capital. There are the businesses, the most popular tourist areas, the many wildlife parks and reservations. One of the continent’s smallest countries it is with a population approaching 13 million one of the more densely populated. Trapped in the Great Rift Valley Malawi is, of course, landlocked which, when standing on the shores of Lake Malawi, seems difficult to comprehend. That huge expanse of fresh water, Africa’s third largest, is around 585km long, running north to south, and 100km at its widest east to west. With other smaller and shallower lakes, it covers around a fifth of the country’s surface area.

Climate is tropical, although there is much variation in temperature between the low lying, often humid valleys bounding the lake and the mountain regions such as the Zomba Plateau and Mulanje Massif.

Compared to other countries in east and southern Africa, Malawi does not share their historical turmoils. In fact, from that perspective, its history could conveniently start, for my purpose, in the 19th century, with the arrival of David Livingstone, the missionary and explorer, the wave of missionaries that followed which influences yet remains, and the horrors of the slave ingenuous slave trade.

Perhaps it might be held that Malawi was born of colonialism. While that system has now disappeared, echoes remain in many of the fine buildings still be to be found, admittedly many of neglected, crumbling and clearly destined to end up as ruins. Vessels that once sailed on the great lake are not so numerous now; some of them now in their death throes lie as rusting hulks at Monkey Bay, sad reminders of a much more energetic past. At Malindi are the remnants of a once busy shipyard that once repaired and maintained local shipping. Now all that lingers are a old workshop used now for storage by local concerns, a boiler or two from the MV Ilala when it changed over to diesel. An iron boat rests unwanted on the sand; here and there other smaller items of an industry disappeared.

Colonialism is now part of Malawi’s history; what is still in evidence is the missionary movement. What was there before the first white man set foot there still remain and should, with recognition and conservation that Nature’s gifts are not infinite if left to Man’s promiscuous use. Overwhelmingly Malawi is a rural country; woodland (miambo) still covers over two thirds of the country. Alongside the lake’s side – and sometimes in - and up, up into the great mountain ranges woodland is in abundance. There are many different families of trees, of which the most recognizable is the unmistakable baobab. Huge in size and odd in shape, it is easily understood why it is known as the ‘tree that God planted upside down’. It is claimed that the baobab can live for up to 3,000 years. A relative of the balsa tree, this giant, generous in calcium, is a valuable source of food for elephants in times of drought.

It would be unusual to see much wildlife, birds apart, in these woodlands; locals have long since poached them into extinction unless the more far-seeing had already driven them into reservations and parks. It is a common story found pretty much everywhere in Africa. Once, when we were passing through a large area of much-depleted woodland, Paul remarked that years ago he could have driven there and had to slow down or stop for elephants on the move.

Elephant bull snorkelling in the Shire river, Malawi Nov 2007

Of the local people, you never lose sight of them. Whether on foot or riding much-prized bicycles, they pass up and down the long roads in a seemingly never ending line. At times, there would be quite a gap between one group and the next; at other the lines seemed almost endless. You began to wonder if the whole country was on the move, stopping only at the many busy roadside markets or the small cluster (sometimes down to just one hut) of trading enterprises. There were surely just too many of these places of trade to be waiting just for the tourist industry and I wondered if bartering was the dominant exchange medium in a country so poor.

Compared to this movement of people, villages past, attractive places of local brickwork and thatch, were often deserted or perhaps just one or two people moving within them. Remembering how often one passed lonesome trading stalls left unmanned, honesty must have held high priority.

Photography played an important part in my Patrol. People approached were never unwilling to stop and pose. Some were delighted and pleasantly surprised when they received a monetary donation; others clearly expected it but were too polite or nervous to ask; some were quite belligerent in their demand for payment first. Paul would tackle the third group, charming them out of their socks and seeing they received no more than the other two groups!

The roads along which we travelled were like the curate’s egg, good in parts. At times there were long stretches through which it was virtually impossible to avoid the potholes gathered in blatant ambush. Not all was bad: there were some good, hard sand roads and not a few excellent tarred roads which, judged by the number of road works passed, would one day be more the norm for Malawi.

oOo