Autumn - Taking Shortcuts As The Sun Sets On Our Zambia Days

On Thursday, Butch and I went on a lovely cycle meandering through the Brëede River valley. The air was crisp, and the harvesting of grapes was in full swing. Large harvesting machines and tractors with fully laden wagons bustle to and from the cellars.  

Once the grapes are off the vines, farmers will harvest pears in the final ripening stage and hang heavy with blushing cheeks on trellises. The apricots, peaches, watermelons, and sweet melons also grown here were harvested while the grapes ripened.

The air is filled with a musty aroma as the grapes ferment, a precursor to the new vintage. Farmers eagerly anticipate the bumper crop rumoured for this year.

The leaves, turning a vibrant red, caught my eye. It seemed a tad early for such a display. Like the rest of the world, the weather is playing tricks on us, and we experienced the first rainfall this weekend. It feels like Easter, a time when we typically transition into autumn. Nature’s unpredictability only added to the wonder of the changing season, surprising us with its unexpected beauty.

I love summer and the clean colours of bleached cotton, sky blue, emerald and sunny yellow, but Autumn russets, golds, fawn, coral, eggplant, pumpkin, and peacock blue have a captivating pull I can’t resist.  

A fashion coordinator once told me my “colour is autumnal.” I must confess that although my wardrobe echoes dull, classic colours like black, grey, denim blue, and white, the jewel colours tangerine, mustard, olive green, and aubergine resonate with me.

And so, our last days in Zambia echoed my melancholy. It felt as if the trees, shrubs, and grasses lost their summer sunshine and turned overnight, heralding a new season: slower, more temperate, with shorter days and slightly longer nights—just in time for the Autumnal equinox, a significant astronomical event that marks the official start of autumn and the balance between day and night.

---oOo---

One of our last stays would be at Whispering Sands near Sioma, where we would embark on a cycling adventure. We would discover unique shortcuts and hidden gems known only to the locals, promising to reveal the lesser-known aspects of Sioma's natural beauty and cultural richness.

Sioma is a town on the west bank of the Zambezi River in the Western Province. It has been the capital of the Sioma District since 2012 and is 130 kilometres from Sheskeki, 150 kilometres south of Mongu, and south of Senanga. It marks the southern end of the Barotse Floodplain.

The golden hour of sunset is always the best time to capture the uniqueness of an African sunset. Fires always cloud the sky, adding an extra dimension to the colours which is reflected perfectly when there's water around.

---oOo---

The fauna and flora comprise Kalahari woodland, which occurs in the Kalahari Sands of the upper Zambezi basin. Trees and shrubs are mainly made up of Zambezian dry evergreen forest or Zambezian dry deciduous forest. Scrub forests were the original vegetation at higher altitudes, with favourable soil.

Sioma Ngwezi National Park, decked out in Kalahari woodland, is the third-largest park in Zambia. Before becoming a protected area, this land was heavily poached in the past, but now the situation is improving, and wildlife is recovering. Elephants have been seen at the southeast border, where they have re-established an old migration route.

According to wildlife scouts from the Zambia Wildlife Authority (ZAWA), Sioma Ngwezi is home to a wide variety of species, including elephant, lion, leopard, hyena, cheetah, wild dog, giraffe, eland, sable, roan, tsessebe, zebra, impala, kudu, duiker, buffalo, hippo, crocodile, and sitatunga, as well as a significant number of birds. Our adventure meandered on the park's outskirts, near human settlements where domesticated animals roamed.

---oOo---

THE NGONYE FALLS

Our mission was to cycle to the Park's headquarters, where we paid our entrance fee to both falls and then hiked with a guide to Horseshoe Falls. The guide promised “breathtaking views that would leave us in awe.”

Also known as Sioma Falls because these Falls are near the village of Sioma, the falls mark the transition point of the Zambezi River’s flow from the Kalahari sand floodplain to the basalt dyke, the latter eventually contributing to the magnificent Batoka Gorge of the Victoria Falls.

Once again, we were the only tourists around. We were introduced to our guide, a local lad with a reasonable knowledge of the area and its history. He took us off into the bush at a trot, pointing out various plants along the way. We soon realised it would’ve been impossible to find the falls without his expertise. His help when clambering over the rocks was a bonus, and he would relieve Butch of his backpack while supporting us over wide fissures and stepping stones.

The route is not signposted at all. The area is covered in basaltic rock or Dykes, which range in composition from basaltic to rhyolitic. These formations result from ancient volcanic activity, and the slightly coarser rock than basalt erupted at the surface, forming a diabase rock. The impact of this volcanic activity on the local geography and wildlife, such as the unique rock formations and the adaptation of flora and fauna to these conditions, is a fascinating aspect of the area's natural history.

Basalt is formed from rapidly cooling low-viscosity lava rich in magnesium and iron. This lava is typically exposed at or near a planet's surface or moon, where it cools quickly due to the lower pressure and temperature. This process results in the formation of basalt, a rock type that makes up 90% of all volcanic rock on Earth.

Basalt is a common rock found on other planetary bodies in the Solar System. For example, the bulk of Venus's plains, which cover 80% of the surface, are basaltic; the lunar maria are plains of flood-basaltic lava flow, and basalt is a common rock on the surface of Mars.

The low viscosity of molten basalt lava due to its relatively low silica content allows for the formation of rapidly moving lava flows. These flows can cover significant areas before cooling and solidifying, with flood flows capable of spanning hundreds of thousands of square kilometres. These flows constitute the most voluminous volcanic formations. The sheer scale and power of these flows are breathtaking, and here, we can envision the flow as it happened millions of years ago.

Basalt mainly comprises silicon, iron, magnesium, potassium, aluminium, titanium, and calcium oxides. This composition is significant as it influences basalt's physical and chemical properties, such as its colour, density, and resistance to weathering.

For instance, its high resistance to weathering makes it a popular choice for construction materials. It is also widely used for floors, wall coverings, steps, and thresholds in the building industry.

Basalt often contains vesicles*, which are formed when dissolved gases bubble out of the magma as it decompresses during its approach to the surface. The erupted lava then solidifies before the gases can escape.

(*A vesicle is derived from the Latin word vesicula, meaning “small bladder”. It can also refer to blisters in the human body or a small cavity in volcanic rock produced by gas bubbles.)

The horseshoe-shaped Ngonye Falls are impressive because of the sheer volume of water cascading over a 20m / 66ft drop.

Interestingly, the river flows underneath the rock on either side of the falls. It is remarkable to stand upon them and feel and hear the thunder of the powerful underground flow.

---oOo---

Kalahari woodland occurs in the Kalahari Sands of the upper Zambezi basin. Zambezian dry evergreen forest, dry deciduous forest, and scrub forest were the original vegetation types on higher elevations. Kalahari woodland is secondary (due to fire and cultivation) to these original dry forest types on ridges and seasonally waterlogged depressions.

Common species growing here are Camel thorn, Purple-leaved false thorn, Zambezi redwood, Snake bean tree, Bean-pod tree, Wild syringa, Peeling bushwillow, Large-fruited bushwillow,  Kalahari podberry, Wild rubber, Peeling bark plane, Mobola plum, Duiker berry, Spine-leaved monkey orange, and Silver Terminalia.

In these communities, wood has been used for centuries, mainly for firewood, charcoal, timber, furniture, and for constructing poles and posts or flooring and panelling.

Bee hives are attached to trees, and we could occasionally buy the purest honey from local beekeepers along the road.

Tools, tool handles, and shafts are made for domestic use, and carvings, utensils, walking sticks, bows, and arrows are commonly made and sold locally and are exported to neighbouring towns and cities.

Dugouts and boats are made from adult trees, some of which are chosen when they’re saplings. A suitable tree must have the correct girth and be straight, light, and solid enough not to allow water seepage for a canoe or mokoro. These boats paddle and glide in lakes, rivers, streams and floodplains.

Although trees are regularly harvested, we did not notice deforestation on the scale we witness when ancient trees are indiscriminately harvested and shipped worldwide.

Edible fruit, nuts, and seeds are harvested for human consumption, included in the diet, and used for seasoning and flavouring. Edible oils, gum, and the inner bark are also used in the diet or as medication.

Trees are used for fodder in an area where animal husbandry is a primary occupation.

Trees are commonly found around homesteads and are an essential source of shade, soil conservation, improvement, and windbreaks.

Along the roads, we saw that in this area, fibres are used for weaving, rope making, basketry, and matting; homes are thatched and often, the resins and gums are harvested for glues and latex.

I was fascinated by the neatness and precision with which fences, kraals, and homesteads were built using trees and grasses. Fences are made using dead and live wood.

Traditional uses of fauna and flora include veterinary medicines, vermifuges, toxins, insecticides, and repellents. Ladies extract dyes and oils for cosmetics, soap making, and perfumes.

---oOo---

We were not done yet, so we went to another waterfall upstream—this time, unguided.

Perusing the small museum at the main gate, we discovered that Frederick Courteney Selous visited the falls of Gonye in 1888 while on his journey to Lialui, Barotseland.

Selous was a British explorer, officer, hunter, and conservationist famous for his exploits in Southeast Africa.

 

He was born in London to an aristocratic family on 31st December 1851 and died on the 4th January 1917 in German East Africa (Tanzania). He was buried near the place of his death in today’s Selous Game Reserve in a modest flat stone grave with a simple bronze plaque reading:-

“Captain F.C. Selous  D.S.O 25th Royal Fusiliers killed in action 4.1.17”

 

---oOo---

During the 19th century, southeast Africa was a hotspot for explorers, missionaries and colonialists.

 

David Livingstone had seen the Ngonye Falls two years before, and on November 16, 1855, he became the first European to see what he named Victoria Falls.

 “The people at Gonye conveyed our canoes over the space requisite to avoid the falls by slinging them on poles and carrying them on their shoulders. They are a merry set of mortals, and a feeble joke sends them into fits of laughter.

Here, as elsewhere, all petitioned for the magic lantern*, and, as it is a suitable means of conveying instruction, I willingly complied.  The islands above the falls are covered with the most beautiful foliage, and the view from the rock which overhangs the fall was the loveliest I had yet seen.” David Livingstone LL.D., D.D.L. (Quoted from this book “Missionary travels and researches in South Africa” 1857

*The magic lantern, also known by its Latin name lanterna magica, was an early type of image projector that used pictures—paintings, prints, or photographs—on transparent plates (usually made of glass), one or more lenses, and a light source. Because a single lens inverts an image projected through it, a concave mirror behind a light source was used to direct the light through a small rectangular sheet of glass—a "lantern slide."

Credit for the photograph is from Lantern Slides | National Library of Scotland website.

---oOo---

We’re on the main road to the falls upstream. The signage, which has collapsed, lies discarded on the verge. Butch uses his downloaded maps.me to lead the way.  

Our trail takes us down very sandy, dusty roads past a small village, a communal kraal with a few homes and small market gardens. At last, we spot a man walking in the opposite direction who can speak English, and he gives us directions to the gate. Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the heavily padlocked gate.

The gatekeeper on duty was “pretty much useless”, to coin a phrase used by the housekeeper where we are currently staying when she describes her brother, the gardener.

Unfortunately, the old codger had to oblige us. We had an answer to all his gripes. Yes, We’d paid the required entry fee at the Park’s main gate and had the receipt to prove it. He very reluctantly unlocked and opened the gate! He suffered from Irritable Male Syndrome. (my diagnosis.)

We parked our bikes and proceeded in the general direction of the falls, using our navigational knowledge based on sound, the well-trodden path and Butch’s map, which was great until we had to cross the rocks.

 

This waterfall would elude us, but we glimpsed it in the distance. A friend later told us that it was quite a way off the beaten path, and we’d have to do quite a bit of bundu bashing to see the full extent of the falls. We did hear the thunderous roar of the water and saw a cloud of mist filling the sky. 

---oOo---

The Shortcut

After a while, we decided to backtrack, and it would later emerge that we’d done the right thing. The sun was at its zenith; it was hot, and we’d been on our excursion for many hours now.

Eventually, we see our bikes chained to a tree. Before setting off, I insist we stop for a breather, a sip of heavenly iced water, and our apples. Butch impatiently suggests we move along; it’s hot.

With our bikes under our bums, we set off, our determination to complete our journey unwavering. Butch, I notice, is struggling under the weight of his back tyre and the thick sand. His front wheel wobbles. He alights his bike, feels the pressure of the back wheel, and announces he has a flat tyre. This unexpected hurdle only serves to strengthen our resolve to push forward.

On this epic 2½ year journey, our tyres have been repaired, replaced, serviced, and “jacked up” more times than we can remember. We’re unsure of the state of our “tubeless” tyres, which we cannot inflate because the bicycle pump’s attachment won’t fit the new valve fitted in Mwanza, Tanzania.

Butch, exasperated, announces he has to push his bike 17km back to the campsite. In sympathy with him, I will follow suit, and we’ll both walk. After all, they are “push bikes,” I quip.

In companionable silence, we forge ahead. Eventually, I am ahead, but I always keep him in view and stop regularly to wait for him to catch up. I see his backpack's load is weighing him down. We have very little to say as the sun beats down on us. At this stage, we have water, which we sip regularly.

Ahead of me, I see the small encampment of thatched roofs situated under the big mango tree. There’s a fork in the road. My beloved is 500m behind me.

This might be a good time to admit there are times when my hearing fails me, especially when I’m anxious and tired. But I heard his call, stopped, turned, and saw him off on a tangent shouting, “I’m taking a shortcut; carry on, I’ll catch up!” he says, waving and pushing his bike with new oomph.

I pushed on, not thinking anything of this, and when I reached the mango tree, I sat down my back against the bark with a clear 360° view and waited and waited. I had to ration my water but took a few sips, anticipating him stumbling through the mealie crop, like one of the explorers a century ago, at any moment.

The only life in the swept yard was a few scrawny chickens scratching for seeds, a dog sleeping in the shade of a hut, and a young girl sweeping the yard. She didn't acknowledge me at all. Mzungus aren't an everyday occurrence.

Half an hour later, my precious still hadn’t appeared, and I realised he had probably found a shortcut or not and might even be lost. There was no way I could backtrack and look for him. Before panic set in, I’d keep going and wait at the tar road.

Despite my efforts to keep my beloved in the loop with PIN drops, voice messages, and WhatsApp messages, I was met with silence. I saw him receive my messages, some of which he’d read, but there was no response.  My final message was a selfie and a warning that my telephone battery was about to max out; I had reached the tarred main road— with the dodgy sign in the background. I’d wait there for him. Butch later told me that he was trying to conserve his phone's battery.

“Hello, Madam!” a booming voice exclaimed. I turned to find the chap who’d given us directions to the entry gate at 12h30, scampering up the verge behind me. “Are you OK? Where’s the Mzungu?” It was now 16h10.

“I have no idea”, I responded despondently, “he took a shortcut, and I have no idea what’s happened to him. For all I know, he’s had a heart attack, stroke, or he might be lying in a ditch, dead from dehydration, and I don’t know where to start searching for him.” I tell this friendly man who didn’t expect a thousand words.

He sets his satchel down next to my empty water bottle and says he’ll sit with me for a while. We chat about the weather. It’s hot, yes, it’s a heatwave, he says. He suggests I should drink some water. I agree, nodding, but all we can do is sigh. There’s no water anywhere to be found.

Panic is rising in me like nausea, but I’m strong and brave, I tell myself.  Again, I look around me and don’t know where to start with a search.

The squeak of an old bicycle coming up the hill from the left alerts me, and I sit up. “Stop!” I shout. “ Good afternoon, how are you?” I ask, remembering protocols. “Have you seen an old Mzungu pushing a bike?” I ask, hopefully.

“No, ma’am”, says this stranger dressed in the official garb of a postal worker.  My second thought is to ask sceptically, “Do you still have a postal service in Zambia?”

“Indeed, Ma’am, we do”, he replies proudly. “I’m on my way to town to deliver the mail.”

In relays, we tell him what happened and why we’re holding up a collapsed signpost. The Mzungu took a shortcut, and he’s missing.

My companion jumps up, dusts off the seat of his pants, and flings his satchel over his shoulder, telling me he must be on his way; he’s spotted a friend and waves to the man strolling down the road. He’s expected somewhere else, he says and will be on the lookout for the Mzungu. He assures me he’ll let him know where I’m waiting. Thank you; that is very kind, I tell him. His parting shot is a jolly “Good luck, Ma’am”. The two men are already chatting up a storm.

The postman says he must go, too; he has business to attend to, but if he sees the old Mzungu, he will inform “the boss” of my whereabouts.

Hope burns eternal in the human breast and just as well because I don’t know what I should’ve done to find the shortcutting Butch.

An hour later, I see the postman freewheeling down the road, enthusiastically waving a hand and putting his feet out, almost like a duck in landing gear,  to brake and stop beside me. He’s found the Mzungu; he chirps excitedly. He’s waiting for me about 3km down the road.

Praise be! I mutter and hop on my bike, Mike, and off we go. With renewed energy, I cycle; my beloved is alive! (Butch thinks I'm as mad as a pissed-off rattlesnake, of course. - I am.)

Yes, there he sits on a concrete block. He’s pretty puce in the face, exhausted, dehydrated and dusty, his face lined with muddy streaks, but I’m relieved to be reunited.

We thanked the postal services guy and handed over the last of our cash. We agree that his generosity of spirit has no price tag.

To his credit, Butch had knocked on someone’s front door when his water ran out and was able to replenish with ice and fresh water. He offered me the last of his water and a sliver of ice, which I gratefully accepted. The crunch of the ice and the cold droplets running down my throat were like manna from heaven.

Instead of both of us pushing our bikes to the campsite, Whispering Sands (another ten kilometres away), Butch volunteered to use my bike to ride there and return with the campsite owner Eddie.  

Butch realised my fuse was short and I might explode at any minute. Beating a hasty retreat was his best option. He solemnly promised to stick to the road and take no further shortcuts.

Off he went. I would guard his bike and take deep breaths as I circumnavigated the concrete block in search of shade, as the sun mercilessly burned the back of my neck.  I was thirsty, exhausted and hot under the collar.

Occasionally, a passerby would stop and chat, but I did notice some people giving me a wide berth. Two schoolboys stopped for a tête-à-tête and offered me a few shillings for the bike; on second thought, they thought I should give it to them, seeing as it was kaput. They poked the flat tyre with a stick and ogled the gears and e-pad. The lousy piece of ….. if they’d badgered me for a while longer, I might’ve succumbed.

Seeing Butch pedalling up that hill was no comfort; I continued to worry about him as survivor's guilt set in.

The clock ticked, and then my watch’s battery died. I had no time and no means of communication. No use crying over spilt milk, I reminded myself.

When, at last, a grey Toyota bakkie made a U-turn and stopped a few yards from me, I knew the ordeal was finally over.

Butch, deadbeat, used the last of his energy to lift the defunct bike and stow it.  No, they hadn’t brought any water, in too much of a hurry to get back to me, Butch said before I could utter another word.

Karma is a bitch. Butch’s nightmare was not over, he said and told me a few meters after the turn-off from the main road to the secondary road leading to the camp, the bike hit the gravel and got nicked by a sharp object— poof went the tyre. He had another puncture and had to push the bike the last kilometre or so to the campsite.

I kept myself in check until I’d rehydrated and then gave my opinion. My mood was dark and ugly.

It would take me two days to pick up my camera again. I must’ve suffered amnesia—the following two nights at Whispering Sands campsite passed in a blur.

My review on iOverlander reads, “ Lovely campsite. All the amenities and facilities are great. We stayed three nights. Do visit the shop. Jeanette, the owner's wife, produces exquisite handicrafts. Eddie is very kind and helpful, with many excellent suggestions and tips. Sylvia, the cook, does a sterling job in the kitchen. Her beef stew is a first-rate choice for dinner.”

---oOo---

Our next destination was Sesheke and the Kabula Lodge and campsite. Our mission was to rest, read, swing in our hammocks, and while away the hours doing absolutely nothing. We deserved it.

I didn’t do much reading, and my excellent book, The Handmaid’s Daughter, lay unopened. Instead, I stared at the sluggish river pushing water hyacinth downstream. I watched the overhanging trees' shadows dance on the surface as the sun crept behind them and the sky turned that iconic African tangerine in the late afternoon.

---oOo---

Our last days in Zambia could’ve ended catastrophically, but once again, we pulled a rabbit from the hat. We’re ever thankful to the folk who assisted us. We survived to add spice to our travel memories.

 In future:

1. Take a battery pack to charge phones.
2. Take a bicycle repair kit in good nick.
3. Do not take shortcuts, especially in uncharted remote areas without connectivity or a paper map.
4. When backtracking, always use the same route out of an area or agree on an alternative route.
5. Be precise. There can't be any misunderstandings.
6. In case of an emergency or getting lost, have an agreed-upon meeting point and do not deviate.
7. Stop regularly to wait for and check on companions.
8. Do not separate.
9. Ration water.
10. Keep on recording your adventures.
    You never know when you might take your last picture, your battery runs out, or you/your beloved takes a shortcut and vanishes.

Until next time – and believe me, there will be a next time….

---oOo--