The Company We Keep

It's true that birds of a feather flock together, just like Lilian's Lovebirds. Although we travel very well together and can do so comfortably without company, we were delighted to know we wouldn't be alone for the entire time we were in Mana. We are social animals, after all, and I need human contact and interaction. My beloved is an inspiring raconteur, and I love his stories, but he comes alive when he has an audience.

Driving in convoy with us from Worcester were friends from Hermanus, whom we’ve taken on previous trips and who were an absolute pleasure to be with. They were easygoing and uncomplicated, with similar tastes and philosophies, so we knew we’d be happy campers with them.

Chris is a keen birder and very observant, often spotting interesting sights which he’d relay once we were all together.

Marie is a fixer and an organiser, and within minutes could instruct, teach, and mentor our “camp manager”, Marko, a young, unemployed 22-year-old Zimbabwean who managed our campsite during the day while we were out game viewing. Marko is a dignified young man, trapped in a quagmire of hopelessness and political insecurity.

It was interesting and very insightful chatting with him; he proudly told us he’d passed his O levels but, to date, had never been employed. Zimbabwe’s ongoing political instability and economic challenges have deeply affected young people like Marko, whose prospects are bleak. He dreamed of getting to Cape Town to find work.

It broke my heart to see him reading his tiny, matchbox-sized Bible every day, as he was an avid reader. I gifted him my copy of The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead, a remarkable story of endurance. Sadly, he told Marie he couldn't read the book because he couldn't understand the words. I found this upsetting too, as it’s widely believed that, no matter how awful Robert Mugabe was, he did strive to have an excellent education system in Zimbabwe. He didn’t; he failed at that too.

Hopelessness is debilitating, and I could see his despondency and lack of interest, even in the world around him. He was often unenthusiastic about his future, the country, or his prospects. What will become of him? It breaks my heart to even contemplate the scenarios.

Occasionally, you meet someone and know your fate has been sealed. The result could go either way, of course; it may not be a very good outcome. I knew Butch had met a friend when he came home one day and said he’d met Trevor Beckett, a guy from Zimbabwe. Butch put the word out on a group called “Friends of Mana Pools,” asking about various things related to our trip. Trevor responded, and the two started communicating. Two years later, we’ve become fast friends with this most helpful and hospitable couple. Nothing is too much trouble, too difficult or unsolvable. Kind, energetic and full of schemes, our Trevor is.

His passion is Mana Pools. He is a retired butcher, philanthropist, and keen wildlife photographer. Trevor knows Mana like the back of his hand and will enthusiastically share his knowledge and point anyone in the right direction. We spent many enjoyable hours with him and his partner, Essie.

One fine day, we arrived home to find Butch's friend and colleague setting up his rig. Beertrix had it all. We watched in amazement as Bryan single-handedly set up his camp. There was nothing lacking.

I thought I was organised, but had to swallow my pride when his potted herbs emerged from the back seat. All the way from Woolies at the Waterfront. Lemon verbena, Italian parsley, mint, oregano, rocket and rosemary. Impressive. Sadly, they didn’t last long, but they did manage to garnish a few gin and tonics served in Mother’s best cut-glass crystal. The moment of sharing those simple pleasures, like the herbs and drinks, made the trip even more special. The merry monkeys had a go, and that was them done.

Wine was chilled in a silver ice bucket; tables were set with beautiful linen napery. This took glamping to a new level. Bryan was such lovely company: his meals were delicious (his fires are exceptional), his stories brilliant, and his spirit of adventure remarkable.

The Wild dogs of Mana are constantly in the spotlight; just recently, the BBC was there documenting them, and even Sir David Attenborough flew in for a five-day recce and orientation, presumably to better narrate his story. Mana Pools, renowned for its diverse wildlife and stunning landscapes, offers a truly immersive experience for nature lovers.

Thomas, a Zimbabwean game ranger stationed at Mana Pools, is the man on the ground: the monitor and gamekeeper. With an old Land Rover and an even older set of “Bunny ears”, and a fuel allowance of 100 litres, Thomas steadfastly keeps an eye on their movements and tries to enforce crowd control.

A faded, almost illegible "Sponsored by British Airways" sticker is stuck on the back of his drab olive-green vehicle. With the best of intentions, Thomas does his job and reports his findings, conscientiously recording them in an ancient logbook. I picked up quite a few tidbits listening to Thomas as he informed us about the dogs. Occasionally, he would swerve by and ask whether we’d seen the dogs and could tell him where they were. I think he’s fighting a losing battle; BA will forget about the guy in Africa, and the funds will dwindle.

It is always interesting to observe the dynamics of new relationships, especially when one of the parties is a “Virgin” camper. A few days later, in a cloud of dust, friends arrived, having decided to join us on the spur of the moment, just a day before our departure. With a newly fitted rig, things can become complicated. Not for them. It only took a few days for the cogs to turn smoothly, and they had their rooftop tent setup down pat.

Madam Carolyn is a caterer and owns a very successful company specialising in spectacular Kosher cuisine. It didn’t take long before we were all roped in to chop, slice, dice, beat, mix, knead, grill, braai, and even pickle. With utmost confidence, lessons were given in bread-baking, dessert-making and pancake-flipping.

In a separate pantry tent, she kept all her supplies in numbered ammo boxes. I do believe one could ask for anything and it would magically appear from a box. I was impressed. In my minimalist kitchen, things were very different. From this tent, they whipped up gourmet meals.

With ease, they playfully communicated, taught, and mentored, each learning something from the other. He became more familiar with a chopping block and a knife; she with setting up a camp, getting to know birds, their calls, and their habitats; she did so with enthusiasm. It’s seldom that one sees a nice girl from Oranjezicht going native, so to speak. A friendly attitude is half the battle won.

We all have that one friend who never lets us down, even when the odds are stacked against them. Occasionally, I had to remind Butch, the pessimist, that Bronny, once she’s given her word and made a commitment, never lets us down. Wild horses can’t stop this girl! Despite every obstacle facing her and Lorraine, these two warriors made it to Mana Pools. We were impressed.

Their journey began in Somerset West. The rest of the journey went something like this: Port Elizabeth, Orania, Botswana, Bulawayo, and Mana Pools. One was an expat who, as a child, had experienced the magic of Zimbabwe, vowed to return, and did. The other was a seasoned traveller, a city slicker and a newbie to camping, overlanding, 4x4’ing and roughing it. With camping gear borrowed from friends, they set up camp in a jiffy. Karin Blixen would’ve been impressed.

With a bucket, mop, and disinfectant, they tackled the ablutions, taught the cleaner a thing or two, and set to work making it as spic and span as the place allowed. With good grace, they cleaned up the carnage in their tent after the monkeys had raided it and made off with many of their supplies. Without a working refrigerator, they had to rethink their meals and make do with fewer luxuries. Imagine a lukewarm gin and tonic! I can’t.

Being in nature outweighed all the difficulties and inconveniences as they took it all in. We saw the dogs, hiked, enjoyed sundowners as lions roused themselves beneath the blood-orange sun, and witnessed the ferocity of a cold-blooded killer: the crocodile. This species has survived unchanged for millions of years. They even managed to sleep, despite the nocturnal critters, hyenas and midges, that lurked when the lights went out. With good grace, they weathered every storm, and when they should've cried in frustration, they laughed uproariously.

Stories are written about Big Game Hunters, their escapades romanced and embellished around campfires. We met such a man! Jeremy, a professional hunter and guide. To capture an audience, you need the right ingredients: adventurous stories and the gift of the gab. He had them all in abundance.

He'd been shot at, mauled by a leopard, charged by an elephant and a lion, had to outrun a herd of buffalo, and had malaria and bilharzia more times than is humanly possible, yet survived. He has been married, engaged, and divorced, and his family tragically lost a farm during land invasions—a list of misadventures as long as his arm. Jeremy has the ingredients for a bestseller.

I hung on his every word and loved it! Not only a convincing raconteur but also an accomplished butcher and cook. With a twinkle in his eye, confidence galore and hutzpah by the bucket loads, he charmed us - this hard-drinking, smoking, gun-slinging young man who knew about survival and living his best life, dodging bullets to tell these tales to his captivated audience. Jeremy, I'm sure, will never be short of stories and amazing adventures. There's no love lost between him and SA, of course. On his very first day in Durban, he survived an attempted hijacking at gunpoint. You're a peach, Jeremy, as you said: "Only a bullet will stop you"!

Sometimes you must sit under a tree, next to two strangers, when a huge snake falls on you. Poor Dillan Prinsloo and his friend Bhavik had not had an easy time. The baboons and monkeys had thoroughly trashed their tent and much of their camping equipment. Even their tent was in shreds. Fortunately, they had two good Samaritans next to them who’d offer them their kitchen tent for the night.

We had visitors for supper! John Le Carré, eat your heart out. We had someone working for HMG among us. Bhavik, our man in Kigali. Can’t say more. As difficult as it was to swallow, it was even harder to wrap my head around his age. A mere child with degrees and a job that books are written about. A constant gardener indeed. He was entertaining, witty and clever. I assured him his secrets would be safe with me!

Dillan is a wildlife and commercial photographer, videographer and documentary filmmaker in Zimbabwe—a delightful, kind, soft-spoken man with a passion for wildlife and his country. Do look out for his YouTube videos; he is going places.

We went for walks with Dave, an excellent guide- friendly, helpful, knowledgeable and willing to share his expertise with us too.  It rarely happens that I am in the right place at the right time, but I was when the elephant did a mock charge while Dave and his guests were walking—an adrenaline-rush moment.

Mark, who specialises in canoe safaris, stopped for a chat one day too. He is busy rebuilding a vintage Unimog, an ex-military truck, with his son and hopes to take a trip one day.

I was flattered every time someone knocked on our door to ask if they could take a look around. I loved the “this is like an apartment in Paris” from the very dashing Frenchman. His friend thought it had a good Zen, and then she wondered if I had OCD! That was a backhander.

On a few occasions, we had interludes with Stretch Ferreira, the Mana guru, who’d swan around our truck, singing its praises. I must confess it was music to my ears. I found his knowledge and his interactions with the animals phenomenal, and it must be an extraordinary experience to walk with him. He is very caring towards his clients and certainly goes all out to meet their expectations.

But in life, everything is not always hunky-dory, and at times we all have to deal with the gung-ho types, very unpleasant people like the guy who would barge in at breakneck speed, disregarding other vehicles. An NGO from Harare swerved around us as we were leaving, intending to race past before he realised we’d stopped for the pack of Wild dogs, and then came to a screeching halt, blocking our view. He didn’t give a hoot. Fortunately, he had a powerful 4X4, was in a dreadful hurry, and left soon after in a hail of gravel and a cloud of dust.

My mother did teach me that unless one has something nice to say, it’s best to shut up. But I am still smarting from the belligerent way our “neighbours” who’d participated in the game count came waltzing over to read us the riot act. Apparently, we’d caused a disturbance the night before, robbing the Fräulein of her beauty sleep. We were flabbergasted and sat there open-mouthed as she told us how to behave in camp and when to have lights out. When we found our tongues and told her we’d certainly not made a noise, she turned on her heel, not believing a word we’d said, and repeated our argument to her sullen accomplice and sidekick with a smirk.

We’d just had a superb meal that soured when she ruined our evening. The real culprits were sound asleep, quiet as mice under the next tree; they needed their beauty sleep.

With this mix of friends and a few enemas (they weren’t enemies), we had the time of our lives, mostly around the fire, at our dining table with a glass of wine, or under a tree with a deliciously cold gin and tonic, laughing, telling stories, recounting our days while feasting on mezze platters or meals fit for a king.

There were times, too, when I’d spy someone napping in a chair, swinging in a hammock, reading a good book and scribbling in a diary, or mixing paints, recording something that caught their eye. If it were my day off, I’d hear the staccato of a knife on a chopping block, the sudden burst as a flame ignited, or a kettle whistling. I’d lazily close my eyes and think for a while. Content.

Watching Butch put up his hammock is a treat. It is one of the few things Butch insists on packing every time we go somewhere; it certainly gives us a good laugh—a grand production. 

PS: I copied photographs of Beertrix, Jeremy, and Dillan from Facebook without permission. On this trip, I mostly used my wildlife lens and focused on the animals rather than on humans. My videos recorded our human interactions.