Wild Camping - Mudumu Campsite 3 - Second Time Lucky - The Caprivi adventure continues

It’s all very glamorous, staying in beautifully appointed campsites with manicured lawns, five-star ablutions, and interesting restaurants. Even more so is gliding on a mokoro and going on guided game drives. I'm not complaining. Still, we love doing our own thing. Besides, after two years of battling a pandemic, our communication skills have been stunted by social interaction. We needed to get out there, into the wild, and chill. It was time to hit the road, Jack.

We had our new batteries; our fridge was stocked with both wet and fresh supplies. We checked the tyres and deflated them for sandy roads and tracks. Honey Badger was as ready as she'll ever be. 

I had a stack of books to wade through, and I think Butch needed some quiet time. He’d had me on his ear for weeks without pause. With a spade in the “bush”, he could wander off and sit for a while without my yakkety-yak.

Without further ado, we decided to take our chances and head back to Mudumo National Park and campsite 3 for wild camping, with no amenities, electricity, or running water-just us and nature's surprises.

You read my mind. Of course, we stopped for last-minute roadside goodies, and the watermelon was just what we needed for the hot days on the riverbank. We listened to the ladies talk about their day while I picked out my watermelon. Sweet and juicy, it reminded me of childhood Sundays on my Oupa’s farm.

We stopped off at the Namushasha River Lodge on the Kwando River for brunch. Another jewel in the Gondwana Collection’s crown, this luxury lodge sits on the river, overlooking a floodplain and nestled in a forest of tall indigenous trees. All we needed was Tarzan swinging in, yelling, “Mmmmm-ann-gann-niii”!

While Butch enjoyed his panini, I tucked into a slab of decadent carrot cake—my favourite. Unfortunately, all the campsites were taken for the night, so we had to move on.

The entrance to Mudumo Park isn’t where you’d expect; it’s hidden behind maintenance sheds. The friendly manager confidently ran his finger along the reservation sheet, confirming we could stay three nights at campsite 3, assuming the German campers had left. The smudged pencil marks made us wonder, but we trusted his word and headed to settle in.

The campsite was deserted except for a saucepan, a spoon and a porridge bowl. They must’ve forgotten them, we thought. We’d just got ourselves comfortable when we heard the rumble of a diesel engine. It was heading straight for us. In a cloud, it stopped, and “The German” alighted from his carriage. Trotting close behind him was his partner. They were going nowhere, I thought. This was their campsite, they assured us. “Ach, it’s Afrika,” Werner said in his Out of Africa German/French drawl (almost like Julia Garner as Anna Delvey in Inventing Anna).

I nervously fidgeted with my tablecloth until Butch reminded me, we weren’t awaiting a charging bull, only Werner, the suntanned German, and Emmanuelle, the feisty French lady, both eager to chat.

Werner wanted to know all about Butch’s unique braaiing techniques. Rumour has it that ALL South African men braai and have their secrets, he told us. We were having steak, and I couldn’t think of anything special to share.

As our fire burned and I prepared supper, we watched another spectacular sunset, with hippos grunting upstream. The vivid colours and sounds of nature filled us with awe and appreciation for the wild beauty around us, deepening our connection to the landscape.

Emmanuelle is an upholsterer and restorer in the couple’s hometown, Poullan-sur-Mer, in Brittany. It is my dream to visit one day, and it’s extraordinary how deeply one can be touched by a stranger who becomes an instant friend.

Our friends departed after coffee and rusks the following day, leaving us to our own devices. Leaning out of his window, Werner reminded us to watch out for the boomslang in the branch beside our Honey Badger! "It appears every day, goes down to the water, and returns a while later," he said. With a final wave and a cloud of dust, they were off.

We went for a much-needed exploratory walk along the embankment. We spotted a troupe of baboons going about their morning chores and ablutions, foraging and picking nits from the unruly youngsters' coats. The warthogs bristled past us without a second glance. They were on a mission. My camera was ready for any eventuality, and the birding was good. Being amongst wild animals always inspires us to be who and what we really are.

Colourful fields of flowers were opening in the sunlight after the first rainfall, while dung beetles rolled and collected dung. A herd of Impalas grazed nearby all day, keeping watch over us. The Baboons hung about all day; we didn't arouse their curiosity or interest at all. Long may it last.

While I was kneading my bread dough, Butch noticed the first gusts of wind flicking up small waves on the calm water. On the horizon, clouds gathered as the wind picked up. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled in from the west. Butch salvaged a corrugated roof sheet and set about building a shelter for our coals. The Potbrood had to be baked, come hellish winds or high water. With his ingenuity, we could bake a fine loaf for lunch.

Having enough electricity to keep our batteries charged is our main concern, and it became clear that our batteries weren’t charging as they should. The weather was inclement, but Butch wasn’t happy and suggested we leave the following day.

I loved the solitude, the excitement of possibly spotting the little boomslang when I strung up my laundry, the chance to spy on the baboons, and the hope of something unexpected crossing our path. Our Italian meatball and tomato pasta was delicious and simple to make. We let the pot do its magic while we enjoyed another spectacular sunset.

And so I packed up and stowed our stuff with a heavy heart as sunlight streaked through the clouds. Soon, we were on our way again. That night, we hoped to set up camp at Camp Kwando Bush Camp. This is, after all, life in an overland truck, we reminded ourselves.

We had a surprise sighting of a zebra, a kudu, and a giraffe carcass on our way out. They might’ve been on their way to see us…

We briefly considered stopping to inform our helpful reservations officer at the gate, but we pressed on, knowing that bookings aren’t set in stone. The next campers would be thrilled to find the spot vacated.