I heard only a hoofed animal walking through camp overnight, but others told of lions roaring - and then we spotted the distinct and impressively large lion paw prints going in both directions on the sandy vehicular track only metres from where we had slept! Hoof prints crossed the track as well. Yet when we drove on, we saw only one wildebeest and four zebras on the vast grassy plains between camp and the main road.
And then we came upon massed zebras running over the grassy plains in small groups and gathering on the rises. Kel put his foot down and we raced the animals galloping beside us and occasionally powering across the track in front of us, their rear-end muscles rippling. Young calves proved as fleet of foot as the adults as they sought safety among the herd. I was travelling in the cab and the rear-view mirror showed everyone hanging out the side of the truck, grinning from ear to ear. There must have been at least 1000 animals over the area, a blur of black and white. We saw nothing else except a herd of cattle and their tenders before we rejoined the main road.
The sun was strong and the blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds when we turned off to shop at Gweta. A well-stocked bar perfect for lunch extended what was orrig8inally going to be short shopping stop. And then we heard about traditional dancing that evening so stopped early in a well-equipped camp site.
BBQ organized – homemade sausage, chicken, baked potatoes and salad before the show.
Jim, Markus, Geoff and I wandered through the village, enjoying a peaceful time before the briefest shower. The huts well built, many with solid walls and outer wooden beam supports, clipped thatch roofs, glass windows and solid timber doors. Groups of huts were fenced, possibly to protect the small plots of maize and watermelons (sold along the road) from marauding animals.
The villagers were very friendly, the women holding their children to be photographed – relaxed and smiling. Three older ladies shook us by the hand and invited us into their yard. We had no what was coming when they pulled out two wooden kitchen chairs, sat themselves down beside two plastic drums and began sieving watermelon wine through a clump of reeds into glasses, posing seriously and melodramatically for those with cameras. The youngest of the women was beautiful and at our request stood behind the others and smiled at us. Then they all shook our hands again – and bid us farewell.
Further on we were chatting with an uncle of two youngsters when a man appeared, with a wide wrinkled face, slanted eyes, a mouth containing four very crooked teeth, and wearing an unusual pointed hat that made him look like an Eskimo. He was quite a vision in the Botswana scrub. Walked back through the village to rest for the afternoon.
At 4pm Kelvin drove us into the nearby bush with the camp owner Keith and ring-in Chippy to learn some bushmen survival skills. We stopped beside a mammoth baobab tree about 12m in circumference and reputedly 3-4 thousand years old. Baobabs are giant water storage units, even in times of drought, and in the normal season this one would store about 2000 gallons in its cork-like, fibrous body. During a severe winter of black frosts, however, the stored water can expand so much that baobabs blow up.
Keith was a member of Rhodesian/later Zimbabwean politician Ian Smith’s government forces to eliminate the Russian and Cuba-trained Matabele and Shona terrorists. Before locals started providing them with food and water, these security forces were solely reliant on the environment to survive so had to learn all the survival tricks used by the San People (Bushmen).
A piece of baobab trunk could be sucked of its water for days in the bush. Baobab pods provide a natural cream of tartar which can be mixed with water to produce a kind of porridge high in minerals and vitamins, young leaves can be cooked as a spinach, and the seeds ground into a coffee substitute. Cleaned seed pod cases are used as water carriers. The wood fibres can be twisted into rope or used in weavings. The baobab's white flowers produce a sap that can be used as glue. San women would burn the roots and use the ashes as makeup. There is also a myth that if you boil baobab flowers and paint your skin with the resulting juice you will be safe from attack by wild animals.
The ripe orange berries of the moretwa bush (can't find this anywhere on-line but this is the name we were given) are a good source of vitamin C. Mixing mokemuta sap (again, this is the spelling we were given but can't find anywhere) with cows/goats’ milk produces a strong carbolic soap. The wood of the mopane tree is burned as firewood and its inner bark can be beaten and softened and fashioned into rope. The bushmen could also easily find wild onions, even when no visible signs. Throwing the white liquid of a euphorbia plant onto still water glues up the gills of the fish, which drown and float to the surface.
Governmental legislation requiring costly permits for hunting severely affected the lives of the San People, with their hunting considered poaching. They were transferred to a central Kalahari reserve where they are allowed to live traditionally. Their tribal structure revolves around a cottle court, with the people electing a chief and 7-8 committee members. Any villager can have their say in a court case, stating their viewpoint and asking the defendant questions. Punishments include public whippings; and dues must be paid to every member involved or affected by the crime. Many criminal offences punishable by village court and then by the local police. Keith told us that San men are lazy and San women treated as second class; women will sleep with a man to have child to get monthly financial compensation after Cottle court trial of paternity, Women keep the family together and are responsible for education.
Back at camp, I had a deliciously hot shower. Then I lazed until nearly dinner time. I headed to the bar for my first Baileys since New Year’s eve. Everything was set up under a rondavel, with the fire out in the rain., When the dancers didn't turn up at the school it looked like the evening would be washed out, but the teachers gathered a smaller group to put on a show.
Another mixed married couple at the bar caught my attention, age at the bar, reminding me of the ones we saw at Safari Lodge, noticing them as different, having for so long seen very few whites and then only with whites, the black similarly paired, suddenly mixing in a relaxed way so close the heart of segregation and apartheid.
Keith and Chippie cooked sausages and chicken over glowing coals under a rondel, the drawing me to the fire, and we ate this with salad. We then cleared the food tables for the entertainers, who put on an enthusiastic if somewhat freehand display of singing and dancing, feet pounding down on the concrete in time with whistle blasts and drumming. The young girls in the troupe were at various stages of puberty and some were coquettish, markedly fondling their breasts and each other's. The teachers sometimes joined in, as if unable to resist the rhythms and the “stage” was quickly surrounded by enthralled staff calling out and singing to drumbeats and footfalls.
Photo by deshawn wilson on Unsplash
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