I Left My Heart and Cleanliness in Southern Africa

The sun is blazing through the window, as is usual in this part of the world.

To my left is Rachel, one of my fellow WorldTeach volunteers, holding a sizeable hiking backpack on her lap. Sitting on my right knee, a Zambian gentleman with a case of narcolepsy. My feet are propped on top of several bags of the other combi riders. The radio blasts boisterous African beats. The narcoleptic’s head bobs sleepily. We have crammed ourselves into a badly aging minibus, packed tighter than a tin of sardines. Which is funny because sardine-like fish keep cascading onto my head as we bump and lurch through the streets. I pick Nemo #4 up off of my thigh and casually place it back into the overflowing canvas bag of sea life nestled in between my back and the arms of the bloke behind me. I give said bloke a thumbs-up to let him know that the safety of his dead fish is important to me. He gives me a nod, and I turn to the smudged combi window, which is somehow stitched together with string, and try to ignore whatever sharp object is digging into my right butt cheek. I look outside. Zambia looks back at me.

It’s over halfway through our month-long journey around Southern Africa. Namibia to Botswana to Zimbabwe, through Zambia to Malawi, then back to Zambia.

 

Take a look. It’s a long way.

At this point my initial amusement and tolerance of public transportation is alive only because of my iPod and a half-eaten bag of biltong.

But take this thrilling depiction of holiday life with a grain of salt.

Such onerous and odiferous modes of transport were well worth each end result. We met more amazingly helpful, kind, and entertaining people than I can count on my fingers and toes.

Except for the man that dropped us off at a bar 30 km away from the town in which we were supposed to end up. In the pitch black. With all of our bags. And blithely assured us it was our hostel before zooming off in the opposite direction.

That was less than ideal.

But my travel biddies and I encountered some unreal sights and some crazy, random, bizarre experiences. Most of which I would repeat in a hot second. A few of which I would prefer to not repeat anytime in the next 10 years.

As I cannot possibly recount (and also don’t much feel like trying) the details of a 4-week holiday, I will summarize. Which I realize is subpar. But I think you will get over it someday.

Shap. So.

The Target(s): boating and walking around the Okavango Delta, Botswana; gallivanting around Bulawayo, Zimbabwe (where we experienced a wide variety of nightlife with a group of local artists); camping in the ruins of Great Zimbabwe; eating and dancing our way through the Harare International Festival of Art in Harare, Zimbabwe; boating, snorkeling, braaiing, drinking, and lying on the beach for 3 beautiful days in Lake Malawi; and kickin’ it on the Zambian side of Victoria Falls with a mess o’ North Americans and Brits.

The Company:

The four Americanas,

An assortment of wildlife,

And the random others who we ran into along the way whom are unlikely to read this blog so they don’t get shout-outs. Sorry. But know that they made our trip infinitely better.

The Means (in order to keep true to our < $1,000 budget): public transport, subpar/often nonexistent camping equipment, grocery store meals, and a good deal of self-restraint

The Evidence:

one of our modes of transport

Our poler in the Okavango Delta

On the delta

Walking around an island in the delta

I spy elephants!

and then Rachel drove a combi around the streets of Bulawayo

Great Zimbabwe

lounging at Lake Malawi

Cape Maclear, Malawi

Victoria Falls

what happens when you walk near the falls

As much as I’m pleased as punch by my whirlwind adventure (let’s see how many shitty idioms I can cram into this sentence), I was happy to be driving through the familiar mountains and inhaling the dust of the Kunene region once again.

Hope all of you are having a lovely week, and that sunshine is radiating out of all your crevices.

I know my word choice astounds you.

Cheers.