A2Z Traveling Roadshow

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Musango Safari Camp, Lake Kariba

ARRIVAL AT MUSANGO
The drive from the airstrip to the lake was approximately 45 minutes through the bush, where we saw vervet monkeys, buffalo, impala, two male lion tracks, hippo and an elephant. Conrad, our guide, also slowed to point out the location where an elephant was poached and killed only 70 meters from the road about one month prior. Coincidentally (or not), two elephants were poached and killed immediately following an anti-poaching convention hosted in the region. Zimbabwe, unlike Botswana, does legally allow hunting game by permit for which a large fee is paid. The debate over legalized hunting is always ongoing. A small pontoon boat awaited our arrival at the shore of Lake Kariba. Crynos, a staff member, and Conrad, escorted us to the loading dock at Musango Safari Camp (www.musangosafaricamp.com and on Facebook at Musango Island Safari Camp) where we were greeted by more warm, friendly smiles and the gracious owner Wendy. Wendy and her husband, Steve Edwards, built this camp in 1992. Steve is a true man of the bush. He was literally once fully engulfed in the mouth of a hippo and somehow miraculously survived (after significant injury). He is away at present and should be returning this afternoon. We look forward to his introduction. We next met our camp mates, Claude and Barbara Mayfield from Atlanta, who began and have been operating the Zambezi Schoolbook Project (www.zambezi-schoolbook-project.org) for many years, which collects and delivers books from the United States to remote villages in Zimbabwe to set up libraries in isolated schools. As humanitarian efforts are my primary focus on this return visit to Africa, I am grateful for the opportunity to learn from their efforts and experience in southern Africa, which are extensive. Since the camp is quiet at this time, Wendy was incredibly generous to offer us a second lodge, and it was my fortune to land the honeymoon suite. It is a beautiful accommodation at the end of the long path that meanders by the light of lanterns at night through the bush. The thatched roof and stone chalet is magnificently roomy yet quaint and inviting. There is ample hot water at camp and electricity by generator from 6 to 10 pm, at which time we all convene around the convenient charging station complete with multiple outlets suited for many countries, in order to return life to our electronics that allow me to document this journey. My travel mate and I have so many electronics in our possession that we create a spider web of cords in the small cabinet. The staff are committed to their work, often giving up days off to be with their family to assist guests with their comfort and enjoyment. They commute a long distance, beyond our scope of understanding. Our guide travels to and from Kariba Town and Musango. He journeys by foot much of the way for a day and a half along dirt back roads. He hitchhikes, paying the private drivers as he goes. He must sleep one night in his sleeping bag beside the bus terminal, then continues the final leg by bus to his hometown where he reunites with his wife for 12 days before returning to camp for three more months.

LAKE KARIBA
The first afternoon we enjoyed lunch overlooking the massive lake and then explored its magnificence by boat on my first water safari. The hippos and crocs are abundant, and the winged wildlife proliferate. The impala and elephant intermittently line the horizon between the water and the bush. There is one lion pride that resides in this territory. It would be incredibly fortunate to find them drinking at the lake's edge. We made concerted effort to capture the photographic beauty of the flying fish eagle catching its prey in its huge talons as it scooped over the water's surface. We witnessed a dogfight amongst two White Crowned Lapwings attacking a lone African Harrier Hawk, who stoically landed on dead tree trunks that emerge from the depths of the lake, in search of the Lapwing's nesting eggs.

EYES IN THE NIGHT
I made my way to the main lodge for dinner with my head lamp on full beam, attempting to further light my way. Half way along the path I nervously noticed something in the wooded area. At first I thought it was a reflection of light from the lanterns, but when the beam of my head lamp made direct contact there very clearly were two eyes staring intently back at me. I froze briefly before increasing my pace. In all likelihood it was a Bushbuck. There is a nearly invisible electric fence enclosing the camp for the purpose of keeping wildlife and intruders out. The Bushbuck is a small, four legged horned animal similar to a miniature antelope. It is able to evade the fence by maneuvering through its wires. The following day I was granted the splendor of an up close and personal experience with one of these graceful dancers in the daytime light. There is one male who has grown accustomed to the presence of people in camp and courageously wanders to the outdoor lounge in search of pellet food. I attempted to hand feed him but he would not directly approach, he did however eat off the ground only five feet from where I sat.

LASSO THE SUN
I woke on my first morning at Musango before the sun crept above the horizon. I sat in bed taking in the breathtaking view of lavender and pink filling the sky through the screen doors of my chalet that exit directly to a stone veranda and small pool, followed by 300 feet of fallen leaves, grass and beach before reaching Lake Kariba. Upon arrival at the main lodge for a light breakfast, the sun was rising. The immense, perfectly round globe of burnt orange is so incredibly massive it appears that you could lasso the sun. The sunsets have been of equal grandeur from the water and land. The reflection of its glory in the ripple of the tide fully capture the splendor of all nature has to offer. As the sun dips below the horizon every shade of orange, yellow and red light up the sky. It is a full moon. As the light fades and the stars dot the night sky, two bright images appear. I circle the fire with Wendy, Conrad and our campmates as we investigate using an astronomy chart on Claude's Ipad. We are seeing Jupiter and Venus, which appear to be close enough to kiss, yet are lightyears apart. I had just communicated with my sweetheart back home and I announce, under the moon, stars and planets, how good it feels to be in love. On my final night at Musango I was in absolute awe of the enormous moon lit in an orange hew that I've never seen before. The orange glow reflected off the lake's gentle tide creating a mesmerizing sea of serenity.

THE GIRL WHO CAPTURED MY HEART
I was granted the honor of accompanying the Mayfields to the Chalala Primary School in a nearby village, where they were researching the status of its books and its ability to house a library. As we arrived most of the children had just departed for lunch. Those left behind gazed at us through curious eyes, many hidden by their shyness. One young girl in particular, the smallest of the group, seemed to slyly appear in my view every time I glanced up, with a shy smile that ignited my heart. Like approaching a timid animal, I tried to gain her confidence by keeping a safe girth and gently smiling back before looking away again. Her courage seemingly increased as we walked the grounds. Other children began returning from their lunch at home in the village, many of who were older and outgoing, wanting their photos taken. Before long I had surrounded myself in a group of young girls for a photo, when suddenly there was a tug at my shirt. I looked down to find a smile complete with pearly whites against dark porcelain smooth skin, and her soft brown eyes large as saucers gazing up at me. I placed my hand on her back and it felt as if I was touching an angel. Tears of joy filled my eyes and I picked her up, light as a feather, my heart complete.

The headmaster and two young teachers gave us a tour of the school. Claude and Barbara explained to me that this school is in particularly good condition. There are four block buildings with concrete floors, spacious rooms warmed by the beautiful teachings of these dedicated young academics and the students' artwork. I thoroughly enjoyed extensive, genuine conversation with one teacher who has only been working at the school for 2 months since just completing her college certification. Most teachers in these remote schools travel from far away to settle in these villages to teach the children. They are devoted to their craft. Teaching is a government position in Zimbabwe. She expressed the challenges in furthering her own education as well managing the large classroom sizes with children of various ages being taught together, and her desires for her own future. Her eyes lit up at the idea of receiving novels from America to expand her knowledge and to engage her imagination during so many otherwise empty nights. But it wouldn't be long before I understood the Mayfield's description of the physical prowess of Chalala as compared to other remote village schools.

Driving away down the dusty road the tiny girl who captured my heart stood and waved. I waved back, tears welling again. As her small figure faded in the distance I searched deep to emit all of the love in my soul in her direction, in the hope that the universe would carry it to her for all of time to come.

FROM MY VERANDA
It is afternoon siesta time and I'm writing by the shore from my private veranda where four hippos have come to munch on the grass. Three are now resting soundly on the sandy beach while one still grazes. I think I too will close my eyes for a short nap before afternoon coffee and tea followed by my first fishing excursion. The evenings have been full of life directly in front of my veranda. The first eve I heard the nearby gentle chomping of wildlife. I learned in the morn that 7 elephants had dined on the grasses just beyond my reach, accompanied by grazing hippopotamus. The second evening, upon arrival to my chalet, I heard the apparent chewing of a hippo. I turned my headlamp to its silent red glow and stepped out on to the veranda. I could see the lone hippo through the trees contently grazing on the grass by the shore. As I stared at its mass, a bat suddenly whizzed past my head nearly attacking my face. I shrieked in surprise and fright and cowardly ran back inside. I imagine it must have been attracted to the dim red light emitting above my head. Once my heart slowed to a reasonable pace I began to roll around on top of the sheets giggling in delight.

MUSAMPA FISHING VILLAGE
I had the pleasure of exploring the Musampa fishing village located about 20 minutes by boat from Musango. The Mayfields and Conrad accompanied us. As the boat approached the village's entrance, we admired the women working on the shore with their buckets and children closely tied to their backs in a cloth sling, and the men cleaning the fresh catch of brim, bottlenose and tiger fish. The shoreline was strewn with old dilapidated row boats, one with the name Copacabana written in faded and chipped blue and white paint across its side. We made our way up the hillside and into the unfinished block building used as a community hall, which was piled with school desks and tables that we might have seen in the U.S. in the 1950s. Children began to inquire of our presence and draw near, as they carried the desks away to the area about a quarter of a mile away where school is taught and we'd later visit.

The secretary of the village who sits on its democratic committee, Maxwell, greeted us in what I now recognize as the traditional friendly Zimbabwean way. It is in complete contrast to the often standoffish American way that you might find when traveling by subway, or as the Brits may similarly find when traveling the tube. Maxwell gave us an informative tour of the village. Goats, roosters and baby chicks scurried beneath our feet, and baboons were shoed away before they stole any chicken eggs. Garbage scattered the ground. Men walked about or worked salting fish or mending fishing nets, and women gathered around huts overlooking the babies, cooking, and seemingly gossiping away. Their thatched roof homes are built of hand made brick derived from the soil of a termite hill, dampened and shaped in a cylindrical container, then left to dry. The outside of the laid brick is then slathered with the same wet material, and upon drying it has a similar appearance to stucco.

We stopped to watch an elderly man make rope by hand, and who showed us his scars from being severely pierced by elephant tusks and hauled off to die by the massive beast, but somehow survived. His entire right thigh was thickly callused from rubbing the rope to and forth. He was ironically wearing a t-shirt that read Colorado stitched across its front, which was tattered and torn, and a brand new purple baseball cap that said Canada. Maxwell pointed out the "ladies of the night" along our tour. I was invited in to one of their huts. It was well kept with a glossy hardened floor (whereas most others have a dirt floor) and sheer, beaded tapestry separating the double piled high mattresses from the room in which you enter. She appeared to keep her home very clean; and as Maxwell explained, it is her place of business. However, the smell inside nearly choked me out. She wanted to pose for photos, over and over again, and I politely agreed to take them. Polygamy is accepted in the Zimbabwean culture. The oldest man in the village, who is now 83, has three wives and sixteen children.

The rounded huts, I would guess, are about 100 square feet in total, but some families have multiple huts where one is used for cooking and storage and the other for sleeping. A separate area enclosed with grass thatched sides and a hole in the ground serves as the toilet. Clothing dries on lines. Some cook over fire on the ground inside their huts and most cook over a fire outside. Many have beans, cornmeal or rice lying out in a large sack, and possibly some vegetables such as cabbage. The villagers eat fish daily and on special occasion the community prepares chickens or a goat. We passed the village's garden complete with rapini, chiles and tomatoes, and Maxwell laughingly said, no GMOs! He educated us on the various uses of plant life in the village, including herbal medicinal for malaria, wild basil is rubbed on a deceased body as an insect repellent while it waits for burial until friends and family arrive from other villages, a berry that is distilled into a potent alcohol, and a vine thought to act as an aphrodisiac. He informed us that the average lifespan in the village is, sadly, only 35 years. Most die from disease. Cholera is less of an issue now than it has been as they are encouraged to boil the water they carry from the lake before using it, but malaria is rampant in the rainy season. AIDS is also prevalent. When the economy of Zimbabwe was more stable mosquito nets were provided by the government, as well as mobile medics and medicines. But following the land reform act in 2000 when all of the farmers lost their farms, the economy collapsed and these services were no longer. The women are now encouraged to walk 20 km to the nearest clinic during the anticipated final two weeks of their pregnancy to stay in the clinic until they give birth.

The village contains four churches: Episcopalian, Pentecostal, Seventh Day Adventist, and Zaoga. The Pentecostal church was far better constructed as compared to the rest of the village, and the pastor's beautifully yellow painted house with its bright red door and lush flower garden looked as if it didn't belong. We met a young 19 year old girl who had her youngest child (one of two children) strapped to her back, and Maxwell informed us that she had arrived at the village as an orphan and was married at the age of 14 so that someone would look after her. As we continued on we stopped at the local store to purchase five bags of biscuits (vanilla wafers) which we would later hand out to all the children at school. We passed a group of loitering men who were listening to music booming out of a three foot tall speaker powered by a 12 volt car battery. Others listened to music outside of their homes using solar. Another group of young men had arrived in their pick up truck from a nearby village and were bartering with a woman to purchase her fish caught the day before, then salted and laid out to dry on large wooden racks. We were told the average cost is $2.50/kg for dried fish and $1.50 for fresh.
We rested around the stone table and sat on the carved tree trunks below a large tree that serves as the 8 member village committee monthly meeting site. The committee follows democratic procedures to elect its members who create and enforce the rules and laws of the community, as well as enforce the national law and summon in the police when criminal activity has occurred. Maxwell advised that such behavior is very infrequent. We finally crossed the dirt soccer field that uses wooden poles without nets for its goals, passed through a short tree lined dirt path, and emerged on the other side to discover where the school desks had been carried to by the children hours before. The youngest sat in the shade at brightly colored plastic tables and chairs that are able to be left outside overnight, which had been donated by UNICEF. Maxwell's gentle souled wife is their teacher. The nervous youngsters stood and gathered in front of us and began to sing nursery rhymes that we too learned as children. Their soft voices again filled me up. Under the shade of the next tree were the 20 or so second and third graders who studied from their books and giggled light heartedly at our arrival. The older children had placed the school desks they carried under open air thatched roof structures and studiously wrote in their notebooks and attentively listened to their two teachers. They greeted us by collectively saying, "Hello visitors, how are you? We are fine, thank you." After handing out the remaining biscuits we waved goodbye to the little ones, and they waved back with curious, warm smiles.

MY FIRST TIME FISHING
Well, I didn't even get a bite, but my travel mate lured a crocodile, and a big one at that! He thought the line had snagged on something on the bottom of the lake, but Conrad noticed the line was dragging. Conrad's first thought was a catfish, but there was no question as to what was caught when the crocodile's head suddenly exploded from the water attached to the line! The line snapped when the furious predator won the battle and scurried away on the lake's bottom with my travel mate's spinning lure in tow. I would have been impressed if he caught a hippo, but he only caught a croc...hahaha!

GOLIATH TENTED CAMP, MANA POOLS

AN AUTHENTIC CAMP
It's been an iconic introduction upon arrival to Goliath Safari Camp (www.goliathsafaris.com). A bull elephant crossed the river with baby in tow, trunk to tail, while mama waited behind on shore until dad and child reached the other side before she made her way across. The little one fell in the mud as it tried to climb the river bank, but mother and father let it fend for itself and as nature intended, it managed to stand and tough it out. Just below the edge of camp another gentle giant enjoyed its lunch basking in the shallow water filled with hyacinth greens, while white storks disturbed his meal. He then journeyed out into the river and much to my surprise, completely submerged himself quite intentionally into the Zambezi's depth. In a moment white water spewed from his trunk as his mass slowly remerged above the surface. The sun sits high in the sky and puffy clouds are floating by. I would guess the air temperature to be about 75. I am lounging in a chair on the river's edge, a dragonfly is sitting on a nearby branch, a white butterfly is resting beside me, four crocodiles are sunbathing less than 300 feet away on the river's other bank, a variety of birds are singing to one another, and the backdrop is the mountains of Zambia only a few kilometers away. What more can I say?

This camp is about as authentic as they come. The tents are terrific, comfortable and inviting yet traditional. Goliath is erected for 6 months of the year, then torn down to every last stone and peg, and resurrected again 6 months later. Its founder and soul belongs to the infamous tracker, Stretch Ferreira, a special being inside and out. He stands 6 foot 6 inches or so, with a persona and humor to match. He introduces you to the bush like no other. His staff helping to run the camp are young, eager and friendly, with innocent smiles that would light up a room. The camp is run on generator from 11 am to 2 pm and again from 5 to 9 pm. The scorching hot water warmed by a private fire serving your tent is infinitely welcoming upon your return to camp each day after miles of walking deep in the bush on the prowl for its wildlife. As I stand on the river rock shower floor beneath the magnificent night sky I listen to the noisy bello of the pods of hippos lining the banks of the Zambezi and splashing in its waters, as well as the roar of lions, the call of a leopard or hyenas, a fish eagle, or any of the numerous bird species, all of which beckon throughout the night. One hippo they've named Bruce calls the soft sand beside the jeeps near my tent his resting place nearly every evening.

THE TASTE ON SAFARI
The food is exquisite. Each morning begins with the bang of a drum, typically around 6 am. We all make our way by 6:30 to warm ourselves with the porridge heating over the campfire, we fill the coffee press and gulp it down, and chose our spread for morning toast accompanied by a bowl of fruit and yogurt. We board the jeep at 7 in our hats, gloves and jackets, cover ourselves in blankets provided by camp, as Stretch and his guides look for tracks and drive us to the general vicinity that he suspects to find the lions he heard the night before, or take us on some other incredibly personal and memorable exploration. Some days we are successful in tracking the lions, and some go unfruitful. This is certainly not a science, and to say there is a lot of land to cover is an understatement. Usually after walking about 6 miles we return to the jeep and drive to a shaded tree to enjoy mid morning tea and coffee at 10 am, and some amazingly delicious home made banana bread, granola, or other tasty snack that the wonderful chefs have prepared for us. We sit and talk amongst each other about whatever comes to mind. After a half hour or so Stretch inquires with us as to what we would like to do and we journey on in the bush until returning to camp at 1 pm for the scrumptious lunch. Every camp has been immensely accommodating to me with my dietary restriction not eating meat and only fish. At Goliath I find a plate overflowing with freshly caught fish from the Zambezi every lunch and dinner made just for me. I help myself to the dangerously good home made bread of the day and multiple fresh salads to chose from. We savor a cocktail, glass of wine, cold beer or hard cider with lunch as we sit barefoot in the cushy chairs in the sandy campsite along the river bank, and take in its beauty and serenity with the towering mountains of Zambia on its opposite side. We continue engaging conversations with our campmates or take a short nap, or hitch a ride to the national park office for wifi access to contact our loved ones, followed by coffee or tea and another guilty, sweet pleasure before the afternoon excursion. We return to camp again in the dark at 6 pm, everyone cooperates to share space at the charging station to reboot our electronics for the next day's adventure, enjoy a hot shower, and rejoin the group once the drum sounds at 7 or 7:30 pm for dinner at the large, beautifully lit and fabulously decorated formal dining table. Freshly butchered, organic meats are carved (of course I'm handed my special plate of fish) with side dishes to please any palate. Stretch circles the table keeping the wine glasses overflowing with what he always jokingly calls "Zimbabwe" wine that was mislabelled "made in South Africa." It's just one of his many, many jokes that keeps us jovial throughout the heartwarming meal. Dinner ends with a marvelous desert such as lemon meringue pie, bread pudding drowning in fresh vanilla cream, or chocolate cake. Once our stomachs can't take any more we all move to the campfire where the wine continues to flow in equal volume to the laughter.

WALKS WITH STRETCH
The innately unique aspect about going on safari with Stretch is that you walk in the heart of the bush under his guidance. He sets off on each mission with determination and focus. He studies the ground so intently for fresh tracks that those of us following are almost seemingly forgotten, but of course that is not so. Our safety is Stretch's top priority. He carries a heavy burden on every walk that runs the risk of aging him far beyond his years. Sometimes we searched the dirt and sand for hours in the hopes of finding those precious lion prints. On my first walking safari with Stretch we set out in the direction in which the lioness with her cubs had been seen earlier that morning. We departed camp in a furry after a report that they were in the area, I hadn't even had time to finish my first cup of coffee. I choked down a piece of cold toast on the go and grabbed a pastry to eat on the jeep. We walked through the flood plains and into the forest, and into the sands and back into the forest...we walked and walked...we stood and listened in utter silence...we walked, and we watched. A set of tracks would appear and then be seemingly lost to our untrained eye. As we entered an opening in the bush Stretch crouched his tall mass to peer into the dense thicket that encircled us. If any predators laid waiting in those bushes it seemed we'd be at a severe disadvantage in our current location, essentially trapped. Our notorious guide instructed us to stay quiet and close to one another, and to him. As we made our way tiptoeing between two taller thick bushes to exit the circle, a lioness appeared, peeking around the bush to our right. She immediately spotted us and abruptly retreated beyond our view. We took a few more excited steps when a vicious sounding growl that carried enough weight to shake your soul bellowed from the bush to our left from only 5 feet away. Stretch, whose back was typically to us, confidently turned to face us and sensing the fear in everyone as he towered over us, instructed us to look at him in the eyes and stand together closely. Everyone obeyed without question. He said, "It seems we're in a bit of pickle. We have a lioness to our right, and a lioness with her cubs to our left, and she's, well, pissed off. Stay with me guys, stay with me." We had been taught to never turn your back on a lion. The seven of us slowly continued to walk as a unit, and the alarming growls never ceased. When we advanced beyond the bush Stretch positioned us behind him while he peered into its darkness with his rifle in hand. He pointed to us and said, "Can you see her in there?" I could see her ears and the silhouette of her face, and there was no mistaking her tone telling us not to take one step closer. If being immersed in that moment doesn't get your blood pumping, then I'm not sure what will! (...even says me, the adrenaline junkie!).

Stretch was on a mission to find Boswell the elephant, who he has known for 25 years. Boswell has a special talent. Elephants in this region live on the pods of Acacia trees. The bottom of the crown of the trees are so neatly trimmed it's as though a landscaper walks through the bush daily with a hedge trimmer. There's a difficult debate of how to control the elephant population because the Acacia forests are being devastated by the elephants, which has a ripple affect on other wildlife in the area. But some, like Boswell, have a unique ability to reach the upper branches of the Acacia. As we stood overlooking the forest beside the Zambezi River and watched from afar, as if he was trained by circus trainers Boswell lifted his enormous mass and balanced on his hind legs while extending his trunk directly above him, outstretched to its longest length, and attained the special prize of the Acacia pods high above. What a sight to behold.

We tracked another bull elephant for quite some time, keeping a wide girth until he separated from his fan club of cows (female elephants) and young ones. When we caught up to the beautiful beast meandering on his own we were stunned when Stretch grabbed one of our campmate's arms, walked her right up to the bull and stood her immediately below his trunk while he munched on his meal of branches and pods. The big male let out a somewhat tame groan and Stretch firmly declared to him, "Easy my friend, easy." This certainly would not be safe with many bulls in the bush, but here we had tracked another long time mate of Stretch's and he knows his behavior well. Stretch took us one by one to stand below the gray giant, close enough for me to look up into his delicate eyes and make a personal connection.

HOLY, HOLY HIPPO
Having walked tens of miles with Stretch those first few days, my campmates and I were ready to rest our weary legs and the beginnings of blisters on our feet, so we all opted to set out in canoe along the Zambezi River for an afternoon and sunset cruise. Stretch took the opportunity to rest his back and reset, while the young staff briefed us on safety and guidelines for canoeing amongst crocodiles, hippos and elephants; yes, we would literally be in canoes in water infested with crocodiles and hippos, and a portion of the briefing did of course include the utterly critical rules if we capsized. One person asked the unspoken question, how many canoes had capsized under their tutelage. The eldest staff member, a guide in training, answered by saying in his four years at camp four boats had capsized. The obvious next question was asked, how many injuries or deaths followed? We were at least slightly relieved to learn the answer was none.

We filled three boats, the front with a guide and the rear with a guide. Mine included only my travel mate paddling in the front and one of my campmates and new friends paddling in the rear, and me, seated like Little Bo Beep in the middle. We were without a guide but the other two intentionally placed our boat between theirs for safety. We began in the shallows of the river, trying to navigate to the deeper waters by having to push off the ground with the paddles in order to even move the rig. As we rounded the bend of the river beyond the camp we finally began to flow freely with the gentle current downstream. The mountains of Zambia towered to our left, and the banks were lined with birds, crocs and hippos. The guys attempted to coordinate their paddles and steering, but at times we found ourselves floating backwards downstream. I simply giggled and happily used the opportunity to take photos of my campmates in the canoe behind us. The hippos on land often heard us approaching from far away and in fear would amazingly race their tons of weight toward the water then launch themselves by their short stout legs off the bank and into the river ahead of us. One guide shared a story about of one these monstrosities having dove off the river bank and directly onto his canoe with a camp passenger on board. It was a godsend that there had not been a third, because the hippo landed in the center of the boat where a third passenger would have otherwise been sitting. The two capsized but lived to tell the story. As we guided down river we often evaded the path of the hippos and crocs and found ourselves stuck in the shallow waters, at which time I exited the canoe barefoot and pushed us to deeper water. I always inquisitively glanced at a nearby guide for assurance and would receive a nod of approval, and then could sense their growing concern as the water level began to rise to my calves and would strongly encourage me to get back on board the boat.

Further down river we happened upon the infamous Fred Astaire, yet another of Stretch's elephant friends. He stood majestically in the water munching on the hyacinth greens while white storks waited patiently for their meal of insects rising from the bull's body and resulting from his trunk splashing about. We paddled beside one guide's canoe and as a team we floated into the lush foliage only feet from Fred's trunk as he savored the hyacinth. After enjoying his serene disposition and his breathtaking reflection on the river's surface, as the sun was beginning to fall in the sky, we left him in peace and continued on our journey. We were nearing the end of our route when a splash erupted beside our canoe. There's an unmistakable ripple in the water when a hippo is swimming below the surface, one to always closely monitor, as their mass will easily capsize a boat and sometimes intentionally. The guide behind us nervously got our attention while trying to maintain a sense of quiet and calm. We had learned in our briefing that noise and splashing will only aggravate a hippopotamus. The ripple was rapidly approaching our canoe at an alarming pace directly perpendicular to the direction of our momentum downstream, essentially coming straight at us. The guide in the canoe behind finally opted to yell over the risk of further aggravating the hippo by screaming, "Paddle faster, paddle faster!" Since I was at a loss of anything to do while the guys in my boat paddled furiously, I turned toward the hippo and clicked away on my camera. It quickly became evident that we were close enough to see the whiskers on its face! It suddenly submerged and as I watched the ripple with anticipation, it subsided as we raced out of its path. Being the adrenaline fanatic that I am, I was elated to end the intended scenic, serene, sunset canoe ride with a heart pounding near escape from a thousand pound beast.

THE PAINTED DOGS
It is a true treat on safari when you manage to find a pack of African Wild Dogs, otherwise known as the Painted Dogs. Stretch had previously spotted a den the day before and guided six of us back to the den this afternoon. As I stood next to Stretch I could sense his enthusiasm when through his binoculars he identified the pack basking in the shade in the dry sandy river bed below the den. The den was so neatly dug into the sheer wall that was carved by the once raging waters of the now dry river. Two more dogs secured the perimeter sitting in the forest above the den. There were 11 in total not including the alpha female and an unknown number of cubs suckling inside the den. (We'd learn the next day that there are unusually 2 alpha females in this pack. It is only the alphas that have pups in a pack.) As we neared, Stretch instructed us to sit on the ground and crab walk our way, just like I once did at the field day race in elementary school, to the dry river bank's edge as quietly as possible. He had me lead the way while he stood back with rifle in hand and watched and waited. I glanced back at him often seeking direction, which he would provide by hand motion. He also sent one guide with us who was bringing up the rear of our crab line. Once we were within earshot of the painted coats we alarmed them at first. They abruptly rose to their feet and growled in defense. We sat in our awkward crab-like positions and waited for them to calm, then crawled closer until we reached the bank's edge. I turned back to Stretch and was unsure if I was understanding him correctly when it appeared he was instructing me to keep going down the side of the bank and into the dry bed. I continued on with campmates following. We scurried as quietly as we could through the brush and down the hillside, making multiple stops along the way to allow the dogs opportunity to adapt to our presence. The growls eventually ceased, and we sat in awe behind a fallen tree and enjoyed their splendor. It was nearing 5 pm and seemingly out of the blue, they shed their sleepiness and began to roll and romp with one another, which we later learned is often their behavior just before they head off to hunt. It was precious to witness their jovial ways. However, since it would become unsafe for us to be in the vicinity when they embarked on their hunt, we retreated in our crunched positions, walked in silence the half hour or so as we reflected on the experience, and headed back to camp.

The next afternoon I had the fortune to hike back out to the pack's den with only my new friend/campmate, a young staff member, and Stretch. We arrived in similar fashion, late afternoon when the dogs were peacefully sleeping in the sandy dry river. Stretch planted himself armed on the bank in a seated position while the three of us, with me leading our small pack, first commenced the crab walk position. The young guide in training stopped at the river's edge. He kept his position while the two of us maneuvered onto our stomachs and continued commando style into the sand. With so few of us we managed to stay very quiet and the dogs were not aware of our presence until we were quite close in proximity. Stretch had explained to me that I should not follow a direct path toward the dogs, that they will feel less endangered if I zigzag my approach and take my time, affording them the opportunity to adapt to my presence once again. I did as I was advised with joy. I tried haughtily to protect my camera from the silky white fine sand that my naked arms were now masked by. I laid in the river bottom in utter delight as I watched the special African Wild Dogs affectionately rest with one another, in awe by their evident respect for one another in the pack. It was also apparent that I didn't want to approach much closer because they scratched themselves feverishly, I'm sure a result of being infested with flees. When we retreated I understood the gleaming smile on Stretch's face to be a mirror of that on mine. Once it was safe to do so, I hugged him in gratitude for yet another exotic, personal and memorable experience.

THE CAMPFIRE
Shortly after arriving at camp I noticed a guitar behind the bar. I inquired with the staff as to who played and learned that a past guest had unanimously left it behind. Having no musical talent whatsoever, I hoped that a fellow campmate would have such ability. On our final night in camp I arranged a surprise birthday celebration for my travel mate. It began at dinner when Stretch raised his glass in honor of my friend and we all broke out in the birthday song. The kitchen staff then honored all of us with their jovial, native song and dance. Chocolate cake was served for dessert, then Stretch retired to the campfire with me and all of the camp guests. The youngest guide in training was instructed to keep our wine glasses full, and every time Stretch beckoned for him he promptly emerged from the dark much to our surprise. By now we had truly connected with our campmates who reside in England, Australia and Columbia, and the newest arrivals from the UK who were on their honeymoon. As logs were being added to the fire I quickly escaped to my tent to collect some belongings. Minutes later I reemerged with the tent lantern set to the strobe light function and my iPod in hand, with the song Africa by Toto blaring from my portable speaker. I had an image in my mind that I was playing the role of John Cusack in the classic 90s movie Say Anything, when he holds his boom box above his head and plays In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel. Through the smoke and haze of the fire, everyone broke out in laughter and started singing along...."I hear the drums echoing tonight...I bless the rains down in Africa..." I grabbed the birthday boy and danced him around the fire, appreciating his smile stretching from ear to ear, as well as his drunken slur. When the song ended my hope came true; one of our campmates had been drafting a playlist all day. He picked up that guitar and strummed away to the likes of U2, Billy Joel, the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac, Tin Linzy and more. We all sang so loudly that I'm sure anyone across the river in Zambia could have joined along in tune with us. The night carried on for hours, the air filled with music and laughter, we had long lost count of the number of empty bottles of wine, and the embers flared deep into the night as numerous logs had been burned. The darkness of the night filled nearly every inch of the sky with white sparkling lights that were dizzying. The Milky Way was magnificently apparent. Stretch gave me a short astronomy tutorial by shining his immense torch at the outlines of scorpio and other signs in the night sky. Despite the few hours of sleep and the heavy wine consumption, I slept soundly and woke with vigor as I always seem to do in the depths of the bush.

FINAL THOUGHTS FROM THE BUSH
This now being the second time departing from the bush in 9 months, I am instantly reminded of the emptiness that it instills in my soul, only this time is recognizably different. This time the emptiness is overshadowed by the relationships I have built and an excitement for all I am returning to. Following the warm salutations and hugs from my new friends and their blessed waves from the airstrip below, Captain Sydney once again flew us away in the tiny Cessna, my lips began to curl upward in a glowing smile, my heart beat with gratitude, and my mind was at ease knowing I will return to the bush. But first I will journey peacefully joined by my love, my partner, my adventurer, my explorer, my friend, my mountain man, my soulmate, who will stand hand in hand with me as I cross the threshold into this next phase of my life.

DREADFUL NEWS POST SAFARI
We are in communication with our new found friends from The Hide Safari Camp and received dreadful news that the magnificent lion, Cecil, who we so proudly tracked to strictly admire in his natural habitat, was shot and killed by a sport hunter. It is unknown at this time whether Cecil had wandered outside of the National Park where hunting would technically be legal, or if the hunter illegally executed Cecil inside the bounds of the National Park. Either way it is absolutely senseless and despicable to me. Thousands of people have invested money in the country to see the lions of Hwange National Park and thousands more would come, but instead one egotistical person took that away from everyone. I have no comprehension of the sport in this particular killing; I only see an arrogance of this man to be able to proclaim that he killed a lion. We stood mere feet from Cecil, so what possible sport can be found in that? Cecil had unusually bonded years ago with another male, Jericho, to lead this brilliant pride. Typically if there is more than one male in a pride they are brothers, but here this was not the case. These two unrelated males joined forces to protect their territory against other lions in the area. The Hide has said they hear Jericho now desperately calling for Cecil at night. This news has devastated the safari community, as well as hundreds of people who have connected with him as we were so lucky to have done. It has also caused an uproar in the community. Concessions like The Hide are gathering in protest against the sport killing of all lions. It is my sincere hope that Cecil's death was not for naught and will serve to make the sport hunting of lions illegal in Hwange National Park and beyond.