"What! You’re going back to Africa - again!" Was the oft unspoken (and even spoken) sentiment of friends and family alike. "Why?" was the usual next query "You’ve been so many times before. What’s the attraction?"
Now this is a difficult question and one many people who suffer from the same affliction struggle to answer coherently. The multitude of birds and large mammals do play a part. As does the variety of landscape - ranging from the sand-blasted heat & flatness of the Kalahari, by way of the swaying Blue Gum forests of Natal, to the snow capped mountains of Leshoto. The people are also an element -they are, almost inevitably, quick to smile & joke even if communication is limited to gestures and facial expressions. One more esoteric theory is that as Africa was the cradle of mankind, it has a magnetic resonance that acts on everybody. The theory goes on to suggest that once you have come into contact with the continent (especially the bits below the Sahara) there is a persistent connection that demands periodic visits.
And so at the end of June 2006, I once again take the first hurdle on the journey South and crawl down the motorway to Heathrow. British Airways obliged by having one of its Jumbos waiting and to arranging to have it take off on time. Then they launched its big surprise: a tasty meal - poached salmon, mashed peas & garden peas. From then on the journey took its usual course: half watching a film about a team of sled dogs being abandoned in Antarctica (& rescued of course); attempting to find a comfortable position in which to seek sleep; an early breakfast; a couple of hours rambling around the departure lounge at Jan Smutts Airport; a quick hop over Botswana and the wait at Livingstone airport’s immigration desk ("No we can’t let you have a multiple-entry visa here. You’ve got to go into our office in town").
As promised, Nick from Foley’s Land Rover garage met me at the airport and drove me into town to reunite me with my Disco. After being relived of a modest amount of money (thanks to LloydsTSB internet banking), there was a short trip out to Lilyoyo where I met Oriel on the way out. I went back into town with her to pick up a family who would also be staying with her. Back at the farm I attempted to recreate the ‘logical’ storage system I had worked out last year and, more importantly, the safe & hidden place I had secreted the spare keys. That only left a quick trip into town to undergo the trial that is Livingstone’s disorganised Shoprite supermarket for a few essential food items and an afternoon devoted to adapting to the African pace of life relaxing by the pool.
Dinner turned into an adventure as the power disappeared half-way through the cooking. After an interlude of "shall we/shan’t we", we headed for an Indian take-away! To add insult to injury, we had to wait for the food in the bar where we were forced to join the locals watching England getting knocked out of the World Cup by being absolutely terrible at taking penalties. Personally, I blame Chelsea’s Frank Lampard for missing the first one and setting the trend.
At last I escape Livingstone - a dusty place with little order and everything spread over several miles - and head Northwards towards Lusaka. The general plan is to spend:
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