Sitting here in a bush camp in Block C of the Reserve and listening to a Baboon barking down the way along the banks of the Rio Lugenda, (probably at a passing Leopard or probably nothing at all,) the air is blessed with a small breeze warm to the touch. The sounds are minimal as the noon hour approaches and most birds and the like that have chattered all morning and are looking for a cool place to sit and cool while the noon day heat passes. Januario begins the noonday radio broadcast to the other various camps searching for news, listening to the latest and noting the different requests by others. Supplies needed for the various camps stretched up and down the 200 kilometer stretch of Lugenda River that makes up Block C and then to the north in Block A to the border of Tanzania, beyond the American owned Block B. A total distance of over 400 Kilometers that will take you just over four days of very hard driving to navigate end to end.
Its warm but the breeze has started up, hopefully to continue on into the night. Looking out across the river, very low at this time of year and at this particular spot, “Luchenge Camp”, its approximately a quarter to a half mile wide. The main channel keeps to the middle and fingers still hold water going in and out around sand bars and banks that have only come to be seen this month as the water recedes. Four Kudu Cows come to drink on the far side as well as a family of warthogs. I’m no stranger to them as they are regulars and often spook each other coming and going down the same narrow trail for their afternoon sip.
I think of the Bat Hawk we saw the night before as I look down off the bank to the floor of the river below the camp where we waded, talked, cooled off and drank the remains of sundowners when a young Bull Elephant chased us up the bank to the dinning room showing us just how close we can get to nature here.
Not a manmade sound can be heard, only a dove calling and the splash of a Kingfisher fishing for his supper out in front in a pool of the river. The Kudu and Wart hogs have returned up the far bank and drifted into the bush to places unknown to me. I look and listen but there is only silence for now as the sun lights the sides of the mountains of granite to my right and a black tail kite floats past.
Diffenent Day, Same Place.
I called my wife on the sat phone just before the sun set. All is well. In the dinning room bats fly by catching fresh bugs, Elephants talk to each other across the river in short blasts of their music, The night birds are waking up along with the crickets, frogs and various other voices of the night. What’s on the menu for tonight I wonder, Hyenas calling, Lions, Leopards more Elephants and a few Bush Babies I’m sure. I try not to go to sleep to soon when I lay down and all gets quiet except for the bush. I want to hear it all, its unnervingly romantic and soothing all at the same time. Januario is here with supper. I put on a little music and pour a drink, rum and orange juice tonight as an old Eagles song comes on the IPod. There’s no ice though, the generator has been off most of the day. Not important, it doesn’t get any better.
Don Januario brings my supper, eggs with cheese and fried potatoes, Baboons are barking in the distance. I cut the music so I can listen. They stop and I have to ask myself if they were protesting the music or a Leopard looking up at them from the Bush below their tree. I feel like a shower and bed. Don Januario comes back to clear the table and I look for my rifle to take the walk to my quarters. A good night on the Lugenda continues.
Last night was nothing short of a great scene from a movie. I slept 30 ft off the ground in a small sleeping porch erected by my hosts for various reasons not the least of which is to sleep in the trees looking at the stars, listening to Africa mill around in the dark below, and Africa was busy last night. From the different locations of the sounds made by the different elephants that fed below me I would estimate at lest 8-9 were busy stripping limbs and breaking branches and in general having a great meal. I dozed off and on as they munched below, an occasional trumpet would signal something to somebody. I tried putting a torch on an especially close individual but the thick vegetation prevented me seeing him and I quickly turned off. All was quite for sometime and I assumed that they had moved off without me knowing, they can be quite silent as they travel when they want. However they were still there, I began hearing, very almost quite snores, answered by little guttural rumbles from first one, then another. I assumed they were locating each other, this went on till I dozed off, and they were gone when the birds and monkeys woke me at dawn. I watched the last shooting star of the night burn out across the darker part of the horizon.
Later same day,
The afternoon sun finally dips low enough to intrude into the dinning room where I sit and write. The glare is a bit obnoxious but the heat is what I dread. All today has been warm, very warm. I have taken several cold showers and had the idea to go out looking for a big Hippo at about 7.30, after morning coms with whoever, but after I had a bowl of cereal at about 7.45 I decided that I could wait till the afternoon and then the clouds vanished and the wind laid and the heat intensified and well, I called it off. I just sat and wrote and read and called Sandi on the Sat Phone, then I called Mareth, then I sat and wrote some more and read some more, then lunch came, spaghetti and some sort of concoction from the last three previous meals to spread on top I suppose. It always interests me to see what will turn up when the stores run low. I don’t even have a cook here at present, they are off seeking affection from their many wives, but Januario is in form and is happy to experiment on me. It was filling and I remember the radio request I made to Pemba for rations. Rum, Whiskey and Tooth Paste. Note to self. In the morning also request potatoes, potatoes and maybe a little fruit. Meat is no problem, I have dined as if in the best Argentine Steak House. Everything from Kudu, Bushbuck, Wart Hog, Reedbuck etc. etc. and I would like to inquire what kind of "Rub" Januario is using, but I think it is his own concoction and I am better off letting that sleeping dog lie. The monkeys have made several forays at the place today and I have thrown my share of Baobab fruit at them but they will not be denied it seems as I can see them in mass on the peripheral of my baobab fruit tossing range, waiting for their chance but not today, I am firmly entrenched. I haven’t any need for anything, except a visit from my wife. No, I have tunes on the iPod, good rum, a sat phone to contact anyone I deem necessary to hear my voice and those are few, very few, yes this is a good place, its one of those "you can’t call me but if I want to I can call you places." I think you could market that very thought. What say you pay me to take you to a place where no one can contact you? What would that be worth to you? Let me know maybe I can arrange something for a nominal fee. Well believe it or not it just began to rain, excuse me while I walk out and feel the first rain of the year here.
Later,
There is something about being the only white man on appox. 6 thousand square kilometers of African Bush. It either gives you a smile or makes you a bit apprehensive. I suppose for me its what I always wanted and is the closest thing to being like the old boys were, out there by the seat of their pants making calluses on their hands and blisters on their feet. They were satisfied and that’s all they wanted. No one saw it but them! No one wrote down the stories for the most part, they existed only as long as they were alive, but when they died the stories died with them. And that was ok, cause they didn’t live it for no one else other than themselves. They gave one hell of a sacrifice. They most often sacrificed a long life back at home for the quick death of injury by the claw and tooth or the slow death of disease. Some never had the pleasure of holding their first born much less seeing them grow to adulthood. But why you say? Well if you don’t know the answer to that then you wouldn’t understand if I explained.
It is what it is and it is for the few, damn the critics.
The Niassa Sun sets in the West, the wind blows up another thunderstorm, Robert Earl Keen plays I’m coming home on the stereo and I sip my rum and coke. Life is good out here in Niassa. I’m sitting here in God knows where thinking about the real world, or the fake world, whatever, I like this better, you should try it. AP
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