beautiful and once bountiful country and to our surprise Godfrey is not critical of its demise; he is a Mugabe supporter. But his arguments are weak and his voice fades as he recites the party rhetoric, and you can only feel sadness for this man who deep down must know that his Utopia is as dead as the great marula tree.
Dinner is served and weâve no sooner started on the leek and potato soup than a driver rushes in wide-eyed and babbles that thereâs a big male leopard crossing the road in front of camp. We all abandon the dinner table and pile into vehicles to go in pursuit. But no luck. We return to the dining tent to find the old waiter solitary at the head of the table, patiently waiting to reserve the soup. Weâve just sat back down to resume eating when we freeze at a close-by growl from the leopard, as irritated as us by the constant and monotonous alarm call of a jackal.
Itâs to be a noisy night. We go to bed but are woken some time later by the munching and rumblings of elephants. They are so close that you can hear their stomachs ruminating through the tentâs canvas but they move off, almost soundlessly, when the leopard once again disturbs the stillness with a pussycat call.
In late afternoon light on the last day we drive to a waterhole and down many sundowners while watching elephants lark about on the banks. Then Godfrey draws our attention to a shadowy figure motionless behind tall acacias on the treeline. A huge bull in musth, he lurks still and ominous for at least 45 minutes, his stare fixed on the females. Like a gold-chained barfly propping up the counter and nursing a double scotch, heâs checking out the action, biding his time. Finally he makes his move at a slow trot, gold chain swinging. When he reaches the waterhole itâs a bit of an anti-climax because try as he might he canât find one female in oestrus. As the sun sets, we watch as he slowly skulks off down the vlei , head down, gold chain tucked away.
Mandavu Dam campsite is one of the public campsites in Hwange that is exclusively yours once youâve booked it. Visitors can come in during the day to picnic or to sit and observe the animal activity but once the gate is closed in the evening you have it to yourself. The campsite itself is a large landscaped area perched on the edge of a substantial expanse of water with hippos and antelope on the opposite bank and dassies claiming every available rock surface on the shore in front.
Neil has set up a table in the shade of a covered viewing platform so that I can sit at the laptop and catch up on diary entries. As I write I feel a soft nudge at my elbow and look down to find a little dassie sitting there calmly. Next thing, heâs up on the ledge and gently moving onto the table, brushing his coat like velvet along my arm and rubbing his nose into my fingers. With a few steps heâs moved onto the keyboard. He nestles down, gets comfortable â he intends to settle there for a while. I flatten my hand and he moves onto it, so soft and warm and as light as a leaf. I lift him off the keyboard and back onto the table but heâs loath to move, content on the warmth of my hand. Such a gentle companion, not yet learnt to fear the malice of humans.
This camp attendantâs name is Richard. Heâs not been paid for three months and relies on the generosity of others for food. Despite the lack of funds, he keeps the site spotless and manages to always have hot water ready for our showers and a fire blazing for our evening meal. His rifle is with him at all times, even when he goes out in his beaten old canoe to fish. He has one eye and a calmness that belies his troubled and sometimes dangerous life. In the mornings he accepts one cup of coffee and sits with Neil and me and talks. Like the dassies around us, we find patches of sunlight and move from one to another, warming up as the sun strengthens.
Richard tells us of losing his eye when he was a
Dinner is served and weâve no sooner started on the leek and potato soup than a driver rushes in wide-eyed and babbles that thereâs a big male leopard crossing the road in front of camp. We all abandon the dinner table and pile into vehicles to go in pursuit. But no luck. We return to the dining tent to find the old waiter solitary at the head of the table, patiently waiting to reserve the soup. Weâve just sat back down to resume eating when we freeze at a close-by growl from the leopard, as irritated as us by the constant and monotonous alarm call of a jackal.
Itâs to be a noisy night. We go to bed but are woken some time later by the munching and rumblings of elephants. They are so close that you can hear their stomachs ruminating through the tentâs canvas but they move off, almost soundlessly, when the leopard once again disturbs the stillness with a pussycat call.
In late afternoon light on the last day we drive to a waterhole and down many sundowners while watching elephants lark about on the banks. Then Godfrey draws our attention to a shadowy figure motionless behind tall acacias on the treeline. A huge bull in musth, he lurks still and ominous for at least 45 minutes, his stare fixed on the females. Like a gold-chained barfly propping up the counter and nursing a double scotch, heâs checking out the action, biding his time. Finally he makes his move at a slow trot, gold chain swinging. When he reaches the waterhole itâs a bit of an anti-climax because try as he might he canât find one female in oestrus. As the sun sets, we watch as he slowly skulks off down the vlei , head down, gold chain tucked away.
Mandavu Dam campsite is one of the public campsites in Hwange that is exclusively yours once youâve booked it. Visitors can come in during the day to picnic or to sit and observe the animal activity but once the gate is closed in the evening you have it to yourself. The campsite itself is a large landscaped area perched on the edge of a substantial expanse of water with hippos and antelope on the opposite bank and dassies claiming every available rock surface on the shore in front.
Neil has set up a table in the shade of a covered viewing platform so that I can sit at the laptop and catch up on diary entries. As I write I feel a soft nudge at my elbow and look down to find a little dassie sitting there calmly. Next thing, heâs up on the ledge and gently moving onto the table, brushing his coat like velvet along my arm and rubbing his nose into my fingers. With a few steps heâs moved onto the keyboard. He nestles down, gets comfortable â he intends to settle there for a while. I flatten my hand and he moves onto it, so soft and warm and as light as a leaf. I lift him off the keyboard and back onto the table but heâs loath to move, content on the warmth of my hand. Such a gentle companion, not yet learnt to fear the malice of humans.
This camp attendantâs name is Richard. Heâs not been paid for three months and relies on the generosity of others for food. Despite the lack of funds, he keeps the site spotless and manages to always have hot water ready for our showers and a fire blazing for our evening meal. His rifle is with him at all times, even when he goes out in his beaten old canoe to fish. He has one eye and a calmness that belies his troubled and sometimes dangerous life. In the mornings he accepts one cup of coffee and sits with Neil and me and talks. Like the dassies around us, we find patches of sunlight and move from one to another, warming up as the sun strengthens.
Richard tells us of losing his eye when he was a
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