Okavango Delta
By“We need to get to the airstrip half an hour before the plane arrives,” commented Vasco. Being used to the modern formalities of air travel we nodded our understand ascent. “It’s the game,” Vasco explained. “The pilots don’t like animals on the runway.” Sure enough, as our truck emerged from the bush a small herd of zebra were ensconced on the long dirt airstrip. Driving fast up the side of the strip we startled the zebras and followed them far enough into the surrounding thorn bushes to keep them clear.
From the clear blue sky our light aircraft emerged as a tiny smudge. On landing a huge cloud of red dust trailed the plane to the end of the runway where it turned and taxied up to our truck. “Hi, I’m Alex”, said our young pilot in sweat-shirt and shorts as he loaded our rucksacks into a bin between the wheels. Sitting in the co-pilot seat Allan had a good view of the flock of birds that suddenly flew past our windscreen when we took off.
We’d crossed the land border from Zimbabwe into Botswana quickly and efficiently, chatting to friendly officials on both sides. Botswana is a large empty country about the size France but with only 1.8 million people. Large tracts are designated as National Parks and these teem with wildlife. Some are thickly forested and some are in the Kalahari Desert. The most intriguing area for us was the Okavango Delta. The huge Okavango River flows south and then splits into a myriad of channels becoming an inland delta, like the Niger. But instead of reforming and flowing on, its waters evaporate or sink into the ground. In the wet season the Delta is inundated leaving only small islands. Large expansive plains of grass and scrub are available to the grazing animals in the dry season.
It is heaven for hippos. Having been charged by an angry hippo on the Chobe River, further north in Botswana, we were a bit wary of them. Now in a small boat on an idyllic placid lake we were watching baby herons in large untidy nests. Being a shallow lake the weeds constantly clogged the propeller and Pipi our boatman had to reach down and clear it. Evening was falling. It was the time hippos emerge from the water and forage on the land. Since we had travelled through deep narrow channels in the tall reeds to reach the lake we casually asked Pipi what was the drill if we met a hippo in one of these channels on the way back. He smiled reassuringly and explained that we would charge the hippo with our boat. When it instinctively ducked for cover in the water we would race over it. By the time it recovered we would be long gone. That seemed hardly reassuring.
Then in the gathering dusk we heard the unmistakable roar of a hippo echoing across the still surface of the lake. We couldn’t take our eyes of this huge male hippo displaying large open, tooth filled, mouth challenges. Our concern increased as the hippo start to swim, surprising quickly, toward us. With just a mild whiff alarm Pipi said, “Lets go”. But the propeller was clogged. Pipi worked with more energy than usual as the hippo approached steadily. He was big and nasty. Perhaps sensing a challenge, as we were not fleeing, the hippo started crashing his head against the water sending up huge splashes. He certainly got his message over. With the propeller leaving a turbulent wake between our boat and irate hippo we plunged into the narrow reed channels. That hippo was bigger than our boat we thought and Pipi’s theories on surviving a direct confrontation were neither convincing nor reassuring. But we’re here to tell the story. It turned out to be a lovely sunset in the Okavango Delta.
