by Tamara Cape
“Imagine seeing the Falls in wet season,” Chad said. “The volume of water is treble what it is now.”
Imagine indeed, Kerry thought. Africa was one long shock to the system. The more her knowledge of it grew, the more questions there were to be answered.
***
As dusk fell they sat on the stoep of their lodge looking out at the river. The only sounds were birdsong and the rasp of palm fronds moving in the gentle breeze. A pair of banded mongooses appeared just yards away. The visitors looked up at the humans with such an air of expectancy, Kerry could not help smiling. After a minute the mongooses gave up and moved on. It had the look of a regular food-seeking patrol, lodge to lodge.
The next arrivals were a party of guinea fowl. They seemed to flow across the ground, running in quick bursts, stopping to scratch and peck in a late feeding frenzy. Soon they would fly to high branches to roost for the night.
Chad nursed a cold beer. Mindful of her recent illness, Kerry stuck to guava juice. She was blissfully happy to be back in the wilds. She put aside her journal with a sigh.
“So much to describe – the lion and elephant episodes, my stay in hospital, now the beauty of this great river and waterfall.”
The South African continued to stare ahead at the vastness of the Zambezi.
“I spent a year bumming around Europe,” he said. “Earl’s Court, Amsterdam, Paris and Barcelona.”
“Colonial boy on a culture tour,” Kerry ventured with a smile, “or sowing his wild oats?”
“A bit of both,” Chad conceded reflectively. “Something I noticed – and hated – was the influence of television. Untold millions don’t do – they watch! I made up my mind there and then to never own a TV set.”
“I noticed and thought of asking.”
“In this part of the world we’re fortunate: we can still do. Though it’s not like the old days when a man could hitch up a team of oxen, travel, hunt, prospect for gold – do whatever the hell he wanted.”
He got up and wandered inside leaving Kerry mulling over his words. She heard the pop as he opened another beer can in the kitchen.
“I’m not sure I’d have liked it then,” she said on his return. “There was so much hardship, disease, slavery, exploitation by the colonial powers.”
The South African’s brows darkened. “My God, Kerry, you’ve fallen into the trap, swallowed the leftist, Marxist crap about the poor Africans suffering under the yoke of their imperial masters. How they were raped, pillaged, bled dry and finally discarded.”
“There’s some truth to it.”
“Garbage! Have you read anything of early Africa?”
Kerry tossed her head defiantly. “I have, as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll refresh your memory. Africans had no use for writing – so we can only go by reports from the first whites who ventured into the interior. There was cannibalism – David Livingstone stayed well clear of some areas – slavery too. It wasn’t an evil thought up by early American colonists or Europeans or even the Arabs before them. It had always been there in Africa. There’s an account by an early explorer who, following the death of a king, witnessed dozens of slaves being slaughtered in the cruellest ways. Why? So the poor wretches could attend their master, the dead king, on his journey to the spirit world.”
As he spoke, Kerry wondered despairingly why it was that just when their bond was strengthening, something always happened to knock it back. Was it fate? Or were she and Chad too opposite in their views to be compatible?
But he was not finished yet.
“In what is now Uganda, when the first Scots missionaries arrived the natives stood about in awe. The reason was not the sight of the bearded white men, but their ox-carts. They’d never seen a wheel before.”
The South African took a swig of beer, glancing at her over the rim of the can.
“What the European brought to Africa was order. He pacified warring tribes, built roads, railways, bridges, schools, hospitals, taught hygiene, medicine, sound farming methods, Christian good-fellowship. He gets precious little thanks for it now. The new generation of educated blacks is only too keen to shift the blame for today’s ills away from their own graft and incompetence and onto their former colonial masters. Mugabe never misses an opportunity. If it hadn’t been for Europeans they’d still be living in mud huts. You Brits should be proud of what you achieved under extremely difficult conditions. Proud. And never, ever, apologize for your past role in Africa.”
“You present a pretty strong case,” Kerry said.
“Following instructions,” Chad said without emotion. “You wanted to learn about Africa.”
“When you look at what’s wrong with Britain today,” Kerry said. “Hooliganism, drugs, soaring crime rates – you wish there was still an Empire. Somewhere tough and unpleasant where you could unload the riff-raff.”
The South African smiled at her triumphantly. “The old days were best. My point, if you remember.”
For a moment their eyes met. In the evening gloom, Kerry could only imagine the gleam of amusement in his. He had clearly enjoyed their verbal sparring. Together they walked to the river bank, drawn by a wish to keep the river’s image with them through the night.
The colour was gone from the sky. Night closed in. Chad talked of a man named Thomas Baines who had come to the Zambezi not long after Livingstone.
“He did some fine paintings of the river and Falls. I have prints. Show you when we return home.”
“As your tongue is well lubricated,” Kerry said glancing at his can of lager, “tell me what’s gone wrong in Africa.”
“Wrong? Everyone with an eye in their head in pre-independence days predicted what would happen.”
“But there are success stories: Germany since the war, Japan, South Korea. China and India are on their way to becoming the new superpowers. Why has Africa failed?”
“It’s a topic that’s occupied the minds of economists for years. You have a male-dominant society, with most of the work being done by women. Women tend the household, draw water, carry firewood, work in the fields, prepare food – as well as having on average eight kids, in Kenya at least. Meanwhile the men drink with their mates and watch the herdboys tend the cattle and goats. A man’s sole aim in life is to increase his herd so he can buy a second wife and raise another batch of children. Added to the rapid population increase there is overgrazing –”
“Man-made problems that can be tackled.”
“Agreed. But that requires the will of politicians. And your typical African government minister couldn’t care a hoot about his people. African politics is about power and corruption. Everything flows from power – money, including the numbered Swiss account, the Mercedes limousine, the big house, servants, the kept mistresses.” Chad paused, running a hand back through his hair. Slowly, they began walking back towards the lodge.
“Africans crave wealth – unfortunately very few show themselves capable of creating it. But why should the men in power worry? They just need to be patient. With the West so fond of playing Santa Claus, there’ll soon be another World Bank or IMF loan to be divided up amongst the top men.”
“It’s a bleak picture.”
Chad gave a rueful laugh. “It’s worse than that. The ivory smugglers are in cahoots with politicians. There’s hardly a rhino left in East and Central Africa. When the elephants are gone the tourists will stop coming. Next to disappear will be the forests as the rare hardwoods are felled. It’s happening right now. One natural asset after another will go – because it’s easy money. If slavery were reintroduced, they’d sell their own sisters tomorrow.”
Kerry was horrified. “I thought you liked Africans.”
“I do. Anyone with the opposite view has no place here. Liking them doesn’t mean I admire the way they run things.”
An edge had come into his voice. Kerry sensed that they were being drawn into another of the verbal scraps that had plagued their relationship.
The arri
val of a stranger round the side of the lodge was a welcoming sight.
***
“I am interrupting something?”
A man of roughly Chad’s age, tallish and slim, with mousy brown hair and a neat beard. His English was clear but accented. Not an Afrikaner – probably Scandinavian, Kerry decided, playing the guessing game as she often did with airline passengers.
The newcomer addressed himself to Chad, smiling in a friendly way.
“I’m your next door neighbour. Did you see the mongeese, or is it gooses? People should meet and share their experiences. Please – my wife and I will be happy if you both join us for a drink.”
Chad glanced at Kerry. She didn’t yet feel up to mixing socially, and their walk at the Falls had tired her. As gracefully as she could she declined, but encouraged him to go.
“I’ll be making a potato salad. Have it with cold meats when you return.”
Kerry began to clear away her glass and the beer cans from the stoep. Before the men were out of earshot, she heard the stranger say, “Too bad your wife couldn’t join us.” She froze and waited for Chad to set the record straight.
The footsteps faded without her hearing him.
***
He returned two hours later. Kerry lay in the dark under the mosquito net. She heard the fridge door open and shut and the click of cutlery against china. She waited for him to finish eating – for a foolish moment entertaining a wild hope that he would come to her room, as he had to her hospital bed. Tell her about their new-found neighbours – like a good husband would. But in her heart she knew there would be no knock. Whatever the neighbours might think, in reality she and Chad were far apart.
It was a situation she had never faced before: close to a man who attracted her one minute only to elicit feelings of shock and antipathy the next.
She listened to his footsteps passing her door. There was something sad about it, Kerry felt. They had so much to offer each other. They were young and physically attractive, and they had opportunity. Yet they were not doing what a man and a woman in their situation could be expected to do. Instead they stumbled along day after day like a couple of concert musicians constantly hitting the wrong notes. Kerry wished there was a way she could start the holiday again. But what could she have done to get it off on a better footing?
The lodge fell silent. Kerry’s last thought, before sleep overtook her, was on the note she had left on the table.
Tribes at one end of a river knew nothing of the wheel; while at the mouth of the same river they’d had it since the time of the pharaohs.
Doesn’t that say everything about the mystery and romance of Africa?
THIRTEEN
At first light they were hardly out of sight of the lodge before they saw hippos returning to the Zambezi from their night-grazing forays on land. Over the next hour Kerry noted for later transfer to her journal: impala, baboon, kudu, waterbuck, zebra, duiker and elephant – which, despite the tragic incident with the warden, she loved to watch.
They kept on the move, covering as much ground as possible before the sun got high and the animals entered the thick stuff in search of shade. Once again their efforts went unrewarded. Kerry could only guess at Chad’s feelings. She herself was not unhappy. There was so much to observe and marvel at. Not only was there large game in abundance – drawn to the life line of the river in these final days of the dry season – but the bird life was spectacular. Rollers, Carmine bee-eaters, glossy ibis, white herons, saddlebill storks, fish eagles and many more.
They took many photographs. Chad was reluctant to linger in one place for long. While the day was still comparatively cool, their quarry might be on the move.
Amid such abundant life and beauty, Kerry reached one decision about her future. She would study wildlife photography and buy the right equipment. Never again would she waste holiday time lying on a beach.
Later, when the heat intensified, they broke off their search and returned to their riverside lodge.
***
“Tell me more about our neighbours,” Kerry said, taking chilled fruit juice from the fridge and pouring it into tall glasses. She had purposely not asked during the drive – Chad’s concentration at such times was total. All he had told her before they’d set off was that they were a Danish couple.
Chad took a swallow of juice before answering.
“Per and Camilla Olsen. Him, you’ve seen. She’s the smiling, chatty sort – blonde, attractive, plays golf and tennis. They arrived in Jo’burg only four years ago. He runs his own business making furniture to Scandinavian design. Also kitchen units and pine saunas.”
“Saunas in Africa?” Kerry was astonished. “Isn’t that like selling ice to Eskimos?”
Chad finished his juice and poured himself more. There was merriment in his eyes.
“For a Pom, you know a lot about Africa. But you’ve still plenty to learn. Take the wealthy citizens of Johannesburg and Pretoria: their favourite weekend is a lazy one in the sun – beers around the pool. Nothing beats a sauna to round it off. You go sauna, pool, sauna, pool – ten or fifteen minutes in each. Leaves your body fresh, revitalized, ready for the week ahead.”
“Mmmm, it does sound good,” Kerry conceded. “Chad, please stop calling me a Pom. Can’t you just accept me for what I am? Besides, it’s an Aussie term, isn’t it?”
“They didn’t take out a patent.”
“Don’t you Saffas have your own?”
“Now who’s using nicknames,” Chad said with a grin. “Yeah, Afrikaners have words for the English that would make you blush.”
Kerry knew she was expected to ask, but she refused to take the bait.
“I’m sorry I missed out last night. I didn’t feel up to it.”
“Don’t worry – you’ll meet Per and Camilla later this afternoon.”
Kerry reacted with alarm. “You didn’t invite them back here? We don’t have enough drinks or snacks to go round.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot . . . There’s no problem.” The South African smiled to calm her, then moved to the window and stared out at the Zambezi. “They’re joining us on the sundowner cruise.”
***
The cruise was a popular attraction with both tourists and locals. It had been part of life on the Zambezi since colonial times.
The departure jetty was not far from the holiday lodges, a few miles upriver from the Falls. Kerry and Chad arrived early. More than one boat made the trip and Chad wanted no chance of their being separated from the Olsens in any last minute rush.
Kerry was more interested in observing the hippos snorting and blowing downriver of the jetty than in trying to pick out Camilla Olsen’s blonde head in the gathering crowd.
Eventually, the four joined up. Camilla was exactly as Chad had described. Slim and fit from the sports she played, and with a sparkling vivaciousness that had Kerry immediately warming to her. The Dane’s centre-parted, shoulder-length blonde hair bounced as she moved – just like a girl in a TV shampoo advertisement.
Three boats were moored alongside the jetty but only two would be needed. Not so long ago, Chad told them, four boats packed with tourists made the cruise each evening. The drop in numbers was a sign that Zimbabwe was losing out to more stable regions of the world.
They were in the foremost boat which left a few minutes ahead of the other. They headed slowly upriver towards the setting sun – now a red fireball low over distant trees. The vessels were two-tiered river launches, wide-beamed and open-sided. Passengers sat on chairs in the bow or stood along either side. At the stern was a makeshift bar and steps leading to an upper viewing-deck. Kerry, Chad and the Olsens had found seats on the raised deck – the perfect vantage point.
Chad went off to find a steward and soon returned with a tray of drinks.
“They don’t call this the booze cruise for nothing,” he said jovially, settling back in his chair. Because he had visited the area before, and was the only African-born member of the foursom
e, he was soon fielding a succession of questions from the others.
Kerry’s attention began to waver. The river had her in its spell. Through Chad’s binoculars she viewed the two banks, two countries a mile apart. There was little to see but trees – many, many trees of varying heights, including palms like the ones beside their lodge. Overhead, outlined against the red-streaked sky, flights of waterbirds headed in silence for their roosting grounds. The light failed rapidly. The cruise, Kerry realized, did not take you to any particular destination. It gave you the sunset and the river – its width, power, the beauty of its unspoilt banks and islands, and, most of all, its peace. Each – the sunset and the river – was spectacular in its own right. Together, they laid on for the observer one of the greatest natural experiences of a lifetime.
How Kerry wished her father, who had first nurtured her love of rivers, could be here now . . . and her mum.
Against a background of brilliant red, the sun slid down behind the trees and finally disappeared. For colour, richness and sheer loveliness, Kerry had never known sunsets like these.
The boats turned and headed for home, going faster now with the current.
“Kerry, you’ve been quiet,” Per Olsen said. “What’s on your mind?”
Typical of the male focusing on the female, she thought.
Chad had noticed too. “You feeling all right?” he asked with concern.
“I’m fine,” Kerry reassured them. She had no intention of sharing her thoughts. They were much too personal.
Back on dry land, the four were reluctant to call it a night. They arranged to meet up later to have a flutter at the casino.
***
As Kerry prepared the evening meal, Chad joined her in the kitchen. Usually he helped only with the washing up, so she suspected something was on his mind. What she hadn’t anticipated was immediately finding herself on the defensive.
“You didn’t put a lot into mixing with the Olsens,” he accused. “If you have a problem, we’d better give the casino a miss and stay home.”