Gentlemen only

I wondered what these signs I found on the internet related to. They all tell a tale I’m sure, but none better than the “Gentlemen Only” sign that has recently been whitewashed from the wall of the Mutare Club in the leafy suburbs of Mutare in the Eastern Highlands of Zimbabwe.

Previously known as the Umtali Club, this elegant building was designed by pioneer and architect James Cope-Christie in 1897, incidentally the same year my grandmother was born.

Apparently royalty, governors, politicians and even Cecil John Rhodes used to frequent this conservative upmarket establishment, and some stayed over for it offers accommodation too. It is still a well-attended refuge for gentlemen.
The sign at the Mutare Club has sadly been whitewashed over, but until quite recently only gentlemen were allowed in, but first were requested to put away their shorts, socks and sandals for the more suitable attire of long trousers and a collared shirt.

A particularly pleased customer
     

It's a shame this sign was removed, probably due to female protestations or because of political correctness, and I think that it should be reinstated for historical record and besides that, the club still doesn’t admit women to the members bar.

Critically endangered northern bald ibis

The Middle East’s rarest bird teeters on the brink of extinction.
The northern bald ibis had not been spotted in the wild in the Middle East for about 70 years until in 2002 researchers discovered seven birds nesting near the ancient city of Palmyra in Syria. Since then the Syrian Government’s Desert Commission and supporting conservationists have toiled to preserve this tiny population, but numbers are sadly down to three birds.

Conservationists fear Syria’s political unrest will have a detrimental effect on these sensitive birds, already traumatised by illegal hunting and other threats.

International agencies helping to save this colony from oblivion include the Turkish government, which donated six juvenile semi-captive birds to Syria, hoping their introduction will swell the precariously small wild population.

UK bird charity the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) devised a programme involving attaching satellite tracking devices to the backs of four of these birds. The data received revealed the migration route of the adults – namely Odeinat and Salama - crossing eight countries and spending the winter in the highlands of Ethiopia. However, where the other two tracked youngsters donated by Turkey go and whether they can survive still remains a mystery, according to Chris Bowden, RSPB international species recovery officer monitoring the birds.

Conservationists from RSPB place satellite tracking device on an ibis

Once widespread across North Africa and the Middle East, the only other nesting population of about 100 breeding pairs of Geronticus eremita lies in Morocco.

What a sorry state of affairs for a bird so respected by ancient Egyptians to be depicted in a hieroglyph!

Check out  http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/tracking/northernbaldibis/

A variation of my original story is at

https://gulfnews.com/life-style/general/on-track-to-save-the-ibis-1.965985

Tourism trade fair in Zimbabwe

Spring and it's Jacaranda season in Harare

Travellers who say they do not want to visit Zimbabwe because their dollars will swell Mugabe's coffers are actually contributing to the detriment of the environment, many of Zimbabwe's tourism providers believe.
"The environment cannot wait for political change. By the time that is achieved much of our pristine wildlife reserves will be gone and once gone it will be forever," said Clive Stockil, member of the board of the Zimbabwe Tourism Authority.
"We need you - those dollars go into conservation. We have got too much in this country that puts us ahead of our competitors in the rest of Africa for us to ignore and not keep focusing our natural attributes."
 Speaking at the 2011 Sanganai/Hlanganani travel and tourism fair held in the Harare capital mid-October, Stockil said: "I genuinely believe that it just takes a few minor changes in terms of governments and global perceptions for this country to get back to being among the prime African destinations."
The Zimbabwe Tourism Authority's (ZTA) annual tourism fair held at the Harare International Conference Centre situated at the Rainbow Towers Hotel, formerly Sheraton Hotel, attracted 746 exhibitors sharing 206 stands, according to Tesa Chikaponya, ZTA executive director destinations marketing.

Ivory in a National Parks strongroom

Leonard Nhidza, head of investigations for the Department of National Parks and Wildlife Management, says that in terms of visitor numbers this year has so far seen an improvement but was still below the numbers of the 1990s.
National Parks' director general Vitalis Chadenga appealed to the international media to apply pressure on the world community to lift the ban on the sale of ivory. "We have 44 tons of elephant ivory and five tons of rhino horn in stock of which we are not allowed to sell: this creates a problem for us."
The parastatal has suffered from lack of funds for years, and wants to be allowed to plough the proceeds of the sale of the stock - which comes from animals that have died naturally he says - back into conservation.

Vitalis Chadenga speaks to the press

Around US$100 million was needed to manage all their resources. "We are only managing to raise only 25% of that," said Chadenga. "Poaching is very severe and we need to work very closely with other law enforcement agencies."
Positive changes are apparent, the most recent being Zimbabwe and Zambia winning the bid to jointly host the 20th General Assembly of the United Nations World Tourism Organization (UNWTO) in 2013 at the Victoria Falls.
She welcomed the arrival of airlines to Zimbabwe including Emirates Airline, due to start operating from Dubai via Lusaka to Harare from February 1st next year. SAA had also increased the size of the airplane operating every Thursday from Johannesburg to Harare.
"This is the first time the UNWTO has had a bid from countries that want to co-host," said Chikaponya. "The nation is excited and rearing to go."

Original article

https://www.eturbonews.com/50470/change-global-perceptions-and-visit-zimbabwe

Operations

Why is it that relatives, friends and the medical profession deem an operation such as a removal of a cyst on an ovary ‘chicken feed’ or ‘a small procedure, hardly worth mentioning in conversation’ or ‘nothing to worry about’ and even ‘a breeze, don’t be hysterical’ yet you have to go through the normal rigmarole of any operative surgery and they expect you to emerge from this fresh faced, cheerful and bouncing with positive energy?

      It is surgery after all, an invasion of the body by small metal objects with pointy fingers at the end and a pulling about of your inner bits. I didn’t think it was easy nor fun, in fact I was terrified from start to finish, no matter how small a performance it may have been for the jolly laughing surgeons and accompanying choir. There were two surgeons, an anaesthetist, six technicians monitoring the laparoscopy machines plus countless others mopping brows and other bodily parts no doubt. Doesn’t sound like a small job to me.

       I know a lot more about the recovery period of course, than of the pre-period. Though at the latter I did manage to pin the anaesthetist down as to if it was true that sometimes the surgeon thought you were unconscious but in reality you weren’t, and that you could actually feel every agonising tug, but unfortunately were rendered paralysed by the copious assortment of drugs that are shovelled in every available orifice one has, so couldn’t call out in pain.

“Hollywood has a lot to answer for,” sighed anaesthetist Mr X wearily, who did his job and shielded the barrage of questions efficiently before slinking off into the great sparking-white squeaky clean arms of the Emirates Hospital.

I know an awful lot more about the operation than I feel comfortable with too, since my gynaecologist, beaming, presented me with a DVD of the entire inner procedure. In graphic colour. [Anyone who wants a copy of this is welcome to email me on tuppy.robertson (at) gmail.com]

Then the next thing I knew they were slapping me about, getting me to wake up. Just two minutes ago they had knocked me unconscious. “Really!” I thought. “What do they want?” In reality it was 1.5 hours ago, incredible all that lost time, what had they been doing?? Anyway, I was told by a haze of faces peering down at me like Exhibit ‘A’ that all was well, it was a clean surgery (I wondered what a dirty one was), I’m in the recovery room, when ready they will move me to my private room.

“Cool.” I said.

I’m no doctor but know that the ovary is far south, yet the biggest pain was in my throat – did they remove a tonsil instead, I asked querulously? No one listened; in fact I was ignored as they put it down to post-operative drivel. But it was so sore I could hardly swallow, and when I did try water it dribbled out everywhere else rather than down the gullet.

 “Early days yet!” said the Croatian nurse breezing into the room super-efficiently. “You have some ice, yes?” which arrived in such huge icebergs I couldn’t put into my mouth no matter how hard I tried. Had to wait for it to melt. By then I had nodded off again.

You know, a hospital is possibly the only place where you can get away without worrying about the niceties of speech, just get down to the nitty gritty, and the nursing professionals get away with it.

“Have you made gas today?” asks a Filipino nurse. Wonder how she would ask Sheikha **** that question. I suspect it is fairly standard questioning from the nursing profession after most types of surgery. None of that stiff-upper British politeness here. My sister always asks: “Have you been?” if I’m looking particularly peaky on an evening. Apart from the language barrier problems we experience in Dubai’s multicultural society, I suppose it is difficult to euphemise when asking if you have farted or not. How do they ask in England?

Anyhow, I replied somewhat imperiously: “Does it matter?” Of course it matters, I discover later: if you don’t get rid of the gas I gather you will resemble a Zeppelin before too long. After all, I had just had four holes punched through my abdomen (it was to be fair, a keyhole procedure and I think the cuts were small, can’t see them yet over the fat stomach) and the body isn’t a vacuum under these circumstances.

When the dreadful pain relieving drug tramadol wore off (made me feel like a zombie) there was scope to let the mind meander about idiotically, which it did.

“Nurse, there’s an air bubble in my intravenous tube!” I’m panicked as in one episode of Scrubs I think it was, some patient starts to foam at the mouth then convulses and it is stated by a dweebie looking intern (of course), that this is due to bubbles in the intravenous tube.

“Oh – is OK!” the Thai nurse smiles brightly, and squashes the tube so the bubble reaches further towards my skin and the opening into my vein on my hand. “Is small one.”

 I think it would be advantageous to know all the ins and outs pre-operation, but there are so many small details the medical professionals wouldn’t even dream about passing on.

“You athlete?” Chinese twin nurses ask. (Well they looked the same, presumed they were twins.)

 “….er  not exactly, but I do run maybe twice a week and swim three days a week, but I wouldn’t call myself an athlete.”

 “Must be why your pulse rate so slow,” they surmise. OMG I’m dying. And BP 107 over 70? What does that mean? “Your blood pressure low but is OK,” they harmonise and giggle. Why do they giggle like that?

Rang the nurse bell to say “I’m hungry” - haven’t eaten for 24 hours. They didn’t tell me beforehand I was on a liquid diet, they just avoided bringing anything at all apart from chamomile tea. The biscuits that came with it (given I suspect as a decoy to avert me off the thought of food) were so “light” I masticated them to cement line my teeth which took an hour to clean off with the tongue and so again kept my mind off food. Ordered bangers and mash, (well she did ask what did I want, and that sounded a good option, no menu per se) but got damn tasty watery vegetable soup and full of salt, praise be. None of this hysteria about salt in food here.

 Most frustrating aspect? Having slept all day on some god-awful sleep-inducing drug I’m bright eyed and bushy tailed, yet unable to go anywhere nor do anything, least of all sleep. At 2.30am have read half my book, and needing a change of direction aimed the TV controls - yes - at the TV. No channels, apart from Little Britain. I’d rather watch the wall than suffer that utter filth. Am glad though to have summoned an Indian nurse this time (it’s like the United Nations in here), as they know a thing or two about fiddling with wires, as HRH the Duke of Edinburgh once observed. She manages to find the very first episode of Blackadder and a series of ‘Allo ‘Allo. What a pleasure! Only I forgot I shouldn’t really laugh, but the drugs coursing through my veins are covering up any pain I could be feeling. Hooray for drugs!

I was warned about the referred pain in my shoulders, something I would never have thought normal. “After keyhole surgery, you may have some pain in your abdomen and in the tips of your shoulders. The pain in your shoulders is known as referred pain and usually improves within 48 hours.” Why is it there? It’s most odd.

So roll on next Monday for the next bout of pain – the stitch removal. Could someone tell me why they don’t use dissolveable stitches?

Petra Jordan

Jordan’s ancient pink city of Petra carved out of dusky sandstone rocks is simply a joy to behold. There is nothing quite like it, and nothing really prepares you for it. The only way to understand Jordan’s most valuable natural treasure is to go there and see it for yourself.

The city’s imposing facades featuring large columns, tombs, carved figures and square blocks cut into the rocks in 6th Century BC by the Nabataean Arab people, takes away the breath of even hardened travellers. Set on the edge of Wadi Araba, the 264-square kilometre designated “archaeological park” of rugged sandstone cliffs changes moods depending on the time of day. The rocks range in colour from red to orange to pink to golden hues with slashes of white, grey and black randomly interspersed.

Linking the outside world to Petra is the As-Siq, a 1.2 kilometre long narrow sandstone gorge through which horse-drawn carriage drivers speed through at a thunderous rate, while their tourist cargo wince as the cliffs on either side of the gorge loom some 80m above them. Walkers are surprisingly unscathed here, and have the benefit of slowly savouring the moment when the incredible Al-Khazneh – The Treasury - reveals itself at the end of a bend in the Al-Siq.

Feeling like Harrison Ford, the broad brimmed hat on my head possibly being the only resemblance, we simply gaped at the massive façade of The Treasury, one of the most elaborate buildings in the ancient city. Its classical Roman influenced architecture featured in the 1989 movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade as the exterior of the Holy Temple where the Holy Grail was located. Carved out of the rose-pink rock face in the early 1st century for a Nabataean king’s tomb it dwarfs all, standing at 30m wide and 43m high. Today of course, the shrewd curio sellers touting for business know Harrison Ford as an old mate – some even have his hat, and guess what – it’s for sale. If you believe that, you believe anything.

Supporting Jordan’s jewel are the warm, welcoming inhabitants that live, work and play in the ancient city itself as well as those living in the town of Wadi Musa at the entrance to Al-Siq. Wadi Musa’s 35,000 residents have a fierce pride in Petra in particular and Jordan in general. “Welcome to Jordan” is the most common greeting. Surprisingly this top tourist destination and UNESCO World Heritage Site still hasn’t been spoiled by the indifference of mass tourism where mediocre cuisine and bad service are accepted simply because if you don’t like it, there will be hundreds of others who will fill your place.

The crazy mix of people all have a story to tell, and if you take the time to listen and not be worn down by the constant touting for business you will discover the real Jordan.

There are the carefree, alarmingly handsome Bedouin horsemen that carry weary tourists into and out of the ancient city, dramatically scooping up stragglers with gusto and great humour. That’s the thing about the Bedouin, who have been living in caves surrounding Petra for more than a millennium – they are good humoured rather than annoying provided you too play the game - haggle hard, keep your sense of humour and laugh with them.

“Taxi?” asked the 20-something Bedouin Ameer as he steered his donkey Jack, picking its skinny legs delicately over the crumbling sandstone pebbles. “Air conditioned!” he added, white teeth flashing in a brown face. By the time visitors have walked through Petra’s tomb fronted Street of Facades, past the still utilised 6,000 seat Roman theatre and climbed the 900 steps cut into the rocks leading to the Monastery and back down again, they are grateful for the use of a donkey’s back.

The donkey “taxi” owners have their designated patch in which to operate a business and go no further lest they incur the wrath of another Beduin also trying to make a living. Ameer was born in and still lives in the caves, scorning the new village of neat flat roofed concrete houses with running water and electricity which glistened in the distance, built by the government for the residents of Petra. “My ancestors lived here forever – so too do I,” he said defiantly.

While their constant jostling for business can be annoying some have to be admired for their unique selling points. There’s an old toothless man behind a tiny stall packed with trinkets within the Street of Facades who offers tourists “genuine” ancient Nabataean bones. “Here!” he thrusts out his hand excitedly, as if discovering it for the first time. “This is a genuine 6,000 year old finger bone!” Talking to him reveals a hard life in the ancient city, yet a refusal to move into the government housing and a deep love of Petra.

An undeniably strict tour guide, who had such eloquent English he must have been schooled in Oxford, took us on a scheduled candle-light night tour of the ancient city. He demanded – and received - total silence from the 300 visitors who came to hear him speak about Petra’s magic. We walked from Wadi Musa down the As-Siq gorge to the candle-strewn clearing in front of The Treasury. It was eerie, but enchanting to be among those 300 walking in the dark in silence, the crunching of gravel and swishing of clothing against legs being the only sounds heard apart from one or two rebellious coughs or nervous laughs.


Other tour guides based in Wadi Musa are less fierce - including Aiman Al Hassanat who organises trips further afield to Wadi Rum and Aquaba, even offering tailor made bicycle tours within the region. Mohammad Asri Hamadeen – so knowledgeable about his desert he can drive through it at night without headlights – takes guests to Wadi Rum where remnants of the film set of the original Lawrence of Arabia pierce dramatically into the sky. Asri is deeply passionate about Wadi Rum, its weather-etched rock formations and sweeping landscapes of red sand turning into yellow turning into black.

The carefree horsemen too, like Abraham Naoflh, are happiest when leading seven-day horseback safaris into this desert, delighting all who take part with their desert knowledge sprinkled with charm and mischievous humour.

The town’s hotel managers and staff from the modest three-star Petra Inn to the five-star Taybet Zaman aim to please and make every guest feel welcome. Palestinian Ibrahim Samhouri, owner of the Sandstone Restaurant set among the many open air cafes along Wadi Musa’s main road can arrange “whatever you like”. His excellent food including a specialty dish of “camel lamb” is served with style and a smile. “As you like” and “It’s up to you” are also favourite sayings, because basically it’s your decision what you want to do – the rest can be arranged.

Without its supporting cast, Petra would still be magnificent – but soulless.

  

Zimbabwe by bus 1998

On Top of Pomongwe

In 1998 I wrote a diary of a three-week tour of Zimbabwe completed by the White, Fulton and Mandy families from Ardingly in West Sussex, UK. We were six adults, seven kids aged under 12 and one 18 month-old. 

On parts of the journey Netta, Vaughan and Nicky Johnstone joined us in the 16-seater 2.5 self drive Hi-ace. Over the Christmas period we covered some 2,500 kilometres.
The quotes in italics come directly from my diary & there are some contributions from others on the team...

CMR January 2013

Stephanie's art 

The Mandys and Johnstones were already in Zimbabwe as the Robertson parents had been involved in a car accident there at the end of October. It was a sad time as Jenny died on 4^th December in the Avenues Clinic as a result of the accident and an underlying condition from which she would never have recovered.

Lynda, Cheryl, Jackie- Harare airport

We decided to carry on with the journey as planned for our visitors - Jenny would have scoffed as us for changing it. So on 14 December we welcomed a slightly disheveled and apprehensive team of Poms  at Harare International Airport.None had set foot  in Africa before. 
Joan Hanly’s house at 10 St Luke’s Road, Rhodesville was the roost for Jackie, David, Alice & Lillie Fulton in the cottage, while the Whites - Lynda, Keith, Nick, Rebecca and Sam - were in "The Purple Room" 9aka Gan's lair or Mrs Dold's private quarters), my Dad in Joan’s room (she had moved out to son Stevie Weevie’s house) and Netta, Nicky and Vaughan in the spare room next to the dining room. 
Mandys x 5 were at Ian and Jan Robertson’s house in Chisipite.

Joan & Sophie by Pauline Battigelli

Strelitzia

The visitors were struck by Africa’s brightness, its brilliantly coloured flowers on lush green shrubbery and the smell of fresh hot damp earth. The rains came early this year – late November – so the patchwork fields seen from the air resembled West Sussex. I think initially the huge houses with swimming pools, large and often ferocious guard dogs, domestic helpers and vast gardens were quite alien, and some of the children kept awake the first few nights fearing the strange noises - mostly from insects, frogs and barking dogs. By the end of the trip the kids would seek the creatures rather than avoid them.

by Steffie

On the first afternoon “….the boys came back [from wherever they went- they were constantly disappearing] with the bus and took everyone to Jan’s house for a braai. Ian was in Chipinge…kids swam, women sat and the boys went out to get goodness knows what and left us and Gramps to do the braai yet again……..Jackie was mesmerised by the fly covered Shane (a large old dog) and the boerbull (MacD) which managed to somehow wipe its bum on her towel even though it was high up on a table. Plenty of ants were nipping her too. We watched the kids swim and chase flying ants on the tennis court. Shaunie loves chasing them and dives under the net, over and over again, and runs around in circles. Boys came back and cooked the meat; Bonnie (the cook) made lovely profiteroles.”

by Gregory

Next day after a few scares in the night from Africa’s nocturnal wildlife, we all, including Sandy and the Johnstones headed for Ballyvaughan Game Park just outside Harare in our bus. 

Gill and Bobby Welbourn joined us later. The park has “loads of caged animals in big enclosures, all rescued, bred in captivity or dangerous animals unsuitable for return to the wild.”

Guides Maynard and Israel took us around the park. “The lions stalked and pounced at the fence whenever Lillie or Shaun came in sight.”

(Greg with the hat) - Lillie 
looks unperturbed

The traditional people of Zimbabwe apparently watch the behaviour of impala herds to ascertain whether the rains of a particular year will be good or not. If there are going to be good rains the female impalas retain their unborn and continue with their pregnancy; if the year is going to be a drought year a female's body absorbs the foetus. 

Serene delicate looking creatures - impala

On a walk we saw “…serval cats, black backed and brown jackals, a leopard up a tree, a puff adder slithering in front of us on the path and zipping through the fence into the jackals’ cage – they sniffed and snapped at it but it carried on slithering. Could have been right under Gregory’s feet because he wandered off away from the main group as usual.”

Sandy, Jackie, Shaunie & David

Bobby at the back, Alice in the middle

We split into different groups then met where the elephants were. “Three elephants arrived with their handlers to take us for a ride - three people on each back. Steffi went twice as Gregory didn’t want to go, neither did Jackie and Sandy.... Great fun getting up and down as you have to hold tight as the slope is so high. The backbone of even an elephant when right up my Khyber Pass. Getting down was also hard – Robin had to be hauled off by a very strong guide.”

After that we had a barbecue lunch in a tree house overlooking a lake where “Jackie and Alice discovered they didn’t like long drops but when desperation strikes……”

Steffie & Robin

Some of us went canoeing as a storm approached. Robin was with Steffie, I was with Gregory, Netta was with Nicky and Vaughan, and there was a mix up in understanding instructions through the wind I guess - and we paddled to the wrong place. “The sky was getting blacker and blacker and you could see the grey streaks of rain leaving the clouds and falling to earth. When Maynard came and told us we had to go to the original side as no rescue vehicle could come that way, we had to get back in the canoe, the wind buffeting and howling and the water lapping at the sides. Gregory was so scared but he rowed like crazy. Because of the wind blowing against us we could only row with the right oar in. We moved across to the other side, missing the dead sticks in the water. As we approached the shallows covered in green water plants I looked for somewhere to get out. Very shaky and wobbly now as I was exhausted and nervous – lightning started to dart all around and the thunderclaps were alarming.

Greg's impression of his canoe trip

When Gregory said: “Isn’t that a crocodile?” I thought he was joking – but it was indeed. I bashed the water with my oar and it shot out of the shallows into the deeper water, its head and nostrils peering at us. Netta, Nicky and Vaughan finally made it to us and the guide had gone to shore only slightly ahead of us in a different bay – he too was nervous of the lightning….. Glad to join the group in the game park again.”
This is the story from David. "One small moment in time that I remember vividly was the BallyVaughan visit. If you remember we did shifts on the different events. Some went on the canoe ride in a millpond. Some went in a hurricane. I was with Lillie Fulton and we did not get mixed up with the instructions (unlike some). However the storm was determined to take us away from our destination. Poor Lillie was paddling away at the front and we were just being pulled away with the storm. I remember paddling the canoe backwards until we finally got to the shore close to our destination. I fell out of the canoe almost puking, just thankful that I hadn't killed myself and my little girl. Happy memories..... The elephant ride made up for it though."

Later on we  saw“loads of wildebeest, zebra (who hang around together as they eat different parts of the grass; one lot eat the top section, the others eat the lower section so there’s plenty for everyone.”

0500 on 16 December

Robin shows Sam & Greg how it's done in Africa

...and we set off early for Bulawayo via Beatrice. The journey was soon peppered with bursts of joyful songs from the children, learned at their Church of England school – it started off as a welcome distraction on the five-hour drive journey but I have to say Nick White’s “99 green bottles” remains firmly entrenched in my head today (2013).

 “Stopped on the side of the road for a pee which had Jackie in a state as she doesn't do public urination..... and she also didn’t like the possibility of a truck bearing down on her exposed naught. Lynda and I held a towel up to avoid prying eyes – but the Juggernaut sneaked up behind us.”

Plenty of curio stops along the way

It was take away pizzas for lunch in Bulawayo, the country’s second largest town and where I was born. It sits on the site of the kraal of the Ndebele King Lobengula who lived in the Matabeleland province when the first settlers arrived around the 1880s. We took the lunch to my aunt Molly Robertson’s house in Essex Road and met my other cousin Louise Williams and her three kids Jade, Tracey and Decklan.

Matobo Hills (previously called Matopos Hills)

We left around 3pm for the National Park rest camp in the Matobo Hills some 40 kilometres from Bulawayo. A bit dilapidated and not enough mozzie nets to go round, but comfy enough. The kids climbed the characteristic weathered granite rocks and boulders. Exfoliation of the granite created many peculiar shaped balancing rocks, some over 3000 million years old.

"Had chicken casserole for supper made by Bonnie. Lots and lots of bugs. Jackie and Alice beside themselves with the bugs. Lillie and the others playing tok-tok (black bugs) races and Lillie lining up the tok-toks on herself! Loads of butterflies, less lizards than when we visited last year, lots of birds, not so many monkeys but baboons instead”.

Tok-tok by my Mum 1996

17 December 1998

“Alice, Steffie, Robin, Rebecca and Lynda took a horseback safari through the bush – they saw a black mamba slithering across the road; also sable at close range. Lynda had the bruises of the stirrup straps to prove it.”

Never startle a rhinocerous

The rest of us went for a game drive in Matobo National Park which houses the country’s highest concentration of leopard and black eagle. Saw zebra, wildebeest, kudu, warthog, impala, klipspringer, yellow-billed kite and plenty of baboons. Other common residents are white rhinoceros, two “…at very close quarters in a mud puddle next to the road. Keith (driving) got so excited trying to line up a photo but his arm slipped onto the hooter and it went off – so did the rhino but didn’t come towards us.”

Wood carver at work Matopos

Cecil John Rhodes' grave

On to where Cecil John Rhodes, the founder of Rhodesia, is buried at a place called World’s View. “ Half-way up to Rhodes’ grave we watched a wood carver work on a piece of wood and Jackie bought it, as did Keith (another one).”
Bushman rock paintings are found here all over this area too, the most accessible at being at Pomongwe Cave and the clearest at Nswatungi. All date back some 40,000 years.  “Men went to get petrol and buns in town – we did the usual looking after children. They came back with more books and wood and charcoal. Another braai – it rained rather heavily and then the power went off so it was a bit chaotic and food so late no-one wanted to eat anyway. Steffie fell off a rock – it was dark - and screamed a lot. We watched two yellow-billed kites swoop down and one pinched chips, so David tried to entice it down with a raw sausage – it sat in the tree and watched us and didn’t take the meat.”

Next day we all climbed Pomongwe (it is the name of a type of melon) a huge gomo with 360 deg views from the top.

Keith & Lynda Matobo Hills

“Cool breeze on the top; orchids growing in puddles and lots of tadpoles which the kids collected and had a fine time – didn’t want to leave. A few yellow billed kites swooped down so we threw then biltong which they caught. Descent was harder for all – knees very wobbly. Jackie fell down a few feet and grazed her arm – not serious but she got a fright.”

Baboon thief
“Down at base we had a big breakfast….and a visit from a big baboon the size of 11 year-old Nicholas. It sat outside peering at us, I called Robin to come and scare it away with the kattie but when he came out of the kitchen the baboon sneaked around the side, zipped into the kitchen and swiped a loaf of bread off the counter. Pandemonium!...the warden came out with a rifle but the baboon was long gone. Two of his mates had to be shot recently.”

Dinner under the stars at Maleme Dam rest camp

Baboons can be dangerous to visitors so National Park’s staff has to shoot those like our friend when they become a nuisance. The warthogs by the Caravan Park are less threatening but can be rude – they may well wander into a tent and frighten an unsuspecting occupant.

Nswatungi Caves

Nswatugi Cave 

The ancient rock paintings at Nswatungi Caves on the way to Marula were a fabulous find, spectacularly clear and the cave and surroundings in good condition. “The road to the cave was precarious in parts and didn’t look that well used. We were the only people there. Nswatugi means the place of “the jumping” in local folk lore." 
"We drove to the main Bulawayo-Kezi road and headed for Figtree then Marula, with David driving. Very bad road from Marula to the farm – eroded by all the rains.”

The dusty curio laden bus took us to cousin Graham’s Garth Farm, which offered some of the party bush camp accommodation in thatched rondavels (round huts) near the Mangwe Memorial (by 2007 this part of the farm had been taken). Lying 27 corrugated kilometres from the village of Marula, the memorial was erected to honour those adventurers, miners and explorers who bashed their way through the inhospitable granite rock countryside around 1850, way before Rhodes’ pioneer column reached what is now Harare in 1890. Lee’s House, once a watering hole and (incidentally) place of ill repute is now a pile of bricks but its infamy lives on.

Garth's bush camp

by Greg

High on a steep hill the remote bush camp had only paraffin lamps for light and a campfire to cook supper on. The African night sounds and  the immeasurable silence impressed upon us all the stark reality of being alone in the wild, and we left David, Robin, Gregory, Nick and Keith behind to experience raw Africa. But before we left we "saw a scorpion in the one hut – Graham killed it. Absolutely HUGE and black.” 
The rest of us stayed the night at the farm house with its generator electricity and hot running water, although there were a few surprises there too – some dive-bombing beetles, a friendly gecko with diarrhoea, 11 labrador puppies, a dassie or rock hyrax called Cricket and a small sausage dog called Radio about to give birth.

“Returned to the farm for a restless sleep with Shaun and Steffie in my enormous bed – next door in Elisha’s room were Lynda, Sam, Becca, Lillie, Jackie and Alice, the latter two were close-on hysterical because  of the huge gecko in the stiflingly hot room – all windows jammed shut by Jackie to avoid bugs. Lynda, Sam and Rebecca didn’t mind the gecko which had pooed all down the wall, probably in terror itself. The black bug of mediocre description wedged on Jackie’s pillow sealed the doom of a restless night. Radio sneaked into my room when I was out attending to Ms Fultons, so when I settled down for the night, lights were off – I smelled something – a very strong puppy smell – a doggy smell. Turned on the light and unearthed Radio who I tried to pull out but she wouldn’t come – just bared her teeth. I eventually called Doris to remove the dog – puppies were imminent so I didn’t want her having them under the bed all night. I can never sleep at Garth Farm the first night. Shaun takes up half the bed as well.”

Ominous sign - a frog in the doorway 

Worth a mention here, is that Doris told us all to watch out for frogs in the rooms as invariably snakes follow after looking for them as fodder. This fellow to the right drawn by Greg, appeared in the doorway of the Fulton x 3 hellhole, blocking the entrance to the loo, which further terrified Ms Fultons x 2. It was a superb night, not!

20 December

Greg's instructions

The boys must have survived the night in the bush camp and got more sleep than we did, for they were up fishing and caught lots of bream. “Greg got 10 fish in total. Keith took the canoe down the dam and disappeared for a while – Lynda explained to all that she had a good insurance policy….later we went shooting at targets. The kids shot with a .22 and a pistol fired into a cardboard box. Lynda had a go too and it hit her nose on the kick-back. Not seriously.” (Great video somewhere!).

We ate the fish after gutting and scaling all back at the farm – this is where David was asking about pricky pears and – there’s a story in that, he can fill it in!!!
Prior to that we went on a nature ramble/tour of the farm by Graham Robertson. David was being an FT asking all sorts of questions, some relevant, some not, but when he asked what sort of tree "that over there was?" Graham replied: "It's a green tree with leaves." "Oh." said David, and he pondered on it for a while, then decided not to be an FT and ask any more questions.
“Finally we left the farm and Keith drove like a madman on those dirt roads to the tar at Marula, very narrowly missing a culvert. Phew”

Team kids plus Jade & Tracey Williams

Got to Bamff Lodge in Bulawayo eventually, whereupon the heavens opened and made it impossible for the children to see the yearly nativity display in Centenary Park, like any other town park, which has an illuminated water fountain as a centre piece. Not that the children had once mentioned the fact that Christmas was but five days away – they were too busy doing other things. Met Louise and Gareth Williams and their kids Tracey, Decklan and Jade for dinner at the New Orleans Restaurant - Mandys stayed at aunt Molly's.

Next installment - Chapter 2 - goodness knows when. xx