True Stories from the African Bush

That time we drove across Africa, #1

A story to keep you dreaming of Africa

It is no secret. We are living in uncertain times. All across the globe, people are locked in their homes, and their movement severely restricted. Work has either dramatically slowed down, or it has stopped completely. We are increasingly being forced into spending a whole lot more time in our heads… fortunately for me, this brought back some amazing memories and stories from living life in Africa. 

Africa has a unique way of reaching into your soul and pushing all your emotional buttons. Waking up in your tent to the sound of the early bird chirping in the bush, or a hippo making himself known in the water through a series of territorial grunts, invokes a feeling that only this intriguing, enchanted land can provide. 

When thinking back to all my own experiences and adventures, the first memory that stands out is me as a child, age 12, sitting in the back of a Landrover as my family filled the boot with supplies for the months ahead of an epic journey. My mom, stepdad, stepbrother, another boy (whom I believe just joined by accident), and myself strapped ourselves in as we left Cape Town to begin our African adventure. The diverse landscapes of South Africa, vast contrasts of Namibia, desolate salt pans of Botswana, and wild rivers of Zambia awaited! 

The imagination really does run wild at a time like this and there are so many stories to relay from this trip. But for the purpose of this email, I think I will share the ones that make me smile and even laugh out loud. Nothing better than a good giggle – especially at a time like this. There were plenty of romantic moments… bounding the across the grassy plains, passing bored (and sometimes not so bored) looking elephants going about their days, passing great big herds of zebra as we drove on tiny strip roads that looked as if the last vehicles that used them where either ox wagons or horse and carts. Us kids spent the journey on the roof racks of the old-style Landrover, or balancing precariously on the stacks of camping boxes, or playing silly buggers by jumping off or back on without the parents noticing. Looking back, I’m sure they noticed but played along without a care in the world. 

When we did fall off, which happened a couple of times, there were a few tears, scrapes and sometimes even blood. Luckily, we avoided breaking any bones, or maybe our parents just strapped us up so tight we didn’t notice? I tend to ache a bit now in my older years, so I have to wonder…

After we left the red dunes of Namibia and drove through the desert towards Makgadikgadi – the salt pans of Botswana – it was summer, and there was a lot of complaining about the heat. I remember moaning so much, I was briefly abandoned on the side of the road, sulking as I watched my parents drive around the bush without me. Pointless, in my adolescent mind, as I could see them the whole time, not taking their threats of wild animals and lions eating me alive seriously. In my memory, they drove around for hours. In reality, it was probably five minutes. The landscape was deserted and flat – you could see for miles and miles – and I didn’t get eaten by a lion. So, I’m pretty sure, besides the odd threat of a poisonous scorpion, I was safe from predators. 

My memory is a bit vague as to how we reached our next stop: the Bushman Village. Known as either the bushmen, Khoi, or San people, these are the indigenous hunter-gatherers of Southern Africa. They do not have a collective name for themselves, although more recently, the name Khoisan seems to have stuck. They usually only refer to themselves in their respective family groups, and though there have been attempts to give them a more acceptable name, even by the bushmen themselves, none have been very successful. 

In Botswana alone, there are around 30,000 – 50,000 Khoisan people. They were the first people to inhabit Botswana around 70,000 years ago (although there is some conflicting information on this if you really delve into it). I just think ‘a really long time ago’ is appropriate for now. Fortunately, although modern times have seen a decline of these indigenous groups in villages across Southern Africa, they are still living as they were all those years ago in some, more remote, parts of the land. 

The Khoisan are migratory people, and for this reason, they do not domesticate animals or cultivate crops. Their knowledge of flora and fauna is so vast that they have categorized thousands of plants based on their different uses – from medical and nutritional, to mystical, and even lethal. They are excellent hunters and trackers and use a variety of methods to capture prey. Traps, bows, and arrows combined with deadly poison from plants, beetles, and snake venom are used to poison the game. For larger animals, they would track for hours, and for the biggest of the bunch, it could take up to three days or more. I managed to nab a really tiny animal during my time with them, using their fool-proof methods. I would send you a photo, but we’re in lockdown and I believe it is tucked away somewhere at my mom’s house. No matter the size, the Khoisan would use every single part of the animal, whether for food, tools, or jewelry. Nothing goes to waste, and there is a sacred ritual for each. 

Another fun fact about the Khoisan is that they have no formal authority figure or chief and instead govern themselves by consensus and lengthy discussions where all involved have a chance to make themselves heard. Once something is agreed upon by the whole group, a decision is made. Leadership, in any form, is based on the wisdom of age, and good character – something I definitely believe the world could look at and take note of. There are so many incredible lessons we can learn from these wise people… I could go on for days. 

Back to the journey! Our little congregation of five jumped out of our dusty Landrover, and were met by hundreds of children. My stepfather, Ben, had brought loads of extra clothes from a market we must have passed along the way. I don’t remember them coming with us from Cape Town. We also had bags and bags of oranges, about 50 in each bag. Must have been orange season, and he did have a tendency to be a bit of a bulk shopper. 

Luckily, there were many takers for both the clothes and the oranges. Inspired by my recent interactions with the Khoisan, I bartered some of my personal clothing for a very tiny bow and arrow. The arrow had a real metal tip and became my weapon of choice against my brother and his friend for the duration of the trip. I am surprised I never took an eye out in the beginning, but I must say, I got pretty good at operating my new weapon towards the end, and could do some proper damage with it when required. 

My best part of this stopover was sitting with one of the older men from the village. He sat quietly, diligently and deliberately rubbing a stick against another piece of wood. We circled around him in great anticipation. He rubbed and rubbed and rubbed. The stopped… looked up thoughtfully at the sky… an started rubbing again. I thought the wood was going to burst into a huge flame (that was my hope anyway). After a few minutes, he stopped, lifted the long stick to a piece of paper on the ground. It sparked, burned a little, and then went out. We looked back at the man. “Was there more? Will something explode?” we thought. The waiting was just too much for our tiny, impatient minds. He smiled, put his hands in his pocket, pulled out a box of perfectly good matches, lit a cigarette, and handed the stick to my brother with the visual instruction to continue rubbing. 

Out of all the safari’s and adventures in the bush I have been on, this was the one that came to mind first. I hope it brought some light relief to this unprecedented time we find ourselves in. An escape of sorts from whatever confinement you may be experiencing, wherever in the world you may be. 

Africa is, after all, a place where dreams are made, and also a place to dream about. When all this is over, I hope to bring you here to create some of your own. 

Sarah Morris - [email protected]