First Congregational UCC - Platteville

Dear Friends and Family,

There is only one place to begin this time. The Central Kalahari Game
Reserve. One gets the feeling that everything began there. That once we
have managed to destroy the Earth with our over population and pollution, it
must continue to exist. It is timeless and beautiful. I am not
exaggerating, although I am admittedly going to be melo-dramatic and use
strings of adjectives to describe the trip to the CKGR. I was affected and
am still feeling a bit overwhelmed.

The trip was first planned in honor of Monica’s birthday (she turned 31 on
February 15th). We tried to think of something in the vicinity that would
be a “new experience.” Ghanzi is an interesting combination of cultures,
including the white farmers who own huge swaths of land in and around Ghanzi
where mostly Basarwa are employed as farm hands. These whites are
privileged (what’s new) and have the luxury of traveling and touring in
their own country. Brian, the District AIDS Coordinator volunteer in
Ghanzi, has gotten to know a few of these people through his negotiations at
their butcher shops to find just the right cut of steak and also through
meetings at the RAC where he works when the Farmer’s Association or Men’s
Sector is called in to help give input on HIV/AIDS plans for the district. So,
one of these farmers had off-handedly offered to take a group of us camping
in the CKGR. Brian called him to see if we could take him up on the offer.
John John obliged. (His father’s name is John, it’s tradition to take on
his father’s name but to differentiate he calls himself John John). He is
hard-working, oldest son (and therefore inheritor of the family farm) to an
Afrikaner woman from South Africa and a German/American turned South African
now 74 year old man who refuses to stop working as if he were much younger
(according to his son). We could not have asked for a better guide. John
John was generous, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable.

There were twelve of us, so we needed two vehicles. Our other driver/guide
was Gil. He is also from South Africa but has lived here for ten years and
says he wouldn’t live anywhere else (except maybe Taos, New Mexico which is
apparently very similar). He was a biology teacher for 12 years before
becoming a safari guide in South Africa, running a mechanic shop in Ghanzi,
and now trying his luck with the small number of tourists in Botswana as a
safari guide after several bad luck partnerships that have left him more or
less broke. He is 60 something and strawberry blond and freckled. We could
not have asked for a more kind or knowledgeable second guide. I sat in the
middle of the front of his vehicle most of the way and I think I managed to
get the bulk of his teaching, which obviously comes naturally to him. “That’s
a kori buster, they are quite rare in the world, but they are all over the
place here. There’s a secretary bird. People used to think they were
cleaning the ticks of the game but they are following the game for the
insects that are stirred up in their wake. They kill snakes with a blow
from one claw. If they haven’t killed it, they fly up and drop it. The
Gemsbok aren’t dropping (giving birth) this year along with the rest of the
game and I am buggered if I can figure out why.” He was delighted when we
finally saw a few Gemsbok calves. “Look at her, isn’t she beautiful?”
regarding any number of things, from the Hartebeest to a corn cricket.

I can’t possibly narrate the way it actually happened, but I will get right
to the exciting part and describe the animals we witnessed.

Gemsbok – These were almost constantly present. They give new meaning to
the term “broad-chested.” They have black and white masks on their faces
and long straight horns. Their bodies are black, fading into a light gray
towards their rear-end from which springs a surprising black horse’s tail. The
calves are reddish and look much like a cow’s calf, although they grow up to
be an utterly different creature. Gil figures the unicorn myths come from
Gemsbok. They often have one or more horns broken to various levels and
from a distance, if there were only one horn, it certainly would look like a
mystical thing. Brian, our dear Brian, has a bit of trouble hearing
(Botswana’s dust exacerbates any nose/throat/ear problems that people might
have and he constantly is stuffed up and full of ear wax). He consistently
called the Gemsbok (pronounced with a Spanish “G”, hard h) Games bock which
was a source of great entertainment. Very outdoorsman-like, squinting into
his binoculars: “We got some gamesbock here.” Brian would normally
consider a stay at the Holiday Inn camping, but this was different. People
who would ordinarily mind camping don’t mind in the CKGR.

Hartebeest – We only saw a few, and although tourists are notoriously not
excited by the various antelope, hoping for big cats and wild dogs instead,
I think I was most thrilled by the hartebeest and not just because it shares
my name. They are the fastest and biggest antelope. They are reddish
brown, with a long, long horse face. Their horns curve in the shape of an
“S” when seen from the side. They gallomping run is unmistakable. All four
legs come under them at once and then they stretch out (like a dog running
but it looks funny on a deer-like animal). They look like huge rocking
horses with beautiful horns. In fact, rocking horses should be called
rocking hartebeests from now on, as far as I am concerned.

Marabou Stork – It migrates from Northern Africa. It’s cousin, the White
European Stork comes all the way from Europe, mostly Holland. They sit in
huge flocks, or wheel together in a great cloud of long legs and flapping
black and white wings and big stork beaks. We saw our first Marabou sitting
on top of a tree right by the road. It stayed there and graciously let us
admire it’s long, long legs and pink face and throat before stretching out
its enormous wings, tipped with black, and soaring off to join the rest of
its flock.

Rollers, finches, kites, swallows, sparrows – I wish I could remember the
name of the one that quacks indignantly if disturbed to fly from the path,
although it is not a duck. It looks like a black quail. It was the black
something or other that starts with a “C” (Cracker, crackle, cracker?) It’s
cousin, the Red-crested C———— (light brown with a red crest) also flies
off in a huff, but it does so silently. One of the swallows also performs a
neat trick of singing a sort of visual onomatopoeia (sp?) in time with its
flight. It flies up and then gives out a gentle whistle that falls in pitch
along with its height.

Grandpa, it could have been these storks or the finches that you saw on the
television show “somewhere in Africa” where all the birds were swirling
against a pan. There were approximately a gazillion of them.

Let me explain the landscape a bit. There used to be rivers there, long,
long ago, before it became the arid desert it is now. The soil is still
rich, however, and varied. There is a new ecosystem about every kilometer,
or so it looks according to the extremely varied vegetation. There would be
pink blooming grass seeds (butterfly weed?), then a striking grass with a
three-seven seed pods sticking out flat on top, forming a meadow of star
shapes. Then there would be broad-leafed green grass and a trumpet flower
plant that was in bloom because it had rained recently. There is one road
(two dirt tracks with tall grass in the middle that is dangerous for a
vehicle not prepared to deal with the grass seed that will build up under
the hood and possibly “cook the engine” as happened to Gil previously and as
he adamantly warned the two other vehicles we saw on our trip). It is
necessary to have a GPS device, a map, and preferably an experienced guide,
although people are allowed to go in “at their own risk.” I don’t recommend
it. The road is clear in most places, but the space is so vast and the
landscape so deceptively different and then the same later down the road, I,
at least, would get turned around easily. The tall grasses, scrubs, and
acacia trees are interrupted only by the pans. There were five different
sets of pans in the small northern section of the CKGR that we saw. I
thought pans were always “salt pans” (that’s what they are here, we have a
pan to the southwest of Kole that is stark white and dusty unless there is a
lot of rain, I am told). Apparently, though, pans differ in soil type. Each
pan is suited to its own kind of wildlife. The grasses tend to be rich in
nutrients, ideal for grazing. Mostly, though, they are a haven for
predators who can see for kilometers across the stretches of short grasses,
easily tracking and chasing their prey. Cheetahs, especially, cannot hunt
in tall grass.

Cheetah –She was shy and trotted to look back at us from behind a bush. We
stayed that way for awhile. They have very small heads (for stream-lining),
long, heavy tails (acts as a rudder when turning sharply), double jointed
hips, and longer claws than usual (for gripping). They are quite literally
built for speed.

Leopard – She had just killed a small jackal and hung it in a tree close to
edge of the clump of trees which was her current refuge. She slunk low
through the grass away from the road and we mostly saw her spotted forehead.
It is unusual to see a leopard. I could very well have gone two years
without, so I was happy with this youngster.

Lions – Monica likes to say she doesn’t know Setswana. But for some reason,
when we drove by a grove of trees and she spotted the lions she said,
“Ditau, ditau!” (Lions, lions). Someone translated for Gil and he called
John John back over the radio (we were blabbing away and had missed them,
although I was looking under every tree and wishing there were a lion
there). There were two females and a male. The male was lying with his
butt to us, but then he scratched his ear and his great head and mane came
into view. They are breathtaking. He then rolled over and stretched like a
dog cooling off in the summer, belly up, limbs out. He laid that way until
we pulled off when he looked up and then crossed his front arms in front of
his eyes and laid back, to be better able to ignore us, I suppose. The
ladies gave more of a show. They yawned and got up and laid back down and
moved over to a different tree. None of them made a sound, though. Lions
are lethargic during the heat of the day (8 am to 6 pm). They hunt before
and after those times. Still, our guides advised us to stay put in the
vehicle. They don’t feel threatened by a vehicle as a unit, and they don’t
recognize anyone inside as a meal. However, if one is to separate
themselves from the unit and become an animal standing on its own, they
might make an exception about the heat and have a mid-day snack.

Giraffes – There were several giraffes. Gil says he has never seen so many.
We saw a group of 15 from a distance almost right away. They generally
travel in smaller groups because grazing is not usually good enough to
support a larger number. But this year, there has been rain. Not so much
that the animals weren’t flocking to the pans to drink from the pools that
form in the lowest elevations, but enough for us to see a heck of a lot of
giraffes. The best sighting, though, was a lone giraffe, an older male,
sent off to fend for himself. That’s how most of the animal societies work,
a male is the leader of the pack until he gets slow and then a new male
challenges, takes over, and sends grandpa packing. It’s bittersweet to see
these magnificent old males. Perhaps because of his age and experience,
this giraffe was not fearful of us and ignored us as he drank from a pool
near a clump of trees at the edge of a pan. Legs spread, head down, goofy
upward sloping body slumped over awkwardly. He stood up and walked away
slowly, stopping about 20 meters away and looking back at us, long enough
for some people to pose for a photo with him as their background.

Honey badger – I came from the badger state to another place with
badgers. They
raid bee hives for honey and are, in all other ways, tough. Lions think
twice about attacking a honey badger because the effort involved and
scratches incurred will hardly be worth the small meal. One of these tough
little buggers (as Gil says) ran down the road in front of us, rippling
along sort of like Whispy when she runs. J

Springbok – Aptly named, this small antelope has a spring that can only be
done justice by naming the animal after it. They have beautiful coloring
and small horns that curve out slightly at the top. They are light brown,
white, and black. Their Designer must have been going for a delicate,
refined, striking look.

The corn cricket – They are as abundant (and perhaps mundane) as
grasshoppers in Wisconsin. But they get special mention here because I had
seen them in Ghanzi before and, without the surrounding of the CKGR, they
seemed out of place and, more so, strikingly like small medieval knights in
colorful armor. You half expect them to wield a small shield and sword, or
to use their long antennae as such, fencing with each other. We had a
mascot corn cricket who rode most of the way on the hood of the car, hanging
on desperately to the waving antenna of the car, or seated more comfortably
on one of the windshield wipers. They look like a large cricket, but with
iridescent green, yellow, purple, and sometimes red shell. I am more fond
of them than our own crickets and grasshoppers back home because they lack
the annoying habit that my native bugs have of flying or jumping into you as
you walk. Perhaps they are held down by the weight of their armor.

The Sky – There was a moon so the view of the stars wasn’t as magnificent as
I have had the privilege of seeing in Kole (I swear, I have discovered new
galaxies here). But a moon meant one could walk to the lou (toilet) and
look out for snakes without a torch (flashlight) and also, one could look at
the herds of grazing antelope and wildebeest even at night which were our
company on the tau pan where we camped.

Wildebeests – There are black wildebeests and blue wildebeests. We saw the
latter, although they looked grey to me. They are decidedly not beautiful,
but I have been cured of my silly notion (from cartoons and Discovery
Channel shows where they are always portrayed as bumbling fools, being
caught by the crocodile or lion at the drinking pool) that they are not
magnificent creatures. They are. They have personality, too. In the
morning, the sun rose over the pan and we had our own nature show of the
wildebeests, especially the young ones, playing tag. They would kick up
their heels and run like crazy away from the herd, a few others would
follow, then they would all turn and run in a circle, kicking up their
heels, tails up, heads down, pawing the ground until an elder came and
rounded them up. But the game would soon start again and the resulting dust
was silhouetted against the sunrise. There was one crusty old man
wildebeest at a camp site where we stopped to have “tea” on Saturday morning
after a few hours of driving. He was not phased by us and refused to get
out of the road. Gil’s narration for him was, “I was here first and I will
be buggered if I am going any where. You folks can go around.” So, we did.

Speaking of which, the animals being there first and us folks barging in, I
mean, I cringe as I write to realize how many of the beautiful things we saw
were running from us. There was a tragic event of a kori buster chick being
killed by the trailer that was carrying the sleeping bags and tents which
would allow us to sleep comfortably and enjoy the serenity of the pristine
landscape. Pristine, that is, except for us. John John was driving the
truck when that happened and he got out and asked us with a strain in his
voice if the chick got away. Natalie and I were seated up on the bench
safari seat. We hadn’t seen it. Gil stopped behind us and picked it up and
tossed it into the bushes. “Sorry, Rra.” John John said. (He is a native
Setswana/Afrikans/English speaker). I thought he was apologizing to Gil who
responded, “Someone will benefit from that, JJ (meaning the body of the
chick). No one does something like that on purpose.” But John John
repeated, “Sorry, Rra.” And I realized he was talking to God. God is known
as Modimo (God), Kgosi (chief), Rre (Father), Morena (Lord), and Rra (Sir).
Later that night, around the campfire, he admitted he was still feeling
badly about the chick. “It’s human interference,” he said, “We make the
road, the bird travels in the road because it’s easier, then we come along
and kill her chick.” I was touched by his empathy for the mother who lost
her baby, as Natalie put it when we saw her fly away. We sat around the
camp fire late, drinking tea, and discussing our place as humans and the
juxtaposition that people who knew to appreciate places like the CKGR
experienced as we also were the ones who might make a gemsbok expose itself
to danger as it abandons its herd in a panicked attempt to run from the
vehicle, or the tortoises and snakes that use the clear path of the road as
well, not to mention the fuel we burned in order to traverse the landscape.

I forgot the Mozambiquen Spitting Cobra – It was about 2.5 meters long,
black, stretching across the width of the road as it zipped one way and then
the other, in an attempt to get back to its burrow, Gil said. That sighting
started a long story-telling venture about snakes, the most memorable of
which is the black mamba that Gil and his wife discovered in their house
around Christmas time this year. It was 12 feet long and as thick as Gil’s
arm (which isn’t that thick, granted, he is a small man, but still!) Mambas
are deadly, as in, there is no chance of survival if it gets a good bite. They
can stand up 2/3rds of their length. The cats alerted them to the snake’s
presence. They skirted an area in front of their bedroom door and hopped
over the bedroom entrance nervously for a few days. Then Gil found a pile
of snake poop in his shoe. He shone a flashlight into the dark corner,
behind a stack of old camping chairs and planks against the wall. There it
was. Dark grey, long smiling mamba mouth. He got a gun, pulled down the
chairs and planks and stood back. It stood up, taller than him at 2/3rds of
its length, weaving gently and hissing. He shot it five times. The
pictures his wife showed me made me shudder, not because of the brutal death
of the snake, but rather the fright of knowing that kind of snake lives in
the Kalahari with me. I am glad I have Lefifi. He will let me know if
anything tries to move in with me. My empathy for that creature is somehow
not remotely the same as for the kori chick.

Kori buster – It is protected. It is the heaviest flying bird, and it is
visibly difficult for it to get off the ground. Its wings pump, pump, pump
and then it is slightly airborne and then it flaps upward and swerves away.
They are big, taller then jackals moving through the short grass of a pan,
resembling a crane. They have tufted ears like a Great Horned Owl, light
brown in color.

Preparing for the trip and the food preparation and the sleeping
arrangements reminded me of a Boundary Waters trip. It was strangely
nostalgic to go to this completely new place. On the other hand, we had to
carry in all of our water and there were certainly no lakes to go for a
morning swim, with freezing water or otherwise. Our guides were impressed
with the group’s water usage. (Most of us are used to bucket baths). The
camp sites in the CKGR are outfitted with a pit latrine with a real toilet
seat (which is unusual outside of the CKGR, there seems to be a black market
for toilet seats and they mysteriously disappear from all other public
places). A slab of cement is poured around the toilet and a wooden
structure built in a little maze around it, so there is comfort and privacy.
Nearby, there is an ingenuis structure, the same round wooden structure
provides privacy, but there is an extra wooden beam across the top from
which hangs a metal 3 – gallon bucket (like one of our sap buckets). It has
a watering can head attached to the bottom. There is a wheel that opens and
closes the water flow. You can have a hot shower, with water heated over
the campfire, carried over in a bucket, poured into the shower bucket
(lowered by a simple pulley system), and voila! I think we should consider
this set up on the next Boundary Waters trip. Someone work on the watering
can head at the bottom of a bucket. Brilliant, I tell you. And we all used
less than 3 liters each to take a shower.

Still reading? Impressive. I am back in Kole now, typing on my laptop on
my table at home (for the first time). I have stretched a cable to my
neighbor’s house and am borrowing electricity from his house. Mr. Pikane,
the same neighbor who brought me goat manure for my garden, is one of the
many people who are making my Peace Corps experience downright luxurious. I
will run one light bulb off of this one plug, along with the computer and
printer. The most exciting part is being able to play music. I danced to
salsa music last night while doing dishes, preparing my bath, and putting
away camping supplies.

Love and miss you,

Leah