AFTER acquiring a new radiator cap and filling up with petrol, we moved on to Serondella campsite and pitched our tent near the ablution block.
It seemed a good idea at the time, not to have too far to walk if taken short in the night and it probably would have been a good idea, had the camp had only its normal complement of visitors.
All was well until a party of 22 students, under the auspices of the Department of Wildlife Education, pitched camp next to us.
This was just too much for the plumbing and I took to carrying an adjustable spanner with me every time I visited the women’s toilets, as there was sure to be something in need of repair.
Most of the students came from the south of Botswana and many had never visited a game reserve before. It seemed odd for us to be telling them about their own country, but I suppose the average Londoner could learn a lot about Scotland by talking to an American tourist.
We spent one very pleasant evening with the students, when the department provided them with a generator, a 16mm projector, a portable screen and some excellent wildlife films. I can certainly recommend sitting out under the stars, beer in hand, as one of the best ways to watch movies.
On the whole, the Chobe River area was a bit disappointing. Not that a first-time visitor would have complained, but we had seen the area in flood conditions, when the elephant could only be estimated to the nearest thousand. Though we saw all sorts of species of animal on this trip, we missed the big herds.
I suppose there might be a touch of masochism in our liking for big herds, but there is something irresistible about picking your way into the sunset through a mass of elephants.
And the self-congratulation afterwards, when you are safely back in camp without having faced a charge, is slightly marred by the feeling that you might have missed some excitement. We have experienced enough mock charges that I have steeled myself to panic at only half of them, but we did once have a real one. It was frightening.
From Chobe we crossed the border into Zimbabwe and headed for Victoria Falls. Having cut short our stays in both Moremi and Chobe, we were now running four days ahead of schedule and were not expected in Bulawayo until the following week. What to do with the extra four days was a question which could not be answered without first assessing what we could afford to do.
There being no such thing as a travellers’ cheque in Botswana currency and the bank having been short of large denomination money at the time of our departure, we had come away with a biscuit tin full of one-pula notes, stashed away in the toolbox.
I had dipped into it whenever something had to be paid for, but I had long since lost track of how much we had left.
At Victoria Falls, I hauled it out and counted it. Then I poured myself a drink and counted it again. Then I gave it to Corrie to count. The situation was unprecedented. We were nearing the end of our holiday and we still had some money to count. In a fit of nostalgia, we decided to revisit the Wankie Game Reserve, where we had spent part of our honeymoon.
It was not until we got our films back from processing that we realised just how much footage we had taken. It was going to take a long time to edit 27 reels and we had to resign ourselves to the fact that it could be as much as a year before ‘In Search of the Hippocrocoduck’ was finished.
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