Sir David Attenburgh
I'd had three fantastic nights. New experiences. Lots to think about.
The night spent with the Tswana was simply unique. Something I never
imagined I'd ever do. Really great.
Then there had been the two Johns, the Englishman and the Afrikkaner,
John and Johan. Staying with John had really made me think, I believe
I'd learnt a lot about myself staying with him. I'd come close to
curing my chronic wanderlust, but then right on the heels of this
experience I'd met Johan. As we'd sat on his veranda recounting our
tales of adventure I knew I'd always want to see more of the world.
Don't get me wrong, I wasn't totally back to square one. I knew I
could settle down, buy a house, start growing some vegetables, but
that didn't mean I had to stay at home for the rest of my life, living
off past glories. Strange that I should meet someone like him at the
dusk of the same day of those dawn revelations. Almost like I was
being shown the different paths my life could take. Perhaps Rakops had
made me turn too far towards one of these and Johan had been there to
guide me back to chosing my own path. I half expected to meet the
third ghost later that day!
Meanwhile in the real world, outside my mind, the desert continued
slowly passing by, but not for much longer. The eastern shores of the
Kalahari were within reach and like a ship's look out at sea noticing
new seabirds or a stationary cloud on the horizon and knowing these
indicate nearby land, I too began to see changes showing the edge of
the desert was not far off. These were more subtle and gradual than
the ubrupt, almost unnatural way the Okavango had seemed to suddenly
bob to the surface five days before.
The first of my albatrosses were butterflies, not many at first.
Perhaps one or two an hour. Often small brown and orange ones,
occasional slightly larger white ones and sometimes I spotted a bigger
mostly black species with red tips to it's wings. Unlike the other two
which constantly fluttered their wings this one would sometimes glide
in front of me for a few seconds, wings out stretched. I'd first
started noticing them on the road to Lelhakane but as I continued on
these little insects bearing news of life to the east slowly began to
visit with ever increasing frequency. Butterflies mean flowers and
these also soon began to make themselves known, hot on the heels of
the winged messengers.
Today I hoped to reach the home of the Khama Rhinos. The Khamas are
the dominant and current ruling political dynasty of Botswana. Ruth
Khama was the wife of the first Khama. She was actually English, but
moved to live abroad after marriage. I don't know the exact details,
she ended up setting up a sanctuary for Rhinos along the road I would
be travelling today. Apparently there were initially only a handful of
animals, but they have since bred rather well and are now more
numerous. On the subject of the Botswanan political elite and wildlife
conservation, I should mention the reason I was given at one point for
the rich abundance of this country's animal life. Apparently following
independence it was not only Ruth Khama, but her husband, the
president, who was keen on the natural world and intent on saving the
large mammals from the scourge of poaching, which was rife at the
time. As a result the national parks were (and I believe still are)
under the juristiction of the military. This proved very effective as
on more than a few occassions poaching camps found themselves on the
wrong side of helicopter gunship exercises. Want to shot an
Elephant?... don't go to Botswana.
After another long hot day in the saddle, once again in the flat
mopane, though now with the wonderful distraction of slowly increasing
life all around, I arrived at the Rhinos. The place is effectively a
small game park and as such no cycling allowed (the Namib-Nankluft
park was the only park I'd be permitted to ride unescorted through).
Looking at the deep sandy tracks I was more than happy to hoist the
powerful one up into the back of a safari truck to head off to the
campsite. Sadly I'd not have time to go on a proper drive through the
park, but i'd hoped there was a chance I'd spot a Rhino on the way to
the camp. Sadly this didn't occur, but perhaps this was for the best
since halfway along our route we passed a memorial to a German who got
to close to a charging Rhino. If you believe Roald Dhal given half a
chance they will eat you whole!
Having been told it was necessary to take all these precautions for my
safety I was then left alone at the campsite, which I soon discovered
had no fence around it. Not to worry I'd been riding through the bush
for two and a half weeks and now had little belief that anything
really wanted to do me any harm. The campsite itself was really nice.
I put up the tent and made my bed bfore showering and tucking into a
cool beer I'd bought at the gate. I'd arranged to be picked up and
taken to their restaurant beside a waterholes of a sunset dinner and
was soon sat with a large steak watching a herd of bushbuck drinking a
few metres away. Nice spot. This was Finally beginning to turn into
something resembling a holiday
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