SLEEPING WITH HYENAS The mighty Victoria Falls may be ’s most iconic treasure, but other mesmerizing landscapes are found far beyond the falls. Audrey N. Carpio heads to where the wild things are.

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Nothing between you and a hungry jackal but a mosquito net on a night out under the stars.

The first night you spend in the African bushwill be relent- lessly noisy, and you will half-dream that the animals are right outside your hut, hippos hustling up the riverbank, lions breath- ing on your windows and elephants shitting in your courtyard. They may have actually passed through during the night; more likely they were safely in the distance, their communiques trav- eling over the plains and amplified in your sleep. Over the next few nights these are the noises that will lull you to bed, and the deep bassoon of the hipporchestra, the bronchiatic purrs of the big cats skanking in the tall grass, and the hoots of the great el- ephants as they tramp through the brush pard, buffalo, elephant; the rhino is now found only in Chinese medicine) in one will be exactly what you’ll miss when you trip but saw nothing but antelope, while get back to the beeps and whirrs of your others were blessed with show after daz- zling show. The bush is not a zoo, and tra- electronic city life. ditional tracking techniques—which rely It was my first time in Africa, the mother we share, and it was my first time on safa- on the senses, reading footprints and yes, ri. I soon learned, after cramming in guidebooks and related literature pre-departure, handling poop—have thankfully not been that “safari” is the Swahili word for a long journey and has nothing intrinsically to do replaced by GPS or drones. I came with- with viewing or hunting game, except that if you did traverse Africa by foot or by ferry, out any preconceptions except knowing bus or buffalo cart, you’re bound to come across a herd of animals mid-migration, wit- that the camps I would be staying in, or- ness the grand jetés of panicked impalas, and the mid-air explosion of birds as they leave ganized by A to A Safaris, were first-rate. I a threatened perch. also wanted to see a leopard up a tree. Zambia, in the safari industry, is touted as wilder and rawer than other African na- At Chongwe River Camp, an enviro- tions, with fewer tourists and lodges encroaching on the national parks. It is also one of chic lodge set along the confluence of the the most politically stable—with despot-led , war-devastated DR Congo and Zambezi and its tributary, the Chongwe, I the extremely impoverished as neighbors, Zambia hardly makes the headlines. was given the honeymoon suite, a tented I was to begin my safari in the Lower Zambezi, where I arrived via single-prop Cess- octagonal room with its own private din- na, the smallest aircraft I’ve ever been on and one of the bumpiest rides, coasting across ing area, plunge pool and butler. As a solo, plains and mountains and along the mighty Zambezi, the fourth largest river in Africa. definitely non-honeymooning traveler, I We landed safely, as promised by my pilot Peter, on a 2-km airstrip in the middle of a red had no need for a butler, but the very con- patch Brazilianed into the bushy wilderness of the lower Zambezi valley. “This is the genial staff refused to let me lift a finger. real Africa,” echoed in my head, a phrase that had been fomenting my anticipation, and I “You are on holiday, relax!” They would wondered what that meant and whether I was going to find out. say as I tried to get my own cup of coffee, or paddle the canoe. I was accustomed to The River Wild: Lower Zambezi a level of self-service when traveling, so The drive from the airstrip to my first accommodation, the Chongwe River Camp, was the concept of just sitting back was novel. an abbreviated version of the game drives that would follow—sandy ochre roads flanked Eventually I did relax into this colonial- by scraggly winterthorn, shady acacias and fruit-heavy fig, myself and a guide or two reminiscent style of hospitality and accept busting dust on an elevated Land Rover or Land Cruiser. The guide would point out the a week’s worth of luxury glamping, six- various fauna lurking in the grass, he would stop the car, I would take some photos. This meals-a-day and all. was the rhythm of the safari drive, and sometimes you could drive for miles without In the mornings, breakfast would be spotting anything. Guests have come on safari expecting to nail the Big Four (lion, leo- campfire-cooked with chairs arranged in

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for the UN, in and out of the worst conflict zones and areas of hu- The main purpose of my new job was to organize a system to con- manitarian disasters. “I didn’t think I could change anything, but trol these marauding elephants in the Eastern Province of North- I wanted to help,” he said of his former job. He left because things ern (now Zambia)…The technique is to track down were getting too harrowing for his soul to bear, though I won- raiders as soon as possible after they have fed in the gardens and dered if jetting rich vacationers around on private aircraft was to shoot one or two from the group. This will deter the remainder any better for it. Is that real Africa, where people are dying from from returning and drive them off to a more remote part of the AIDS, genocide, famine, where people constantly depended on range. (The White Impala: The Story of a Game Ranger, 1969) aid and charity and intervention, where slum-like cities were rife with crime and desperation? Or was the real Africa this pristine The reality however was that hunters with permits would in- patch of woodland, unravaged by human greed and tribal war- variably shoot the biggest bulls, regardless of whether they were fare? I don’t think a single visit could answer that question. actually seen pilfering vegetables from the village patch. Accord- Elephants were said to wander in and out while guests were ing to the guides, the reason why the elephants we see now are having their meals, although I never had the pleasure of meeting small to medium-sized at best are because the great ones had one. Boet becomes impassioned when talking about the gray gi- been unnaturally selected out as prize game. Culling and poach- ants, and misty-eyed when remembering Big Boy, one very spe- ing has, over the decades, decimated the elephant population cial elephant who frequented the camp and became good friends from 90,000 to 5,000. To this day, elephants are still considered with the Liebenbergs. He lived alongside them until the day he destructive pests by villagers. was gunned down by ivory poachers. Boet had arrived at the After service in the Second World War, Norman Carr came scene shortly after; there was a shootout. I asked if the killer was back to Zambia and introduced the practice we now call eco- caught. He looked at me and gravely replied, “I cannot answer tourism, where the locals are involved in managing the natural that question.” resources they traditionally own. He encouraged Chief Nsefu to The elephant’s life and times were documented in an award- portion off an area of tribal land as a game reserve. The people winning film by journalist Sharon Van Wyk, who happened to were able to make a living out of protecting, rather than killing, be sitting next to me at dinner. The incident sparked a pioneer- the animals that tourists pay to see. ing conservation project to protect the elephant population of In the decades since rifles have been replaced with unwieldy the Lower Zambezi National Park at a time when the ivory trade telephoto lens, Norman Carr Safaris established a number of still continues to bring in the filthy lucre. Zambian and Chinese camps across the Luangwa Valley. In recent years the company, diplomats, who are exempt from customs searches, are often in- with new partners and co-owners, took the experience of bush volved in high-level smuggling. I remembered the Filipino priest camping up several notches with the Chinzombo property, an who was featured in National Geographic for his large collection ultra-luxe safari lodge that Norman himself would never have of religious ivory, and the subsequent crushing-and-burning of imagined. But first, a stay at the Nsolo Bush Camp, which was sit- five tons of confiscated tusks by the Philippine government. In ed by Norman in 1987, making it one of the more historic camps this remote corner of the world, with home ten thousand kilome- in Zambia. ters away, our presence is still felt. The four spacious chalets at Nsolo were essentially nipa huts, Filipinos have actually touched the heart of Zambians in ways with raised legs, reed walls and a thatched roof, all run on so- LOWER we would never have fathomed. As I was taking photos of a ba- lar power. The bathroom was completely open to the air, which ZAMBEZI by elephant poking around the reedy riverbanks, Sam, my boat was glorious on a winter’s day but not so when you had to pee in An armed scout guide, said, “I love Filipino television shows! They have such the middle of the night; also you could shower halfway exposed leads a bush walk a semi-circle facing the river as the sun along the Chongwe long siesta during the hottest part of the day, and then high tea great stories and the actors, they are very very good.” I was al- to the dry Luwi riverbed. As this was one of the more remote pushed up slowly behind the escarpment, River. You can and snacks before the afternoon activity. As the sky started to most afraid to ask what his favorite telenovela was. It turned out camps in South Luangwa, there were no chances of acciden- and the submerged resident hippo pod never walk alone. glow amaranth and vermilion on the horizon, silhouetting um- to be The Promise, now long-defunct, and though Sam could only tal voyeurs unless you count a couple of leery hyenas, and you watched you suspiciously with their peri- brella thorn trees and ancient baobabs in African cinematic cli- remember the characters’ names, Yna and Angelo, let it be known should be so lucky. scope eyes. “More people in Africa are killed by hippos than any ches, we would stop for sundowners, or pre-pre-dinner cock- that Jericho Rosales and Kristine Hermosa would receive a he- Philemon was my guide at Nsolo, and like all the other guides other large animal,” my guide Joseph said, and went on to explain tails. The cooler was brought out, and canapes were laid on a ro’s welcome should they ever decide to safari in Africa. of Norman Carr Safaris he had a commanding knowledge of his that the herbivorean hippos are extremely territorial, and people makeshift picnic table at the front fender of the vehicle. I drank territory. Phil had a different take on things, however. He didn’t who get in their way, whether on land or in the river, will be made Mosi beer, the local Zambian brew, and counted myself incredi- Full Moon Safari: South Luangwa believe the elephant cull was necessary, and he would never call to face their four-ton aggressive force. Suddenly, they didn’t seem bly privileged to be surrounded by immense tracts of unspoiled, I left the Lower Zambezi by chartered plane and arrived in the them “destructive,” even as we were surveying an entire plain like awkward overgrown pigs anymore. prehistoric nature in all its raw beauty. It was June and as the sun Mfuwe airport on a small commercial flight filled with Ameri- whose mopane trees have been stripped, felled or munched to Guests would set off for their morning game drive (or bush quickly descended, the chill crept in. can tourists in Indiana Jones hats. Mfuwe is the gateway to the death by the roving beasts, or if the villagers complained about walk, fishing trip, boat cruise, village visit) by 6:30 in the morn- Dinner at camp was presided over by a white-haired white man South Luwangwa National Park, a 9,000-sq. km. wildlife sanctu- their crop loss. “Destructive is an attribute given by humans,” he ing. Joseph and I covered many miles together, and as we spotted who happened to be one of the founders of Chongwe River Camp. ary through which its lifeblood, the Luwangwa River, flows. This said. “If the elephants didn’t take down these trees, short shrubs civets, leopards, a lazy pride of lions, herons, jackals, zebras, buf- Boet Liebenberg discovered this lush site on a five-day canoe- was Norman Carr territory—he who pioneered the non-hunt- and grasses wouldn’t be able to grow, and these feed the ante- falo, baboons, and the much feared Nile crocodile, he would tell ing and camping trip down the Zambezi. Over the years, his son ing, walking, picture-taking-only safari experience when he es- lope and the zebra, the grazers and the browsers.” Phil was also a me folk superstitions about, for instance, the sausage tree (which Chris helped transform the makeshift campsite into the award- tablished Luangwa’s first safari camp in 1950. Norman was the big fan of the Small Five: the elephant shrew, the rhino beetle, the brings extreme bad luck if you witnessed a fruit fall), as well as winning luxury bush camp it is today. As campfire patriarch and archetypical safarier, a pipe-smoking, khaki-clad Briton who buffalo weaver bird, the leopard tortoise, and the antlion. These ranger jokes which I would hear repeated across other parks. witness to much of modern African history as nations shakily lived in colonial Africa and rescued orphaned lion cubs. As a pre- were creatures just as important to the ecosystem, visible only on “Do you know why waterbucks have that white ring on their be- transitioned to independence, Boet had some interesting tales, cocious boy, he longed to go on those epic hunting adventures, slow, quiet walks when you down-tuned your senses from the in- hind? Because when they were on Noah’s ark, they failed to read and recounted how an 85-employee company he owned in Luan- which was what real men did in those days, but he was sent off to finite to the infinitesimal. the “wet paint” sign on the toilet.” Or, “Impalas, see the black M shya was one day seized by armed men, putting him out of a job. school in England, instead. When he returned after a less-than- Though we were steeped in the wild, I really only had one on their rump? They’re the McDonald’s of the bush. Fast food.” Another guest, David, was a South African pilot who was flying stellar academic career, he picked up where he left off and was slightly dicey encounter with an animal. Most of the time, if you Near the end of drive, we’d stop for tea and biscuits, quiet- a New York-based family of four around Victoria Falls and parts soon appointed Elephant Control Officer on account of his expe- respect the animals, they will respect you. In South Luangwa, the ly taking in the view. Then it was back to the lodge for lunch, a of Zambia on a chartered plane. He had spent seven years flying rience subduing the blitzkrieging pachyderms. animals were less skittish as they’ve been habituated to the pa-

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rade of Land Rovers and flash photography, compared to the shy Clockwise from creatures of the less frequented Lower Zambezi. The elephants left: Nests of the buffalo weaver; however seemed a bit more on edge and were always giving us Chinzombo’s mod- ern-organic lounge side eyes. They probably remembered the history of violence area, a hippo skull, in their lineage. Once, as we came along some ellies crossing, a or what’s left of it; the riverside con- young bull faced us, made threatening noises and fanned out his versation pit at ears. A mock charge, which Phil responded to by gunning the en- Chinzombo. gine and inching forward, forcing the elephant to back away from our path, but also engaging it to really charge after us as soon as we sped away in dust. Interesting, global dinner conversation abounded each eve- ning. Kendall, a white Zimbabwean camp manager, recalled how in her country people used to steal wheelbarrows of cash— for the wheelbarrow, because the cash was worthless. Fee, an Irish woman on her honeymoon, had grown up in Zambia and described what it was like to be in Africa during the start of the rainy season, when the atmosphere is thick with anticipation for the coming storms. “It’s something you’ve got to experience,” she said to an enraptured audience, and I sang “I bless the rains down in Africaaa” to no one. There was an older Dutch couple who had had been stationed in Suriname where they slept outside in ham- mocks deep in the jungle. Now they preferred to shoot (photo- graphically) African birds. The late-30s German couple was a pair of attractive dentists who took their two-week vacations each year in a different part of the Dark Continent. I realized then that safari junkies existed. Chasing orangutan, buffalo and elusive tiny birds constituted a certain kind of thrill, and being in the bush was addicting. You can’t really say you’ve been to the bush without spending a night out in the wild open. For venturesome guests, Nsolo of- fers camp-outs where you forsake the comforts of the lodge for a simple bed roll and mosquito net plunked down in a distant loca- tion. My whole trip had been leading up to this moment, where, as a solo traveler, I would be truly exposed, alone, under the stars, against a backdrop of lion grumblings. Of course, I wasn’t real- ly alone, I had three African men with me: my guide Philemon, a cook, and an armed scout, who were there to make the whole experience as comfortable and safe as possible. After walking a couple hours to the site, a wide open spot on the sandy Luwi riv- erbed, we set up camp with the boxes of gear that were conve- niently pre-delivered for us. Three mosquito nets, a kitchen fire, a couple of safari chairs and several more lion-repelling fires surrounding our digs. Though I was prepared to squat behind a bush, I was blessed with an actual latrine complete with privacy screen and a shovel for easy sand-flushing. After dinner, which included a hefty serving of nshima, the Af- rican food staple made from corn flour (it tasted like mashed tor- tillas), we warmed ourselves around the ad hoc stove. “Our an- cestors used to tell fables around the campfire, Phil said. “Stories about lions and elephants, the animals of the savanna.” As fa- bles go, they were used to teach lessons to the children, to impart some moral truth about the world they lived in. These stories have stopped being told, because the concept of the family meal, gathering around the fire at the end of the day, has disappeared— now it’s every person for him and herself when it comes to meal procuring. It was a recurring theme in many of the guides’ an- ecdotes, how folk traditions and wisdom were losing their place among the current generation of tribal Zambians. The moon was fully engorged, and without a roof of any sort it was like trying to sleep with an interrogation light bulb right over my eyes. It was cold. All night the lions sounded closer than they really were, and I could also hear the three guys chattering in the

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INTO THE WILD

Clockwise from left: A herd of buf- falo before they caught scent of us downwind; the c R aw s h ay’s z e b r a , native to eastern Zambia; a family of Thornicroft’s gi- raffes; a delightful pair of warthogs.

The huts at Nsolo are the epitome of “barefoot luxury,” made of reeds and running on solar power.

Nyanja dialect as they wisely stayed up by the fire. When night Carr Safaris responsible for recent upgrades like Chinzombo. segued into morning, a hearty English breakfast was already on Theirry Dalais and family just seemed like really lovely and low- the grill. We broke camp and left nothing but our foot tracks, key people with a lot of exotic stories, like the time they went erasing over the traffic pattern of animal prints that were there, clubbing in Madagascar. I mean who does…? That night, I was al- and have always been there, before us. so hit by the loneliness of the solo traveler. People have been say- ing what a brave thing it was for me to do it all alone, particularly Beyond the Bush: Chinzombo the sleep out—not that I had a choice—but for me that wasn’t the During the tea break on the drive to my next and final lodge of most difficult thing. What really took an effort was the daily in- my weeklong safari, we heard a shot ring out in the wooded ar- teraction with total strangers, different each day. But in the end ea across a swamp. Phil immediately radioed the camps and de- I learned so much more from them, with no one familiar to fall livered news that a muzzleloader had gone off somewhere in the back on. Adventurous young people who take up unconventional Game Management area. A poacher? I inquired. Yes, he replied. jobs in places completely unlike the civilized nations where they An elephant? No, probably just an impala. Someone hunting for were born, older travelers who never lose their sense of curiosi- food. The McDonalds of the bush. ty, Zambian guides and white Africans, each with unique life sto- Chinzombo is the Norman Carr Safari group’s newest, and ries to tell: all of them were an important part of the safari, just as most elegant, baby. The old Chinzombo camp used to be Nor- much as the animals. man’s green season base, and a relatively basic one, back in the On the ride out to the airport, Charles, the driver and a guide- ‘70s. For its reincarnation, the elements of the bush camp were in-training, shared that he had lost a couple of chickens the night retained but refined: traditional thatching techniques are used before because some pillaging creature, most probably a leop- with modern yet sustainable materials; the tented bathrooms are ard, had snatched them from the coop. Hashtag bush problems. enormous, even the mosquito-net covered bed has a special eco- He asked me about my trip, and I said that the game gave a pretty air conditioner. The renowned South African architects, Silvio good viewing and I saw most of what I wanted to see, except for Rech and Lesley Carstens, didn’t want to detract from the beau- wild dogs, and a leopard in a tree. A few minutes later, having no- ty of the bush and so created a space that implied impermanence ticed some hyenas skulking under a tree, he stopped the vehicle and unobtrusiveness, but I could understand why some guests and passed me his binoculars. There was a leopard with his kill, Asia to Africa Safaris would opt to hang out around their private plunge pool and an impala, just hanging out on the lower boughs of an acacia. The A to A Safaris specializes in with leading luxury tent- Philippines office: watch baboons rutting by the riverbanks instead of going out for poor dead impala was draped over a branch while the leopard organizing high quality, tai- ed camps and safari lodges Unit 308, 3/F, Lapanday lor-made safaris to Africa, in the most pristine and un- Center, 2263 Pasong a drive. Plus, there was Wi-Fi. leisurely licked his chops. I could have stayed there all morning providing the best possible touched wilderness areas. Ta m o E x t e n s i o n , M a k at i C i t y, I was quite honored to have dinner with, though I didn’t com- watching how this slice-of-jungle-life played out, but the long safari experiences for cli- Philippines ents from Asia. They work http://www.atoasafaris.com/ Tel/Fax: +632 812 2728 pletely realize it at the time, the new business partner of Norman journey home called.

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