Real Africa, a term used frequently by South African overland guides that venture away from the comfort of Gauteng's shopping malls and fast internet, is often described as beginning in the far north of Botswana. Snaking up the somewhat paved road in the extreme east of the country, within sight of the Zimbabwean town of Selebi-Phikwe ("Peekway") and passing through the open prison farmland around the village of Pandamatenga, one hits the much-disputed border of the Zambezi River.
Along most of its length this river is far less dramatic than story books and comics from the 1950's would have you believe, but the history it tells and the wildlife that live along its banks not so. Not so either the raging torrent that is Victoria Falls - Mosi-oa-Tunya to use it's official name - truly one of the greatest spectacles of nature on the entire continent, and a feature midway along the waterway as a focal hub to the burgeoning tourist industry that is uplifting Real Africa.
We arrived on the banks of No Man's Land, an ownerless stretch of river bordered by four countries; viewed from Botswana one sees Zimbabwe to the east, Zambia straight ahead and to the west the volatile Caprivi Strip and Namibia's area of tropical wetland. A heavily overladen rusting ferry arrived and began offloading and reloading at the same time.
Squashed in and pressed up against scores of young women with their young children wrapped against their backs in the traditional way, we limped across to the Zambian riverbank checkpoint of Kazungula. Offloading onto the opposite side the situation is decidedly more chaotic as truck drivers jostle for days to have their permits checked and any old tin shack will inexplicably sell ice cold coke and an assortment of deep fried produce.
Our guide, Wim, took our passports and a wad of South African Rand and braved the crowded scene, emerging 20 minutes later with a full set of stamps no questions asked. We learned upon entering the country that we had arrived at a very inopportune time: the president Levy Mwanawasa had died in office that morning, but I got the distinct impression the chaos of the border towns was independent of whatever political upheaval was coming.
Despite this we continued on, making our way in a clapped-out double decker bus along the mopane highway to the village of Simongo, just outside the regional capital of Livingstone on the edge of the then Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park. Since that time this whole area, along with the reserves of Northern Botswana, the Okavango Delta, Angola's Longa-Mavinga National Park and a good portion of the Caprivi Strip have been turned into the gigantic Kavango-Zambezi Transfrontier Park - one of Southern Africa's audacious multinational protected areas.
An obligatory stop in at the falls - captivating no matter your travel experience - and we walked a circuit around the Zambian side of the park. The water was at winter low levels but the falls were dramatic all the same. Iridescent rainbows cast off every bit of dropping water in the sharp African sun. After marveling at the Zimbabwean side of the falls (significantly more impressive than their Zambian counterpart in my opinion), we realised we hadn't eaten for over a day. This meant stopping at the end for an ominously named Meat Pie at a local shack.
We never did find out what kind of meat was in them (probably goat) but the prevalence of Chacma baboons making a nuisance of themselves stealing cameras and water bottles around the park, along with the volatility of the ensuing gastrointestinal distress, certainly made one wonder about the ingredients. After a drawn-out bartering session in a claustrophobic tent trying to purchase a particularly delightful painted hanging, and a fistful of various African currencies and suncream later, we made our way to our campground for the night on the banks of the Zambezi.
It was on the drive back that evening that we caught sight of the first elephants. Driving along the perilous, potholed highway out of Livingstone and dodging several historic car accidents on the way, we crossed a short iron-girdered bridge alongside the river. Between the pulses of strobing orange sun I caught sight of two immense grey lumps splashing in the river - African Bush Elephants wading purposefully across, barely up to their knees, flinging water at each other like unleashed children.
They moved slowly and we had ample time to signal the driver to pull over, while I crouched in the foliage at the side of the road trying to get my angle. The flow of biting ticks is relentless in the tropical wetland evening so I had to dance around continuously swatting my ankles and shoes - tick bite fever is no laughing matter.
As they neared the banks and began ripping thick branches like grass from the trees to beat each other with, I realised the elephants were framed in front of the doomed water at the top of the falls - perhaps the most African picture I could have taken out here. In good time they did that thing that always amazes me with elephants given their size; they disappeared, silently and tracelessly, into the bushes. A moment of brilliance - we were looking forward to more in the coming days.
Even in winter, Zambian nights are an unpleasant experience - especially in a sweaty pop-up tent. The humidity, bugs and wild noises preclude any real sleep, but what half-rest there is can be hauntingly weird. Antimalarial medications for the uninitiated traveller can trigger truly obscure dreams, to the point where some abandon their prophylaxis. Not an option here where falciparal malaria rates are high, but tempting nonetheless.
The next morning we woke up early, had the obligatory rusk and coffee breakfast beloved of safari adventurers, and, stopping to admire the cartoonish spectacle of a vervet monkey picking a banana out of a rubbish bin, made our way down the highway again to a river launch at the village edge. We had arranged to hire some kayaks to do something cliched I had always wanted to do: paddle on the Zambezi.
Suited up in paddle vests, our guide unveiled a pair of canvas inflatable canoes, not something I had seen before. A comical vision of crocodile and hippo teeth puncturing the flimsy fabric played in my head, but in truth they were very sturdy and well suited to the task at hand. No sooner had we launched than we saw said crocodiles and hippos, both as grumpy as you might imagine, but a healthy distance away and the kinetic pull of the river so close to the falls pulled us away from them in good time.
Dodging the sand banks of the various islands dotting the river, we paused briefly for a rest on a beach that the guide informed us was actually in Zimbabwe - the Hwange National Park to be precise. Celebrating this small success, we boarded the canoes again. No sooner had we left than a herd of elephants, distinct from the pair we had seen the night before, wandered through the bushveld to the river bank. We were awestruck - and downwind in the breeze you could smell the dried mud on their skin.
Half the herd turned back and sneaked off into the mopane forest, the others took a giant stretch forward and entered the river. To see such a large animal treat this infamous raging waterway as if a puddle makes you realise just how big elephants are. The half herd crossed without a care in the world and, pausing to smash up an assortment of trees and branches in the shallows back on the Zambian side, again disappeared into the trees.
We caught up with the largest female from this group later that afternoon in the delightfully charming Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park as she squared off against group of safari tourists in a landcruiser that had decided to get just a little too close to investigate. Every year somewhere in Sub-Saharan Africa elephants turn over the vehicle of overzealous tourists and kill the occupants. Seeing people misreading their situation like this time and again is frustrating, but this group escaped unscathed - hopefully learning their lesson.
Days later, and further up the Zambezi's tributaries, we entered the confusing and disputed geography of the Caprivi Strip, at the time carving up the boundaries of Angola, Zambia, Botswana and Namibia in a wholly unsatisfactory fashion. The new cooperative Kavango-Zambezi park has gone a long way to resolving much of the historic conflict, and the many lodges and waterway travel opportunities have cemented a more even distribution of tourist dollars across the region.
An evening jaunt on the Chobe River portion of this region outside Kasane found us on a flatbed aluminium skiff not a million miles from the noisier American airboats of the Florida swamps. The orange light casting over the multitude of wetland tributaries, we edged our way around the shallow waterways admiring the plethora of birdlife and antelope unique to this region.
Brought in among the spiked reedbeds, where black herons cover their faces in a bizarre display and hippos wallow and shove each other angrily in the muddy waters, a particularly gargantuan bull elephant began hurling water across himself and others as he yanked huge piles of grass from the river bank. A half-hearted stand off like a drunk coming out of the pub had us worried for a moment, before his better half pulled him away to the rest of the family.
That was the moment we realised how big the family was. In groups of four and five they noiselessly crept out from the trees heading down to the water's edge for the evening drink. The zebras, lechwe and buffalo gave them a wide berth but we stayed to watch the incredible spectacle of thirty or so elephants of varying sizes - from weeks old offspring to sage and ancient matriarchs - coming down and into the shallows to quench their considerable thirst.
Such times of plenty aren't always guaranteed out here, where climate change has played havoc with the previously reliable rainy seasons, but watching these not-so-gentle giants frolic and play as they enjoyed the sunset with the rest of us was a genuine treat befitting the better-than-fiction landscape of this part of Africa.
A final glance back as we moved away to see the elephants doing the same garnered a rather unusual sight as they kicked up the dust on the river bank; a particularly creative individual had painted a map of Africa on its side in water. Magical. We slipped back along the river to yet another gorgeous spectacle of dying light, hoping that not too many crocodiles had taken up residence around our tents as Wim feared.
The tranquility of the Chobe river is an enticing prelude to the majesty of the colossal Okavango Delta wetland reserve just south of the strip. I'll talk about that another day, but it's worth noting that the elephants of this region are highly mobile and travel widely. The Caprivi is bordered north and south by the Zambezi and the Chobe rivers respectively, but the elephants will range across the whole wetland region, disrespecting the terse border politics as a matter of principle.
The Zambezi's new transfrontier park was designed with elephants in mind, the archetypal - and, from a safari planner's perspective, highly marketable - resident animal that will draw photographers and nature lovers from the world over. There are many other less obvious animals that need this access to international borders.
Less than three hundred miles separate the Zambezi from the Zambian border with the Congo. Up there, where the Real Africa people imagine really begins, conservation successes are few and far between. The difference in wildlife management between these two boundaries could not be sharper - Kavango-Zambezi's vision is one that needs exporting further north at all costs if Africa is to keep a handle on its iconic giant mammals.
All photography © Chris Milligan Photo. All views are my own. Seek local recommendations before photographing or approaching any wildlife.
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