After the night in the 'back yard' of the Sedia Hotel, we set off early in a couple of mini buses to go on our Delta excursion.
Driving through the dry dry bush around Maun, the scenery was a continuation of the arid Kalahari desert we had been driving through all the previous day. Sand and dust and dry brush, salt lakes that stretch into the shimmering, mesmerising mirage horizon, here and there a splash of washed out colour of a tree in its spring bloom, the pale pink or purple or yellow flowers seeming to have lost their colour in the harsh sun beating down from a relentlessly blue sky, before they even burst into life. After a short while of skidding and skimming through the deep sand track, the bush grew denser and suddenly there were signs of habitation – a scattering of grass huts and one-man and two-man tents in an assortment of sizes and colours. My first thought was that these were squatter camps – informal settlements, and the tents an innovative and clever alternative to pvc and corrugated iron. As it turned out however, these were the present-day housing construction choices for the people who cater for the important source of income for Botswana: the tourists who flock from all over the world to come see this amazingly unique phenomenon – the Okavango Delta. In this makeshift but practical village live a few hundred men and women who wait every day for the bus loads of people to arrive whom they then transport into the delta to go enjoy a few hours or a few days of absolute bliss and wonder.
Suddenly the trees got bigger, the leaves greener and next we came round a bend to be confronted with a breathtaking scene: There, in front of us, was the edge of a massive body of water. How to describe this first view of the Delta? How can one even begin to imagine that you can stand with your feet firmly planted in the soft sand of a desert, but one step forward and you step into another world altogether – the cool, clear water that stretches for thousands and thousands of square metres? You sit down and lean back in the comfort of the cushioned makoro – the beautiful dug-out canoes made from an ancient Sausage Tree. Either a man or a woman stands at the back end of the boat and with a long pole rhythmically pushes down into the bottom of the water, the boat is pushed forward and glides over the water.
Green reeds and water lilies – exquisite wax-like flowers in pink and yellow and delicate purple, large round leaves that look like fine lace doilies in greens and deep red, butterflies and dragon flies with their gossamer wings glistening in the sunlight, giant trees in the distance on islands that seem to float on the water, a glimpse of an elephant moving graciously away from the sound of human voices, a white egret taking off from amongst the reeds, a giant grey heron standing poised over the fish he is about to catch, in the distance the deep rumbling laugh of the hippo, the call of a fish eagle, and all the time, the whoosh-whoosh as the makoro is pushed through the clear water and the reeds. It is hard not to fall asleep – everything about this experience is so calming and soothing that your eyes want to close and you feel like you can drift into a deep sleep. But I force myself to stay awake so I would not miss a single moment of this experience – a definite highlight of my African journey – most certainly a very Red Button Moment all round!
It is almost two hours before we come to a stop. All of a sudden there is an opening in the reeds and from different directions all the other makoros and people arrive – the voices of the polers bursting into a cacophony of sound all around us as they greet each other and, no doubt, compare their passengers, agree on who would 'park' where and laughing in anticipation of our stay on this island they had decided on.
Our tents and sleeping gear, our backpacks and food and water and cooking utensils were quickly unloaded from the boats and in no time we had our tents pitched under a big old sausage tree on the edge of the water, the wood fire was blazing and two battered and blackened old kettles were singing away amongst the flames. All the polers as well as the guides pitched their own tents as well – again in bright greens and pinks and oranges and blues – creating a festive atmosphere in the camp. No sooner had we settled down, when the female polers spread out their brightly coloured cloths on the ground in front of their tents and started weaving their intricately designed baskets and jewellery – until two days later, when we left the camp, they had a large display of impressive pieces for us to choose from; baskets with lids and handles, bowls – large and small, bangles, rings, and mats, all woven from strips of dried palm fronds and dyed in colours obtained from local roots, leaves, bark and even the beautiful purple of the purple water lilies.
While we were here in this camp on one of the thousands of small islands in the Delta, we rowed to another little island where we could swim in deep pools amongst the reeds – someone watching all the time to make sure we were not surprised by a hippo or a croc or an elephant, we rowed to a larger island and went on a walk through the bush to see elephants, zebra, steenbuck, the tracks of leopard, porcupines, the many many aardvark in this area, buffalo and the ever-present hippos, as well as an array of beautiful birds – jacana, (and I remembered Joans magnificent photographs of the Jacana nest and babies in the reeds...) Egyptian geese, heron, storks – spoonbilled, openbilled, maribou, orange billed, saddle billed, plovers, egrets, cormorants and – my favourite fish eagle. We learned about the plants and the trees and the many different uses of everything that grows here – fascinating information provided by the very knowledgeable guides provided for us.
On the last day we set off in our mokoros and were taken to an area where we could observe a large pod of hippos from a 'safe' distance – generally just marvelling at the stunning beauty of the water around us, the bush and the trees, the elephants coming down to the water, the sun's glowing red orb hanging suspended in the branches before sinking into the water and leaving a warm glow around us.
And it was here, in this most idyllic setting, that Orm asked Emy to marry him! Great joy! Many tears of happiness. Much laughter and celebration. --- And I even placed two of my red buttons in front of their tent upon our return : I believe if this was not a Red Button Moment, then whatever is?
But, coming back after three days and two blissful nights in the amazing Okovango Delta, the Botswana experience was not yet done: Most of us splashed out and booked a flight over the Delta – an experience that was worth every penny.
Maun Airport is one of those places that you read about – rows and rows and rows of light aircraft – mostly Cessna's, all looking a little worse for wear, standing at the ready for the Tourist who wants the Ultimate African Experience; bush pilots – that rare breed of rugged, rough and random men and women who have, for some romantic or mysterious or sad reason ended up here, in the back of beyond, to fly their machines laden with thrill seekers and adventurers, skimming the African landscape at a height of 500 feet, scanning the distance with experienced eyes to find the herds of buffalo, the elegant giraffes, the roaming families of elephants, the hippos lazing in the pools of reflecting water. I would have loved to have had time to spend with these bush pilots – to hear their stories, to ask them what had brought them here, what was their story. But I know these would not be stories that would come out in an interview or even a casual conversation; these were stories that would take time and patience and many hours, days, weeks of sitting quietly and waiting... waiting for the right moment when the story behind those piercing eyes, that enigmatic smile, that rugged and lined and furrowed face would slowly emerge and be shared. If ever, if at all...
And then, Chobe. Another wonder. Another bit of African magic. Another moment of sheer beauty, sheer joy – and another Red Button.
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