Ken Cross in Southern Africa: 28 October - Caprivi River Lodge [Namibia] to Livingstone, Zambia

My accommodation at the Caprivi River Lodge

Our second last night in Africa was spent at the Caprivi River Lodge, a well maintained garden filled with bungalows like the one above. looking over the Zambezi River into Zambia.

Our host was an elderly Irish lady whose accent, despite her 1975 arrival onto the dark continent, was still as strong as she left. Her name was [and is] Mary. There was just 'something about her'. It was a reference that she had not heard of. Her husband, a [white] native of Kenya was on safari in Malawi she explained. So it just her and her 'coloured staff'.

And a couple of her friends who she had over for a late friday night supper.

Mike and I had the opportunity to listen to some 'old school' perspectives.

I commented on one of the dining chairs, made of a very heavy dark timber and commented on its weight by saying, "these are too heavy to steal".

An immediate response from Mary's friend, "Nothing is too heavy to steal for these bastards. I just wish all of them would just die. And if that sounds racist so be it."

She then went on to list the value of the things she had had stolen as she dined on a meal cooked and prepared by black African women. On a table that had been laid and, no doubt, would be cleared by black African women. On plated that would be cleaned by black African Women. Surrounded by a garden that had been tended by black African men.

She had emigrated [proudly?] from South Africa.

Delightful. I was pleased only that she had saved her bile from the ears of our wonderful guide and driver, Elago.

In the morning we went birding in the gardens and not far outside. The Turacos remained invisible sadly however we did see some good birds. A few finches, Klaas's Cuckoo which was called in, our first Lizard Buzzards etc.

Blue Waxbill or Southern Cordon Bleu

Red billed Firefinch [our first]

Brown Firefinch

Lizard Buzzard

Klaas's Cuckoo

Yellow bellied Greenbul

Tawny Flanked Prinia

Black collared Barbets

Soon though we were on our way to a new nation, Zambia.

The bridge across the Zambezi River to Zambia

We had not long crossed the border when the road went horribly wrong and turned into a potholed hell. For hours we slowly bumped and swerved on 'the road to Livingstone' - a phrase that will forever bring an involuntary shudder to all that survived it.

We paid a price to avoid Zimbabwe...

The road trip was only broken by a picnic lunch held roadside; our leftovers being donated to a roadside family, living without electricity but much dust. The matriarch of the family thanked us for the food in english before hanging the bag without inspection to a pole form her hut.

Livingstone, the town you're presuming, was bi-passed, to visit another english name in Africa - Victoria. Victoria Falls is very much a noun. We knew were visiting in the dry and we were left to imagine what the falls would look, sound and feel like in the glory of the wet.