Resnick, Mike - Between the Sunlight and Thunder.pdf - Mike Resnick - przemosta

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between the sunlight and the thunder

express permission of the author.

Like all my safari diaries, this one appeared originally in the Hugo-winning fanzine Lan's

Lantern.

by Mike Resnick

August 28, 1990: Between the bright sunlight of East Africa's safari countries, and the ominous

thunder coming out of the Republic of South Africa, there exist four nations: Zimbabwe,

Mozambique, Malawi, and Botswana. We had originally hoped to visit all four on this extended

safari, but Mozambique is in the throes of a brutal civil war, so we confined ourselves to the

other

three countries, where I would be researching Purgatory and Ophir, a pair of novels I'll be

writing in

the next couple of years, and hopefully coming up with some more ideas. This was a unique safari

for

us, in that we did not arrange to go with a single guide, as we always do in Kenya, nor did we

care to

join a package tour. Instead, we made a list of all the locations we wanted to see in all three

countries, then hunted up a travel agency (we found it, finally, in York, England) that was able

arrange our itinerary. The first step, as always, was the 8-hour flight to London, during which

time I

did my best not to feel bitter over losing the Hugo after leading for the first five ballots. I

didn't quite

pull it off.

August 29, 1990: We landed at Gatwick at seven in the morning, took a bus to Heathrow after

clearing customs, and waited around the airport for almost 12 hours for our 10-hour flight to

Zimbabwe to take off. I love Africa; it's the process of getting there that I hate.

August 30, 1990: We landed in Harare (formerly Salisbury), the capital of Zimbabwe (formerly

Rhodesia), and dragged our exhausted (formerly energetic) bodies to Meikles Hotel, a large, luxury

hotel in the city center right across from Cecil Square. While Carol took a nap, I went out

walking,

and found that there is an enormous difference between Harare and its Kenyan counterpart, Nairobi.

One gets the feeling that if the tourist industry vanished, 98% of the people you see in Nairobi

would

find themselves out of work; whereas if it vanished from Harare, no one would know the difference.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that Harare is a working city, with very little to interest

the

casual tourist. In fact, we soon came to realize that Zimbabwe is a working country. President

Robert

Mugabe continually gives lip service to communism, but it's a capitalist country from top to

bottom...and unlike most African countries, it works. The roads are all paved, the electricity

works

around the clock, the water is safe to drink, there are schools every couple of miles throughout

the

countryside, poachers have made almost no inroads in most of the game parks, and unemployment

doesn't seem to be much of a problem. In fact, I would say that Zimbabwe is as well-developed, and

runs as smoothly, as most Eastern European nations. I realize that doesn't sound like much, but

when

you compare it to Kenya or Tanzania or Zambia, it's a quantum leap forward. I signed copies of

Ivory and Paradise in a local bookstore, then returned to Meikles and changed for dinner. We ate

the Bagatelle, a 5-star dining room in the hotel, where, in a delightful twist, the proprietors

were black

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and the piano player was white.

August 31: When I checked out in the morning, I presented Meikles with a paid voucher -- which

they refused to accept. Evidently they had been paid in Zimbabwean dollars, and because the

country is so starved for hard currency, they have a law stating that all foreign travelers must

pay in

their own currency. So I very begrudgingly paid for my room for a second time, and made a mental

note to bill the travel agency. We had decided to begin our safari in Botswana (formerly

Bechuanaland)...but, because we would be flying around the country in 5-seaters with severe weight

limitations, we first flew to the Victoria Falls Hotel, where we left some of our luggage. The

hotel

itself is an old colonial structure that reminded me of some of the better British hotels in the

Brighton

area. We had seen a sign in the Victoria Falls airport telling us that we must report at least an

hour

early for international flights or run the risk of having our seats sold. Our flight to Botswana

was due

to leave at 2:30 in the afternoon, and the bus from the hotel didn't leave until 1:30. A number of

people who were taking the flight panicked, and began offering up to $100 to anyone who would

drive them to the airport and get them there by 1:30. Since the flight is scheduled three times a

week,

we figured that the hotel hadn't received any complaints about it, and waited for the bus. It got

there at about 2:00, and the Botswana plane didn't show up for another two hours (par for the

course, the flight attendant later admitted.) The flight to Maun, Botswana took perhaps an hour,

and

shortly thereafter we were ensconced in Riley's Hotel, which has a long and colorful history from

colonial times, but has become a rather dull hostelry in the middle of a rather dull town.

September 1: When I stopped by the desk to hand in my voucher, they announced that they had no

record of a previous payment, and I would have to pay for the room. At this point I hit the roof,

FAXed the travel agency in York, and raised bloody hell. They assured me that we would have no

further problems with our vouchers, and they were right (which is not to say that we had no

further

problems in other areas.) We went to the airport -- Maun consists of nothing but the airport,

three

gift shops, a few houses, a few huts, and Riley's -- and took our chartered 5-seater to Jedibe

Island

Camp, in the heart of the Okavango Delta, where, after more than 4 days, we finally stopped

traveling and started vacationing. Jedibe is a small island, with ten tents, two ablution blocks

euphemism for bathrooms, which consist of a toilet and a shower, surrounded by a rather shakey

reed fence and no roof), a bar, and a dining tent. It's run by Tony and Pam, a second- generation

Kenyan and Zambian, respectively, who migrated down to Okavango when their own countries got

too civilized, and there was only one other guest there when we arrived. If there is a better way

decompress after a long trip than riding in a mokoro, I don't know what it is. The mokoro is a

dugout

canoe, and while you sit up front and watch the Okavango go by, a strong young man stands at the

back and poles you along. We went out in mokoros in mid-morning, and stayed out until dinnertime.

Carol, the bird expert in the family, tells me it was the best single day of bird-watching she's

ever

experienced. The Okavango Delta is some 1,600 square miles of swamp, with about 200,000 miles

of very narrow, winding channels. By the time we were twenty minutes out from camp, I figured

that,

left to my own devices, I might, with luck, be able to find my way back in something less than

eight

months...yet our polers always seemed to know exactly where they were, and you got the feeling you

could set them down anywhere in the Okavango and they'd be able to find their way home with no

problem. I remarked about that to Pam, who agreed that they were death and taxes in the

Okavango, but added that three of them went to Johannesburg for Christmas and got hopelessly lost

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in half an hour.

September 2: We went out on a powerboat in order to see more of the swamp (mokoros are many

things, but fast isn't one of them), packed a box lunch which we ate on a totally uninhabited

island,

and returned to camp in time to meet Franco and Masimo, a pair of Italians who work for

Mondedori, my Italian publisher, and were making a documentary film about the Okavango.

Masimo, a perfectionist, had wanted an overhead shot of the Delta, and refused to photograph it

through the window of the plane...so they opened the door and he and his camera hung out, upside

down, while Franco held onto his feet. The result: exceptional footage and an exceptional inner-

ear

infection. They also wanted footage of a fish eagle swooping down and snaring a fish out of the

water. Tony had trained a local fish eagle to do just that when baited, and we went along while

the

fish eagle went through his paces about a dozen times and we all got some fabulous footage. That

night I went to the ablution block at about midnight. While I was there, a hippo came out of the

swamp and began rubbing his sides against the reed wall. Hippos have killed more tourists in

Africa

during the past quarter century than any other animal, and the reason is simple: they panic when

they

are cut off from water...and the very best time to photograph a hippo is when he goes inland to

eat,

as otherwise all you're likely to see are his eyes, ears, and nostrils. (They stay in the water to

protect

their sensitive skins from the sun all day, but at night they leave the water and consume up to

300

pounds of vegetation.) Stand between a hippo and water and his first inclination is to run through

not around -- you to get back to the safety of his pond or river. Now, Jedibe is a very small

island,

perhaps 300 yards in diameter. So I reasoned it out and concluded that if I left the ablution

block, all

the hippo had to do was turn around and he could make a beeline to the water. Then I got to

thinking, and decided that if he was an exceptionally stupid hippo, then no matter where I stood,

would conclude that I was between him and the water (and in a way, he'd be right). So I stayed

another half hour until he want away, and promptly bumped into a bushbuck on the way back to the

tent. Bushbucks are much more intelligent than hippos; he took one look and me and ran like hell.

September 3: Our bush pilot, Lee, picked us up in mid-morning and flew us to Tsaro Lodge in the

Moremi Reserve. (Pam remarked that Lee had stuck it out much longer than most bush pilots --

something like seven years now -- because he liked the social life in Maun. I am still mulling

over this

remark, because to my way of thinking, Maun is the kind of place you leave in order to have a

social

life. Oh, well...) Tsaro is a luxurious camp nestled on the Khwai River, composed of eight large,

spotlessly-clean chalets, each equipped with beds, chairs, couches, fireplaces, tiled bathrooms,

and

electricity -- all rarities in the bush. The current manager, Jack, used to be a game warden in

Zimbabwe, and I gather the place has undergone massive renovations since he arrived. There were

three couples from Cape Town there when we arrived, and they turned out to be the friendliest and

most interesting people we met on the entire safari; in fact, when we go to South Africa, which we

plan to do in a couple of years, each of them has insisted that we stay with them and let them

show us

around. We took a game run (a three-hour drive through the reserve in a 4-wheel-drive vehicle) in

the afternoon, and were actually charged by an irate cow elephant, a hell of an exciting ten

seconds

that I managed to capture on videotape.

September 4: After a morning game run, Carol and I and two of our Cape Town friends decided to

take a walk through the hunting concession that borders the reserve. We saw some birds, and a herd

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of red lewche, and some bushbuck -- and then we walked around a heavy stand of trees and

damned near bumped into a lone elephant. It's difficult to say who was more surprised; it is not

difficult to say who retreated more rapidly. A German couple showed up in late afternoon. It turns

out that this was their 25th wedding anniversary, and they had brought along champagne for the

whole camp. It's amazing what you can have in the bush if your timing is right.

September 5: We took a morning game run, then got picked up by our social lion pilot and flown to

the Linyanti Channel, where we were met and driven to Linyanti Camp, another primitive bush camp

with tents and outdoor bathrooms. This one was run by Ron, a devoted birder, and his wife,

Hillary.

They had a 6-month-old baby who was so quiet we didn't know he was there until bedtime, when

Ron picked up his rifle and led the way to his rather distant cabin, while Hillary followed him,

pushing

a baby carriage. Not quite your everyday African sight. We arrived just as a large party (well, as

large a party as a seven-tent camp can handle, anyway) was leaving, and had the camp all to

ourselves for a day. In the afternoon we went out on the channel in a double-decker pontoon,

drifted

into Namibia for an hour, and saw a bunch of birds and a handful of elephants. Still, the Linyanti

area

was a disappointment: the camp backs up to the river, and is surrounded on three sides by a

hunting

concession, and the place is pretty much shot out. The top of the food chain, both in mammals and

birds, was gone; there was just nothing left for them to eat. At dinnertime we were joined by

Derek

Joubert, a National Geographic filmmaker who had a permanent camp a few miles away. I have a

couple of his documentaries on videotape, which pleased him no end, and I remarked on the

similarity of his name to that of Keith Joubert, a renowned wildlife artist whose prints of the

"Big

Five" Carol had bought me for my birthday last March. It turned out that they were brothers, and

that

Keith, the only man ever to paint a portrait of the Kilimanjaro Elephant (which he did from the

figures

in Rowland Ward's record book, the elephant itself having died almost a century ago) had read and

enjoyed Ivory, which is based on the elephant.

September 6: We had a very disappointing game run in the morning -- not much is still alive and

moving in Linyanti -- but I made up for it by coming up with a couple of short story ideas that

I'll be

writing in the next few months. In the afternoon some more guests showed up, including a rather

adventuresome American girl who works for a bank with international connections, and has spent

time representing them in Peru, Chile, Poland, and Hong Kong. (How adventuresome? Well, this

spring she flew to Antarctica for a week as a guest of the Chilean Air Force.) We also met the

ultimate Ugly American, a New York lady who didn't stop talking for the next six hours, had

nothing

good to say about anyone or anything, and made us realize why so many people intensely dislike

Americans. Fortunately, she came down with a sore throat at dinnertime, and we didn't have to

listen

to her the rest of the night.

September 7: After a 3-hour walk in search of game that simply didn't exist, we happily took our

leave of Linyanti, and went next to the most luxurious hostelry in Africa. (Yeah, I know I've said

print that that honor belongs to the Mount Kenya Safari Club. So sue me: I was wrong. The Chobe

Game Lodge has it beat all hollow.) Chobe National Park is the crown jewel of Botswana's parks. It

possesses 30,000 elephants, almost three times the total that remain in all of Kenya. It has

150,000

buffalo, in herds of up to 5,000. It has hundreds of lions. It also has the Chobe Game Lodge. We

had arranged to stay in the same suite where Richard Burton and Liz Taylor honeymooned after their

second marriage (Suite 210, for anyone who wishes to experience it themselves.) It was immense,

elegant, air-conditioned...and it had a 75-foot terrace and its own private swimming pool -- so

private, in fact, that we never bothered with our swimsuits. After all those days of tents and

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outdoor

bathrooms, it was so luxurious that it took a real effort of will power to leave long enough to

look at

animals. The food was on a par with the accomodations. Our first night there, dinner consisted of

Eggs Florentine as an appetizer, ragout of impala (the best game meal we've ever had) as a main

course, and trifle with custard sauce for dessert. Lunch was a buffet that covered five tables,

with so

many delicacies that you could go on tilt trying to pick and choose from among them. There were

numerous lounges and bars, a fabulous outdoor dining terrace, the best gift shop we'd seen in the

country, and there was even a room with a large-screen TV and a selection of videotapes, each a

documentary on some aspect of Botswana and its wildlife. The Chobe Lodge is much the largest

lodge in Botswana, though it holds less than 100 people and is at best medium-sized by East

African

standards. The reason for this is that Botswana, which is 87% Kalahari Desert and which nobody

seemed to want -- not Britain, not South Africa, not anybody -- suddenly discovered the world's

two

largest diamond mines in the early 1980s. As a result, they have more money than they need, and

have decided to keep their tourist industry small rather than ecologically degrade their parks by

running too many cars and tourists through them. We took a boat out on the Chobe River in the

afternoon and watched as hundreds of elephants and thousands of buffalo came down to drink, then

picked our way among the hippos and crocs and returned to our suite, wondering why we had

bothered with all those other locations when we could have spent the entire Botswana section of

our

safari right here.

September 8: Another day of luxury, punctuated with a pair of game runs. In the morning, we

managed to find a pride of lions on a kill, and to see some cheetahs, which are quite rare in

these

parts. In the afternoon, we saw literally thousands of elephants, as well as 30 or 40 other

species of

mammals (as well as one of the lions from the morning, carrying a buffalo leg in her mouth as

proudly

as a puppy carries a toy). It's a damned good thing we did, too, as I deeply resented any time

spent

away from that suite. Dinner was freshly-caught bream, kudu in cream sauce, and good old hot fudge

sundaes. I'm a teetotaler, but Carol tells me the wine was superb.

September 9: Another morning game run, and the elephant and buffalo were so numerous than I was

beginning to feel jaded. Then we got into a van and were driven some 50 miles to the Victoria

Falls

Hotel in Zimbabwe, where we picked up the luggage we had stored there, checked into a room, and

promptly slept the afternoon away. (All that luxury exhausted our systems, I guess.) We woke up

just

in time for their nightly spectacular, a lavish pageant of native dances, which turned out to be

authentic and less tourist-oriented that we had feared.

September 10: We stopped by a native crafts village, not knowing quite what to expect, and were

pleasantly surprised to find that it, too, was more educational than tourist-oriented. >From there

went to the Falls, truly one of the wonders of the world. The Zambezi River was the lowest it's

been

in 40 years, which actually was to our benefit, as when the river is high the Falls create such a

spray

that you can't make out the features, let alone photograph them. We took the much-hyped

Sundowner Cruise in the afternoon. Very disappointing, if you're not heavily into booze. The boat

never got near the Falls (or anything else worth seeing), and most of the passengers were three

sheets

to the wind before the cruise even started.

September 11: We took a noontime flight to Hwange National Park, where we were escorted to the

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