Safari interruptus

On a sandbar at Croc Valley Camp, elephant tracks lead to the bank on the far side.
It was there where a tourist recently erred in getting within six feet of the water.
Properly motivated, crocs can move quickly.

All right, I get it. At least some of you are wondering why this blog hasn't been updated since I sent my first dispatch from Lilongwe on June 28. What happened with distributing the One World Futbols? What's going on with the shoes? Are you going to share the story of Nicole, the Chinese volunteer who was undocumented as a child because she was supposed to be aborted? And why no safari photos?

There is an explanation. Two, really.

Currently, the radio silence has been due to the ungodly slow and unreliable Internet service I'm experiencing in my current digs. In my first residence here in Lilongwe, the service allowed me to blog rather effortlessly. But at this time, in the wee hours of July 12, I couldn't even make a donation to my The Shoe That Grows fund page because of the loading speed.

(The donation, by the way, was based on a purchase from Walter Mugove Nyika, a fascinating gentleman I met at Klaus Guest House, where I'm staying. I'll be telling you more about him later.

Walter wanted to purchase a pair of these shoes for his daughter so I pocketed the 11,000 Kwacha that he paid for them and attempted the online deposit in vain. I'll just have to trust my honesty that I will put the money in my account when I get home, or whatever.)

Croc Valley Camp

The first night of the Safari took place at Croc Valley Camp in Zambia, operated along a river by a Rhodesian gentleman. The photo below is of our cottage, which we could walk to during the day, but under escort at night, when the hippos might come up from the river and root around for food. I was assured that if I stayed on the porch at night the lions wouldn't come up and eat me, but I never found  the opportunity to test that claim. Like, I would?

Home, sweet home, where the giraffe saunter by whenever they feel like it.

Baboons

"Oooh, almost, but down and to the right. No, to the right!"

One of the first things I noticed about the Croc Valley Camp was the abundance of babboons. When they weren't checking out ways to swipe food, they were picking nits. And when they weren't picking nits, they were copulating, which helps explain their abundance. I can't say as I blame the males; some of the females were kinda cute -- the one in the photo at the right, for example. Look at those eyes; doesn't she have nice eyes? Uh, maybe I've been alone too long, but I still think she's kinda cute. What do you male readers think?

Elephants

OK, so here's a riddle or you. What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence? (Answer: time to get a new fence.)

Elephants are tough on trees, too. Check out the next two photos. Those trees have been banged up elephants. They basically head butt trees to knock them down so it's easier to get to the food. And from the looks of the photo at the left, elephants aren't finicky eaters. That grass that's heading for its mouth looks pretty dry and scraggly. How do they survive on that, anyway?

For trees, the survival strategy might depend on three factors: Location, location, location. The wise tree grows out of a termite mound, like the one in the third photo. Elephants don't seem to bother them. I noticed several trees that employed that strategy. Smart trees!

The tree that got away -- from the elephants

Hippos

Hippos look like they could spend a little less time floating in the river and a little more time at a spa, but they actually aren't fat, and I wouldn't suggest depending on your ability to outrun them, no matter how motivated. I didn't have much opportunity to get any good close-ups of them, so  you have to settle for these images.

The Madonna and Child image of the calf floating next to Mom, below, is a little pixelated due to distance, but you can still note the reddish hue on the old lady. Hippos tend to come out of the river only at night because they sunburn easily.

I was told this problem with the sun makes it tough for the old guys, when the young hippos decide its time for them to retire from the mainstream; figuratively speaking. They may get stuck off in a small waterhole someplace. I saw one of those old guys; he didn't have a lot of elbow room in his mud hole.

Water buffalo

If there's one thing water bufflo demonstrate, it's this: the bigger they are, the harder they fall, when they fall. (So maybe there's yet hope for America.) Check out the skull in the photo below. It made me realize that, in Africa, the chance of fading quietly into the sunset is probably not going to happen.

While the boss rests, the ladies dine on a buffalo who no longer worries himself about  them.

The buffalo turns up its tasty nose, long gone, at dinner.

At the end of the day, we returned to the Croc Vallry Camp, where I discovered a pool table (!) and decided to engage in one of my preferred pastimes. It was not a great experience. The balls were undersized and beat up. The felt on the pool table was three generations behind replacement; The sole pool stick had some sort of threads coming out of it like a kind if intestinal mold sending out tendrils. (Some exotic African malady we weren't warned about?) And the tip was not felt, but a rather uneven loose plastic cap. And there must have been a gravity well somewhere on that table, because even if you could hit  ball correctly with that awful stick, the balls declined to travel a straight path.

The carver

However, the gentleman at the right joined me in a game, and I think he prevailed by whatever rules we seemed to agree to in our haphazard contest on that miserable table. Afterward, I learned that he was selling carvings at the camp.

These two carvings in the photo at left  weren't particularly well made, but I purchased a pair for $10 each. After all, I need some sort of souvenir from Africa, don't I? It didn't hurt that he told me $20 for the two pieces will get two of his four children into school for a term.

His name is Whitson Banda, and he's 37 years old. The two girls my purchase sponsored are Alice, born 2003, and Lidiya, born 2006. I will never see them; I will never be able to confirm that his story is true. But from what I learned when I asked around, it's probably true. For the price of a restaurant meal and a glass of wine I may have put two little girls into school for a term. Or not.

Whitson displays a crocodile-themed ashtray.

You say pot-A-to, and I say pot AH-to . . .

The next morning, the moment of truth arrived. My hostess is the person responsible for my coming to Malawi for safari. She is a very bright, capable person, who made it possible for me to ship 30-40 One World Futbols and nine The-Shoe-That-Grows to Malawi for free. She made it possible for me to bring 85 hats and lots of garmets, and 25 kazoos and other minor goodies in two duffels because I wasn't toting futbols. At this writing, much of the booty is destined for the Dzaleka refugee center, a community of 27,000 from several African countries which she told me about. She has been a wonderful co-consirator and she opened an opportunity for me I could only dream of. However, after collaborating for months arriving at a plan, we found out that we should have spent a little more time together before she took off for Africa last fall. It's one of those issues about one person squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle while the other prefers to squeeze the end. We just didn't belong in the same pot together. It happens to the best of us.


So after a heartfelt exchange, we mutually  decided that I should return to Lilongwe and, she, having taken vacation time, should travel on to Zimbabwe. When she returned I could pick up the materials she was storing for me. It appeared to be a bit of a setback, but something amazing seems to be resulting from this change in plans.

It started as a serendipitous notion and has evolved into a development. And there's the distinct possibility that it will become a reality. Maybe even an accomplishment.  This trip is taking some amazing twists and turns. I hope you stay with me. (And I hope I can get better internet service. If not, I'm home in a week, and I'll share the rest of the story then.

Forgive the typos! Love you all!

Robert
and Jean Baptiste

And Micah

and Shu

And Carlita!