Namibia and Chobe

One phenomenon that I continued to encounter in my research prior to our trip to Botswana was the mopane worm. The mopane worm is the caterpillar of the emperor moth, which lays its eggs on the the mopane tree and other trees in southern Africa. The eggs hatch, and the caterpillar goes through a series of molts and becomes a very large, meaty caterpillar before spinning its cocoon. It is a significant source of protein for many people living in southern Africa. I was sure that by this point in my trip I would have had the opportunity to try them, but I had not, in fact, encountered them. Maybe this was not the season? Maybe it's like oysters and you can only eat them in "R" months. I did get the opportunity to try a variety of wild game at the Chobe Lodge—crocodile, kudu, impalla, & a variety of weird plants, but not mopane worms.

On this day, we took a morning drive in Chobe National Park. Chobe Park is very large, but since there is a concentration of lodges near our little corner of the park, I expected that we would see a lot of other people out driving around—and we did. On the other hand, the reason for the concentration of lodges was the super abundance of animals, including the largest herd of elephants in Africa. So the morning could have gone either way, good or bad. In the end, it was mostly bad, and the problems mostly revolved around our driver, not the number of tourists. It could have been that he was a bad guide, but I would like to think he was just having a bad day. We spent the first couple of hours tracking a lion, which meant driving at high speed over rutted trails and right past other animals that we all wanted to see. We saw flocks of guinea fowl for the first time and were unable to get good pictures because we kept moving. Finally, when all six of us in the vehicle insisted that he stop, he did—about ten feet beyond where the birds were congregated. And he sat there until we asked him to back up. Then he sullenly slammed it into reverse and backed up—past the birds.

We didn’t ever find the lion, and after it became clear that we wouldn’t he became even more sullen. He was doing a lot of sotto voce mumbling, which I finally figured out was his way of describing animals that we were seeing, but not in a voice loud enough for us to hear. He was just going through the motions.

I imagine that it is hard to deal with tourists day after day, and maybe he had a fight with his wife that morning or something, but he was not a stellar guide, at least not on this day. In spite of the guide we did manage to see and photograph large stands of tree-sized aloe plants, flocks of guinea fowl, a large troop of baboons, Egyptian geese, colorful carmine bee eaters, and large herds of zebra and giraffes.

In the afternoon, we decided to slip across the border to visit Namibia. We weren't quite sure what we would find there but we figured that at the least it would be a chance to add another stamp to our passports. In spite of the flooding, we found a trek that was safely doable. There's a 12 x 15 km Namibian island near the confluence of the Chobe and Zambezi and we arranged for a guy to take us there in a boat. His name was Niven--not related to David, as far as I know.

Impalila Island contains around 60 villages and about 1200 people, all of the Subia tribe, which is also Niven's tribe. The boat landing was deserted when we arrived, except for a couple of guys butchering a cow. We had our passports stamped and filled out a Namibian entry form in a small building near the landing--the only structure. When I handed in my form, the official there pointed out that I hadn't filled in anything in the blank that asked for my occupation. I told him I was a scientist. Then he asked a question that I didn't understand. "Which village?... Which D plan?...Which deplane?" I finally understood that he was asking, "Which discipline." I told him that I was a microbiologist. He was satisfied with that answer. As a matter of fact, he was more than satisfied. He was strangely amused. As we left the building, he was quietly muttering to himself, "Mic-ro-bi-ol-o-gist...mic-ro-bi-ol-o-gist."

We followed a dirt road that lead away from the landing for about a half-mile through the savanna and then along the edge of a few small fields of sorghum and corn which were surrounded by rows of acacia brush to keep out marauding elephants and hippos. Finally, we arrived at one of the larger villages on the island, which had a population of around 50. Niven said that his village had a population of eight. I asked Niven several times what the name of this village was, but I didn't ever really understand what he told me.

The village consisted of 20 or so small houses, which were constructed of mud plastered onto a stick frame with corrugated sheet metal roofs. Niven explained that thatch was the traditional roofing material. Sheet metal's disadvantages were that it was very noisy when it rained, it was hotter than thatch in the summer, and it had to be purchased while the reeds used for thatch was free for the gathering. But thatch needs to be replaced every few years while sheet metal is virtually maintenance free.

Each house had a "courtyard" enclosed by a reed fence (called a jarata). The courtyard was actually the living area of the house and included the kitchen and bathroom. The one-room house was just for sleeping. The house that I visited had the one room divided into three sections by hanging sheets. The main room contained two threadbare easy chairs and the other two rooms each contained a bed--that was the sum total for furniture. The jarata had an area covered by a thatch roof with an open fire and a cooking grate and a stack of pots and pans. Another small enclosure contained a Turkish style toilet. There were four fruit trees in the jarata--guava, mango, papaya, and mulberry.

House with Jarata

The village had no power but there were several hydrants for water. The water intake is in the river and gets processed through a filter before being pumped to the village. The water system was intalled by a nearby game lodge a year ago after six village children were killed by crocidiles over the course of the previous year while fetching water from the river.

Chickens and goats wandered freely between the houses. The village also had cows, but the cows were not allowed to enter the village. They were, instead, kept in herds in the savana between villages and were tended by herders. The herders kept the herd together and safe from predators, but their main job was to keep the cows from breaking through the acacia brush fences and trampling through the corn fields. That was considered so serious an offense that if that eventuality were to occur, the cow owner would have to pay the field owner any price the field owner would request--up to and including the forfiture of the cow.

Towering at one end of the village was the largest boabab tree I have ever seen--I would say that it was at least 60 feet around. Niven claimed the tree was famous in the area and was over 2000 years old. At the other end of the village was another boabab tree, laying flat on the ground, but living. There is a parasitic species of tree called the strangler fig that sprouts from seeds that land in the crotch of another tree. As the fig tree grows, it sends roots down the side of the trunk of the host tree. As the the roots descend they constrict and eventually girdle the host tree and kill it. Because the boabab tree is shallow rooted the weight of the parasitic tree had caused it to topple over. With the boabab in a horizontal position, the fig tree was unable to encircle the trunk and kill it. Thus, there was a large fig tree with a huge (around 15 ft. circumference) boabab trunk coming out of its base and stretching across the ground. Large foot-thick "shoots" came out of the boabab trunk like mini-boababs. The village children used it as a play structure and it is very likely they had the best play structure in the world.

Gigantic Boabab Tree in Village

The village was devoid of men. They were all out fishing on the river. Fishing is not good right now due to the flooding, but it is their livelihood. When the women and children saw us coming, they all ran into their houses and brought out baskets and arranged them on the ground for us to examine, and hopefully, purchase. The baskets were beautifully woven palm frond baskets with designs woven in using palm fronds dyed with a brown dye made from the root of the magic guari tree. We knew these baskets were authentic because we saw the women making them. Niven, however, cautioned us against buying them because they were overpriced. He told us we could get baskets of a similar quality in Kasane or Gabarone for a better price. So we decided to forgo the baskets--a decision I hope we don't come to regret. While we may find less expensive baskets in a shop, we won't have met the people who wove them.

Above:  Kathy Looks at Items for Sale
Below:  Child with Mom

Kathy admired the colorful fabric in the dresses the women were wearing and asked where she could find something similar. Niven asked the women her question and told Kathy that they said the material was purchased far away. I suspect something was lost in translation in that exchange. Kathy did buy quite a bit of fabric later in Zimbabwe. More on that story later. In addition to telling us not to buy their goods, Niven cautioned us not to give money to anyone--something I had considered doing after having been invited into one of the houses. Niven claimed that the villagers were so desperately poor that they would all fight over the money when we left.

Poor, I think, is a relative term. The people of this Namibian village were living a very basic subsistence life and that had probably not changed for generations. But they seemed well nourished, healthy, and happy. On the other hand, the people we met the next day in Zimbabwe truly were desperate.