Hayestack

Why is it the roads that seem perfectly flat when you travel along them in a car become death defyingly steep when you cycle them? We cycled to the campsite at Samsitu last weekend. It is a five minute car ride, or 2 hours by bike, and uphill, so it seems, all the way. The strange thing is that it seems uphill on the return journey as well.

The road takes us through many traditional homesteads and little children wave and shout, ”I’m fine!” forgetting that the convention is for us to ask, “How are you? “ first. People stop and stare and we realise that they have probably never seen a woman on a bicycle before, not even a white one. To them, Georgina is an oddity, a freak of nature – something I’ve suspected for years. Georgina makes a point of saying “hello” to everyone and they generally respond favourably. There is a certain reason in her thinking, as these are the communities we shall be cycling through on the way back, and we may need help.

We are riding parallel to the River Kavango which always bursts its banks in the rainy season. This year is no exception and we cycle through tented villages set up by the Red Cross for people along the banks who have been flooded out. Each year after the floods have subsided, these villagers go back to their homes along the river and look forward to next year’s camping holiday. The idea of moving to higher ground may not have occurred to them, or they may just like camping. We do, and eagerly erect our little tent on a pretty site next to the Kavango River, paying little heed to the mud caked to our feet from having to walk over the last bit of flooded track. Our pitch at Samsitu overlooks the river and on to Angola beyond. We look for crocodiles but don’t see any. Instead, an Angolan fisherman stands on the opposite bank, and a canoe and small observation boat float lazily by as the sun sinks slowly into the river. The pitches, secluded by trees and undergrowth, are all empty but one, occupied by a mother from Botswana visiting her son up from Cape Town. We meet in the bar in the early evening after dinner of cold chicken pie and a hot mug of tea. Georgina amazes me by boiling a pot of water over a fire made from a few twigs she has gathered nearby. She tells me it is a skill learned as a Girl Guide. I wonder what other skills she learned there. Maybe she can track a wild boar, skin it and roast it on a spit made from knitting needles and knicker elastic?

Everything here, including the bar and swimming pool, is open air and looks over the river. Andy and Karen, the site owners are pharmacists in Rundu, and know everything about malaria. Andy who reminds me of a slightly rounder Clive Anderson, says we are safe from this parasite now that winter temperatures have arrived. It has headed north towards the equator with the sun. Andy is not unduly concerned about malaria. He has had it 41 times and says it is OK as long as you catch it early. He has learned to recognise the “ping” in the small blood vessels in his fingers (the parasite in the red blood cells makes them swell), the aching of the joints and lower back. Treated early, you don’t even have to stop work. Caught late, you won’t be needing a job. Being a pharmacist, Andy has medication readily available.

On the wall is a sign warning visitors to be aware of snakes. I ask Karen if they see many. “All the time,” she says as if it were the most common thing in the world, and this was not just bravado on her part. “I had a cobra in the lounge the other day. “ she tells me. “ Just put my glasses on in case it spat (deadly venom) and managed to shoo it out. It was no problem.” Andy says he trod on a puff adder behind the bar the night before. Fortunately, he was wearing his leather shoes which took the full force of the fangs (and poison). He was OK, but the shoes died. He had a fright at what he thought was a black mamba in the gloom, but it turned out to be a hose pipe. Karen reassures us they have not lost a camper to snake bites yet. Those who die have usually trodden on a snake, something that snakes aren’t partial to. We made a mental note not to tread on anything resembling a hosepipe, in fact, not even a hosepipe, though we would like to see some snakes before we leave Africa, but at a distance.

Tags: Angola, Georgina, Karen, Kavango, lager, Rob, Rundu

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