Zambië - Livingstone, Maandag

Die keer is my roete rooi.
This time my route is red.

Die wildehonde se prooi.
The kill of the wild dogs

Die Kawa volg sy eie kop en gooi my af.
The Kawa follow its own head and threw me off.

Cry my beloved country. Lees onder. Read below.

Die watervalle is net een massa water en mis. Van die brug was dit nie fotografeerbaar nie.
The Vic Falls is one mass of water and fog spray. It could not be photographed from the bridge.

(English below)

Ek wou Maandagaand in Vic Falls, Zimbabawe, oorgebly het, maar ek kon nie. Die dorpie is soos ‘n begrafnis vir my.

Ek is vroeg weg uit Kazangula, Botswana. Om in Zimbabwe te kom, was maklik. Die grensformaliteite was eenvoudig, en elke vorm wat hulle in my hand gedruk het, het ek nie in die ry ingevul nie, ek het buite gaan sit om myself te oortuig dis vakansie.

Om by Vic Falls uit te kom, ry mens deur die Zambezi Nasionale Park. Wat ‘n wonderlike rit! Die bos is satgroen, die gras staan soms direk teen die pad hoër as wat my kop op die fiets is. Wat ‘n wildrit! Eers het ek op ‘n trop wildehonde by hul prooi afgekom. Toe hulle die fiets sien, het hulle in die ruig bos ingevlug. Daarna het ek dertien (!) swartwitpense gehad wat voor my oor die pad geloop het. Drie keer het ek ook bromvoëls langs die pad gekry wat opgevlieg het.

Toe het ek ‘n Kawasaki gekry wat sy kop gevolg het en langs die pad gaan staan en omval het. Ek het die bosse ingevlieg maar gelukkig niks oorgekom nie.

Ek alleen kon die fiets nie opkry nie en moes al die bagasie afpak. En omdat dit Zimbabwe is, het geen motor verby gekom nie.

Vic Falls was soos begrafnis. Sou die Wimpy ‘n wafel gehad het, sou dit 55 000 000 Zim dollar gekos het. Hulle het darem koffie gehad teen 15 000 000 dollar! Die koffie was ‘n mislukking want dis was bruin soutwater. (Hoekom het ek aan die Reitz video gedink?) Selfs die kelnerin het geril toe sy dit geproe het.

Ek wil eerder Vic Falls onthou soos dit in sy bloeityd was, nie die jammerlike konsentrasie van menslike ellend nie. Ek het my fiets geneem en besluit om eerder ‘n dag eerder Zambië toe te kom.

Die grenspos aan die Zimkant was bedek met ‘n swartbruin slymerige modder. Ek het gegril en na die dosyne vragmotors gekyk wat daar dae lank wag om deur die grens te beweeg.

Alan Paton se “Cry my beloved country” het deur my kop gemaal toe ek Zimbabwe agtergelaat het.

I thought of spending the night in Vic Falls, Zimbabwe, but I couldn’t. Vic Falls reminded me too much of a funeral.

I left Botswana early to have enough time for the border crossing. It was surprisingly easy. Each form I had to complete I took and went outside to side in the shade and complete it. I had to remind myself that it was holiday for me.

Soon after that I was on my way. To get to Vic Falls one had to ride through the Zambezi National Park. What a ride it turned out to be!

The bush was a lush green with grass standing directly at the road often higher than my head. First I saw a pack of wild dogs ripping a carcass. Unfortunately they fled into the bush as my bike approached them. Shortly thereafter thirteen (!!!) sable antelope crossed the road in front of me. Three times ground hornbills flew up from the roadside.

And I saw a Kawasaki following its head and threw off his master and boss. Thanks to the rain the ground next to the road just gave away as I left the road to stop under a tree. Although I ended up in the bush next to the road I looked much better than the bike.

As it was on a road in Zimbabwe no car passed and I had to unpack all the luggage to get the bike upright again.

Vic Falls, the town, was a disaster! The Wimpy still excists if if they had had wafels that would have costed 55 000 000 Zim dollars! They had coffee for 15 000 000 dollar. However, it was undrinkable brown salty water! Even the waitress couldn’t drink more than a spoonful. (Why had I to think of the Reitz video?)

Rather than spending a night in that town full of man-made decay I decided to leave for Zambia.

Getting to the Zimbabwe border post I couldn’t believe my eyes: A brown-greyish slimy mud covered the whole road. I looked at the dozens of trucks standing there and I could only imagine.

Leaving Zimbabwe Alan Paton’s “Cry the beloved country” echoed through my head.