The past few days have been the completion of a loop of sorts, taking us to the far side of the pans (ancient dried-up lake-beds), and then traversing them on a track marked by GPS points rather than road paint or signs. Once again it was only a vast and empty landscape in every direction, and us. Ancient silt, now a chalky powder, covered our clothes and bodies and added a new layer of dust to every surface, bag, camera, and book.
We found our way to what was once an island in the middle of a long-gone lake. Even though the water dried up thousands of years ago, the ancient shoreline was rimmed with round rocks and pebbles as if at any moment a gentle wave might roll in and lap the shore. Like many a high place in a flat landscape, this island holds mystical importance to local people both ancient and current. Prayers for rain are still made here and hundreds of cairns speak of initiation rituals long past. Baobab trees, with bark that seems to fall somewhere between skin and polished granite, cover the island. Their roots snake in and out of the ground, their branches reach out like the arms of a benevolent giant.
This leg of our adventure has taken us through vast landscapes with few signs of human impact and few people. Even travelers are rare. We’ve driven for hours without passing another human being. We’ve had close encounters with lions—all of us from head to toe a similar shade of dusty-grey.
Campsites are few. They’re spread apart, without water, and very hard to get to. There is no one to call for help if we need it, but there is also no one to disturb the sounds of the African night as it descends. We are deep in Central Kalahari, a vast and relatively inhospitable place where annual evaporation exceeds annual rainfall. We are very far from power lines, cell towers, or paved roads. I found myself looking at the sky last night and picturing nighttime satellite images of Earth, where continents and cities are mapped out by lines and clusters of light on an otherwise dark planet.
I realized the various places I’ve called home have always been places easily identified by a cacophony of lights. This time, if I were to look for myself, I would find my location by seeking out a vast area of darkness in the middle of Africa. No lights, just a deep dark night sky above us and the African night.
If you look on a map, there we are, right in the middle, looking up at the Milky Way.
We are in Maun, regrouping after an amazing, exhausting, exhilarating run down the Chobe River and through Savute. We have spent our days watching extraordinary animals in unspoiled wilds where they always have lived. The improbability of their bodies—giraffes, hippos, elephants—amazes me, as does the delicate beauty of their markings—zebra, Chobe bushbuck, and even the ubiquitous impala—and the ever watchfulness of those who are on the dinner menu of larger creatures.
We pulled ourselves out of bed before dawn each morning to get on the road to see game and search for elusive cats. We were rewarded both by a pride of seven young lions playing in the first rays of sunlight, as well a very close encounter with a lioness and her three cubs. By the end of the day, we were dust colored from head to toe and needed a breather as much as a shower.
The Island Safari Lodge in Maun is just the kind of place for breathers. Our laundry is now done, our bodies clean, our groceries restocked, and our water and diesel tanks filled back up again.
We had a slow day today, with time for dragonfly catching and a breakfast including all sorts of things not served on our safari (blame the tour operator—oh yes, that would be me). The eight year old’s tooth fell out somewhere in Savute, but we didn’t leave it out for the tooth mouse (or tooth fairy) for fear it would get lost in the endless fine sand.
We are readying ourselves for the most remote and extreme camping of this adventure. We left it for last in hopes that our greater experience would keep us safe and happy in a place not highly recommended for solo travel. We will be in a very remote place with no access to additional water for four days, few people, and minimal roads.
Now comes the hard work of completing our journey, closing the circle, and traveling many hundreds of kilometers across two countries and to an airport in time for a series of international flights.
We took in our last African sunset, found the Southern Cross in the night sky one last time, and burned a last Mopane fire with full but heavy hearts. We watched a final bushveld sunrise this morning as we crossed the fabled Limpopo River—leaving Botswana, returning to South Africa, and completing the circle our travels created.
Shortly, we will unpack ourselves from and say goodbye to the Land Rover that has been our transport and home for three weeks. I now know why these vehicles inspire such passion in their owners. Ours has seen us churning through thick sand, water logged marshes, and impossible looking roads. Now, we fly down a four-lane highway with only the dust we’re covered with to tell of the adventure we left behind.
