Our morning game drive wound around several massive kopje’s, the perfect outcropping for a leopard den. This was the animal I was most hoping to see. Pure stealth. Gorgeous, vicious, solitary, reclusive. Is there a more charismatic combination of traits? We pressed on and passed the campsite of an elderly white couple with a late 60’ model Landcruiser. I told Gabriel to pullover to ask them for fuel. He shook me off, convinced that vehicle only drinks diesel. I persisted, he relented. We rolled up to their site, introduced ourselves and explained our dilemma. They were from Scotland and apparently come to the Okavango Delta every year to go on safari with their 1966 vintage Landcruiser, of which he is the original owner. His name was Pete. (the truck, not the man). We asked if Pete could spare any petrol and we got lucky. This was their last day and they’d be heading back to town. They sold us 40 liters of leaded fuel that we siphoned out and put into our unleaded tank. As we waited for the petrol to fill our jerry cans, he offered us two ice cold beers that he brought from his gas-powered refrigerator. I looked around his site and realized this guy had it figured out. They obviously had years of safari camping experience under their belt. He had the perfect tent setup with a shaded veranda, a food prep area, a washing area, His & Hers lounge chairs with his little lady scooted up close to him (actually she was quite big). I kept having a flash forward vision of myself in 20 years time. We left with excessive thanking and the moment we climbed into our truck, we started an uncontrollable giggle-fest. We were giddy with joy that they just extended our trip since we weren’t ready to go home.
We drove through the Savuti marsh but since the flood was arriving late this year, the huge herds of zebra, wildebeest, & buffalo were not yet here. Consequently, the predators were scarce. In the distance, I saw a flock of vultures huddled on the grassy savannah. We made a beeline to it, certain we would find something. We drove up and parked 30 yards away. It was a Spotted Hyena carcass, dead at least a week. Not a morsel of meat left, just drying bones in the sun. We walked back to the truck, hopped in, and tried to start it up. Dust. Battery was dead. We weren’t going anywhere. Except crazy. There we were, two sitting ducks on the pond, waiting for a hungry croc to swim past. In every direction, endless grasslands, still tall and amber colored from the rains. Perfect ambush cover for lions. There could have been a pride of twenty just thirty feet from us and we wouldn’t have noticed. We knew we were somewhat safe if we stayed in or on the vehicle. But the realization that we could be sitting there stranded for a few days was setting in quickly. We were on a small obscure bypass road way off the main artery and we were 25 kilometers from our camp. Aside from the Scots, we hadn’t seen another car all day. We had no sleeping bags and no tent. Just a little water and some stale food. Smack diddly dab in the middle of the Savuti plains, which boasts the highest concentration of lions in Botswana. The bed of the truck was full of our gear so our only option was to either sit in the cab like fools, sit on the roof like bigger fools, or build a shade structure just next to the truck and stay hyper-vigilant. We chose option 3. We peeled some carrots, sat under our new shade back-to-back so our view would be 360, and decided to hatch a plan.
Plan A: program our GPS coordinates into Gabriel’s cell phone and send a text message to someone in town. Of course, there was no cell coverage out there so that plan vaporized. Plan B: write our names and passport #’s on a piece of paper and stick it on the windshield. Then start walking back towards our campsite and hope that humans find us before cats do. Too fatalistic. Plan C: sit there like fools and hope someone drives by to rescue us. This simplistic survival plan would suffice for now, until we get desperate when dusk descends upon us and the night air fills with roaring carnivores.
Gabriel began eating our minimal supplies at a pace that wasn’t conducive to rationing our food in case we were stuck there for a few days. I was getting pissed off but felt it was too early to start squabbling. I kept quiet. We started to ponder various scenarios of when would be the appropriate time to give up on waiting and begin walking back at the risk of lurking predators. I told Gabriel that I wanted to start walking back tomorrow if no one came to rescue us today. He disagreed and tried to persuade me to stay there 3 nights before walking back. About the only thing we agreed on is that if & when we had to walk, that we’d do it at noon on a hot day, when big cats are most inactive. This was the last reasonable thought we had. From here on out, our logic blurred and was quickly reduced to delusional fantasies.
The next brilliant idea we had was to go back out to the hyena carcass and lie down next to it. We hoped our scent would attract the vultures back to it and then the tour guides would see vultures and come to the ‘kill site’. Gabriel certainly stunk enough that maybe the scavengers would mistake our scent for carrion. We walked out there to it but rather than lie down, we decided to simply have lunch next to our decomposed canine friend. We felt he needed some company. We took out our folding chairs and made sandwiches. I looked around and thought to myself that this was a wonderful place to die. Afterall, we had a spectacular view of the savannah. Much more stylish & dignified death than being road kill on the highway or a long-suffering terminal illness. I just hoped it would be a quick spinal cord severance, not a slow bleed out.
Just as we were walking back to the truck, we saw the mirage on the horizon we were praying for. A moving vehicle with humans inside. We waved our arms wildly and they approached. It was a safari vehicle from a luxury camp with its high-dollar package tourists in tow. They lavished pity on us and we mopped it up. The driver was extremely helpful and actually disconnected his battery and hooked it up to our truck. It started fine so we knew it was simply a battery issue. But because the alternator wasn’t charging the battery, it wouldn’t run. It died again after 5 seconds. Our old alternator nemesis was taunting us again. We told them to go inform the warden to bring us either a fully charged battery or a tow truck.
Another two hours passed and a massive tractor came rambling up to us with 8 foot tall tires. A kind old man named Fillimon was there with the cavalry. He was gentle spirit who was quick to smile when we addressed him. Without judgement or small talk, he immediately began linking a length of tow chain from his beast to our under carriage. Within minutes, we were moving but it was a tricky tow through rutted muddy tracks. Because we couldn’t keep the tow chain taut, it kept slacking & yanking until it snapped. Fillimon realized he had lost his hitch and came back for us. We found some nylon rope and lashed it up. We continued on until that broke. We finally used what little cotton fiber rope we had left and we managed to make it back to the warden’s camp before dusk.
The warden offered to drive us to the only lodge at Savuti which has a mechanic. A tacky 5 star joint catering to the rich bitch crowd. Silver tea service, fine china, candelabras, imported linens, designer furniture, in-suite tv’s and air conditioning. For that true African safari experience. We met the manager, a white South African of course. We asked to see the mechanic but were informed that he was working on vehicles at one of their other resorts 80 miles away and wouldn’t return for 6 days. We then asked if he would simply charge our dead battery overnight on their generator. He agreed to do it. And then he brought up a good point. Even if we have a fully charged battery, our alternator is not working to recharge it while driving so we would only have enough power from the juice stored in that battery (about 3 hrs.) And since the nearest city is 5-6 hour drive, we would just get stranded again somewhere in the bush. He graciously offered to call Maun (nearest city) using his satellite phone ($7/min) and order us a new battery. He would make arrangements to have one of his staff in Maun pick it up from the auto shop and put in on their private charter plane which would be arriving with the next batch of bitch tourists in 3 days. We gave him the cash to buy the battery and went back to our campsite. Now, if all worked as planned, which was an obvious impossibility, we’d have 2 fully charged batteries to drive out of the Delta with and hope we make it to Maun before it died.
The warden gave us a lift back and when we arrived, our tent was wide open and many items had been spilled on the ground just outside of it. Baboons had opened the zipper and helped themselves. Cheeky monkeys. Worse yet, one of Gabriel’s condoms was one of the items and the package itself had been opened with the little rubber rain jacket exposed. The warden looked at Gabriel, and then slowly turned his head to me, and then back to the condom. Looking at the warden, I grinned effeminately and nodded. Just to take the piss out of Gabriel, I thought I’d confirm the wardens’ gay boy scout assumption. He left without a word.
“Hey G, must have been banana flavored lubricant, eh?”
“Don’t provoke me, I’m already aggro.”
“Hey, at least it’s not a used condom….is it?”
“The alpha male probably tried it on for size and it didn’t fit him.”
We choked down a disgusting dinner of pap (ground maize meal) and chakalaka (canned chiles). Pap is eaten here like Americans eat potatoes, Italians eat pasta, Asians eat rice, and Mexicans eat beans. It’s a daily staple, boiled with water until it becomes a thick paste. Very similar to polenta, only without the sophistication or taste. We were down to our desperation food, just tinned cans of nastiness. We had no meat, milk, bread, fruit, nor veggies. We did have potatoes and dry cereal though. Obviously, we did not prepare for these 3 extra nights of camping in terms of food. We also didn’t have campsite reservations and just hoped we wouldn’t get booted out. We couldn’t leave anyway. We washed the pap down with the last of the whiskey. We were officially in dire straits.
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