Africa’s Dust in My Hair

I made my way to the river, and looked out across its wide expanse. Like most rivers in Northern Rhodesia it was brown from silt carried from upriver, and quite fast-moving. It was about thirty yards across at this point. I could easily push my way across that! Using the long bamboo pole, I pushed the faithful old tin bath into the water from the river bank. With my .22 rifle slung over my shoulder, I stood for a moment watching to see how quickly the gurgling, circling current took hold of the bath. The tin bath hardly moved in the murky water close to the bank. Reassured by this, and ignoring the perils of lurking crocodiles, hippos and drowning, I placed a foot in the bath, and pushed hard with the other foot. The bath wobbled madly but, fortunately, only a small amount of water spilled in. After gaining my balance, I knelt on my knees, and started paddling with the bamboo pole. The bath bobbed and dipped and lurched alarmingly in the current and, at times, I seemed to hardly be moving. I spotted a couple of crocodiles lying on the far bank, below where I was heading for. I shuddered and hoped there weren't too many in the vicinity. I found the tin bath drifting slightly downstream in the direction of the crocodiles, but, after what seemed like a lifetime, I hauled the fiercely bobbing tin bath along with the bamboo pole, and finally managed to reach the other side of the river without any mishaps. After I jumped out of the tin bath onto the bank, I pulled the bath out of the water. It struck me that the return trip would be more diff-icult. If I was swept too far downstream, the river might widen. Still, time enough to worry about that problem later, I thought to myself. My squelching-wet bush-boots and denims soon dried as I walked along. The ground was rocky and the grass had burnt away. The new shoots had not yet broken through the blackened stubble. My footfalls seemed to echo in the stillness as I tramped along with my rifle still slung over my shoulder. There seemed to be dozens of tiny animal or bird tracks on the ground, crossing and re-crossing each other. I was soon at the foot of the hill, which was further than I had anticipated. It was a boiling hot day and I was sweaty and hot, the heat making me thirsty. Scaling the sheer cliff on the near side of the hill was out of the question, so I made my way upward towards the opposite side of the hill. It was a fairly easy climb and I was soon near the top. I paused for a break on a long grassy ledge and looked down below. About a half-a-mile to the south, was a depression, a good 1,000 yards across. In the centre was a pool of water, possibly of volcanic origin, since large outcrops of black, lava-like rock were dotted around. I wondered how many European eyes, let alone European female eyes, had gazed upon this scene. A sudden movement from above caught my eye. I drew back against a protruding rock and kept still. A long black snake came curling and tumbling down, closely followed by another snake. They were black mam-bas. Quite unaware of my presence, they rose twisting and coiling together and then dropped to the ground in a writhing mating embrace. The performance ended as suddenly as it had begun and the snakes van-ished. I was fascinated in a macabre way. I remained at the spot for a while longer to give the snakes time to get well away. I carried on up as fast as possible, trying to blot out visions of snakes lying on the branches of bushes that caught me as I passed them by. The view from the top of the hill revealed a great panoramic expanse of trees, broken here and there by an occasional open space. I had no idea, whatsoever, of the position of the camp, except for its proximity to the river. I could identify the river by the line of green foliage. Now I must leave my mark up here, I thought. It was a pity I hadn't got a suspender, or a lacy garter, to jam into one of the cracks in the rock! In-stead, I wrote my name, using a ballpoint pen, on the cardboard section of an empty cartridge case. I wedged the cardboard into a suitable crevice. I thus left my mark. I had taken rather longer than I had intended, so I made my way directly down the hill and back to the bath tub. A thickset, female waterbuck scrambled up the bank as I reached the river, but I did not stop, since my thoughts were on the return passage. When I came to the tin bath again, I picked up my bamboo pole lying next to it. The edge of the river was shallow, and I climbed into the bath and knelt down as before, with it wobbling dangerously beneath me. I pushed off from the bank with the bamboo pole. Before too long, I was in the middle of the river. Just then the bath was caught by the current that came swiftly from upstream. The pole was more of a hindrance than a help, so I lifted it up and placed it onto the bath in front of me, and started paddling with my hands. Using my arms, I made little progress, and was swept along by the current downstream. To slow down my speed, I jammed the bamboo pole with full force into the water. Thankfully, it became embedded in the mud at the bottom of the river, and I held onto it for dear life. The bath tilted, forcing me to lean over to the other side to maintain my balance. Then, in the midst of my dilemma, to my absolute horror, I heard Rolly's voice, and I nearly fell headfirst over the side.