The Okavango Delta: Bush Poos and Hippo Grunts
Our itinerary for Botswana read: “Mokoros to bushcamping in Delta.” I did not know what most of those words meant. I knew I didn’t like the sound of “bushcamping.”
Turns out it meant this: we took little dugout canoes poled by locals through the papyrus reeds and lily pads of the Okavango Delta to our camp that was “in the bush” – in the middle of nowhere. It was quite beautiful, very serene, but I’ll admit that I enjoyed the journey more than the destination.
“Bushcamping” means no showers, no toilets, and don’t venture too far to answer Nature’s call. A member of our group, Tom, a 19-year-old from Britain, found this out when he was in the middle of what we affectionately term a “bush poo” when he looked up to find an elephant not 30 yards off, watching with interest. Very British, Tom said he asked himself, “Shall I carry on?” (Seems to me like that audience would speed things along.) We also saw leopard prints near the “loo” one morning, which I took as confirmation of my fear that during my private bush runs, big animals were eying me the way I eye MoonPies at the 7-11.
The other thing about bushcamping is that animals can pretty much come and go from your campsite as they please. Like that leopard. Or like the hippos that came so close to our tents one night their grunts were thunderous and kept Jordan inside the tent even though he badly needed to make a dash to the woods.
I must admit, as well, that the game viewing wasn’t very good. We read later that the best game is in the inner Delta, which is only accessible by private plane and the only accommodation is at expensive private lodges. This is typical of Botswana’s attempt to limit tourism to the well-heeled. On the positive side, you know you’re spoiled when you see elephants, zebras and hippos and think it’s just OK. As a woman in our group said, “It’s average, but average for Africa.”
By far the highlight was our James Bond-like exit from the Delta. We took our Stone Age mokoros out of the swamp, and hopped on a Jeep that drove us to a deserted field. The driver shooed away the cows to make room for our helicopter. (We’d arranged a bird’s-eye view of the Delta before we left Maun, the little town nearby.) The Delta is massive — 15,000 to 22,000 square kilometres, depending on the season. That’s just a bit smaller than Belize. The best way to get even an idea of its vastness is from the air. We zoomed around the Delta, spying cape buffalo, giraffes, elephants and zebras from the air, flying low, us humming “Flight of the Valkyries” in the backseat. If, like us, you can’t afford the super-plush game reserves in the inner Delta, splash out on a chopper ride.
