Rain is probably worth more than diamonds in Botswana. There are plenty of the diamonds here. But not so much of rain.

It is held in such an esteemed position that the national currency, pula, literally means rain.

So it was with some disbelief that we absorbed all this information while on a game walk in almost torrential downpour. And even more so as I fell asleep to the sound of rain falling on my tent that night.

The pitter-patter was interrupted by distant roars. I could only assume it was a lion.

Other times, it was interrupted by some trumpeting much closer by. It wasn't until morning that we all found the unmistakable footprints carefully stamped around our tents.

"They very rarely would stomp on tents. They just think they're boulders." Mark, our guide, explained.


Somehow, one of these coming within one metre of the "boulder" that I'm in is still a scary thought.

Lodgings for the night was at Elephant Sands, a camp site close to Nata.  On our way here in the afternoon, we got caught speeding at 80km/h in a 60km/h zone. I am not entirely sure how accurate this was as we were not exactly caught by a speed gun. The local Botswana cop shop utilises a simple  a video recorder, one you would record your baby's first steps back in 1988. Perhaps they are very superior in physics equations and can work out the terminal speed, v, very quickly. Nevertheless, Mark talked his way out of a fine.

TIA. This is Africa.

Here's a little confession. That late night at work months ago certainly pushed me into going to Africa, but one of the other inspirations was the HBO/BBC production of "The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" starring Jill Scott. From the show, my list of priorities were - visit Botswana, feel the heat of the Kalahari, sip red bush tea and learn how to speak in clicks.



I kept on reading the novels while our trusty truck, Kavango, charged towards the Botswana border. I also imagined that Jill Scott would be at the other side with a cup of red bush tea and a mystery to be solved.

Reality was somewhat different. Border crossing in reality involved no friendly gestures of red bush tea, but a hastily concocted plan to get rid of weed Marc and hide the steaks from customs. And elephants. Lots and lots of elephants.

The Weed
Pineapple Express is probably the best movie I can use to describe Marc. He claimed to get offered weed everywhere. Even on his honeymoon. By the time we were about to leave Kruger, his supply had dwindled down to one last joint and we were supposed to get rid of it via any means before we got to the Botswana border.

At the last rest stop before the border, a sudden revelation dawned. We still have that one last joint. Lindi was already eager to get the us moving. But one last joint! What to do!?

Then, a local man walked past Kavango. He asked for a cigarette. Ross, the only smoker on the truck was otherwise occupied at the drop toilet. What to do?!

"The joint! Let's give him that joint!"

And thus we avoided an unappetising stint in a Botswana jail.

The Steaks
Botswana is known for its beef exports and is quite protective of its industry. Smuggling meat products across the border is illegal. However, Botswana also has a much stronger currency (the Pula) in comparison to the South African Rand. So when budgeting for an overland trip, it is good economics to smuggle some steaks.

The trick is to take the steaks out of the fridge at the border (where the customs fellow checks), and hide it in the lockers (where they don't check).

The Elephants in the Room
Botswana is like Texas. Everything is bigger. Even the elephants. When South Africa was going through Apartheid, Botswana was quite rightly worried. The government spent a lot of money to boost the military. The end of Apartheid allowed the army's focus to shift towards poachers, and thus Botswana came to have one of the best anti-poaching programs in the world. Every ten minutes or so in Botswana, you bump into a herd by the side of the road - all still with their tusks intact.

On my way to breakfast this morning, I was greeted by Pumba, one of the many warthogs within the Ilkeley Game Ranch. I cannot imagine a better way to start the day in Africa.


Our guide for the day was a local named Alfred. He often introduced himself with, "Hi, I'm Alfred and your guide for your day inside Kruger. As you can see, I am Chinese."

He stopped himself today mid-sentence when his gaze landed on me. Yes, I heckled him with my silent presence.

Kruger National Park is one of the largest game reserves in Africa. Depending on who you speak to, some will insist that it is bigger than England. The recent joint venture between Kruger NP and the surrounding associated private nature reserves brought down the fences that previously defined the borders, creating an even greater space for all the Simbas and Nhalas to roam. And thus, we were treated to sights of buffaloes, hyenas, and giraffes before we even drove through the gate into Kruger.

We seemed to spot quite a number of the outcasts today - we saw them all in duplicates of buffaloes, wildebeests, elephants, and hippos. They moved in slow and  encumbered steps in search of shelter and water in the intense heat, sometimes finding only thin coverings of bare branches or waterholes mere inches deep. It is a harsh world for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the homeless...