Home » Botswana » Jul 24, 2004 Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana Part 2 - Conclusion

Pardon me for the interruption. I had to step outside for a moment to “gather my thoughts”. It feels as if there is a little more activity in the bush tonight. I’m hearing a sound that I can only guess is the troop of baboons near Stanley; or what could it be? There is a bird very close to us, I think in the tree overhanging our tent. I can’t hope to recreate the song in words, but it has a kind of “wind-up and pitch” aspect to it (“there’s the wind-up and therrrrrrrrre’s the pitch!”), to use what from me is a quite rare sports analogy. Then another sound I’ve never heard before; and now the recognizable grunt of a hippo... every so often the distant calls of hyena. There is a strange energy in the atmosphere. Perhaps it can be explained scientifically – waxing moon and increased illumination, barometric pressure, dew point, humidity – but the air feels different.

Jul 24, 2004 Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve, Botswana Part 2 - Conclusion

Tom Schueneman
2006-03-27 15:40:37

Displayed times (last time: )

left rear changed than Stanley said the front rear was punctured too (there are some pretty nasty thorns out here).

Okay, now it was starting to feel pretty adventuresome. Out in the bush, two flat tires, nothing but a few bottles of water and some Cliff Bars...

I joked with Jayne before coming here of just wandering into the bush never to be heard from again. Walking off the shore of civilization into the open sea of the wilderness. “Perhaps now is my chance!” I thought to myself. Dusting the grime off my shirt from helping Stanley with the tire, I then remembered the problem I’d had all along with this scenario of giving it all up and finding enlightenment in the wilderness. I’d eventually run out of soap and wouldn’t be able to wash my hands. I remain tethered to civilization.

Stanley radioed Alwyn, who said he’d be right there. By the time Alwyn arrived, Stanley had the tube patched, and with a little help pumping up the tire, we were soon on our way.

Flush from the macho demonstration of our survival skills (Stanley helped too), the boys and I went topside as we rode toward the river in search of Big Game. Dan and Scott laid down their own rap as we went: “Tom, Tom he’s the man... got his bandana on...” Then “Jayne, Jayne she’s the woman...” Somehow, there is no higher praise than to be considered cool by a fourteen-year-old, if only for a moment.

At some point on our way back to camp, the boys had devised a fiendish game called “jelly”, in which the player stands on the seat of a moving land cruiser. Upon the word “jelly” the participants go limp (as in ‘jelly’), letting the bush track toss them about until the participants are simultaneously convulsed with a mixture of tears and laughter. Unfortunately, if you’re not a participant, ‘jelly’ can become a bit tiresome rather fast. Fortunately, jelly couldn’t go on forever – even for a pliable teenager. Bruises ...