Vic Falls Adventure Zone

When I went to Victoria Falls last month, there were moments when I was really shocked - from my own actions, from the situation, and from things happening around me. It was different from my usual holiday.

For starters, it was the kids and I and David's sister Tracy and her son Zavion. It was the first time we ever traveled (without David), and we were on a week-long adventure. I'd been hoping for a road trip around Zim since we arrived, and this should have been the moment, but we chickened out at the last minute and flew to avoid the perils of the road.

...not that I like flying. Air Zimbabwe does not inspire feelings of confidence. Yes, irreligious as I am, I was praying as the plane skidded across the atmosphere, clinging to my children while trying not to alarm them.

But that's not exactly different from other trips.



We stayed in the guest cottage of Tracy's old friend Brent who has lived in Victoria Falls most of his life. He owns and operates Adventure Zone, a small company that arranges activities for visitors to VF who need something to do after they've seen the falls. There are game drives, some nice restaurants and shopping, and then there are the more adventurous activities.

Last year when I went to Vic Falls for the first time, I looked down into the gorge and saw people tiny as ants at the bottom, walking on the boulders in the spray of the falls and rafting on the river. It was beautiful. I was bummed. Woe is me - stuck up here with my two kids. I never get to do anything fun anymore... So this time I had to go. It's one of the main activities of Adventure Zone, and Tracy offered to watch the kids.

But then I was scared. I'm a mother. What if something happened to me down there? It has class 5 rapids. We are in rural Africa. I kept thinking of all the stories of what can happen in white water. Horrible stories. Brent assured me it was safe, but I was starting to dread it.

Yet early one morning I found myself hiking down a very sketchy trail/ladder - a true precipice, carved into the side of a cliff face that dropped steeply to distant boulders and a raging river. We were going to go down 20 rapids, all class 4 or 5 rapids. Besides the guide, only one of the 7 kids in my raft had experience paddling. They were pumped up - you've got to experience life! Woohoo! Any time we had a choice of the class 4 or 5 route, they chose the class 5. God, did I feel (and act) my age.

I'm the one clutching the white paddle back by the guide's left knee.

Monstrous water consumes us.

I had been told to expect getting thrown at some point - which was good. I was prepared. While some did pop out more than once (happily? ignorantly?), I only fell out when the whole raft flipped. I had been advised to take a big breath of air when my head came up because of the waves and the not knowing when one would breathe again. That was also good advice. I never let go of the "oh shit" rope. I was under the raft, then got out from it, then maneuvered my way around the raft so I wouldn't get squashed between it and the rock wall we slammed into. The current was really strong. But I was seriously never letting go, and I was first to get back in the raft. I wasn't afraid of the crocs - apparently only babies survive the falls so at that point on the Zambezi they're not yet big enough to pose a threat. That said, we did see a sizable adolescent sunbathing on an island about half way through our trip. No. I was counting down the rapids (i.e. I have survived 7 rapids, only 13 more to go). They had names like Highway to Hell, the Terminator, and my favorite: Gnashing Jaws of Death, but I was also simultaneously wanting the biggest waves because they were incredibly exciting...and man, the relief getting through it!

Since Tracy had already been rafting on the Zambezi, she wanted to do the Swing, which is a lot like Bungee Jumping (something I've never been interested in doing), except instead of diving off a bridge, you jump off a cliff. Imagine a tightrope reaching across a canyon with a cable tied to the middle. The other end of the cable they fasten to a person in a harness...or in this case two people because she talked me into jumping tandem with her.

While we were waiting in the office for the truck to take us to the cliff's edge, I checked my email and discovered that Christina, our childhood neighbor and a best friend of my sister's had died of a heart attack, at 35, leaving 5 daughters and a husband. It was horrible shocking news. What could I do? At first I had this urge to do this crazy jump for Christina as if I were dedicating it to her, being brave for her, grabbing life with both hands for her... I'm not sure. But then I started to wonder if I was fated to learn about this just before jumping in order to stop myself from jumping. Was this a sign? I could have a heart attack. Why risk it? I decided not to do it. I was going to take photos and stay with the kids while Tracy jumped. On the way, Eliza encouraged me - you should do it, Mom! What does a 4-year-old know? Who cares? I decided to do it. Once in a lifetime chance.

Again, I was in shock as they led me to the edge and hooked me to this cable that was literally pulling us down over the edge. It was not as fun as I'd hoped, but it was still exhilarating to have done it. We free fell FOREVER (or 80 meters) before we started to swing out over the gorge. At one point while we were free falling, I started screaming even louder and peddling my feet as if running in air could get it over with faster. Now I know how I would fall from a building if it ever happened...twisting and struggling against gravity like a maniac.

So. Done.

We had gone to the falls, and we went on a beautiful day trip to Chobe National Park in Botswana just over the border which was amazing. It had been a spectacular week, but there was this niggling boat trip we'd been trying to do since our first night there, and by our last night, we were all determined it was going to happen. Brent had a pontoon, but it was stuck up on the river bank due to the low water. I was imagining some other boat pulling it out with a winch or something. But when we arrived, there were about 15 men using logs to just pick it up out of the mud. It took a good long while. My job was keeping the kids away from the water (crocs).

Wart hog ignores "Beware of Crocodiles" sign.

loading cargo

Brent with his daughter

Zavi, Miles and Brent's son

With chairs, chips, drink, women and children loaded on to the boat - we were ready. We didn't have much time before the sun set, but we still managed to see hippos, birds, crocodiles and elephants. It was as we were getting a closer look at a couple of eles that we got stuck on a sandbar. Now that wouldn't have worried me much if I hadn't seen the panic in our host's eyes. It was getting dark. He knew he was going to have to get in the water to push the boat off the bar, and he was worried about the crocs. Once at the exact spot where we'd started our journey, a croc had bitten the end off his kayak. He had been able to paddle fast enough to get to shore - all his limbs in tact, but it has made him a bit more wary of the river's dangers. 

There wasn't much we could do but keep the kids calm and move them into a corner of the boat to shift the weight off the sand bar...while enjoying our drinks and the sunset. It was a relief when we were free and floating and Brent was safely back in the boat, but then the motor wouldn't start. Again, it wouldn't have mattered that much, but we were drifting down river towards the falls. I'm sure that if the motors hadn't started we would have been able to beach ourselves somewhere before reaching the top of one of the largest falls in the world, but one couldn't exactly relax. When the motor finally started, we were all in agreement - ready to head back to the boathouse! That's when it started lightening. We're OK in a metal boat, right? And finally, in the twilight with the boathouse in sight and the storm still in the distance, giving us a great show, Brent's nephew says - look a croc and points down at our feet. I laugh and don't even look, the way you do when you're sure someone's kidding. Tracy looked down and screamed - just under our rail between the pontoon blades, a croc thrashed then swam in front of the boat.

Next morning, on the way to the airport, Brent took us to see his elephants. All of us had an easy ride around the park. It was just what the kids were wanting to do, and it was a perfect way to end our trip. Just standing next to elephants with my kids, feeling the strength of its trunk and sensing its enormous weight...again, it was excitement tinged with a wee bit of anxiety. For a woman newly 40, the trip was an adventure unlike any I've had for a while. It was a good taste, but I'm fine with getting back to the every day adventures of dealing with a couple of wild kids.

Me and Eliza on our way to the airport, Vic Falls style.

The Longest Season in Zimbabwe

We keep thinking the rainy season will end, but after every sunny week, the clouds settle in for the weekend, the temperature drops, the snails and slugs take their slimy morning strolls, and tennis lessons are cancelled again.

Sometimes it can feel like fall when the sky is bright blue and there's a chill. Fall is my favorite season, but it doesn't really exist here - neither does summer, winter or spring as I know them. Mid-August to mid-October is the hottest time, but temperatures range from the mid-50s to the mid-80s, and it's dry. Can't really call that summer, can you?

Pecan tree in August

That "hot" 8 weeks directly follows winter which is confusing (mid-May to mid-August) when it can drop to freezing at night but get up to 70 in the day. Indoor heating doesn't exist here, so for me, winter is most convincingly winter. We have a fire every night in the fireplace those months - even now - then in June, we'll escape to the heat & humidity of the States in summer.

Pecan tree in March

The rainy season is the longest season, I'm just realizing. It's practically half the year here. The bush grass gets twelve-feet high, and everything grows and grows and grows. The city is transformed into a lush, damp tropics. What would normally be a summer, given the Earth's tilt, is kept cool by the rains. It never reaches 80. You start the day with a fleece robe and furry slippers. By noon, if the sun's out, you're wearing flip-flops and a cotton skirt.

Lush driveway

This is our first entire rainy season. We've been in Zimbabwe for a year now - a year, 3 months, and 2 days to be exact. On the one hand, it doesn't seem so long ago that I welcomed the new green of the rainy season. However, the prospect of having to pull more putse fly larvae out of my 4-year-old daughter's leg has reduced my tolerance of the damp to nil. The rain may now cease.

On antibiotics. Feeling fine. Leg looking better.
Doctor says there may be 9 more to come out. :(
They are currently being smothered to death with an ointment and will be coming to the surface in the next day or so. We'll see.

We will be buying a clothes dryer for those of you reconsidering your trip here based on this latest story of an African nuisance (which lays its eggs in damp clothes drying on the line - thus the need to iron everything). 

Side note: does anyone remember how blond Eliza's hair used to be? I keep telling David that Miles used to be blond when he was a baby, and that upon returning to the States everyone commented on how dark his hair became. (Can someone back me up?)

The 1st Annual HIS Golf Tournament - The Grand Experiment

About 6 weeks ago, Tendayi, the PTO chair, and I awoke from our dream of the Christmas holiday, and realized we were going to have to do something about the annual "Dinner/Dance" that was scheduled for February 25. Neither of us wanted a repeat of last year. I suggested a golf tournament - I had visions of Caddy Shack ironic prep, G&Ts on the veranda overlooking the green, and happy people. Tendayi was game. She actually knew what we were getting into.

Tendayi, the Brains

Golf tournaments are an institution in Harare. It works something like this: private corporations pay hundreds or thousands of dollars to sponsor a hole. That means they can put up a banner. They usually pay another couple hundred bucks to sponsor a team. Others will sponsor gin tents, lunch, dinner or entertainment. There are "longest drive" and "closest to the pin" awards on multiple holes, and there are different types of competitions. We did a Betterball Stableford. I won't go into all the details. Suffice it to say, I didn't understand the majority of what was talked about in the first few coordination meetings with the Club House. And I was supposed to be the coordinator for the tournament. I should also mention that I've never played golf.

Samsung Sponsor

The first week or so I fought the desire to abandon ship. The treasurer of the PTO (we'll call her Frieda) was made over-all chairperson of the event. Tendayi assured me that I should just treat it as an experiment - it was a first for HIS. We'll just try it out, see how it goes. No pressure. So what if it was 4 times the number of people who came to my wedding, and we had 5 weeks to pull it together. My job was to find golfers. My husband golfs. How hard can it be to find 25 teams of 4?

Picobello and the NGOs - Team A

Picobello and the NGOs - Team B

Frieda ended up not really taking on the role of coordinator for the event. She had to go out of town most of the last two weeks. But Tendayi stepped up to the plate: the food, the drinks, the prizes, the complimentary gift for participating, the rented chairs and tables and linens, the identification of sponsors, the various contracts and agreements - she even found half the teams since they were linked to the sponsoring businesses.

Team Banc ABC

Reception: Get Your HIS Hats Here

Yesterday was the big day. It rained. So my greatest fear was realized. I'd gotten a hundred men and women to sign up to play golf in the rainy season, and it rained! Most people got in 9 holes. It did start off well - people rushing in, excited to get on the green with their team. Parent volunteers and club staff materialized to basically run things. I didn't forget to pick up Miles from school in the middle of it all. And when everyone was suddenly finished with their golf at 3:30 instead of 5:30, we tried to move up the prize giving ceremony. Most people stayed, and non-golfing parents did come for the dinner and party. There was enough food, and it was good. The trumpet player in the band was great. People danced. And then it was over!

Kariba

Newlyweds, Veena & Ken

Ken & Veena, friends of ours here, have moved on to work in South Sudan. To mark an end of that era, in November Olga planned a weekend in Kariba, a lake town about a 5-hour drive north of Harare. I wanted to go, but bringing the kids would have changed the dynamic. No one else from this group of friends has kids. So David, in a gesture of unselfishness that his wife won't soon forget, offered to stay home with the kids and let me go.

It was the first time I've traveled alone (child/husband-free) for fun (as opposed to for work) for eight years or so. The memories of my pre-family, traveling days came rushing back. Granted, my husband is "the boss" of more than half the group that went, and the other half are his golf buddies, so it wasn't exactly far removed from my real life. But there was so much time for myself, so little thinking-for-others. I was free to read, write, do-whatever-the-hell-I-wanted. I found it to be extremely therapeutic. Just two days, mothers and fathers out there, two days: I highly recommend it.

Biggest catch

The best part of Kariba is the fishing. Until that weekend, I had never caught a fish in my life, but tiger fishing is totally addictive. I caught one, a 2.5 pounder, and that was after hours of standing in the pouring rain.

Now, normally, standing in a downpour to fish is not something I would have ever imagined enjoying, but once you've lost a big one that twisted and flipped through the air on your line, fighting for its life as you used all your strength to reel it in, you just can't stop casting again in the hope that you'll get it or it's larger cousin next time. With this type of fishing, you cast out far, then quickly reel it in, so it's also satisfying to be active, casting over and over to get it just right, hearing the line unwind, sailing through the air, then plop in the water.

The hippo and crocodile population on the lake has exploded in recent years due to hunting restrictions and the croc farmers releasing a certain percentage into the lake. These also are some of the most dangerous animals in the country. At one point we had to pass through a narrow set of sand bars that probably had 20 hippos, mostly submerged except for their eyes, ears and backs, just 50 feet away. The crocodiles with gorgeous yellow and black patterns on their tails seem almost harmless on the banks until they pop up on their fat legs and slither speedily towards us, disappearing under the water by our boat. Needless to say, there is no swimming in Lake Kariba, but all the wildlife certainly adds to the overall excitement of a simple fishing trip.

Yes, those are hippos.

...for more from that trip:

Make a Plan

This is the motto of Zimbabwe. When you can't get what you want, you "make a plan."

Today, I was with my Austrian friend, Bettina, who has lived in Zimbabwe for six years. She checked her mailbox. Curious, I asked what she was expecting to find there. "A parcel," she said in her German-Zimbabwean accent. I've never lived in a country outside the U.S.A. that had reliable postal service, so I was intrigued. When I'd had my Mom send a test package, it never arrived, so we'd given up on it as an option here.

"Oh, it's quite easy," she said. "A month after it's sent, you just follow up with a petition. We get parcels almost every month from my parents." Follow up? "My parents file a report with their postal service in Austria, and that usually gets things moving on this end. I think the Zim postal service can assume all unclaimed packages after a certain period, so they just hold on to them unless a petition is filed." Right. "But you mustn't let your family send anything during the holidays. It's too tempting. Usually a few things go missing. My parents always write the contents of the parcel on the inside of the carton now so we know if anything's missing."

"And there's customs. They only allow $75 worth of goods to be mailed in per month per family, and anything over, they start charging 40% tax. We made the mistake of leaving some price tags on some toys once. Now we make sure everything is roughed up, and my parents put fake price tags on them for 25 cents or 50 cents. We can always say they were sold at a clearance sale or yard sale. As long as it adds up to no more than $74, it's not a problem. It was quite a hassle getting the trampoline in. My sister unpacked the whole thing, rolled all the pieces around in the dirt and packed it up again. You know, during those years when it was crazy and you couldn't find anything here, you just had to make a plan. But it works quite well. We get parcels every month."

The Change That's Coming

From THIS to THIS in roughly six weeks. Wishing soooooooo much I could focus on the family's transition instead of being overwhelmingly busy at work. Am thankful we have the additional income to help with the move though.