Expats Beware: Zambia -Part 2-The Journey
Johannesburg to Tata
Following advice received from my future employer we headed north for Botswana. Our route was to take us through that country and across the Kazangula ferry into Zambia.
A journey of roughly two thousand kilometres. Nothing special for the average South African.
We had decided, however, to take our time and smell the roses along the way and had booked two stopovers at Tata in Botswana and Victoria Falls on the Zambian border.
The fact that the trip took us five days is the thrust of this chapter.
Our first taste of what was to come was at the Botswana border where our US Dollars proved to be a problem. After some shenanigans and nimble footed negotiations, we managed to get our hands on some Pula (the local currency) and were back on the road.
However, whilst we are reasonably well travelled folk, we learned something new at this first border crossing. Something called “carbon tax.” Suffice to say that it is a new form of tax and simply another way for governments to part you from your hard-earned cash.
We would eventually cross seven borders. Ouch.
We had booked into a guest lodge in a town called Tata, about two hundred kilometres North West of the Botswana capital Francistown. It was our first scheduled stop over.
Things were going well.
We arrived in Francistown about five thirty and dusk was falling.
How is that, by the way? How does dusk fall? And where does it go after it has fallen? Ah, but I digress again. Sorry.
We still had about two hundred kilometres to go to Tata and I had been warned not to drive in Botswana at night. I pointed this out to the long suffering one but in typical gung-ho fashion we pushed on.
An hour later, in the dark, two cows and a large bull strolled into the road from our left. As the good lady swerved to avoid them, we hit the bull, side on. Apart from shitting himself all over my window he was pretty much unfazed and together with his two mates wandered off into the night.
We, on the other hand were a little unsettled.
Perhaps unsettled is something of an understatement.
Here we were, stuck on the side of the road, between pretty much nothing and nowhere. Sitting, shell shocked (or shit shocked), in a car that had been attacked by a marauding bull.
Well, you know what I mean.
We tried the engine and, miraculously, it started.
In fact, to our utter amazement and ultimate joy, the only real problem was the passenger door. That’s right, the one covered in fresh cow pie (or would that be bull pie in this case?).
But back to the door.
The one that no longer closed.
No problem for the ever resourceful one. She got out of the car and started taking off her jeans.
Now, considering the circumstances, this struck me as rather strange timing what with the shock and all but hey, why not? I’m a good sport and the kids are miles away.
She then threw me her belt and told me to get that ridiculous look off my face.
“Fix the door” she said.
I complied.
Damn.
Anyway, with my fantasies about fun and games in the wilds of deepest and literally darkest Africa dashed and with the door now securely belted closed we soldiered manfully on.
An hour later we limped, battered and bruised, dazed and confused and shaken not stirred into the lodge at Tata.
After a late dinner and a couple of beers we thankfully hit the sheets.
If you enjoyed this part of the story but somehow missed the first part, here is a link:
The story continues here:
