A Hiccup in the Bush
Expect the Unexpected
For the past three weeks, I have been once again in Zimbabwe, at my cousins’ ranch in the sprawling Save Valley Conservancy. Spreading over 750,000 acres, the SVC is one of the largest privately owned game reserves in Africa, and I am lucky enough to have visited many times. The last time was about a year ago, in February 2022 - I wrote about that experience here. Now, back in Harare, I have time to reflect on my most recent trip, just about a week ago, over the Easter weekend.
First, I would like to make a note about the travel from Mozambique to Zimbabwe, in case any of our loyal readers ever decides they want to visit. I went from Maputo, and there are a few different ways to get from Maputo to the SVC. The easiest, of course, is to fly, but there are no direct flights from Mozambique to Zimbabwe, at least not the cities from which I was coming and going, necessitating a stopover in Johannesburg. Flying the whole way is expensive - at the least, about $500 US for the two 1.5 hour flights. So, I decided to take the Cheetah bus from Maputo to Johannesburg, then fly from there to Harare. This cut the costs in half, but added a full day’s bus drive. I don’t mind, though, because the Cheetah bus is small, comfortable, and reliable, with good, friendly drivers. I have used it many times, and would strongly recommend the trip to anyone who finds themselves in a similar position to mine. Also, the drive is beautiful - you pass through many mountainous areas, especially near the border, making for some excellent views. Once in Harare, it is still about a six or seven hour drive down to Humani. I did this drive two days after arriving, and soon found myself once again in the familiar home of my cousins Anne and Roger.
My days visiting Humani fall into a welcome routine; we wake early, around 5am, and Anne and I walk the dogs as at the sun rises. Then, a big breakfast, followed usually by another drive, a visit to a neighbor, or a similar activity. Then lunch, followed by an afternoon nap in the heat of the day, and then afternoon tea. After tea, usually an evening game drive or a sundowner somewhere along the Turgwe river before dinner.
It was during one of our post-breakfast drives that we were hit with a mild disaster. I was with Anne and her friend, and we had decided to go look for elephants along the Turgwe River bank. Anne drove while we passengers scanned the trees on one side and the river on the other, searching for that elusive grey body. We stopped in the river and sat for a while, hoping to see something, but no luck. After about an hour, we turned around and drove back.
On the way back, I saw something on the far side of the river.
“Buffalo!” I shouted.
Anne cranked the wheel and we bumped off the road and onto a rise above the river bed. Then, suddenly, the car jolted to an immediate halt as it felt like we had fallen into the mother of all potholes. But, this was dirt - there should be no pothole.
We all exited the vehicle to appraise the situation, and saw that it was indeed dire - the front left wheel had come off and was laying about three feet from the vehicle. We had hit nothing, and there was no reason I could see that our tire should have decided to jump ship.
“Metal fatigue,” was the diagnosis.
We had no spare.
We sat for a while in the car on the river bank, watching what was indeed a large herd of buffalo on the far side. A troupe of baboons, frightened by the sound of our vehicular failure, leapt across the water in front of us. We debated what to do.
“Well, we could try to walk back, but I wouldn’t want to meet any elephants on foot,” Anne’s friend said.
“Plus, I heard lions last night. What if they’re near?” I added.
“No, absolutely not. I’ll try the radio,” Anne decided.
Each car has a radio built in with a walkie-talkie for exactly this kind of situation.
“Anne calling, Anne calling, we are stuck on the river bank.”
Only static replied.
“Anne, workshop, Anne, workshop. We are stuck in the river bank, lost a wheel” she tried again to hail one of the workers at the workshop who might be able to come rescue us. Again, silence.
“Damn. Try again.”
“Anne, workshop, Anne, workshop…”
Nothing. We sat for a few minutes more. Just as we were about to give up, we heard a crackling reply.
“Copy, Anne. I’m nearby with a client - we will come to you.”
Anne’s son-in-law and his safari client had heard the call and were coming to our rescue. A few minutes later, I was standing near the water, binoculars stuck to my eyes, as I saw the truck.
“There they are,” I said to Anne.
When the truck arrived, we piled in the back, leaving behind our car and the wheel - we would go back later with a new tire and tools to fix it up.
For now, it was on to lunch, a welcome respite from our brief and unplanned stopover on the Turgwe River bank.
Hairy situation, you went thru! Thank God for the back-up plan: the radio....!