the African Tourist
A few favorites from a trip to Mpumalanga.
Image at the very top is the Pinnacle Rock. The second image is a picture from one of the viewing platforms at ‘God’s Window.’ It is said that on a clear day, you can see all the way to Mozambique from either of the above spots… and maybe even all the way to the ocean 
Regarding the whole SA vs. East African tourism rivalry, I’ve always said that all South Africans need do is train animals to migrate, then they’ll have put a stop to competition from East Africa as a destination. My suspicion is that the training is already happening on private game farms. On a private game drive once, I was 100% convinced there was a guy behind a tree, talking into a walkie talkie and saying, to the guy at the other end of the game drive loop, “I’ve just made the Zebras cross in front of the game drive truck, make sure you corral them and have them gallop in front of the truck again when it comes your way in 8 minutes, ok?”
If we’re talking about real competition to the Serengeti migration event, though, the Africa Parks Foundation already manages the other Serengeti, or wildebeest migration zone in western Zambia. Given a choice of APF ‘properties’ though, I’d sooner visit Dungonab bay than any of the (terrestrial) wildlife venues. I’ve seen pictures of that pristine (so far) bay on the southern waters of the Red Sea. Divine (looking). Had better make plans to visit real soon before the hoards come on down. I know, I know, last time I went to the African Arab world I declared, a la cousin Avi, “don’t go to Egypt.” Still, I am starting to think I should try it out again. If what I hear about Port Sudan is true, it should make for a memorable visit.
Speaking of APF makes me think of Peace Parks and then the whole Transfrontier Conservation/Park Areas (TFCAs). Was talking to someone recently and they believe that TFCAs are the future of tourism in Africa. If we in Africa are responsible (i.e. stop gouging out our noses to spite our faces), in another 50 years, this continent will be the foremost and most breathtaking destination in the world. I felt tremendously buoyed by that thought, until I remembered what a Tanzanian colleague had once told me. He’d asked “why do you think white people are giving so much money to conservation in Africa?” Then explained Nyerere had warned that we Africans would end up in reserves as part of the wild life attraction, if we continued along our current path of never questioning the generosity of others. Geez, I didn’t even know that Nyerere had a stance on conservation… clearly an indictment against my knowledge of the African founding fathers who, as flawed as they might have been, are at this point in history shaping up to be the best leaders we ever had. Their hearts appear to have been in the right place – per the spin – which was freedom from oppression and unity of Africans.
But right on the heels of that thought is a recent conversation with a career coach who says that poor people’s thinking is well-documented: they always hide their resources and any value they could add because they think if they show it, someone is going to steal it. They don’t realize that ideas can be stolen, but that there is (well, there ought to be) more where they (the ideas) came from. He indicated that in order for personal development to take place, some mindsets must be abandoned.
Geez! Talk about being pulled in a whole lot of different directions. What direction does one choose to follow? I’m a fan of striking out on roads less traveled, enjoying the fire and warmth of burnt bridges, but isn’t that just ‘so 2008!‘?
I’ll leave you to ruminate over this quote from White African’s collection:
“A fool may be known by six things: anger, without cause; speech, without profit; change, without progress; inquiry without object; putting trust in a stranger, and mistaking foes for friends.”
- Arabic Proverb
Where was I again? Oh yes, so everything about the Kruger just seemed terribly sanitized, we saw the animals you’d expect to see at around 9am any morning: the herbivores: kudus/boks, more kudus/boks, a few elephants (that appeared to be in heat – quite a tremendous sight, that. And it revealed to me that I remain mired in that childish fascination with “how do they do it?”), a few gnus… none of the really exciting carnivores that keep us tuning in to National Geographic Wild and Animal Planet. Those usually come out at night. And I’ll be darned if imma be out in the open waiting to meet with the same fate as those who have not grown up around wildlife and think the wild animals just need love and understanding.
I’ll give an excellent illustration of how this city-living, first-world wannabe existence is turning my brain to mush and making me act like a healthy respect for all things wildlife is not in my genetic make up: the other day I was reading a story titled ‘Harry the hippo’ to a 3 year old. One of his grown up relatives was within earshot, so when I read from the book that, “Harry was the friendliest hippo you ever met”, the relative sat bolt upright and asked, in bold caps, “WHAT?!” It was only then that I realized I was telling this kid that hippos, the cause of the highest number of deaths from human-animal encounters in Africa (and nope, can’t find anything that points to an original source for that statement, other than it is oft quoth… another case of internet incest?) are friendly animals. Next thing you know, he’ll be at a river/dam-side wanting to pet the hippo! Any reference to ‘cute and cuddly hippo’ was thereafter amended to “do not approach a hippo!” and we continued with the story whose moral was: d.o. n.o.t skip baths. You might think it extremist, but it beats the heck out of gored and dead. Methinks it’s totally justified though (fine, not the fear factor, but the caution exhortation) because this kid lives in a place where the odds of encountering a hippo in a ‘controlled’ situation are higher than 75%.
I’m from the school of thought which states that there is no such thing as a ‘tame’ or ‘friendly‘ wild animal. All you need do is read tourism news. You will unfailingly come across stories of tourists (usually from other continents) who come to Africa, look at the locals as chicken for being so afraid of those cute and cuddly animals, and sometimes pay with their lives for not listening to the locals urging caution. The locals are also not spared, and it doesn’t matter whether they work directly in tourism, or were just minding their own business near a wildlife-infested area. It would, of course, be insensitive to cite the actual cases, but they usually involve someone standing where an elephant can catch their scent, someone petting a ‘baby’ lion and getting their arm snatched off, someone thinking they’re a total ninja and walking alone or moving/camping apart from a larger group in a place which has carnivores that like to hunt. Or, a guy trying to impress a girl with a show of bravery in the face of known wild animal territory, and finding out that he is not superman. I believe encounters of local communities with wild animals are more frequent but are not, interestingly enough, as well reported in mainstream media.
Coming from a genetic background of a long line of ancestors that knew how to avoid wild animals, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, neh? and no, I’m not painting pre-slavery Africa as a jungle with predators around every horizon, I’m just acknowledging that predators were one of the factors this selfish gene (and 700 million other) had to contend with on this continent. There is therefore no way (call me chicken all you want) I shall willfully put myself in harm’s way. I hear you asking, “what about all the Africans working in wildlife conservation?” Well, they are endowed with knowledge about the animals, through employing their honed powers of observation. And the ones who are still with us, are the ones who don’t take unnecessary risks. They understand the behavior of the animals in their care. Case in point, you might see a lioness with her cubs sitting at the same spot when you go out on your game drive. You’ll think “ah, great to see the animals in their own habitat”. The guide will tell you that the lioness brings her cubs along everyday to see who the new visitors are, tells them “let’s go see what humans are getting up to inside our habitat?”
Had once dabbled in animal behavior and was advised that the best way to learn behavior of an animal is to keep it close to you, so you could observe what it did during exciting times and during the lulls in between. A popular book among those of us too impatient to put in the time to observe the behavior of animals or to interrogate our elders about them, but still wanting greater detail than NGWild and AP provide, is ‘The Behavior Guide to African Mammals‘. And don’t complain that I read Estes’ book. I’ll read yours as soon as Thomson’s and Grant’s gazelles are renamed, ok? Honest, let me know about a good animal behavior book written by an African and I’ll happily use it to supplement Estes’ contribution. Hmmm, I wonder what he’d make of the goings on in Durban where there have been a hippo spotted swimming in the ocean, and a leopard on the loose in the past month.
I know a couple of guys who went to Wildlife College in Arusha and have stories that can last for days about their fieldwork. Want a fine and entertaining time? Hang out with people who work with wildlife. Those stories are too real and funny. In further exposition of my pesky love for country, I cannot blow other trumpets and leave the Kenyan one unblown, there is the Wildlife field school at Manyani. The wildlife-related stories from that area too funny. Can’t remember them all, and if I did attempt to relate the ones I remember, they’d fall flat. The original narrator was a coastian who drives trucks between Mombasa and Uganda, and he weaves a heck of a yarn, all brought on by the question, “do the man eaters of Tsavo still exist?”
Alright, I am cognizant that I did little to describe the landscape of Mpumalanga in my previous post (but she does). I would say the vocabulary escapes me, and the pics I’ve taken have been taken from a car, with me multitasking as: driver, photographer, and lookout. Having said that though, luck does sometimes shine on me and there do exist some decent-ish picture. These will come through sooner than later, along with a map of the different panorama that Mpumalanga is organized into. And I can hear you sniggering about whether “that too (promised Mpu pics) will go the way of the Maputo posts”, and I say, they really are in ‘in the pipeline’, it’s just that we’ve realized there’s a crack in said pipeline and we need to address that before the entire road (to Maputo posts) caves in.
I’ve done a quick foray into the Kruger once, by way of Hoedespruit (close to where is situated the Southern African wildlife college, complete with white South African men in teenie, tiny shorts (the type to almost give Italy’s beach soccer team’s uniform competition), and the veld shoes, better known in Kenya as safari boots, and calf-covering socks ). Let’s put aside (for a long minute) the fact that an African does not feel welcome in these wildlife spaces, gets confused for ‘the help’ many times, and gets it from both ends (the ‘real’ tourists and ‘the help’). Let me issue a disclaimer here. I am shockingly going to concur with Kenyan tourism officials, the very ones who used to/still do(?) offer up, “authentic experience” as the excuse for roads leading up to and within game parks being poorly maintained. A Kenyan wanting to get from A to B in the shortest time and with the greatest ease possible would happily smack them across the mouth for uttering such words. As a tourist though, I can totally see their point.
I felt my Kruger experience was too sanitized. The roads were perfectly paved (guess they would need to be if you have over 1 million visitors per annum – now, what are the good people over at Nairobi – world’s only wildlife capital – National park doing about their visitor volume) and the rest stops and accommodation and restaurants might as well have been situated in any suburban… ok, exurban strip mall. Earlier this decade, some tourism marketing campaigns for South Africa even had ads which asserted that this was the only destination in Africa where you could watch wildlife AND simultaneously check your email. Clearly an attempt to play up the ‘first world’ infrastructure that South Africa has. That was, of course, just a short while before the blackberry became quasi-ubiquitous. If I may be permitted to adapt Method Man’s “forensics really jams a brotha up”, from an episode of CSI: Technology really jams up your ‘unique selling proposition.’
Just one question though (and in asking it I reveal that I am NOT in the target demographic for that ad): if I came to watch wildlife, why is email even on my radar? Is the place that much of a yawn? Shouldn’t the experience be so engaging and riveting that it takes my full concentration? (What was that? dream on? wildlife watching is about a few moments of excitement and long hours of waiting?) Ah well, if ever I doubted that I remain true to Kenya, this here instinctive comparative outburst on the memorability of wildlife viewing in a place with perfect road infrastructure vs. one with … not-quite-so-perfect infrastructure has proved (to me at least) that I remain deeply enamored of my country, warts and all.
Honestly though, with everything running so seamlessly, where are the little (or ginormous) adventure details on which you base the carefully crafted, “wish you’d been there” narrative to recount to all and sundry back home? Now, some folk might imagine that all I’m looking for are memories of things gone wrong. I am not. I am inclined to believe though, that wherever you go, it’s the uniqueness of the experience that makes it memorable. When I say uniqueness, you really should not feel like you just went to your regular neighborhood strip mall but they had changed the decor or brought in some plants and animals.
Let me give an example of what I mean.
Let’s say you decide to go camping in… the Florida Everglades National Park. You come in with everything you think you need. While paying the camping fee you ask the attendant whether there’s lots of mosquitoes. He responds, “Yep, they clock in at 5.30pm on the dot”. You laugh, ’cause he’s oh so funny, but it doesn’t really matter if it’s true ’cause you brought along the can of bug spray, right? 5.30pm proves that boy was the attendant ever so right and precise! And that darned can of bug spray is nowhere to be found. You run to the little convenience shop and discover that bug spray is THE ONE THING whose price has quadrupled since that morning when you were passing all those towns and cities. While in the moment it’s not remotely funny, years later it seems such fun, and south Florida will forever remain etched into your memory. Mozzy bite scars? What scars? The four things that make it a unique and memorable experience are a) the local knowledge, b) your disregard of it, c) its truth, d) commerce’s exploitation of that truth. It was not a simple waltz in and out. Nothing went wrong. You just had an adventure.
I wonder what aspect of your typical tourist’s foray into the Kruger remains etched in memory. Is it the birds? The animals? Interaction with different people? Is there any adventure in getting it there or in navigating your way through the park? I suppose if it’s your first time to see the animals in living color, that in itself is pretty memorable. But what happens to a person like me who has gotten to see most of them before in my own country, at a subsidized ‘local tourist’ rate, with loads more memorable experiences attached to that wildlife viewing experience: e.g. the vehicle slid off the road and we had to figure out how to get it unstuck; part of the entourage wet themselves after heading out into the bush to relieve themselves (courtesy of too much to drink) and then hearing a startling ‘carnivore-sounding’ noise before their business was done?
In the absence of the above-mentioned type of adventure, I usually seek to make my own. Signs emblazoned, ‘no vehicles beyond this point’ speak loudest to me… but that’s a tale for another day.
God’s own country. Quite contested territory, this. Indeed, a quick googling of the phrase has wikipedia volunteering Kerala as self-appointed holder of that title. Last year during a radio interview, some guy pronounced Stellenbosch, ‘God’s HQ’ (ok, not just any guy, the CEO of the company that provided the radar technology that measured tennis serve ball speed at Wimbledon 2007).
Can’t speak to Kerala ’cause I haven’t been. And while Stellenbosch and the Franschhoek area are not shabby by any stretch of the imagination (the mountains… the wine… the wine-related venues… the laid back atmosphere …), they don’t quite hit that ‘God’s HQ’ spot for me. What does? Mpumalanga Province.
My initial contact with the province? Infamy in form of news headlines. It has managed to distinguish itself in the provincial championships of ‘most corrupt’ (it’s the bridesmaid, #2, Eastern Cape’s the bride on this one), ‘highest HIV rate’ (still the bridesmaid, KZN’s the bride), and (finally, we have a bride! #1) in tourist attacks (yes, they even give Cape Town – Western Cape – competition). I know. I’m such a buzz killer. But I like to get the bad stuff out the way fast and first. Then it’s blue skies hereon out
The first time I drove through Mpumalanga (on my way to, [sigh!] Maputo) was in October a whole bunch of years ago, on the N4. I couldn’t get enough of the scenery! Especially ’cause the jacaranda (trees) were in full bloom. I immediately understood why tourists get attacked so often here. It is supremely difficult to suppress the desire to take gigabytes-worth of photographs, or to stop and picnic, or just wander out of the car and explore. I’m sure over at thug-operations-central, up on their wall is a(n FBI-style, or is that NASA-style) gigantic map of the province, complete with tourist and scenic spots with stats on who (nationality, wealth) goes where and what the pickings are at different times of the year. The chief operations manager is probably busy assigning different areas according to (hopefully) ability not to kill the geese that lay the golden eggs.
Honestly, words cannot do this province justice. Best thing would be for you to visit and see for yourself.
My favorite song (to put on repeat) during my drive from Nelspruit to Lebombo-Ressano Garcia (the SA-MZ border) was (I use past tense ’cause right now, ’tis not the most prudent of actions to drive a vehicle with RSA plates into MZ) the Norman Brown version of Earth Wind & Fire’s ‘Love’s Holiday‘. It especially hit the spot when I saw the bougainvillea just past Nelspruit, towards Koomatiport. It made me imagine I could smell the ocean, and hear the waves beckoning.
That song just sends me. Promises beauty, energy, sunlight and warmth. OK, I’ll be honest. It’s Norman’s beautiful rendition that does it. That energetic, beguiling guitar work that draws emotion and anticipation from the depths of me, despite my natural resistance. (And yes. It does make me wonder if the fingers moving over those strings are as compelling: as the song they play). I love the original EW&F version also (never mind that the part where he – Maurice White, asks if he can ‘make love to me till he’s satisfied’ - gets me into a hissy fit, asking, ‘what about my satisfaction, Maurice?!’), for 2 reasons: it reminds me of watching Superman as a child (one of my lingering childhood memories, back when EW&F and the BeeGees ruled the airwaves), and because of that endorphin-inducing ‘Brazillian rhyme’ that’s tacked on to the last 1.22 minutes of the 5.46 minute track. Endorphin-inducing ’cause it’s been recently sampled to beautiful effect on a hip-hop track whose title and artist I forget (darn! I is gettin’ ole).
Put those 3 songs on repeat and the fastest traffic cop cars can’t keep up with me. I gets that high.
