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Botswana Blues April 2008
It was inevitable after 6 weeks with Bill & Lesley that things would seem quiet and lonely after their departure.
So it was no more of Bill's Congo pygmies and crocodile wrestling stories (no, he wasn't wrestling the pygmies but after nearly two years away my written English is getting rusty). We were also missing advice from Lesley regarding transsexual fats (I think that was what she was on about), Billy Rubens (don't ask, either a bizarre medical test, an horrendous disease that would make you the envy of hypochondriacs everywhere, or a failed 1960s pop star) and Abnormal Liver function tests.
Having dropped our UK friends at Joburg airport, and whilst making a mental note to ask for a Normal Liver function test if the need ever arose, we headed straight to National Luna, conveniently situated 10 minutes away. This was sadly not the nerve centre of the South African space effort but the manufacturers of our trailer fridge, which had aptly chosen the first 2 weeks of Bill & Lesley's visit to sympathise with the anti global warming movement and shut itself down.
Fortunately, unlike the UK where you'd require an 8-week lead time, the guys at National Luna removed and repaired the fridge within an hour of our arrival. The problem was nothing more than a broken fan and a clogged hose, and 14 tons of Kalahari sand lodged in and around the electrics and condenser.
The repair charge was ridiculously cheap and we headed north towards Pretoria in a much happier mood. Shame then that Marc (the not quite right Welshman) chose that moment to phone and say that he and (the long suffering) Paula had quit Botswana and could meet us tonight at Mapalingwe game reserve near Bela Bela, a direction we were heading in anyway.
Despite being Welsh, claiming that "his Landy loves him" and having a penchant for slipping in to ill-fitting police womens' uniforms (check the photo album) Marc was actually a welcome sight as we pulled in to the campsite, if only because he has a knowledge of Landrover engines second to none, and in the absence of none he would have to do!
This is not to infer that our Landrover Discovery engine was playing up, it was merely the gearbox and/or clutch that had spent weeks making random groaning noises, (either that or Bill and Lesley were misbehaving on the backseats). Marc, with commendable bravery considering I was driving, threw himself under the wheels and pronounced that it was the thrust or spigot bearing that was going.
It is funny how all our car problems occur when we have less than 7 days left on our visas! A quick call to various Landrover dealerships, and a visit to a repair centre in Bela Bela confirmed the worst; we would need to be in Botswana before the car was likely to get fixed.
We were not very good company for Marc & Paula on their last night in South Africa before flying back to the UK, and watching them depart the next day produced a feeling of envy for the first time on our trip. Maybe we were just tired, or maybe the constant problems and expenses with the vehicle, trailer and tent were getting to us?
Crossing the RSA border at Derdepoort, our mood went from bad to worse when our request for a 60-day visa was declined by Botswana Immigration. Instead of gracefully accepting 30 days, we pointed out instead that we were given 60 days last time. This prompted a closer inspection of our passports and the announcement that as we had been in the country for 72 out of a permissible 90 days in 12 months, they were only giving us 18 days!
Fighting back the overwhelming urge to point out that all we intended to do is spend copious quantities of Botswana Pula on fuel, food, accommodation, sightseeing and car repairs we bit our lips, smiled gratefully and thanked the staff for informing us we could visit the immigration department in the capital, Gaborone, to apply for a longer stay.
There are many reasons to visit Botswana; sadly Gaborone is not one of them. Perhaps it was a publication error but our Bradt Guide to Botswana actually forgets to mention the capital! We pitched camp at Mokolodi, a game reserve and animal rehabilitation centre 15kms south of the town, our mood worsened by a weekend of drunk and noisy neighbours, swarms of mosquitoes, no water and completely indifferent staff.
As is often the case in Africa, the presence of wildlife (in this case giraffe walking through camp in the night) lifted our spirits and we were intrigued to see a sign about elephant being dangerous to approach even when accompanied by their "handlers". Seeking clarification from Reception we realised they were talking about Indian elephants and Sri Lankan handlers, an odd concept in a country famous for huge herds of the African sort! Oddity became tragedy less than a week later when we read in the local press that two of the handlers had been killed by their elephants.
Before then we'd moved to a bed & breakfast lodge in the city to compensate for the lack of transport. Fortunately we soon had the car back, running beautifully with a new clutch assembly and pressure plate. The upside of the B&B was satellite TV, and it is fair to say that we revelled in the chance to watch a pile of dross movies, old episodes of Friends and, a special treat for Angela, various live football games featuring Man Utd in the Premiership and the Champions League.
After watching George of the Jungle 2, possibly the worst film ever made, we realised how easy it was to be seduced back in to the world of television, so we promptly returned to Mokolodi campsite. No chance of television here, there are no electrics!
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