Thursday, 3 July 1986: Getting Wowed Away by Victoria Falls

August 12, 8:50AM, Halfway House, South Africa.

Victoria Falls on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe are the world’s quintessential waterfalls rivaled only by Iguazu Falls (which I’ve not seen) on the Brazil-Argentine border.  They are 1700 meters (about 1 mile) wide with an average height of more than 350 feet.  During flood season, as much as 337,500,000 liters of water per minute come crashing down to the gorge below.  That’s enough to fill a couple hundred Olympic-sized swimming pools. 

Upon my arrival in Livingstone, Zambia (about five miles from the falls) in the evening of Wednesday, 2 July, I was met by an African driver at the train station.  He drove me over to an old three bedroom home occupied by Piero, a 55-year-old divorced Italian man who is the quality control manager for Zambia’s Fiat assembly plant, located in Livingstone.  I had met Winter Lemba, the plant’s manager, at a Rotary Club convention in Lusaka, and he made arrangements for me to stay with Piero in Livingstone.  Piero seemed lonely and clearly appreciated having a visitor.  He is an avid skier and mountaineer, so we had much to talk about. 

On Thursday morning, Piero sent two of his Zambian employees over to drive me out to the falls.  They were very friendly, and we talked about American music.  They dropped me off at the Mosi-o-Tunya (the smoke that thunders – the local name for the falls) Inter-Continental Hotel.  My drivers introduced me to Mary, a big Zambian woman who worked at the hotel.  She pointed me in the direction of the falls and told me to look her up if I needed anything.

By now, it was 10:30AM, and I could see and hear the “smoke that thunders” a few hundred yards away.  In my notebook, I wrote, “I feel this is a spiritual moment.”  I walked over to the eastern edge of the falls, called the Eastern Cataract.  I was overwhelmed by the hypnotic wall of water continuingly plunging into the gorge below and sending up a mist that obscured most of the falls to the west.  After a few minutes of paralysis, I pulled out the Pentaxes and started shooting at the first spot from where I’d seen the falls; the beautiful rainbow created by the warm winter sun shining through the mist; a woman in a straw hat sitting on the edge of a cliff peacefully contemplating a zillion gallons of water per minute. 

Eastern Cataract partly obscured by the mists and accompanied by a deafening roar.  No wonder the falls are called Mosi-oa-Tunya (the Smoke that Thunders).

 

I wandered down a path into the rainforest which gets a nearly perpetual spray from the cascading water.  I met three white tourists who were walking back from Knife Edge and were soaked.  Vervet monkeys scampered everywhere; two African nuns shushed one of them away with a whistle and a smile.  I had come prepared with my cagoule and rain chaps and it was time to dawn them if I expected to proceed along the Knife Edge trail any further while maintaining some semblance of dry clothing.  Unfortunately I’d worn my running shoes, leaving my mostly waterproof gortex boots back at Piero’s place.  My feet got fairly soaked – no big deal with the temperature in the low 70s.  Once out on the Knife Edge trail, I had to give up on photography.  The continuous mist made it impossible to keep my lenses free of water droplets.  The visibility wasn’t very conducive for photos anyway.  The atmosphere was very eerie and crossing the slippery footbridge along the trail was a bit freaky. 

Once getting back out of the mist, I took some photos of a cute little African girl as she watched the falls and got her address with the help of a policeman so I could send her a couple prints.  I had thought that Piero was going to come by to pick me up about 1:00PM and I walked by to the Intercontinental Hotel to meet him. 

While waiting for Piero, I started talking to a young American woman.  She was a plain-looking hippie chick from Seattle with hairy legs who was hitching solo through Africa.  She had had no problems hitching in Zimbabwe or Zambia though some of the whites who picked her up seemed concerned for her safety.  She was perhaps a little too gutsy although she obviously had some street sense.  She was probably in her late 20s and had worked as a nurse for several months in the Honde Valley on the Zimbabwe-Mozambique border.  I had seen this beautiful valley from an overlook in Nyanga National Park more than two weeks earlier. She had gotten typhoid fever while working there, but was OK now.  I got the impression that she didn’t consider my experience of Africa to be as good as hers since I wasn’t hitching, camping out, or staying with poor African families.  Her subtly judgmental attitude was what I’d expect from an American purist who had decided to go “native”.  I’m honest enough to admit to myself and others that I’m a middle class American who prefers some basic comforts like hot water, good food, and a warm place to sleep.  If avoiding typhoid fever, bed bugs, stomach problems, and camera thefts means I’m not experiencing the “real” Africa then so be it.  Maybe that means I won’t be able to sell a story or a book as a result, but at least, I’m having a reasonably good time.  To each his or her own trip.  

Rainbow Falls viewed from the bridge over the Zambezi River

 

Piero never showed up so I decided to make a quick recon mission over to the Zimbabwe side of the falls.  It meant going through customs and immigration four times and not declaring my excess Zambian currency.  Technically, you’re not allowed to take more than 10 kwacha (US$1.50) in or out of Zambia.  It was about a 1½ miles walk from the Inter-Continental through Zambian customs, across the dramatic steel arch Victoria Falls Bridge spanning the Zambezi, through Zimbabwe customs, and on to Victoria Falls National Park headquarters.  From there, I walked along well-maintained asphalt paths which led one past a series of overlooks of Devil’s Cataract, the Main Falls, Horseshoe Falls, and Rainbow Falls.  Actually, Victoria Falls is a series of smaller falls separated by islands of trees and rock.  As on the Zambian side, the best views tend to be toward the east and west ends of all the falls.  Out toward the center, the mists tend to obscure them especially during the high flow period.

And fortunately, this was the high flow period.  Even though the rainy season in Angola (the source of much of the Zambezi to the northwest) had ended several months earlier, it took a while for the water to make its way down to the falls.  According to one semi-reliable source, the flow during the period I was there was the highest it had been in six years.  During low flow periods, I’m told that the falls aren’t as dramatic, but they are more visible throughout their length.

The Main Falls and a double rainbow on the Zimbabwe side

I exchanged comments with two nicely-dressed black ladies while their husbands were off shooting photos.  “Hey, are you Americans?” I asked, after listening to a couple sentences.  Yes, one was from Boston, the other from Detroit.  The Bostonian pointed to “Keystone” printed on her T-shirt after I told them I was from Colorado.  She and her husband had skied there this winter.  They had been to several African countries, and we agreed that the Zambians were the friendliest people we had met just about anywhere.  They did have one problem:  African people would start speaking to them in local languages assuming that they were also Africans.  They came up to say “hello” to me the following day at the Inter-Continental just after I had arrived to attend a Rotary lunch.  I think there was an unspoken realization on our parts that I had more in common with them than with African whites and they had more in common with me that with black Africans.       

I rushed back to get through Zimbabwean and Zambian customs before they closed at 6:00PM.  I was about to try to find a cab back to Livingstone when Mary, the Inter-Continental employee I’d met in the morning, saw me and invited me to catch a ride into town on the employees’ bus.  After my train trip the previous day, riding in all-black groups was beginning to seem very natural.  I haven’t felt any racial prejudice from the black people in Zimbabwe, Botswana, or especially Zambia.  It’s their country, you’re a guest there, and everything’s cool. 

When I arrived back at Piero’s home, his American friend, Charlie, had stopped by.  While Piero’s housekeeper, Edward Muyakwabo, fixed scaloppini with linguini, the three of us made a quick trip to the Northwestern Hotel for drinks.  Charlie is white and around 30.  He manages the Livingstone office of Sobek Expeditions which takes groups on raft trips.  Their trips in this area go through the steep-walled gorges below the falls.  I thought of taking the gorge trip – I was assured it is not dangerous – until I heard the price was US$60.  Not all that expensive, but it was four days’ budget. 

 

Edward Muyakwabo’s kids

Charlie’s home is in Jackson Hole, Wyoming.  He’s been in Zambia for a couple years, and seems to like it here, though he’s ready to get back to the States for a while.  He has an American honey that he’s involved with who works for Sobek during the summer season.  She was away now which made it a little tough although Charlie came right out and said they have an “open-ended” relationship when they are apart.  That was the only arrangement that would make any sense to him in this situation.  They don’t go out looking for other lovers, but it is nice for them to know the option is there.

The white American and black Zambian employees of Sobek have very tight working and social relationships with each other.  Charlie felt they all had to work together and didn’t believe in the white employees setting themselves apart from the blacks.  They have several Zambian employees who are currently over in the States in training.  Charlie prefers the business climate in Zambia to that in Zimbabwe where they would have to let the government have a 50% share in the business or be in business with a Zimbabwean.  

The weak Zambian kwacha and lack of violence or revolution has recently been helping Zambian tourism.  Charlie is worried that events like the recent South African raids on Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Zambia may scare away visitors.  He also cited the recent murder and rape of a local white couple in the Matabeleland region of Zimbabwe not far from Victoria Falls.  Then there were two Australian guys who were arrested in Harare shortly after checking into their hotel room and held for two days without explanation (hopefully not the two I’d met in Nyanga a few weeks earlier).  Charlie knew a guy who had been arrested recently while doing a cycle tour through northern Zambia.  Since my conversation with Charlie, I’ve read of several travelers who’ve been arrested in Zambia on suspicion of spying for South Africa.  Zambia’s paranoia resulting from the South African raids is certainly going to do nothing for their tourist business.  However, there seems to be little problem with the police and army around Victoria Falls and Livingstone.  Charlie did admit that one does develop a false sense of security living here.  It seems so peaceful and friendly, but you never know.  Fortunately for me, as I look forward to the coming year, problems with police or revolutionary activity are almost nil in Botswana.

The dinner was delicious – Piero had trained Edward well in the art of Italian cooking.  Afterwards, we went out to the Inter-Continental for a nightcap.  Piero knew many of the people in the bar, black and white.  A black woman asked Piero when he was going to bring her a gift from one of his trips.  He promised to oblige.  When Piero was off in the can, Charlie told me how he and the other Americans at Sobek respond to such questions:  “What we can offer you is our friendship.”  Charlie added that the Zambians were surprised by this response, but they really appreciated it once they learned it was genuine.