I suppose, strictly speaking, it was Monday when I awoke in my tent, feeling like I’d only just dropped off to sleep. I was about to start wondering why I had woken so abruptly, when I heard the unmistakable sound of a tree being torn to shreds. Having learnt from Henry that hippos eat only grass, I knew there could be only one culprit: an elephant…and by the sounds of things, not at all far from my, now flimsy-seeming, tent. I peered through one of my windows and could make out a faint, glimmering outline of something very, very big. The moon was almost full and the sky completely clear and this long graceful line of white light seemed to be at odds with the crashing, rending shrieks of a tortured palm tree. Whatever was doing the damage didn’t seem to be making much effort, for it was standing almost stock-still. As I looked, however, this great leviathan turned slowly towards me and wafted his enormous ears forward. As that great, noble face stood staring intently in the full glare of the moonlight, nonchalantly tossing a palm branch or two into the dark recesses below fearsome tusks with an immensely powerful-looking trunk, I realised just how bloody huge he was…and how small I, and my tent, were in comparison. I was transfixed and totally made up to be finally seeing this magnificent creature in all his raw, primal splendour…but at the same time, I was glad to know that my tent had a back door…unlike that of the two German guys, barely ten metres further away and, seemingly, far more exposed without a tree for cover.
After a while, it seemed that our elephant had decided that he’d taught that palm tree enough of a lesson for one evening and he padded off, surprisingly gracefully, to wreak havoc in some other area of the park. After a while, my excitement abated and the adrenalin surge died sufficiently to allow me to get back to sleep. I awoke one more time at 4.30, in desperate need of the loo and quickly struggled into my sandals for the short walk to the toilet block. As I crossed the lawn by the swimming pool, I had my second close encounter of the night, as I disturbed a ‘small’ hippo, grazing peacefully on the lawn. Before I had time to lose control of my brimming bladder, she had scurried (surprisingly quickly) silently through the gap in the fence where the footpath entered…and I was left slapping my face just to see if I’d been dreaming…before my, now persistent, bladder reminded me that I definitely wasn’t and I crabbed painfully and quickly to the loo.
There were no further incidents (like, no crocodiles…phew!) and I slept through until 7, waking with a big grin on my face and a great story to tell the girls over breakfast. On the way to the restaurant, I bumped into a lovely South African couple who’d witnessed the elephant so close to my tent and had actually been worried that he was eating the thorn tree above my head…and might have stood on me. I’m sure they must have seen it all before, obviously being old hands at the African camping game, but they kindly indulged my excited jabbering and seemed to be every bit as excited as me.
I said goodbye to the girls over breakfast, who were charitably pleased for my elephant sightings, and I waved them off from the boat jetty as they set off on their second boat safari. A couple of hours later I jumped in a boat myself for the transfer, up-river, to Liwonde, thus avoiding the rigmarole of the bike ride and affording me one last opportunity to spot some big game…and I was not disappointed. Twice we pulled into the banks and got great close-up views of elephant herds having a morning drink…and I was able to get my much-coveted photographs. We saw a good few hippos still out on the banks after a night’s dining, although one pair did get rather aggressive at our peering and launched themselves into the water in our direction and I was reminded how fortunate I’d been only hours earlier. We also saw a couple of big 12ft –plus crocodiles, posing statue-like in the reeds before slithering menacingly into the water at the sight of our approach. It was a fine sunny day and the views south across the plain were lovely. I was certainly looking forward to getting to Zomba and seeing them from a better elevation.
At Zomba I stopped for lunch to wait out the hottest hours of the day – a creditable bit of fried chicken accompanied by my first dish of nsima (like a very thick, dry, corn porridge – the local staple) in 12 years. The chicken was fine but the nsima was…sorry, I can’t think of a word bland enough to describe it…even ‘bland’ carries too much emotion for this stolid, tasteless goo. Still, it filled me up!
The walk up to the plateau was a stiff, steep climb – particularly with the heavy tent and my cooking supplies. I had plenty of cause to stop and survey the ever-expanding horizon and I knew that the views from on top were going to be incredible.
I finally made it to the forestry campsite after stopping to buy fresh fruit and veg from the some trailside vendors and found, to my delight, that I had the entire place to myself. The superintendent – a lovely, smiley chap called Wende – took my measly 400kwacha and showed me round the hot showers and impeccably clean toilet and washing facilities. I pitched camp and then sat in a self-satisfied haze, watching the sun disappear behind the craggy peaks of the western-ridge of the plateau. As I sat there amid the perfect tranquillity of this forest setting, I realised that this was the first time I’d truly been alone since Cambodia, before Christmas…and I found myself really savouring the solitude. Everyone who I’ve met along the way has been an essential, unforgettable part of my travelling experience…but it was good to be enjoying some time to myself once again.
I made a tasty (though I say it myself!) supper of potato and tomato stew, which I chased down with the delicious, sweet, juicy raspberries I’d just bought. At this higher altitude, I definitely felt the cold, despite the blanket I’d bought in Zomba – but I managed well enough and got plenty of sleep in my mountain-forest hideaway.
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