Orientation to the Grasslands

This photograph is by Fabian Gieske, a young professional photographer who was at Modisa.  Check out his website at http://www.fabiangieske.com/#!/index

    

     After a bewildering crush of introductions and greetings, we had lunch and an introductory lecture from Val.  Val is one of the founders of Modisa and is a young German researcher who found his way to the Grasslands Bushman Safari Lodge just on the edge of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve.  Much more about Val later.
     This huge plot of land--tens of thousands of acres-- is owned by a Botswanan gentleman named Willi DeGraaf, who actually grew up in this area.  Mr. DeGraaf raised--and still raises--cattle, lots of cattle.  He also owns a safari lodge for tourists, including a private landing strip.  You will be hearing a lot more about this landing strip later on.
     Val told us that like all cattle ranchers in Botswana--maybe in all Africa--Willi regarded lions as a menace to his investment and to his workers' safety.  What workers, you might ask?  Well, the Grasslands is home to several villages of Bushmen, or more properly called the San people, those people who are SO successful at living with little or no water that they thrive in the Kalahari.      Those of you who saw either of the "The Gods Must Be Crazy" movies are a little familiar with the Bushmen and their fascinating "click" language.  You might even remember that when I was in South Africa in 2012 I was lucky enough to stay a few days at the Otters Den Lodge, owned by the family of Jamie Uys, who made the films.  And if by some chance you have NOT seen the movies, I strongly recommend them, even taking into account they may not be absolutely accurate and may even be rather patronizing and condescending to the San people themselves.
     But I digress.  Lions are dangerous predators, and they certainly view cattle as desirable prey--and San people as well.  So Willi--and most every other cattle rancher--shot every lion he saw.
     At some time 10-15 years ago, Willi had a change of heart.  He began to see lions as an integral part of the Kalahari ecosystem, and he decided to stop killing them.  He constructed huge (perhaps 20-40 acre) compounds in which to house captive wild lions.  Now, you might want to know why Willi wanted to house captive lions.  Although I was never fortunate enough to talk with Mr. DeGraff, I think his reasoning was that one can never truly rid a property of lions.  If some lions are killed, other lions will move into the newly-unoccupied territory.  When one lives "next door" to one of the world's largest game preserves--the Central Kalahari--one has to realize one is not going to be able to make a dent in the lion population.
     Keeping lions in captivity though has a huge benefit.  As anyone who has seen an MGM movie well knows, lions roar--big time.  Their roars can be heard for miles and miles, and those roars send an unmistakable message that this area is inhabited by lions, thus discouraging other lions from attempting to "move in."
     So by "keeping" lions, Willi was not only able to avoid killing them, but he was also able to keep other lions from moving in to endanger his cattle and the villagers.  And he also found that his guests loved to see the lions and especially loved to hear them roar.  And Willi himself came to love the lions, especially the senior male he named "Samson." 
    I guess this is what is known as a win-win situation.
    Here's the link to the Grasslands if you'd like to take a look:  http://www.grasslandlodge.com/

The Road to Modisa

     By the time I got my achy burny body out of bed the next morning, G and M were already gone.  They had only a few days left in Botswana before going home to Sweden and had decided to treat themselves to a luxurious safari into the Kalahari, where they would have a guide and a chef and be pampered , plus, hopefully, see loads of wildlife.  
     By then, I had gotten to know the other two women who were waiting to go to Modisa--Samantha from Vancouver, B.C. and  Lisa from Norway.  Alex picked us up early in his white [seems like almost all cars in Africa are white] truck and off we went.  After a couple of stops in Maun, we were heading southwest on a paved road crossing amazingly uninhabited land.  It was pretty in a desolate, dry, harsh sort of way--lots of long vistas--but nothing astonishing.  We passed through a "veterinary fence," where all vehicles had to stop, be inspected, and all tires and all shoes, even those that weren't actually being worn at the time, had to be dipped in some sort of pesticide.  While we were stopped along the road, we couldn't help but notice that there were these HUGE cricket-looking bugs all over the place--I mean, hundreds of them,  all OVER the place.  Sam in particular was completely freaked out.  She HATES bugs!
     We drove only a short while longer after the "fence" and then turned off on a dirt road.  I thought well!  We're almost there!

 

That would be a no, we were emphatically NOT "almost there!"  

     This road went on for more than 30 miles--62 km., to be precise--deep into the Kalahari.  Much of the time, we were travelling along fences that had as many as 10 strands of wire.  Keeping predators and competitors for grass away from cattle, apparently.  Sometimes we drove along the fence of the "buffer zone," which separates privately-owned land from the Central Kalahari Game Preserve .

     Alex drove really fast--at least it seemed so to me.  The roads were pretty bad.  There was a lot of water standing in them, and there were lots of potholes and erosion.  It was a pretty hair-raising drive.  Plus, there were a lot of gates to open--at least a dozen--I suppose to keep various herds of cattle from getting mixed up.

     And then, before we even began to suspect anything, we were suddenly "there"--Modisa.  We scrambled out of the truck and were immediately set upon by what seemed like a hundred young people--all smiling and shaking hands and in a celebratory frame of mind.  The three of us stood around awkwardly as emotional farewells were given to the people Alex was taking back to Maun, and it slowly began to sink in that yes indeed, this is where we would be living for quite awhile.

The Delta

     Here's a surprise:  the Okavango River Lodge is located at the edge of the Okavango River Delta.  While it's possible that you have never heard of the Okavango River Delta, it is simply an astonishing place.  Here's an excerpt from the book Okavango:  Africa's Last Eden by Frans Lanting.  Our friend Rich generously gave me this book to prepare myself for the trip, and an incredible book of photographs it is.  Thanks again, Rich!

          "Spreading over 8,500 square miles, this vast wetland in the heart of the Kalahari supports an unparalleled diversity of wildlife.  From its origins in the highlands of Angola, the Okavango River descends to the near-desert of northern Botswana, where it fans out as the world's largest inland delta; an ecosystem of a size and complexity rivaling any on earth, a rare place where desert and swamp dwellers meet.  Hippos, crocodiles, zebra, impalas, buffalo, giraffe, lions, hyenas, and the continent's largest unharassed elephant population find refuge and replenishment in the seasonal ebb and flow of fresh water into the delta." 

The story I loved best about the Delta is that the locals call it the "river that doesn't go anywhere."  It never gets to the sea at all.  All this water pours into the Kalahari, where it stays until it dries up.  I was told that the difference between the dry season and the rainy season is mind-boggling--hardly looks like the same place.  I was there during not only the rainy season, but a very rainy rainy season, and the waters were much higher than normal, and the Delta was very very lush.

A particular tribe possesses the exclusive right to access certain parts of the Delta, and they offer escorted "mokoro" rides into the vast marshes.  A mokoro is a long, narrow, dugout skiff that is propelled by a person poling it along, very much similar to a wild rice picker at home.  The boat however is close to 20 feet long and much narrower than a canoe or rice boat.

G.B. (Gebby??}, from the Lodge, took us in a motor launch up to the village, and there we were met by our guides for the day.  And here is the start of our trip:

 

When we stopped for lunch, our guide jokingly asked me if I wanted to try steering the mokoro; I said "sure!"  He was shocked to see that I could do it quite well--he said "You've DONE this before??!!"  I tried to explain to him about picking rice, but I'm not sure he understood.

It was a magical day, and we all came back sunburned, dehydrated, and happy. 

The Okavango River Lodge

     Our driver was named Alex, and I later learned that he was the chief transporter for people coming and going from Modisa.  He drove  the three of us, G and M and I,  through roadways cluttered with burros, dogs, goats, and cows, and maybe a few people too.  He tooted his horn at all without discrimination, and none paid any attention whatever, so he had to swerve around them.  Now, why all these critters feel most secure snoozing or just resting in the middle of a fairly heavily-trafficked road, I can’t imagine, but there they were.

     Eventually, we were delivered to our destination, the Okavango River Lodge.  You may have heard about  these extremely luxurious lodges all over Africa, where one can be pampered with every possible indulgence while viewing wildlife from the comfort of VERY expensive surroundings.

     The Okavango River Lodge is not one of these.  

In the first place, it looked remarkably like home in summer time.  The lodge is located right on the banks of a marshy river.  Honestly, you’d think you were on our deck overlooking the Wisconsin River.  There are “slow-no wake” signs.  There’s a pontoon boat tied up—in fact, it is called “Sir Rosis of the River.”  The first clue that it is NOT Wisconsin is the “Beware of Crocodiles” sign.  

The place is remarkably comfortable and low-key, made for comfort but not luxury.  Drinks are always flowing, and decent—not remarkable—food is always available.  The staff is generous with laughs and jokes and suggestions for all sorts of local adventures, and well, it’s hard to explain.  It feels like home the moment you set foot in the open air bar.

    

     So I made arrangements to take an adventuresome mokoro ride the next day and slept the afternoon away until it was time for drinks and supper in this lively setting.  The place was really hopping—lots of “locals.”  Everyone seemed to know each other, and if they didn’t, they seemed to have a genuine interest in getting to know everyone.

    G and M were meeting a young woman who had interned with them years ago and who now lives in Maun.  They invited me to join them at supper.  What a delight!  She was Canadian born and recently married to a South African biologist, and they were a warm and fascinating  couple.  Some of the other volunteers on the way to Modisa had arrived too, and before I knew it, I had a bunch of new friends.

     Incidentally, if any of the photographs accompanying this post look familiar to any among you, they probably are.  My iPad, complete with all the pix I took, is gone forever, so these are all photographs taken from Facebook.