We were eating lunch in the central tent, washing down slices of tasty wood-fired pizza with glasses of gin and tonic, when a massive, six-ton bull elephant decided to crash our party. Big and dark and looking slightly weary, his white tusks flashing in the sun, the elephant walked towards our table with a steady gait, moving with a dogged, fatigued determination. Conversation at the table ceased. Everyone’s heads turned toward him. Nobody reached for more pizza.
And then Nic Polenakis, wildlife guide and part-owner of the Somalisa Bush Camp, did a curious thing. He stood up next to me, pulled on my arm and told me to follow him, walking towards the elephant. Quietly folding his hands behind his back and exhorting me to do the same – arms swinging forward can be mistaken as provocation – Polenakis turned his head and whispered, “he’s not one of our usual clientele. He may have walked all the way from Botswana. That’s why he’s so nervous – it’s been maybe years since he’s seen a human being.” As if on cue, as we stepped to within 2m of the massive animal – with just a small, but deep, watering hole separating us – the bull tried a mock charge, kicking up dust with a little stutter step and raising his trunk to cut the air with the mighty sound of 100 trumpets. Heart pounding in my chest, I stood my ground, eyes unblinkingly focused on every movement of the big elephant.
I was in Zimbabwe, a country that in recent years has been better known for political corruption and violence than for thrilling, up-close animal experiences. Ruled since its 1980 independence by Robert Mugabe, this southern African nation has enjoyed a steady recovery since its absolute nadir in 2008, when its currency ballooned out of control and economic and civil unrest ruled the day. With a power-sharing agreement now in place and elections planned for 31 July, 2013,travellers have started to trickle back into the country, seeking out the breathtaking experiences that originally put Zimbabwe on the safari map.
I had begun my journey a week earlier in the Zimbabwean town of Victoria Falls, located just across the water from Livingstone, Zambia. It is where most visitors start, walking the edge of a dizzying gorge and feeling overpowered by the majesty – and the spray – of Victoria Falls. Dripping wet, I walked into town, trailed closely by a ragged band of boys, all of them trying to sell me expired 10 trillion dollar bills. Zimbabwe remains desperately poor, with an unemployment rate close to 90%. So young men seeking to raise a few bucks often try and sell off their remaining stocks of Zim dollars to travellers as novelty items (the official currency is now the American dollar, a move that served to stabilise the country’s economy). When the country’s currency crisis reached its most chaotic period, people drove around with trunks filled with notes – they were worth almost nothing and, worse still, the rates fluctuated almost constantly. Contractors would cost out a project and then return the next day to find that they now only had enough money to build half the house. Prices at restaurants were written in chalk, as they could change as many as three times during a meal.
Having toured Victoria Falls’ two or three main streets, which were largely lined with all-but-empty souvenir shops, I drove about 200km to the nation’s main attraction, the massive Hwange National Park – which at some 14,000sqkm is roughly the size of Belgium. I spent the first few nights at Ivory Lodge, sleeping in a room set high on stilts on the park’s periphery and going out on game drives to view zebra, giraffe, cape buffalo, elephant and all sorts of other exotic creatures.