Winning the Lottery is a Privilege

Bill and I live a good life.  We are very fortunate to enjoy good health, and financial stability.  We work hard - we play hard.  Our lifestyle has afforded us the ability to enjoy what we perceive as the "finer things in life".  This game called life has brought us together as a couple, given us a family we are proud of, laid opportunities at our feet we never dreamed possible, blessed us with lifelong friendships, at times put challenges in front of us, but mostly life has given us occasion to reflect.  Reflect on just how good our life is.

We just returned from a trip of a lifetime fishing the Zambezi River in Mozambique for a week then hunting for a week in Namibia - both of which are on the African continent.  Yes, we have been to Africa before on our photo safari in South Africa, but this trip - particularly in Mozambique - gave me a chance to really reflect on how I "won the lottery" being born in the great United States of America.  I'm not trying to get political here, just offering a chance of insight to another world out there.

We arrived in  Lusaka, Zambia after several flights and a couple of long layovers including a hick-cup getting out of Dallas.  The hick-cup being a perceived inconvenience, but in the big picture, nothing more than a mere glitch.  Let's get it over it, we're about to embark on an adventure!

Looking down on the Zambezi River, just before landing.

From Lusaka our journey into Mozambique included a charter flight to the edge of Zambia, then a boat ride into Mozambique to our camp.  Along the way, we were about to see the real world of Africa, not the staged world we saw on photo safari.  The little town of Luangwa where we exited Zambia consisted of dirt roads, a shopping center looking more of what Americans call a flea market, women carrying baskets on their heads - most barefoot, but a welcoming committee like none other. Unfortunately, we have no pictures, but we were met on the dirt run-way by goats and the local school-aged children literally running down the edge of the run-way to greet the visitors to their country.  All total, maybe a dozen and a half, anywhere from probably 3rd grade aged to 7th grade aged.  (School there is not like school is here.  Hear me out.)  Their smiling faces full of life and energy, violently waving little hands, all barefoot but clothed properly.

Once we got through "Customs" of Zambia, Mercadinho (I think), Mozambique was our next stop to enter the country.  Remember, we are traveling by boat on the Zambezi River, so when we got there, our guides and our friends Curt and Renan went into the Customs office with all of our passports to get us "stamped" into the country while Bill and I "looked after" the boats. 

Blowing kisses to the American woman.

While we waited for our official entry into 

the country of Mozambique, real life began happening.  A young man, I would guess him about 13 or 14 came down to the river to do his chores.  He picked up a rock along the rivers edge, took out a small box of detergent from his back pocket and began scrubbing his flip flop on it.  He continued his routine, not real sure of this American woman sitting in the boat next to him, rolling up his pant legs to wash his feet and legs.  Soon enough, his shirt and britches had to come off or he was never going to get his bath in.  I didn't even realize he had striped to his skivvies when a group of young men his age all came to the river obviously heckling him.  He seemed to take it all in stride, almost proud that he was semi-naked in the river enjoying his bath but also doing the dreaded laundry chore at the same time.  These boys were so polite to me, I felt of celebrity status as one "snuck" close to me and began taking picture after picture of me with his cell phone.  (We are in a 3rd world country.  Everyone has cell phones, no service, they play music on them and take pictures with them.  Somethings are the same the world over.)  After many pictures were taken of me, I began to blow the youngster kisses, my futile attempt to try to give him the same stardom treatment he was giving me.  How charmed I was when he began blowing kisses back!  I entered the country of Mozambique smiling, heartened by the friendly teenagers.  

As we glided on the river, we past many locals in dug-out boats, occasionally passing a very wealthy one that had a "real" boat - not just a hallowed tree, families along the waters edge basically unclothed while literally laundering the clothes off their back in the river.  Occasionally seeing a boat filled to the brim with fishing nets and the catch of the day.  Real life in deed.  Simple.  Hard.  Demanding.

Local villages on the Zambezi River consisted of homes made of local thatch.  A few on some kind of stilts.  I was surprised to hear so many dogs barking from the village just down the river.  Contemplating why they would have dogs, I realized it was a form of protection.  

Villagers huts along the Zambezi River.

Protection from the uncountable number of crocodiles.  Think about this, dogs bark, all is well.  No dogs barking mean they are no longer there which means a crock is there hunting.  After all, our fishing guide, Kenneth, lost a sister to a crock.  When I questioned Kenneth about the "food chain" in the animal kingdom, he explained to me that crocks are at the top.  They purposefully will hunt you down.  It's how they survive.  On the other hand, when a hippopotamus kills someone it is an accident.  Hippos are mostly plant eaters; but surprise them, and, well, game on, as they say, and you will lose.  We had an experience with a possible game on moment.......Our cabin being in the back of the camp right on a marsh afforded us countless opportunity for viewing local wildlife, including the hippo that lived in the swamp.  One night while heading back to our room, not all the lamps were lit so it was pretty dark, all of a sudden Bill and I heard a crashing through the woods just in front of us like none other.  I froze in my tracks with my little headlight lamp as our only light.  How the hell do we defend ourselves from a hippo with nothing more than a stupid headlight????  And whatever you do, do NOT shine it right on the animal - that will spook them and they WILL charge.  I'm sure this whole thing played out in about 15 seconds or less, but at the time, it felt like minute upon minute!

Kenneth & Bill with the catch of the week, a 15 lb. tigerfish.

Mid week Kenneth finally felt comfortable enough to start to visit a bit.  (Remember, he speaks limited English and I believe he was some what embarrassed to "talk" freely until he got to know us more.)  I asked him how many children he had, his answer "plenty".  That's quite an answer......plenty means 7, count them s-e-v-e-n, age 19 down to a baby born January or February, he wasn't positive which month.  He makes equivalent $100 USD/month and works only seven months out of the year.  Kenneth is one of the lucky ones - his English is good enough he has been able to find work.  When Kenneth is not guiding fisherman, he works as a skinner on the hunting side of the camp.  A man of many talents for sure.  One has to be as a villager, it's called survival.  

Locals in their dugout heading over to market.

Much of the local economy is based simply on fishing.  Public education ends with the 5th grade, so if a family is not "wealthy" enough to afford to pay for continued education, it's time to start working the family business.  Most fishing is done at night as the wind is much calmer making it far easier to pull the nets full of fish into the the dugouts. People of ALL ages would paddle their boats past us headed out looking for the catch of the day, then paddle across the river to the "market" where they would sell their catch to people coming from either Zimbabwe or Zambia.  Catch of the day was mostly tilapia or tigerfish.  We did not eat any of our fish - everything was catch and release.  Kenneth says that both are very nice fish.  I'll just take his word for it, but then, the locals have no choice but eat what is available....they have two options - eat, or go hungry.

A group of locals just finishing carving a harvested elephant.

The camp we were in, Chawalo Safari's also offers hunting, one of the last places in Africa offering free range hunting.  It is customary in Africa for the hunting camps to keep some meat for their camp, but the majority of the harvest goes to the local villagers. (This is true in Namibia also.)  The locals are very thankful for the meat, as they have no means to go out to harvest the meat themselves and they are 100% aware that meat does not come from cellophane at the grocery store.  (Most villager's have never BEEN to a grocery store.)  Someone must go out and harvest that meat - you know where I am headed with this - there are no, what we Americans call "Greenies", they appreciate the white man contributing to their survival and they waste nothing of an animal.  And when I say they waste nothing, they waste NOTHING.  Innards are cleansed and cooked and considered a delicacy.  (Now, my take....)  They also understand that if animals are not culled, they will over populate.  Over population means vegetation going away (the product they make their homes with), even less safety for them as the crocks will hunt even harder, not to mention just plane to many animals for the land to support. 

So when I say that winning the lottery is a privilege, I mean the gene pool lottery.  Being born in the gene pool of the great United States of America.  Americans live in a relatively disease free environment.  We live in homes far more stout than simple sticks and reeds.  We live in homes that keep "intruders" out.  We are spoiled with being able to run to the grocery store for anything we need/want.  We have the pleasure of an education system second to no one.  We have running water and indoor plumbing.  We are privileged.....no matter where we fall in the scale of wealth.

I am very thankful for the opportunity of seeing first hand how the real Africa lives, but this spoiled American guest was also thankful for the top notch facilities of  Chawalo Safaris - a second to none operation.  We ate fabulously!  My favorite meal (of the entire trip) being the reedbuck.  Everything was clean and sanitary.  We had indoor plumbing complete with a good shower (wood fired - be careful you don't burn yourself!  But also make sure you have the water on hot otherwise it's freezing!)  Our laundry was collected on a daily basis and delivered back to our room sun dried, pressed and folded by the time we were back from fishing in the evening.  The room was basic, but everything one needed - including the experience of having elephants in the marsh about 50 yards from our door, crashing through the trees so close we could hear their stomachs growl!  Money does not buy this experience!  The smell of the jungle vegetation flowing through the windows.  Hearing the hippo's 'talk' to each other on the rivers edge.  Walking out on the veranda after an afternoon nap  to see a crock sunning himself across the marsh.  Monkeys playing in the trees above our heads.  Sunrises and sunsets that compete 100% with my beloved Wyoming ones.  Top notch in deed.

Curt & Renan, myself & Bill, Anita & Carel Maartens, proprietors of Chawalo Safaris.

Post Script:  Carel and Anita Maartens of Chawalo Safaris have started a non-profit, Care For Zumbo, to bring health care to the local villages of the Zumbo, Mozambique area.  They have a bus that drives between the villages and employ a nurse to administer medical tests and some vaccines.  Dr. Jeff Olson, a local Rapid City dentist goes over to give dentistry to the locals.  The government of Mozambique helps with a small percentage of the cost of medication/vaccines, but the majority of the organization is supported by donation.  If you would like info or to contribute, please contact the Maarten's directly at info@southernsafaris.co.za or contact Dr. Jeff at beatis@aol.com