The Blind Man Society

Hi everyone, here’s the latest installment of my short travel stories. This one takes us to Lake Kariba and Matusadona National Park on the Zambia/Zimbabwe border. Any and all feedback is welcome about the story or writing!

I sat staring over my cards at the young boy. He was holding his just below his eyes so I couldn’t cheat. We were seated on two metal chairs with a beat up slatted wooden box between us. Scattered cards were on the box, and a collection of unopened glass soda bottles were on the ground next to him. I had just arrived at the shore of Lake Kariba, on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe and was parched as hell. I didn’t have any Zambian kwacha and was unable to buy the drinks I was thirsting for. So, I approached the young boy and he agreed to play poker for them. Several of his friends were watching in a group behind him, and I lost. I walked away with no sodas and minus a pair of Sydney 2000 Olympic socks for losing the card game.

Returning to the truck, I locked my gear inside and grabbed a small backpack, my Nikon camera and several rolls of film. I was warned that pirates came into the lake and robbed people or worse, so the less I had on me the better. There was a two-level barge waiting on the shore and my travel companions and I boarded for the trip over the lake to Matusadona National Park.

Lake Kariba is the largest man-made lake by volume in the world and it took from 1958-1963 to fill. Partially submerged bone white tree skeletons littered the water, creating a labyrinth. The only way to move around in the reserve was by boat or canoe. Hippos ruled the lake, and there were many small islands crowded with crocodiles and ten to fifteen foot tall termite mounds. We were bound for the safety and vantage point of houseboats on the far side of the lake, on the shores of the park.

We arrived after two hours and docked. There was a two-level houseboat complete with bunks, patio and kitchen, and there was a gigantic cage that looked like a rectangular basket off the back that could be lowered in the water to allow safe swimming. Crocodiles and hippos were everywhere. A friend and I arranged to stay in a different houseboat from this central one. We took a long white canoe to it and unloaded our gear. Our houseboat had a thatched roof and solar panels, was on two large pontoons and anchored with chains. It was just big enough that the hippos couldn’t flip it. It had one bedroom and the door led to a porch with two chairs, and our canoe was tied up to that. We had a drink, and then took a beat-up pontoon barge with a rifle, and went to explore.

We came upon a family of 15 hippos, with only their eyes, snouts and ears visible above the water. We pulled the engine gear into neutral and stopped the boat to watch. There were several babies visible at the surface, and the adults were laughing a mad cackle. We must have gotten too close because the three biggest suddenly slammed their heads under water (Hippos can run 19 miles an hour on land, and they are even faster in the water). Seconds later, three bubble trails came racing toward us and diverged to the sides of the barge. I was on the left side railing, three or four feet above the water line, and a rolling boil started erupting right next to me in the water. I leaned over to look and suddenly a hippo lunged out of the water and snapped his jaws shut in the air. This was two feet from me and I almost fell over backwards from surprise. We reversed the barge further back, and they fell away and returned to their family.

Lions and elephants patrolled the shore and we took a ton of pictures. After the boat ride, we were dropped off at the central houseboat to have a chicken dinner. It was sunset, and we ate and watched the red and orange chalk dust sky. We talked with the guides, and then walked to our beached canoe, being vigilant about crocodiles on the shore. We paddled back to our houseboat and pulled out a bottle of alcohol.

While the rest of the group went out for a boat ride, my friend and I stayed at our residence. We were all taking Larium – a very potent malaria medication that was responsible for driving a good percentage of American servicemen in Vietnam insane. Nightmares, hallucinations, loss of identity…it was some wicked stuff and we all took it on the same day once a week. People were acting very strange from it and my friend and I needed to take a break.

We sat on the front porch drinking and watching a family of hippos 50 feet away from us. We imitated their laugh, and they laughed back. It was very surreal. There was talk of bringing our future wives back to that houseboat, promises that we would come visit each other after the trip was over and advice over unrequited love. Mainly, we just enjoyed the hell out of being out in the middle of the wilderness…so close to raw, untamed nature. It felt primal.

The sun dropped out of sight and it became black in minutes. We looked up and watched the satellites moving slowly back and forth, then looked at the Southern Cross making its way across the sky. White and purple stars were blazing like blowtorches and they looked like holes in the floor of heaven. We were 40 feet from shore, and the lions were hunting. We heard thickets rustling and an animal scream…followed by roars…the lions had made their kill for the night. I remember saying that I still couldn’t believe we were in Africa as snarls echoed across the water.

The next morning, we drank coffee and jumped into our canoe, paddling into the park. There was a story told of a hippo named Mad Max who had capsized over 20 canoes. Hippos kill more people than any other African animal, but instead of killing people, Max would swim to a nearby island after he flipped them and run around in circles laughing his mad hippo laugh. Eventually he did it to a ranger and was shot dead with over 30 bullets. That was the end of Max, but his legacy lived on.

Eventually we came through a small forest of partially submerged trees, turned a corner and saw a baby hippo at the surface. We were told not to get too close, because the baby was standing on its mother’s back underwater. My canoe mate paddled close to them and I kept saying to back the hell up before the mother came at us. He just wanted to get a little closer for a picture…and the head slammed under water. Both of us were paddling backwards like our lives depended on it, and we managed to get far enough away that she returned to the surface blowing water out of her nostrils, flipping her ears and watching us. We took our pictures and I was cursing at him not to do that again.

We beached our canoe on a small island (maybe 15 feet wide) to stretch our legs and take a break from paddling. Moments later, a crocodile crawled up on shore and started coming towards us. We ran back to the canoe and pushed off. We beached again a short distance away on the mainland, and a herd of elephants were about 100 feet from us. We snapped our pictures and shoved off again. It was hot as hell, and I said I’d had enough. So we returned to the main houseboat.

We spent the rest of the morning writing in our journals and talking, and at 1pm we boarded the barge to take us back to the truck. It was journals the whole way back, and people were stealing words from the African guidebooks to spice up their entries. I was simply marveling at the total beauty of the preserve, and feeling very insignificant compared to all that nature. And, I was still pissed I lost that card game for the sodas before we left…