The town of Mfuwe is long. At one end, shops cater to the common taste and at the other, a cluster of lodges cater to expatriate tastes. Bright swathes of fabric blow in the wind, barber shops edge up to the side of the road, a market sells fruit and vegetables. A one-way bridge connects the two halves; and locals edge along on foot and bicycles while Land Cruisers carrying tourists muscle for room.
We woke before dawn, loaded a cooler of marinating meat, a box of sugar donuts, our day bags, and headed north. The road was mostly smooth, though potholes and speedbumps infrequently jolted us. We compared notes on people unexpectedly walking out into the middle of the road, minutes before a well-groomed youth did just that. Two hours later, we were drinking cappuccinos in Mfuwe.
Not much farther and we were sitting by the pool, sugar donuts in hand and the glint of the morning gleaming from our sunglasses. A monkey walked away with half of a donut, its wizened, furry face seemingly smiling through every bite. One of the lodge's hosts started up the grill and the afternoon was spent in the haze of roasting meat, heat, and warm liquor. At night, we sipped cool beer as the hippos bellowed in the river below. Elephants passed through the camp. A light breeze played at our feet and the mosquitos kept their distance.
The next morning, we woke before dawn, loaded our hangovers in the truck and headed out for the safari park. At the gate, a guard counted stacks of cash. An old elephant and a young elephant tussled in the woods below, a muted display of strength, the swish of plants underfoot and the mild clack of tusks. Their family watched from a distance.
Inside of the park, hired Land Cruisers passed over dirt tracks, over cracked river beds, through scrubland. African, European, and American tourists perched on elevated seats, binoculars and SLR cameras a twitch away. We broke from the crowd and took our own path. No guide, just a map and instincts. We maneuvered along low-land swamps, through dense stands of trees, next to gargantuan termite mounds, along the river. The sky was blue, the heat was low, the call of birds at the ready.
Elephants were in abundance, their great gray heads tilting slightly at our approach. We were small and insignificant and there were other, more pressing matters. Their trunks wrapped around branches, squeezing and pulling away with bunches of leaves. Their mouths hung open, like a person does when they can't wait to eat the food in front of them. They owned the land and populated it. We saw at least 30.
But the elephants weren't alone. Kudu, waterbucks, water buffalo, crocodiles, and antelope occupied our eyes too. Warthogs darted through the bushes and zebras stood in the sun. A troop 50 baboons wove their way around our stopped truck, babies clinging to the backs of mothers, youngsters sprinting ahead, old gentry swaggered by, their buttocks aglow.
The only lions we saw were the ant lions. But I was more than satisfied; I had gorged on fauna that one only sees in zoos, unfiltered, and in good company. It all felt so personal, all connected in such a rich way, that I have nothing else to compare it too. Perhaps you too will come to Mfuwe to see it yourself one day.
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