Highlight of the week: I adopt 2 puppies for half an hour
Lowlight of the week: A near death-plunge into the Luangwa. A driver-less Honey Badger* drives me and Ellie, Herbie-style, towards a drop off.
Maximum temperature: 33 degrees Celsius
Rainfall: Nada
Etched into my grey matter are indelible events. Historic events made personal. My location and activities blend with headline news. When I recall Princess Di’s demise, I am transported to the Middlesbrough neonatal unit, rather than that awful Paris underpass. Challenger exploding tragically places me in my hall of residence as a first-year medic, not Cape Canaveral. Balmoral is not the location of our late Queen’s death. In my mind Halifax, Nova Scotia, is the place. This week another niche of my brain is carved out during Bonny Prince Charlie’s ascent to the throne. Why don’t you come in and see my new etchings?
Surprisingly, at the end of a road to nowhere, in deepest darkest Africa, we have a sociable day planned. This is Coronation Saturday. Ed and Kirstie have invited all the Brits, together with associated outlanders, to a Coronation party. There is a TV. And there is a promise of coronation chicken. And all things British. Coronation Saturday holds great promise. Royalist or not.
We awake at 05:30. Normal for Africa. The baboons fight noisily on our veranda. No cymbal crash on the roof today. But enough brouhaha to rouse us. No work planned. A lazy day in store. Read the newspaper. Knock off the Times jumbo cryptic crossword. My favourite Saturday morning guilty pleasure. Next comes our drills. 20 minutes of gentle yoga. Then a single round of Oh No’s. A shortened form of torture, designed to keep our bodies in shape. Lastly, a 3 and a half minute HIIT session. Pulses racing. Sweating. We turn our thoughts to preparing British party fare. But the day is about to take a few twists and turns.
Scantily clad. The doc phone trills merrily. Saturday changes its direction sharply. Can you come to Shawa camp? We have an emergency. One of our guests is unwell. He is worried it may be malaria. Keith quickly checks how unwell the patient is, but I am juggling our timetable in my head. Keith dresses, Mr Benn style. His attire keeps a low profile against tsetse flies. No blacks and blues. Long trousers. The consummate professional. We agree to be picked up at the park gate at 11:15. We have one hour to do our chores and to travel to the gate. With any luck, with a quick turnaround, we might still make the crowning at 13:00 our time. We write off all the pomp and circumstance in the lead up.
We need street party food, lickety-split. A taskmaster appears. Two sous chefs. Eggs boiled. Sandwiches primed. Cucumber and cream cheese topping. Egg mayonnaise and rocket topping. Angel Delight is disingenuously prepared to make small people go nuclear. Auntie Jenny gets the credit for this mischievous plot. Our contribution to the street party food. Keith is set to pack the bags. Gin. Tonic. Beer. Meat for the repatriated barbecue. There will be no braai today. Not whilst Charles is in the ascendancy. We leave the house on schedule at 10:30.
A sedate drive to town. Project Luangwa to meet Frans. Our money man. We pick up our monthly stipend. We celebrate briefly and quickly gather essentials from the market. Before heading to our gate rendezvous. We arrive at 11;15 precisely. Shawa camp ring to promise: The driver will be with you in 15 minutes. We naively believe them. Our food and drink stays in the Honey Badger*. Slowly cooking. Ed and Kirstie’s fridge just out of reach.
And we wait. We are familiar with African timekeeping. We know there is latitude to every temporal commitment here. Time ticks by. And we wait some more. Patience is not my middle name, but I wait patiently. Every cloud of dust coming from the park excites us. This will be them. It is not. 15 minutes. 30 minutes. We contemplate the short hop to Ed and Kirstie’s to set the Angel Delight. But an emergency call pulls rank. We elect to stay. 45 minutes. 1 hour. The Coronation is almost history. But then, Ellie pulls a phoenix from the ashes. Her phone is linked to the local network with a local Simcard. In Ellie’s opening gambit the BBC decline her request to view the Coronation. She has no VPN. But YouTube comes up trumps and allows us to watch the virtual King walk up the aisle in Westminster Abbey. My new memory is caste. We stand by the Luangwa Bridge making sure that the King meets his destiny. In the middle of Africa.
The procession saunters down the aisle. Small dots on a tiny screen. Glued eyes strain to make out detail. The denouement impending. Our breath baited. The screen goes blank. The internet fails us. Ed and Kirstie’s party loses the tenuous connection that they have with our homeland too. But out of one failure rises success. Our lift arrives. Only 90 minutes late. Fashionable for Zambia. It is 12:45. Charles will have to use the throne without us.
We relish our commute to work. Sat in an open safari vehicle. Driving through the park. Wind in our hair – except for Keith :) We look for animals. Not a game drive. But we can’t resist. A tree ahead. Full of vultures. They loiter near a recent kill. Perhaps lion or wild dogs rest nearby we hope? Sadly, a shy leopard hides out of sight. He doesn’t have an appointment with us today. And so, King Charles III was crowned. In absentia.
Our commute continues. Roads well known. Twists and turns. I warned you of these. Areas full of water are now quite dry. Accessible. Even to our Honey Badger. We plot and scheme. Our next game drive beckons. The park is opening up.
Shawa camp sits over the river. So near, yet so far. Our commute swerves right and then left. By boat and finally shanks pony takes over. No hippos nor crocs bar our way. Delight at camp evident as we finally arrive. A mere 3 hours call to door. But still more swift than a UK blue light call these days.
*Richard and *Louise sit in wait. Richard needs our help. Fearing malaria, but suffering badly from the trots, Richard sits anxiously close to the throne room. Montezuma’s revenge playing havoc with his system. Richard is nauseated and sweaty. Three doctors swoop in and get to work. Nine days out of Oz is not quite long enough to brew malaria, but it is a reasonable concern with these symptoms. We test a drop of blood. The rapid test removes all doubt. Richard is a hardy Australian lad. Quoted to be in his mid-sixties by camp staff he is somewhat older. His vitals prove that he is in rude health despite what Montezuma can throw at him. Ellie wrestles with his list of regular meds. Branded and unfamiliar. Camp Wi-Fi is unusually down and her BNF founders with upside down drugs.
Keith promises the elixir of life. A cure for travellers’ diarrhoea. Not quite a guarantee, but the next best thing. Washed down with a smidgeon of orange flavoured ORS. The usual caveats and safety nets guard against a downturn of fortunes and we beat a hasty retreat to the dining area.
Shawa camp do us proud. A lunch fit for Kings. Spareribs from a kitchen that matches Michelin standards. Royalty is far from our minds as we take our fill. Is there any chance that we can say hi to our friend Jacob? But the eponymous Jacob Shawa is recuperating after a bee sting to his eye. Surely, he needs a doctor? We offer in vain.
We beat a hasty retreat. Like the bear hunt song from our childhoods, we zig and zag past the same obstacles in reverse. In double quick time. Kefas drives adroitly. He needs to return the camp boat to the South side of the Luangwa in time for the evening game drive. We ponder the issue. Will he take the grain and the fox across first and leave the chicken on the North bank for now?
Before we arrive at the gate we are accosted by a small herd of elephants. With 2 tiny calves. Making Coronation day a very good day, by definition*. A zebra crossing stops our time pressured journey briefly. The zebras reach the other side of the road unscathed. Twenty minutes later we arrive at the main event. Ed and Kirstie’s Coronation party.
Our attempts to set the Angel Delight end in terrible failure. Preservatives in the chocolatey mire are not needed to gee up the party’s small people. They are already running amok. So are the big people for that matter. The shuttlecock suffers as a result. Somehow, we decline to join the badminton antics and focus on Glas we Gin* and tonic. Thankfully the egg and rocket sandwiches stay fresh in our cool box. The Angel Delight fares less well. But polluted with Africoco and Amarula the adults find it eminently palatable. Work hard. Play hard.
Two Coronations missed in one day. The Coronation chicken and Charles big day out.
We find ourselves home by 18:30. We now reflect on the high points of our day: An elephant family day out in the park, a happy Shawa camper. And any regrets from the day are washed away with a chocolate cocktail. Let’s call it the King’s delight.
* The Honey Badger is the name of our silver Toyota Prado.
*A bottle of GlasweGin was kindly donated by Karen and Alan Rotchford.
* A good day is defined as laying eyes on an elephant. Baby elephant sightings make it a very good day.
Permission has been given to publish the photos but *names have been changed.
Update: Keith’s imaginary friend
The cause of Keith’s high eosinophil count continues to elude the wisest minds in the UK. Even Porton Down have been involved. I strongly suspect that Keith doctored his lab results, so that he can claim that he is eating for two when we are dividing the spoils at mealtimes. I put it to you members of the jury: that Keith has only an imaginary friend. His parasitaemia remains speculation and unproven.
I didn’t realise you were having such a good time- I was proud to tell my friends I had heroic medics in the family fighting jungle like conditions
in total deprivation to save lives on selfless sacrifice. Glaswegian gin, angel delight and Times Jumbo CRYPTIC just blew it for me!
Great blog though guys-keep it up😀
Captains John and Sue
Blue Moon, Burgundy Canal.
Once again, an informative and amusing blog. Love the kingfisher! Best from Brentwood to you both xx
I must be missing something - I have read this twice and cant see anything about a near death plunge and a driver less Herbie style drop off? looks like you saw more of the coronation than me ;)