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Sunday, January 05, 2003
Covongton: Henry and Henrietta
By Gary Covongton
The tents we erected under some stumpy but shady trees and as evening fell and the cicadas began their chirruping we opened a celebratory beer and relaxed; the biggest animals we had seen all day were some antelope that had tried to race the Land Rover. But then we had yet to meet Henry and Henrietta.
RISING in the highlands of northern Zambia is the River Kalengwishi. It's
a short river flowing westwards into Lake Mweru on the frontier with what
was Zaire. On its journey it plunges over two waterfalls, the Lumangwe
Falls and then, five kilometers downstream, the Kabwelume Falls.
To a young and developing African nation the falls presented the possibility of generating much needed hydro-electric power. Two of us were dispatched to take a look and prepare some maps.
Our first briefing, technical and boring, had been in London. The second, a more social affair, was in a hotel bar in the Zambian town of Kitwe, the departure point for our long drive north. Hosts for the evening were two old Africa hands, only too pleased to scare the life out of a pair of greenhorns who were about to go camping in the wilds of central Africa.
Not so good for camping, they said. More animals than people. Lots of elephants charging about. And lions. Hungry lions.
The next day we set off, driving mostly on Africa's famous but extremely dusty laterite roads. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived at the river, bumping the last few kilometres across the open bush. We positioned our camp, we thought, with skill. Gently sloping ground would drain off any rain and it was only a short stroll to the river for drinking water or to bathe.
The tents we erected under some stumpy but shady trees and as evening fell and the cicadas began their chirruping we opened a celebratory beer and relaxed; the biggest animals we had seen all day were some antelope that had tried to race the Land Rover.
But then we had yet to meet Henry and Henrietta.
Hippopotamuses - hippos - despite their great size are private animals. Our local pair, which with great originality we later christened Henry and Henrietta, remained largely invisible during the day, tramping about the river bed or bellowing and roaring amongst the reeds.
They are also fiercely territorial and at night lumber ashore to check out the neighborhood - the neighborhood in which we, that first night, had pitched camp.
In the dark the Land Rovers must have appeared to the hippos as bulky competition trespassing on their patch. They trundled forward to see off the intruders but became entangled in the camp clutter. Jerry cans, a table and chairs, the barbecue stand, all were shouldered aside or trampled underfoot in their efforts to do some serious damage to our transport.
Awakened by the uproar we poked our heads out of the tents, rubbed our eyes, realized what was going on and panicked. Several tons of hippo blundering about the camp was no joke.
Fortunately stouter hearts were at hand, those of our locally recruited staff who were more used to such animal antics. With a lot of shouting and waving of fiery torches Henry and his spouse were persuaded to crash their way back towards the river.
Camp was broken in record time by simply tossing all the gear into the Land Rovers and driving off. The next day, braver in the daylight and listening to older and wiser heads we sited a new camp. It was still near the river but protected by a jumble of rocks and boulders. Hippo-proof, we hoped. |
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