The Smoke That Thunders: Victoria Falls
What springs to mind when you think of Zimbabwe? Is it the stern face of a stubborn Robert Mugabe? The wheelbarrow full of devalued money needed in 2008 to buy a loaf of bread? The crashing sounds of Victoria Falls? Or the foetid stench of corruption? As we enter Zimbabwe from the western side at the Panamatenga border, all these images flash through my mind from a lifetime of BBC news stories. But I’m also surprised that nobody else is here. It turns out there’s a good reason, Google maps has taken us from Botswana to completely the wrong border post with Zimbabwe. We should be 110 kilometers north and crossing next to Victoria Falls. Unfortunately, my wife, Jess, and I only realise this after we’ve exited the Botswana check point. We walk into the Zimbabwe immigration post and start talking to the potbellied man behind the counter. After establishing that we can drive up Zimbabwe on their side to Victoria Falls, we ask for a visa that will also allow us to cross briefly into Zambia in a few days’ time to visit the falls from both sides. The man takes $60 per person for the visa’s and we handle the entry of the car without much more fuss. Already though, without knowing it, the rot has set in. The entry visa, it turns out, should have been $55 each. Stevie Wonder may have sung that peace had come to Zimbabwe, but corruption still plagues it from the gates.
We drive north from the border towards Victoria Falls through the Kazuma Pan National Park. We see a few Elephants and a type of antelope that’s new to us, but it’s other sites that catch my attention. The broken railway tracks that seem to go nowhere, separating apart with one side sliding down an embankment like the countries economy of former years. The bridges, either half-built or half-collapsed are a sign of the ongoing lack of investment in infrastructure. The country is undoubtedly better than it was, but it feels fragile and troubled, and I’m more nervous driving here than in other parts of Africa I’ve been to so far.
After an hour driving north through dry barren bushland on dirt roads we arrive at Victoria Falls, a town on the Zimbabwean side of their namesake. The town itself is a strange bubble of western comfort. The hotel is beautifully designed, surrounded by high white washed walls with flowers and greenery covering every surface. The lush grass and small crystal blue pool make you immediately forget the economic woes of the country outside.
(Jess enjoying the gardens at The Courtney Hotel, Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe)
After being woken a few times by trumpeting elephants wandering the streets, the next day we discuss our plans with the hotel owners over breakfast. Unfortunately, we then discover that not only did we get overcharged for our visas but they are also the wrong type. We won’t be able to enter Zambia without having to pay again to get back over to Zimbabwe. Now thoroughly frustrated, we decide to tackle the issue head on and walk down to the immigration office in town. As I stroll into the office I feel a slight slip and crunch underfoot. I look down to realise they’ve just freshly laid the tiles in the lobby, and I’m not the only one realising it. The cracking noises continue as people tentatively make their way towards the counters. The logic of laying tiles just before opening the office for the day still alludes me. The officials seem non-plussed and continue to walk over the increasingly precarious tile shards, avoiding the now exposed patches of sticky adhesive. We speak to the immigration manager and he confirms what we had come to suspect about the visa type and its cost. He asks us to meet him outside in a hushed voice. We all head out into the car park and he explains that we can make a formal complaint if we like. We answer yes, and he asks us to come back later. The next steps are vague.
Whilst waiting for the slow wheels of justice to turn, we book onto an evening river cruise on the Zambezi River and take a stroll through the town of Victoria Falls itself. Locals along the roadside offer to sell you a now valueless 5 billion Zimbabwe dollar note for one $1 USD. I’m tempted for posterity, but I just can’t bring myself to exchange something of existing value for something I know is worth zero. After a few hours we head back to the immigration centre. As we walk through the gate a 60kg warthog meets us at the entrance with his large tusks, scaring the life out of us both. It strolls off across the road as if being in the car park of the immigration centre is nothing new. The manager comes out and informs us that he has ‘sorted everything’ and there’s now no need to file any complaints. If we just cross over to Zambia and ask for his ‘friend’ when we come back he will issue us a new visa for free. There’s no mention of our missing $10 or any alternatives to this rather vague plan. It’s not quite what we were after on the justice front, but at least we can go over to Zambia. Hopefully.
That evening we sail up the Zambezi river on the cruise whilst enjoying red wine and a surprisingly nice ostrich steak. As the sun is setting, crocodiles bask in its last rays and elephants play in the water. As night falls, hippos make for the land, their faint shadows and rustles the only giveaway as they stroll along the shoreline looking for vegetation.
(Sunset on a river cruise on the Zambezi river, bordering Zimbabwe and Zambia)
(Elephants play in the waters of the mighty Zambezi river)
Once the sun is up the next morning we walk down to the Victoria Falls themselves, which divide the country of Zimbabwe from Zambia as they tumble down into a narrow gorge over 100m deep.
As a basic description of the area, you view the falls from Zimbabwe as they tumble over the Zambian side of the gorge. We stroll along the paths at the top of the Zimbabwe side as the thunderous water sprays back up at you in a fine mist. It’s dry season (September), which is actually a good thing. In the wet season the mist is so dense you apparently struggle to see the falls themselves. As the sun shines down creating fine rainbows in the rising mist it’s hard not to be mesmerised by the awe-inspiring scene of the water cascading over the rocky cliffs.
(A view of Victoria Falls from the Zimbabwe side, the water is flowing over from Zambia, left)
We stroll back into town and find a western looking bar to enjoy some Mojitos with lunch. That evening we head to a restaurant that’s apparently playing live music from 7:30pm. By the time we’ve eaten it’s 9pm and the band are just about to start. I’m told they are running on ‘African time’, which seems to be a regular catch-all phrase for running late. It also seems to act as a get out of jail free card to prevent refunds on the entry tickets. That said, the food was decent.
The next day we go white water rafting down the Zambezi river. Before we get to the gorge our guide makes sure we aren’t carrying any valuables. When we get into the boat he checks again. Then a few minutes later, as we practice our oar strokes on a flat section near the falls themselves, he checks again. He then asks us all to jump out of the boat and swim around, just get wet and familiar with the life vests. As we slide into the water, a man in our boat pulls out his iPhone on a lanyard around his neck and starts taking some pictures. As he’s pulled up on to the boat the plastic case catches on the side of the raft and his brand new iPhone 14 is sent to a watery grave. The guide, somewhat annoyed, but not entirely surprised by this turn of events, assures us that the phone has a lot of company down there. They’ll probably be mining the place for lithium in the future.
We spend the day hurtling down some fairly intense rapids, almost falling out of the raft a couple of times. At one point, about halfway through the day, I notice the water colour has changed to a bright luminous green and I look around to find the source. A bright green narrow waterfall is tumbling over the side of the gorge. I can’t help but ask myself what would make algae grow that intensely. Unfortunately, I know in the back of my mind the answer is probably raw sewage. The day progresses nicely and water is regularly sprayed into our faces as we tumble down the gorge. Somewhat surprisingly, as the river widens we see small crocodiles basking at the side of the river. The guides seem unsurprised by this, but given we’d been floating in the water alongside the raft minutes before, it’s a little disconcerting. The day ends with a hike up out of the gorge. Our guide tells us to make sure we don’t accept any help from anyone to carry our things as we climb up. Obviously, a man we think belongs to the raft company still manages to dupe us, quite cleverly I might add, and carry’s a paddle to the top of the gorge for a tip whilst chatting away. When we reach the top, a small bbq is set up and we enjoy, amongst other things, some crocodile kebabs.
(White water rafting the Zambezi river)
As the sun rises the next morning we make our way by foot over the gorge from Zimbabwe and into Zambia. We walk into a small tour operator on the Zambian side and ask about a boat trip to the Devils Pool, a small deep rocky hole that sits precariously on the edge of the Zambian side of the falls. You can swim in it and get some pictures whilst you look over the edge. Thankfully, a trip is leaving in 30 minutes and they have space. We board a small boat and whizz across the still waters above Victoria Falls, taking a similar, albeit faster, route to that of the Scottish missionary David Livingstone in 1855. When we get to the falls we climb down into the Devils Pool and take our turns gazing over the edge whilst the guides hold your legs to stop you slithering over. What’s challenging though is that small fish nibble at your feet, which make you want to move your legs, which are the only thing holding you from falling a hundred meters over the edge. It’s a great experience, but not for the faint hearted. The pool is also quite deep, which means a lot of weight in water is applying pressure on a very slim face of rock. I’m no geologist, but at some point it must give way, let’s just hope there’s no tourists in there when it happens.
(Victoria Falls in dry season on the Zambian side)
(Hanging out over Victoria Falls at the Devils Pool, Zambia)
After the Devils Pool we make the attempt to get back into Zimbabwe by meeting the immigration officers ‘friend’ at the border. We’re both anxious to get back over and it’s been bothering us since we crossed into Zambia. If we had the correct visa we could have passed through quickly, but the queue for new visas is out the building and not moving. Being British, I assume a queue must be respected and endured, whilst mumbling complaints under my breath. Jess on the other hand has other ideas. She marches straight into the immigration office and demands to see the official. I follow, head bowed, trying not to look at the people in the queue. The official says it will take some time and we will have to wait, but Jess is having none of it, and within 5 minutes we’re back into Zimbabwe with our new visas. I think it must be her American side.
After cleaning the river water residue off, we go for dinner at a local Zimbabwean restaurant called Dusty Road. It’s a small award-winning affair in a township on the outskirts of the town. The owner runs a number of community projects and employs local people to run the restaurant. A small shop inside sells local crafts and a group of young children come and sing whilst you eat your food. They’re a raucous bunch that seem to decide on the fly what they want to sing and in what order, as they clap and dance along. The food is all locally inspired, including a starter of Mopane worms. These are actually the caterpillar form of a large emperor moth. They harvest, boil, dry, and store the caterpillars for later. When that time comes, they rehydrate and fry them before serving. It creates a crunchy, if somewhat tasteless, salty snack. I’m proud to say we’ve tried them, but I won’t be looking for them on the supermarket shelves.
(Jess holding a Mopane worm before giving it a go, Dusty Road restaurant, Zimbabwe)
When we wake the next morning we pack up and begin the journey back towards Botswana, this time leaving by the correct border gate. As we drive along I have time to consider the last few days in Zimbabwe. Can I say I’ve actually seen the country? Absolutely not. I’ve seen a strange enclave, protected by its government because of the revenue it affords. It’s an odd juxtaposition of African wildlife and western comfort. All the pricing was in USD and the cost of food and services was similar to what you might find in any city in America. Victoria Falls does not reflect Zimbabwe, a country where travelling alone is still fraught with danger. My moments of reflection on the country, however, are rapidly interrupted. As we start the long drive south through Botswana, my stomach starts to feel painful. I ignore it and carry on driving, but after a further hour I realise I’ve made a mistake. I think it was raw sewage in the river. The mighty Zambezi is now showing its full power. I have to madly drive into a petrol station as fast as I can. The next few days, which are our last in Africa before we fly out of Johannesburg, are some of my worst. The 14 week trip has hit some incredible highs and showed me the true diversity of this vast and beautiful continent. But right now, it’s a new low, I’m just glad I have an en-suite bathroom.