Kruger National Park is home to 13,000+ elephants, slightly more than Gonarenzhou in Zimbabwe and many more than Gorongosa in Mozambique. The Kruger animals have been protected here for nearly 100 years with varying degrees of success. Different ideas and schemes of managing the elephants have come and gone in that time frame – some decent, some hideous. Today the best science is being brought to bear; it can be hoped that the future will be bright for Kruger’s 
elephants and that the Great Limpopo Transfrontier Park is successful in letting the herds have the room they need to roam. Many people are working on this polarizing issue.
At Letaba Camp there is an Elephant Museum, home to the Magnificent Seven. I cannot describe what it was like to wander into that building and stand before a set of tusks that reached far above me and dropped all the way to the floor. The tusks 
displayed here are so jaw-dropping enormous you can’t believe they are real. Each set of tusks comes with the story of its elephant, and most of the stories are of a long, natural life. Elephants can only live around 60 years before their teeth wear out and they cannot feed, and so they pass away. The lucky ones, anyway
. Others meet a different fate.
Killing elephants for their ivory is nothing new. The Arabs and the Orientals have coveted ivory for thousands of years and it is easy to see why. Ivory is 
more beautiful than gold. Touching it, carving it into trinkets, wearing jewelry made of it – yes, I can understand the obsession. I am obsessed with ivory as well but only worn on the beasts that create it for their own use. In the presence of the Magnificent Seven, marveling at the time-worn smoothness, the damaged areas, the rich colors – I want to drop to my knees and beg that not one more elephant will be killed for its tusks. But the slaughter goes on. The money is too good. Don’t for a moment think that anything redeeming comes from the killing. There is nothing remotely resembling a benefit to society being created with this blood m
oney. Tusks buy guns, and power. Guns kill 
elephants, and people. End of story.
Now imagine this – what if, every time an elephant is murdered for its tusks, what if all of the pain and horror and desperation and suffering were transferred to the tusks? And what if then every single person who handled the tusks were cursed with those emotions, had to feel them every day? What if the despicable person who ends up owning something from the brutalized animal, what if every time they touched it, or showed it off to their friends, or admired it, what if all they would fee
l was the horror? Would that it could be true. I borrowed this fantasy from a chapter in Arthur C. Clarke’s story “Childhood’s End.” It is only a fantasy.
210 million years ago (!!) in the upper eastern corner of the Limpopo region where Zimbabwe, South Africa, Botswana and Mozambique meet, Plateosauraus roamed, one of the very first plant-eating dinosaurs. Long after these biggest of all beasts disappeared, others found this area to their liking. There must have been something special here, I think; the land has been inhabited through the dinosaurs, the Stone Age and the Iron Age. The landscape of red rocks, mixed grasslands and rivers supported thousands of people and a ruling class was established on a hilltop high above the common folk. Exotic goods from Arabia, India and China were traded for, and fine craftsman were valued.
The Mapungubwe National Park is a UNESCO World Heritage Cultural and Environmental site. Mapungubwe, which has been known by many names, was a city of significant renown in Africa. Established governments were nonexistent on the continent, or so the Europeans perceived. Sites such as Mapungubwe and Great Zimbabwe proved them wrong.
Mapungubwe declined in the 14th century, which roughly corresponds with the decline of the 
large American Southwest city-states such as Chaco and Mesa Verde. Undoubtedly
climate change was the cause. Respect for (and fear of) the ancestors kept the Mapungubwe site a secret known only to the natives. But by the 1930’s local farmers had heard rumors of gold and jewels buried in the veld. Much like treasure seekers everywhere, they eventually found someone to lead them to the hilltop site and by the best of fortunes, one of these seekers was associated with a university. What luck for this important place. Without that connection the world may have never known the most wondrous artifact of all, the Golden Rhino.
Wafer-thin gold sheeting once covered a wooden carving of a rhinoceros – gold so beautiful and shiny, gazing upon it makes you realize why wars have been fought over this precious metal. The gold sheeting had been fitted over the wood carving with delicate seams. The perfectly exquisite ears were made from folded plates of gold held in place with tiny gold tacks. The wood has long since rotted away. All that remains is the gold sheeting. It is simple and simply breathtaking. The fact that it was made by fine craftsman, centuries ago in a land once thought of as the Dark Continent, changed the perception of Africa.
Leopard and rhino spoor dotted the trail as we hiked up to the sacred hill. Our guide Cedric led us to an preserved pit where archaeologists have left a timeline of the village they excavated. Then we climbed to the hilltop where the former lords of the region resided. Cedric pointed out that it was a privilege being here, as commoners at that time were never allowed. Yes, a privilege indeed.
The Golden Rhino now resides in the Park’s museum along with beads and stone t
ools and other fascinating artifacts; no photography permitted. The remains of people whose bones were taken away for study have since been returned and ceremonially reburied. The National Park status protects the 30,000 hectare site, which, aside from all the cultural significance, is a world-class game park with fine camping. Spend some time at the bird hide, do a game drive or two, then take the Heritage Cultural Tour and hike up to the site of discovery. The Golden Rhino is waiting for you in the museum. It will stay here in Mapungubwe, its rightful home.
And when it’s time for leaving Mozambique . . . you will feel sad. Mozam-beach, as we took to calling it, will be difficult to top. The people, the scenery, the warm welcome we received from Pemba to Maputo – Moz is wonderful. When you visit, be sure to say hi to Mateo on the beach at Goody’s Villa, he has the biggest, freshest crayfish. At Pandani Beach, Michael and Joseph are the guys to see for oysters, mussels, white snapper and rock cod. And should you find yourself in Cuomo, the only hotel in town has a desk clerk who, while he knows as much English as I know Portuguese, can hook you up with a room and he’ll go out of his way to find you something good to eat, even though it is well past dinner time. Most surprising, and unlike most everywhere else along the Indian Ocean coast, the water is both safe to drink and delicious. Have a long cold glass, you will love it.
Still, another park is calling us. At the southeastern side of Zimbabwe is Gonarezhou National Park, part of the Great Limpopo Transfrontier Park. The Frankfurt Zoological Society has been managing and updating Gonarezhou since early 2000. Their practice of keeping the park accessible but uncrowded makes visiting a delight. Four of the six nights here we were all alone in an environment kept as natural as possible. Most impressive was the staff, everyone knew about their area, knew which campsite has the best view and which one the elephants like the best. Gonarezhou means Place of the Elephant. There are more elephant here than there are impala. If you’ve been to Africa, you must know what the means – and you might think I’m making it up. How can there be more of anything than there are impala? But it’s true. As well, elephants here are somewhat less explosive than in Gorongosa, lucky for us.
Which leads me to explain the cover photo of this post. Jim caught me on camera, beating a hasty exit from the long-drop at our primitive camp – I’d walked to the toilet, admiring how sturdy it was (that should have been my first clue) and I rounded the corner thinking, is that a wall? No, you idiot, it’s an elephant! and I was about to bump into its ass end. Oh dear. . . or words to that effect. I ducked inside the outhouse and he turned on a dime to face me. Was he going to charge? Not that it’d be that much of a charge, I was six inches and a piece of wood away from him. But I didn’t feel threatened and as it turned out he was more interested in the fruit of the Nylala tree over the outhouse; he stood on his hind legs reaching up for the lowest branches as shown in the upper right of this photo.
Elephants, bush buck, monkeys, kudu, baboons and of course the elegant impala came and went through all of our camps; birding was crazy good along the Runde river and out in the mopane, only a kilometer from camp on a hot afternoon we came upon three lion – one of them starred us down for a bit. Only later did I realize my window was completely down while this powerful cat was giving me a good look-over. That is why we keep the engine running. And why we come to wild places like Gonarezhou.
“Look down! Look down!” The guide is shouting. We slid off the pontoon into open ocean with mask and snorkel on, and looking down there it is, directly below us. A Whale Shark. We are in the water with the largest fish in the sea. He is handsome; dark charcoal grey with dignified white spots and a big, big smile on his enormous face. Yes, I am anthropomorphizing here, but really, his mouth forms a smile. 
Like a pitbull dog smiles. It is just as charming. His spots are unique to him and are used for identification. His tail gracefully propels him through the green water; cleaning 
remora fish cling to him. He is magnificent.
Young male Whale Sharks inhabit this “whale shark alley” off the coast of Tofu Beach when plankton is rich. That such an stupendous creature lives off microscopic plankton is a wonder. Isn’t Earth just overflowing with such wonders? We don’t know the half of the ocean – how could humans possibly screw up such a huge and complicated
eco-system? Little by little, is the answer to that. But here in the water with Mr. Handsome, pacing him as he slowly glides along, humans are gone and the ocean is safe. I never dreamed I would see such a sight as that creature. I am the very last person to climb out of the water. It is another place I didn’t want to leave. 
Mozambique has the most coastline of any African country except Somalia – put that in your hookah, why don’t you. The snorkeling is superb in the Bazaruto Archipelago. The tour guides don’t tell us that to reach the main reef we must crash through a big wave break – and 
the seas were already high. It was worth being a bit scared. In the Bazaruto channels are giant Manta Rays, endangered Dugongs, 
endless schools of every kind of fish, towering sand dunes and one day, we even spotted tiny Seahorses in the great estuary of Tofo.
Today we are camped above Paindane Beach looking at the reef we snorkeled at 7am this morning. Lighthouse Reef sparkles with coral gardens reminiscent of succulents in full bloom at the Huntington Botanical Garden. The dunes above the beach here are fully lined with campsites and lodges, 
all of which are empty now. This is the off-season
. For as far as we can see down the long beach, we are the only tourists. Michael and Joseph, cleaning fresh-caught lobster for us after they shucked 50 oysters (yes, we ate all of this and more), tell us the beach is packed at the holidays. Mozambique is open for business, from Gorongosa to Pemba to the sinfully beautiful Bazaruto Archipelago. If you come to Paindane (and you should!) be sure to ask for Michael and Joseph, they will treat you to the freshest seafood you’ll ever eat.
There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t 
complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss 
the mosquitoes.
There are places to return to and some gaps to fill, next time. Driving Namibia for months gave us a full view of that endless country. Botswana needs another look, hopefully before this trip is over. We’ve already been to Zimbabwe twice and will go back again later this month, so much to see there. Zambia is a favorite, where I am positive we waved to every single person in that friendly country. Tanzania nearly broke the 
bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel 
caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
Rwanda – a sobering lesson in humanity. One day we came to a nondescript village and it was time to get out of the truck. A large Genocide Memorial stood out, as in every single town and village. Only this one wasn’t quite finished yet. The very young security guard called an older gentleman to show us around this newly built but empty building. And the blank walls spoke as loudly as any placards. The hollow hallways echoed the footsteps of everyone who would never walk t
here. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options,
we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get 
over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
Who is Monte? Where is his favorite place? Why’s it so special? To find 
out, at 6am we took off on our third guided game drive in the unique Gorongosa National Park. After stalling around Zimbabwe (yes, stalling around. . . hiking, birding, relaxing) it was time to give Gorongosa another shot. We hope for dry roads, maybe some good game sightings, some birds. . .
Gorongosa is different. You’ve probably read that animals were decimated by the long civil war, that restoration efforts are on-going and that fighting flares up 
from time to time, creating a tense atmosphere and yes, these things are true. What is not touted loudly enough is
how exceptionally beautiful the park is; how the flora is pristine, the trees huge and the bottom land is untouched by farms or cattle ranches. This is a park suspended in time. We’ve seen nothing like this anywhere.
With nearly a clean slate, a couple of decades of research, and lots and lots of money, 
Gorongosa has begun the return to its prime. Many people are involved. Mozambican graduate students are here, doing surveys and learning from the cream of the crop of professors and teachers leading the education platform. Rangers and guides are training here. There is a state-of-the-art biological laboratory and plant library plus
a molecular laboratory. The park is conducting anthropological digs; with its location at the lower end of the Great Rift, there are likely hominid fossil remains waiting to be discovered by some hardworking (lucky) person. Locally, the park spent 10 years determining the best way to involve the villagers and another 10 years implementing a coffee growing/tree planting scheme for them. It is paying off for everyone. 
That said, the average tourist is most welcome. Self-driving is not allowed but seeing this park 
with a trained guide is the way to go and drives are very affordable. Test and Tongo escorted us the first morning and in a few hours taught us so much about the trees and plants I thought my head would explode. That’s not even counting the fascinating animal facts and game sightings including an oribi antelope and a mating pair of porcupine (yes, we all know the joke). On the evening drive, beneath the stunning sunset
, a hippo gave new meaning to the saying “throwing his weight around” as he challenged us for our spot on the riverbank. Then in the morning Monte took over guiding. And he really iced the cake.
After weaving through the sun forest and stopping for several excellent sightings, we drove up to the edge of the floodplain and were rendered speechless. In front of us is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen. Monte smiles shyly. “This is my favorite place” he says. It is mine too. Endless plains of grass, flowers, water – all of it teeming with birds. Birds, birds and more birds. There are flocks of egrets, ducks, geese, 
heron, storks of every kind, stilts, pelicans, ibis, songbirds, lapwings, raptors, darters . . . everywhere you look, in the 
sky or on the ground, there are birds. Waterbuck and cape buffalo graze in the distance. Mount Gorongosa is a hazy grey landmark rising over the plain. I never want to leave. Monte tells me that I’d hate it in the rainy season. Maybe. Meanwhile we are enjoying it now, thanks to the monumental effort to restore and preserve Gorongosa.
Cloud forests filled with unseeable birds, water dripping everywhere. Trout streams and waterfalls. Autumn-dry Brachystegia woodlands with late-blooming wild flowers. Cecil Rhode’s mountain home, now Nyanga National Park. The vast estate of La Rochelle with its 65-year-old botanical gardens. Zimbabwe’s Eastern Highlands boast a great variety of scenery, plants, animals, camping and weather. In one day we were drenched in the mist
y cloud forest then baked by the sun on a hike up to San paintings. The down comforter is out of storage and on the bed for the cold nights but we are still bathing in sunscreen during the day. The high mountain air reminds us of home. This 
is a different part of Zimbabwe than we visited last year.
But the people are still the same – the friendliest, most literate and likable people you’d ever want to meet. Yes, things have changed, they tell us, since November 14 when Robert Mugabe finally left office. At the tollgate on the highway the attendant said November 14 is the new Independence Day. There is much optimism; how we hope for the best for these people who
’ve been in limbo for years. Still, an instant change is impossible. Prices have skyrocketed since we were here a year ago. Deeply-rooted corruption will take years to dismantle. Fallow farms will need literally everything to be up and producing any time soon. If the new government can rise up for its people, there is a good possibility of success because regular Zimbabweans like Listen and his wife Shubi, with daughter 
Paisley, are willing to work so hard to make something happen. We will leave Zim tomorrow for Mozambique; with multi-entry visas we can return to see how it is going in a month or so. Good things come to those that wait, it is said. These people have waited long enoug
h.
Did you know that, contrary to what you’ll read on the web, you cannot extend a 30-visa in Mozambique? Not at an immigration office, not at a border, not at all. Unlike every other African country we have visited, Moz immigration requires that a tourist leave the country then return and purchase a new visa. And not just leave for an afternoon, either. Two days at least. This is a stunning revelation. Go to Zimbabwe, they told us, it is only an hours drive to the border. As it was still fairly early in the day, to the Forbes/Manica border we went, only to be told the same thing. We would have to leave Moz. Now.
So why not just strike out for Vilankulos and the coast, you ask, spend a few days at the beach first? Yes, well, on another planet that might work. But even with over a week left on our current visa, there is nowhere in this mangled country we can drive to and still get back to the Forbes border within nine days. The roads, and I’m being kind, are barely paved. The potholes have potholes. Smaller holes they fill with sedans. Just getting back to Gorongosa National Park, where rain has effectively closed the game drives, is at least a two day drive, with no guarantee that we’d even see that park. We pull back to the last Mozambique campground before the Forbes border and take a breath – time to ready 
ourselves for Zimbabwe.
Casa Msika camp is so welcoming and friendly we stay for two days – lucky for us we have the time. Christopher, a young and dedicated Zimbabwean man, is the game warden of the small reserve and he leads us on a trek to find the resident giraffes, one of whom is about to give birth. She is very calm as we watch her but she isn’t about to birth her calf in front of us! There are zebra and wildebeest out and about; the reserve is hoping to boost their game animal numbers, perhaps even provide creatures to help replenish Gorongosa’s herds. Back at camp, a family from Zimbabwe arrive on their way home from the 
coast and we dine with them. Their enthusiasm is infectious, they love Zim’s Eastern Highlands and Vumba mountains. Off we go the next morning, to the bird-watching paradise and cloud forests of eastern Zimbabwe. We will be back to Moz soon enough. Gorongosa Park will be dry. The beaches will still be beautiful. It’s just a matter of time.
This cover photo is the Post Office on Ilha De Mozambique. Now how do I know that? you ask; there are no signs nor logos. There is however a slotted red box on the street in front of the building that says “Correios” – mail. Once I step inside, the clerk immediately pulls out a packet of postcards of the island – yes, just what I’ve been looking for. With his two or three words of English and some sign languag
e I gather that the Big Man will have to return before I can even see any stamps (“stamp” is easy to pantomime, by the way). The next day the Big Man is still not available and I’m forced to leave the cards with the clerk after paying for the postage – he assured me that he would post them. Yet what I really wanted was to see the stamps – are they beautiful birds? Flowers? Shells? Guess that will have to wait until 
the next PO assuming I can find one.
Ilha (pronounced E-la) is a sun-bleached town of crumbling architecture reminiscent of Zanzibar. The 15th through 19th century Portuguese stronghold, the buildings were constructed using stone shipped all the way from Europe as well as local land coral. Hard to imagine why European stone was needed but much of what the 
early colonizers did stretches the imagination. The ramparts of the old fort are lined with cannons. Many, many cannons, some date stamped with 1539 on them. There is a Jardim de Memória (memorial garden) at the slave trading warehouse which does little to explain those horrors, real and unfathomable. The garden is more a tribute to the conglomeration of peoples that slavery created on Ilha and in Moz, a by-product of centuries of evil.
The enormous Governors Palace is well-preserved and sparkling clean, the many wood-planked floors shine without a speck of dust. In fact the entire island is remarkably tidy. The streets are neatly laid with pavers and are swept every morning. The people are polite if somewhat solemn; the island vibe is minimal here. Of course there are hustlers, their efforts easy to dispel although it 
would be nice to help each and every young man trying to make a living selling shell necklaces. There are just way too many young men, and even more small children. Good luck to them, they will need it.
Hydroplaning along the road in a vicious downpour, we travel south to Quelimani, past the endless parade of people who are 
walking, riding bikes, and piled on motorcycles. Mozambique is not giving up her real self easily. The language barrier is part of it and the north is not really on the tourist route unless you fly into Pemba to dive. We’ve been told that the biggest natural gas deposit in the world has been discovered near here and a ruby mine has opened, inspiring a “ruby rush” in the interior. But local life on the road is as slow-paced as it is everywhere we’ve been. We’ll keep going and see some more of it. We like what we’ve experienced so far.
…I’d like to spend some time in Mozambique, the sunny sky is aqua blue. . . Bob Dylan sang those words in 1976 and I am sure I’m not the only person who was romanced by the lyrics. From that time long ago in Jackson Hole Wyoming, I’ve not forgotten the song and here we are 42 years (!) later about to leave Malawi and cross into Moz. First, though, we must share our email with the many Malawian army guys who want to become friends – or better still, immigrate to the US. Good luck, we tell them, really meaning it too.
Just three kilometers through a no-mans land between borders, Mandimba Border Post displays the same interior decorator skills as other sleepy African border posts. Faded yellowed fabric of some sort is nailed over unscreened windows, fans move the torpid air around, and worn counters with stacks and stacks of journal books fill the small space. A shaded porch contains broken plastic chairs; a chunk of wood serves as a table where the security guards are engaged in a rapid game of bao. They motion for us to sit while we wait for the Big Man to return from wherever he is – he must unlock the door to the processing room so that the immigration officer can issue our visas. We wait, just like everyone else.
Once the Big Man arrives the process is swift; photos, fingerprints and then a neat official stamp sealed onto our passports. Our carnet is carefully filled out by the customs officer who obviously has seen a carnet before so we don’t have to walk him through it. Welcome to Mozambique.
Down the road the potholes take their toll. The back camper tie-downs snap off and the camper makes a frightening bang at every hole. The front tie-downs hold, thankfully, but we must find a welder asap. Slowly we make our way to our first stop, arriving 
at the only hotel in Cuamba town right at dark. Why aren’t we camping, you ask? Well, there is very little camping here in the Moz interior. We’ve routed ourselves through two towns where there is reasonable lodging as we push to the coast. In the second town is an impressive Toyota dealer who arranges for his man to do the welding while we walk around and find a coffee – and he doesn’t charge us. Africa is like that.
Portuguese is the language here and while to me most of it is jibber-jabber, we have been practicing the basics on our drive and can at least say good morning and such; Google Translate is quite handy right now. Welding finished (and very well-done) we move on. The coast is calling in all its tropical glory. The heat is intense, the air is thick and the water is Van Gogh-green with turquoise and violet streaks of the deeper water. It’s very nice to stay a week or two… Dylan said. A month or two will be more like it.
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