The Cho-bee River forms the north-east border between Bohts-wah-nah and Zambia. Kah-sah-neh is its main commercial centre and sits at the end of the so-called ‘elephant highway’, which runs virtually due north from Francistown.
The river that flows from the north-west en route to the Zam-bay-zee, where the two rivers merge at the Kazungula Bridge, is a vital source of sustenance, particularly in the dry season, for large breeding herds of elephants, buffaloes, and every other kind of species here. As is to be expected, the birdlife is similarly spectacular both in terms of variety and numbers. Of course, what lies in the water is equally impressive and dangerous, particularly if viewed in thin-hulled, open cruise boats. There are as many crocodiles and hippos in the river as there are animals on the islands and banks, and they are enormous by comparison to their relatives further south.
Hippos are considered among the most dangerous animals in the wild because of their highly aggressive and unpredictable nature, not to mention their ability to bite right through a small boat with their incredibly powerful jaws. And as large and cumbersome as they may seem, growing up to one and half tonne or more, they move with unerring speed in the water and can run up to thirty kilometres an hour on dry land.
Over the years, Kah-sah-neh has developed into a major tourist attraction, with tens of thousands of visitors flying in from all over the world to take in the breathtaking spectacle of the wildlife from close-up vantage points on the river cruises provided by the numerous international hotels located along the Bohts-wah-nah banks of the Cho-bee.
A local skipper told us that on one occasion a party of Japanese tourists had a narrow escape when the twin-hull river boat they were in hit some submerged rocks and sank. Very typical of foreign tourists to Africa, many of these visitors were decked out in safari kits and bush hats or pith helmets and almost everyone carried expensive digital cameras with accompanying high-powered telephoto lenses. As the boat slowly sank beneath the surface, the passengers started to tread water, shouting and screaming as they made their way across ten or twenty metres of crocodile- and hippo-infested water. All, without exception, appeared to disregard the need to swim in favour of holding their camera equipment high above the heads as they kicked their way to dry land. Miraculously, no one was killed or injured in the incident and to the best of our knowledge no camera equipment was damaged during the making of their films.
When we discovered the Cho-bee twenty years back, it was still a remote destination known mainly to off-road adventurers who entered the Cho-bee National Park and made their way through the largely uncontrolled wilderness of the Cho-bee, Savuti, and Moremi reserves to Maun and the Oh-kah-vung-go swamps.
We had camped at a stunning camp site called Toro Safari Lodge, and it wasn’t long before we booked a seat on a local evening river cruise. The twin-hulled boat was propelled by an outboard motor and crewed by two local Bohts-wah-nah rangers. The boat was full, with about ten to twelve tourists, including ourselves, and we set off a couple of hours before sunset.
The trip was fabulous, as was to be expected. After about an hour or so of slowly zigzagging across the river from one cluster of game to a lioness drinking at the water’s edge, a number of elephant families swimming across from one island to another and much more, the skipper turned the boat west and sailed upstream past the Cho-bee Game Lodge where Liz Taylor and Richard Burton had held their second honeymoon years before.
As we admired the setting sun and enjoyed the gentle ride on the calm waters, there was a sudden jolt and a loud crunching sound from below as the boat lurched. My heart stopped! Were we going to have to swim? The motor cut and everyone held their collective breath as we waited to see whether we were taking in water. We turned to the skipper, who looked a tad bewildered and started mouthing off in his native lingo to his shipmate.
Eventually the skipper announced that we had ‘unfortunately’ hit some submerged rocks and the propeller of the outboard had been damaged. The ‘good news’ was that the hull didn’t appear to have been holed. He would radio for back up from Kah-sah-neh and we could look forward to being towed home ‘just now’. For those readers not familiar with the African meaning of ‘just now’, it can mean anything between five minutes and a couple of days before whatever you are waiting for is expected to happen. By this time the sun had slid below the far horizon. Along the distant islands we could see the dark outline of hundreds, possibly thousands of antelope, buffalo, elephant, and giraffe grazing in the lush vegetation. They moved ghost-like in a mist of swarming insects that hovered around them. It was very quiet, save for the sound of the water lapping against the boat. A very eerie and uneasy atmosphere descended as I contemplated whether the crocodiles and hippos had sensed that a dinner opportunity lay paralysed before them.
It wasn’t long before darkness enveloped. A passenger lit up a cigarette, the tip glowing in the pitch blackness of the night. People whispered to each other as if to avoid letting anyone, or anything, know we felt particularly vulnerable and out of water, so to speak. As the night came, a light breeze picked up off the water and although the daytime temperatures were in their early thirties, the nighttime felt surprisingly cooler by comparison.
In the dead of night under a moonless sky, surrounded by the occasional grunt of hippo nearby, the minutes drag by very slowly into an hour. ‘Just now’ seemed to be a long time. We strained down river to see if we could make out the light of a distant river boat or even the distant throbbing of an outboard motor. Nothing.
Occasionally the skipper’s radio would break into a buzz of distorted speech.
He’s coming just now, the skipper announced for the third time.
Eventually, after what seemed more than an hour and a half, and just as we started to think we may be in the boat till morning, a lone river boat appeared out of nowhere and pulled up alongside us. At this point we all thought that our boat would be tied by a rope to our new arrival and we would be towed back to the town. But this wasn’t to be, as for some inexplicable reason our rescue team had forgotten to bring a tow rope with them.
Eish! This wonderful African exclamation is quite difficult to translate but I suppose the closest I can get to a definition is I can’t believe! It must always be accompanied by the raising of both hands in the air and having a questionable expression etched across one’s face.
After a collaborative debate, with a couple of our more exasperated passengers deciding to join in, it was decided that we would bring the two boats alongside each other and all the passengers seated along one side of the boat would lean over the side and hold onto the railing of the other boat, and in this manner, we would chug our way home.
As expected, it was a slow journey and even at the slow speed we were able to travel, the wind was cold and occasionally tinged with moisture. Meanwhile, there was always the possible threat of an ill-tempered hippopotamus making an appearance.
But we made it home after many hours on the river, cameras intact, pictures saved, and with another tale to tell.
No humans or animals (or camera equipment) were injured in the writing of this story.