Prologue

On the approach to Johannesburg International Airport, I looked below at the drought-stricken landscape, ‘criss-crossed’ by footpaths trodden daily by African people. It had been nearly four years since my first visit to the African continent. My previous travels here had left me knowing that I would soon be amongst the African people again, comfortably wandering their paths. Where exactly their paths would lead me between the Cape and Cairo – I did not yet know. The excitement and uncertainty of this amazing land also left me wondering about what lay ahead – to which isolated corners of Africa my walkabout would take me – whom I might meet along the way and whether I would make it safely to the end of my travels.

   Travel means different things to different people: for some it can be as uncomplicated as getting to a place of work, others may determine their travel enjoyment by how high the mountain was, how many European sights were ticked off their list, successfully spotting the “big-five” in Africa, or simply the quality of their tan. I’m a firm believer in the old adage: ‘the journey itself is often more important than the destination’.

   For me, the true reward in travel arises from being accepted by the local people – to embrace the local culture. The traveller may be ‘accepted’ anywhere, but it is surprisingly easy and more enjoyable in the lesser-developed world. It is here that the ability to immerse myself into the local way of life becomes an integral part of my travel experience. The capacity to do this can come in many ways, from eating the same food, shopping in local markets, bargaining in the same way or by joining local people on their public transport (or lack of!). Where accommodation is at a premium and you have developed a good relationship with the locals, there is also nothing quite like the generosity of someone’s humble offer to have you stay with them in their homes. Whether it’s on the dirt floor of a mud hut on the banks of the Ruvuma River in Mozambique (after crossing from Tanzania in a dugout canoe); on an isolated Philippine island or an ex-Soviet housing block in the Ukraine, this type of travel experience is second to none and simply cannot be found in a resort or on an organised tour.

Finding these parts of the world untouched by tourism and the ever-encroaching developed world is becoming undeniably more difficult. It seems travel is becoming easier for a steadily increasing number of people. Even the northern parts of Thailand and Laos are fast becoming well-trodden areas of the Southeast Asian travel experience. Where once they existed as quiet tranquil areas, seemingly lost in time, and so the chaos of the cities and popular beaches could easily be avoided here. As package deals and tour companies expand further throughout the world, one now has to look very hard for a corner of the globe to explore and experience these relatively unchanged and often-fragile cultures. If one is a flexible, tolerant traveller, able to avoid pre-conceived ideas about possible dangers and threats, yet remain able to recognize real dangers when they exist, then spin the globe and you can still find these places. All my life, whenever I did this, my finger (and my curiosity) has always fallen upon Africa.

   As a young boy in Australia, the African landmass, dominating my school maps (as it does), intrigued me like no other place. It was somewhere I always knew that I would explore for myself, one day! I was particularly drawn to the Rift Valley, with its deep lakes and towering mountains cutting their way through the heart of Africa. Was it dangerous? Who knows at that age? It fascinated me as a snake would a bird (an analogy drawn by author Joseph Conrad in the 19th century). But is this a fair analogy? Is it really that dangerous? With the benefit now of hindsight I must say that at times, in some places, it can be dangerous. But then we can also say this about many places in the world today.

For me, true cultural isolation in Africa somehow finds beauty in its harshness. The smiles come freely in rural Africa and often, through the poverty and hardship; you are left to wonder how and why. The children often seem to find happiness in the simplest things; they make their own toys in a world that has no doors and the playground is wherever they may find themselves. This is my account of my journey through their land.

PART I – Southern Africa

I had landed in Africa with very few concrete plans as to where I would travel and when – the essence of a ‘walkabout’ you might say.

   Although my direction of travel was open to change, I aimed to choose a route from South Africa through to Egypt that would keep me as close to the lakes and rivers as possible. Fishing is an integral part of African life and so is crucial to the survival of many people along these waterways. Although my life has certainly never depended upon it, I aimed to learn about the species caught; local techniques used and – hopefully – catch a few fish alongside the African people as my journey unfolded.

   As I tried to decide in which direction to take that first step, it dawned on me just how much ‘fishable’ water there is throughout the continent. I knew I was by no means aiming to cover it all; to do so would be a seemingly endless task as the African waterways are as diverse as the fish species (many still unidentified), which inhabit them. The African people who live along the banks of these rivers and lakes are equally varied and interesting, and one thing that remains consistent throughout the continent is their reliance on these natural waterways. It is their life source for water and food, and at times transportation.

   There are numerous majestic rivers in Africa, each with its own special uniqueness. The Zambezi River is the most southerly of these great watercourses and the Nile, the longest river in the world, reaching endlessly, it seems, for the Mediterranean while flowing across Africa’s entire northern half. Life along the lakes and rivers is what intrigued me the most, the fish species I might find, and the manner in which the local people’s lives depend upon them.

   I wished to investigate the trout fishing in South Africa and Lesotho, but my overall direction of travel northward would begin with the countries on the Zambezi River. From there I would follow the Great Lakes of the Rift Valley, and finally, after a year or more, end my journey on the Nile in Ethiopia and Egypt.

     The Rift Valley is an amazing geographical feature running virtually the entire length of Africa. It has been created over millions of years by movement of the earth’s crust or ‘plates’. It features numerous mountain ranges, open plains, volcanoes, and lakes, stretching thousands of kilometres from the Sea of Galilee and into the Red Sea in the north, and over halfway across the African continent to Lake Malawi in the south.

   This incredible scar across Africa is clearly visible from space. And yet such an extensive landmass lay before me and with so much of Africa’s conflict and news failing to reach the western world, I immediately started researching possibilities for travel into areas that had always intrigued me. Previously proven inaccessible due to internal conflicts and war of various kinds, I wondered if I would now reach these hidden corners. One such country, always a source of fascination, was Angola, and it was towards this war-torn country that I first turned.

Angola: anti-apocalypse

Thirty years of war and more landmines than people, Angola has rarely been given encouraging reports for travellers. And yet perhaps that is what was so intriguing about this mysterious land, just two years after the fatal bullet ended the life of rebel leader, Jonas Savimbi. The solitude and isolation appealed, and so too did the knowledge of just how inexplicably ‘special’ people can be when living in a ‘smouldering’ battlefield – not to mention the relatively untouched fishing on offer!

Few nations have a history as war-ravaged as that of Angola. And yet I was convinced that despite its brutal history, it would reveal an incomprehensible beauty of a kind only to be found in Africa.

Four years previously, I had drawn close to the Angolan border on Namibia’s Skeleton Coast, but due to the prolonged civil war, the country was closed and inaccessible. Angola’s 27 years of civil war, following its fight for independence against the Portuguese, was often referred to as the ‘silent war’. When I had been so close, I felt as though I could almost hear the guns and had vowed, one day, I would return in the aftermath and venture over the border. The conflict had been typical of most African bush wars, long and dirty. Whether boys or men, civilians or soldiers, all are armed and lethal – and who can distinguish one from another. As one of many extensions of the Cold War which the majority of the world occasionally saw on television, it was also typical in that it raged far longer than was necessary. This was particularly due to the fact that Angola is, in reality, a very wealthy country; it has many of the key attributes that paved the colonial road to Africa: diamonds, gold, oil and more recently uranium.

     Rebel UNITA (the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola) leader Jonas Savimbi was shot and killed in 2002, ending the seemingly incessant conflict and allowing Jose Eduardo Dos Santos, leader of the MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola), to finally take complete control of the country.

I knew how good Namibia’s beach fishing used to be, with huge hauls of silver kob once possible. Known in Australia, as mulloway or jewfish, heavy fishing pressure in Namibia had taken its toll on the kob, reducing fish stocks to the point that it is now quite an elusive species for the recreational angler here. And yet after one of the harshest and longest civil wars the world has ever seen, Angola’s fishing – just over the border – had managed to remain relatively untouched. These facts were more than enough to lure me to the Angolan Embassy in Pretoria. I approached the Visa section, and for the first time I could recall, I found myself in an embassy making the application with no sign of a queue on my side of the desk. It seems there wasn’t a great demand to enter the country! After a week’s wait for the Visa application to process, I was both excited and nervous to learn of my success.

I knew little about Angola except that the war had left the country in an extreme state of disrepair and, at that moment in time, it was rumoured to have more landmines than people. My knowledge of the fishing was also fairly limited but I knew the cold Benguela Current penetrated a long way into Angolan waters after flowing up the southwest African coastline. Coming past Namibia, it pushes into Angola and merges with the Angola Current near the Angolan town, also named Benguela. Due to the presence of this cold current, the southern coastal shores of Angola support a wide range of coldwater species such as the kob, garrick and shad, all of which are caught in South Africa and Namibia. The Guinea Current pushing in from the north out of the Gulf of Guinea – opposes the Angola current and brings a wide range of subtropical species. Giant threadfin salmon, Atlantic tarpon, and jack crevalle (a type or trevally) can all be caught north and south of Luanda. The exact location of these fish depends upon the time of year and strength of these two opposing currents. I couldn’t wait to get there but also knew it would be many long days on the road before I was to lay eyes on the sea.

I successfully managed to miss my direct bus that would have taken two days to reach Namibia’s capital city of Windhoek, travelling through South Africa and Namibia. This slight oversight did not help my progress! I took a chance and jumped on the next available bus to Gabarone, Botswana. After a night in ‘Gabs’, I didn’t make any mistake with the connecting bus the following morning, and before I knew it, I was watching the sunrise over the Kalahari Desert.

This bus finished its route in Ghanzi, a small outpost village in the west of the Kalahari. There was no onward transport from here to the Namibian border, but I had managed to make a few friends on the bus, and with it being late in the day, I accepted an American Peace Corps worker’s offer to travel on in the same direction and stay with her and her friends in another, smaller village where the two girls worked. Things could have been worse!

The Kalahari is a strange desert in that it has little in the way of sand dunes and rock, but instead represents an extremely dry, arid savannah, with endless plains and some of the driest thorn tree infested grasslands in the world. Meeting these friendly girls in such an isolated part of the world gave me a further insight into the horrific problem of AIDS, the limited education concerning the epidemic sweeping through Africa, and the stigma that goes with it – an insurmountable challenge they were helping deal with in the local community.

The following morning we said our goodbyes and I walked alone to the dirt road running through the village, hoping to hitch a ride to the border. Two friendly locals quickly swung by in an old pickup and I jumped in. Reaching the border easily, I then found a minibus bound for Windhoek, Namibia.

Namibia is believed to mean ‘open plains’ in the language of the ancient Hottentots who once nomadically roamed these plains. After a night in Windhoek, I took the modern-day easy approach, continuing north from Windhoek in a minibus to Ondangwa – just a short ride from the Angolan border and the Oshikango immigration checkpoint. I camped that night, waking early in the hope I might get into Angola before the border was too busy.

The immigration gates and desks were typically African with fences, barbed wire and armed guards brandishing AK 47s. Numerous African people sleep right at these borders and it is difficult to beat the crowd no matter how early you think you are. On the whole, rural African life is still dictated by sunrise and sunset and the people are usually up, ready and eager to greet the day as the first rays of sunshine appear over their distant horizon.

The first in, first served bustle was normal, and once at the Angolan desk, I looked across at my final destination. It didn’t look that different from a distance, but as I struggled in a mixture of broken Portuguese and English with the friendly guys around me, I realised just how little I knew about the country.

In the surrounding sea of African humanity, mine was the only white face to be seen. 

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