In the extravagant African sunset the Zambezi River was deep red, reflecting the crimson sky, and it shimmered in oxbows across the dusk black landscape of the floodplain like a vessel thick with blood. That vivid arterial image seemed appropriate to the Zambezi, which is teeming with life throughout its 1,600-mile length. “This magnificent stream,” David Livingstone exclaimed when he first traveled the river in 1853. More tellingly he called it “God’s highway,” an access route for the Christianity and commerce Livingstone imagined the river would bring to the interior of Africa.
But from the sky over the upper Zambezi in western Zambia, I saw a place little changed since Livingstone’s day—clusters of mud huts and fishermen in dugout canoes. What could have been clumps of boulders scattered all over the river were pods of hippos, preparing to scramble up the banks for their nighttime grazing. And the small villages of thatched-roof huts glowed by the light of cooking fires and candles. It was old eternal Africa, the one Livingstone knew when he traveled hopefully, charting the river. His gifts were his linguistic skill and his ability to get on with Africans who, having seen so many instances of enslavement, were understandably hostile toward outsiders. During 30 years of travel Livingstone charmed the African chiefs up and down the river, putting suspicions to rest. A ready smile is still a great asset on the Zambezi, though it has no discernible effect on the hippos or crocodiles.
The landing strip looked like a small bandage on the great flank of the floodplain in the twilight. We descended through the smoky air of the dry-season bush fires and rolled to a halt on this grassy plot.
In the morning I could see that the banks of the river were lush. No matter how starved the rest of the land, the banks of the Zambezi are green from end to end.
I had woken to the sounds of the busy birdlife of the river, the kingfishers, the bee-eaters, the herons and egrets and fish eagles. From time to time I could hear the warning sound of hippos, which is misleadingly comical, like a tuba played underwater. Now and then there was a sudden splash—a big tiger fish, startled by a blowing hippo.
Flowing more than 1,600 miles from Zambian wetlands to the Indian Ocean, the Zambezi is Africa’s fourth longest river, after the Nile, Congo, and Niger. Dr. David Livingstone envisioned it as a highway to central Africa, but the impassable Cahora Bassa Rapids in Mozambique dashed the dream. Art by Karen Barnes, National Geographic Maps
NGS Cartographic Division, Nat Geo Image Collection
“We’re off the map here,” said Bernie Esterhuyse, and indeed I never found this site on the Zambezi—Ngulwana—on any map. Like many other South Africans, Bernie and Adrienne Esterhuyse had migrated north to the Zambezi Valley to start a tourist business. They have a tent camp for fishermen who come here to battle the tiger fish, which can grow to 34 pounds.
“The Litunga gave us permission to build here,” Adrienne said, referring to the king of the Lozi people, the dominant tribe in this corner of Zambia. “Most of this land is his.”
We were driving through deep sand, toward the market town of Lukulu, two hours away.
“Where’s the road?”
Strictly speaking there was no road, just a sandy floodplain stretching for miles along the river, like a beach that had become detached from an ocean.
Source: www.nationalgeographic.com
