The Great Unexpected

Part 3: The Nature

I surely did not expect to fall for grass in Africa. But I did. I was googly eyed, dreamy mush-headed, melty boned, in love with the grass.

Oh the way the morning sun touched on each baby blonde hair of grass, creating slivers of delicate golden cobwebs, sugar-spun filigrees.

My nature crushes have always been on ocean types. Water that is bold crushing waves of power, piercing blue, icy white foaming froth; palm trees waving their happy dreadlocks and inviting you into exoticism; hot sand and sun that kisses your skin tan; drinks in pineapples. But now that seems so obvious and showy.

The loudly splayed ocean nature doesn’t quite compare to the hidden delights of the desert and delta. I expected the land in South Africa and Botswana to be dull colors like the khaki and tan clothes that filled our safari duffle bags. I expected dusty and scrubby—something to look through more than something to look at. 





While ocean views dazzled me, African grasses rocked me into a lulling comfort, like soft mother arms. I could have stared and stared at those grasses, that’s how good they made me feel.

There was one day in South Africa that my daughter and I sat outside our bungalow, looking down at the river, watching a wildebeest munch the river grass. With binoculars we could see the Land Rover parked in the river. Some of our family, including my son, were fishing for catfish down there. Behind them were five hippos in the river. On the shore opposite the wildebeest was an elephant. What a scene. And guess what we did? We painted them. It was like an old time pastoral scene from a book or movie about Europeans on holiday for months and months.

It was almost too much. I felt full, spoiled, just downright overfed. But that was only the second day of our trip. My body and mind just weren’t ready—they were sort of choking on the fullness and sweetness of nature’s slow rupturing beauty. A few more days into the trip and I was floating in love with grass. And a good hot mess around those sunrises and sunsets.

By day five, I was getting more serious about my relationship with nature. I needed this affair to go somewhere. And Botswana was the perfect setting to take it there.

First off, the Okavango Delta is in one of the world’s only inland freshwater deltas. It starts as the Okavango River in central Angola but unlike most rivers, it doesn’t reach the sea. Instead it spills into the sands of the Kalahari Basin and creates an incredible mosaic of channels, islands, lagoons, and forests that are full of inter-related animal and plant life.

The delta flirted relentlessly with me in Botswana. My most peaceful moment was in this dugout canoe. The sun was dripping down the sky like melted butter. The water and grasses made whispery shushes as we slipped through. The rower muttered little soothing sounds like a cooing baby. The birds and insects were lullabies.

On this delta, I upgrade my crush on baby blonde South African grass to this pampas grass. I love how it makes pretty circles. But I am also drawn to the fact that it grows on floating peat beds. The peat beds are created when the river gets to the delta and spreads and slows way down. Soil particles settle down to the decaying vegetation below. Warmth helps break down the plant material and causes the production of methane gasses. Pampas grass is one of the first to grow on the peat. When we pass by pampas grass in a boat, we see thousands of tiny bubbles rise to the surface—the gasses in the peat bed. When beds join together and block the water, they begin to dry out and eventually form dry land.

As you might have guessed, I was serious enough about my grass love to buy a book in the gift shop. The woman who worked there showed me the typical animal guidebooks and skimmed past the Wild Flowers, Waterplants, and Grasses book by Veronica Roodt. She said she doubted I’d be interested in that book. Au contraire, cherie—hand it over, it’s Kama Sutra to me. I was told the author lived nearby and had spent most of her life documenting the trees, shrubs, and flowers as well as creating some of the first maps of the Moremi Game Reserve. Oh yeah and she lived in a tent for 16 years under a Jackalberry tree while doing this work. Talk about love.

Secondly, at Xakanaxa Camp you see a direct loving connection between nature and humans. The camp is the poster child for reuse, recycle, and repurpose. The chandelier in the dining area is a dugout canoe turned upside down with lanterns hanging from it. Before it was a dugout canoe used for river transport, it was a sausage tree like those that surrounded the camp. One end of another old dugout canoe is used as a shelf for our dirty dishes. Breakfast is porridge cooked in a big black cauldron over a fire. There’s also a kettle of water for coffee and hot cocoa. No need for electricity—though there is for a few hours a day. Otherwise it’s fire and manual means. 

The food here is simple and delicious—roasted beets, potatoes, zucchini, other types of squash. Homemade melon rind jam, made by Lettie, the camp manager. No hot towels awaiting you after safari; the guides are not allowed to carry guns like in South Africa; it is clean, neat, orderly like a 1950s camp in Wisconsin; there is nothing in disrepair and when I ask if they have a soccer ball pump, they say no but something could probably rigged up in the shop, like my grandparents’ home in Wisconsin.

These are my souvenirs. Those grasses I fell in love with were picked and woven into these amazing baskets by Naledi and Welele. They both work at Xakanaxa. I know because every basket, ostriche egg, necklace, carving, beaded thing in the shop has a sticker with the person’s name who made or found it.

Thirdly the appreciation of nature goes beyond Xakanaxa Camp. Most of Botswana, and remarkably its government, is a conservationist’s wet dream. Conde Nast Traveler magazine recognized the Okavango Delta as one of the most sustainable destinations in the world in their September 2013 issue. They note that conservation efforts have been so successful that Botswana has the largest population of African savannah elephants. In South Africa elephants are still hunted for their tusks, but in the Okavango Delta the elephant population is so abundant that it is spilling onto farmland. Even there, efforts to protect elephants and farmland are valiant. Elephants are monitored and farmers are taught to plant chilies around their crops. Apparently elephants don’t like spicy food.

Conservation is an ideal that is upheld by the president of Botswana, Seretse Khama Ian Khama. He is also featured in the September issue of Conde Nast Traveler—chosen as one of “The Visionaries of 2013.” His government was recognized by Transparency International as the least corrupt in Africa. He aims to put Botswana in a leadership role among African countries as far as sustainable development goes.

Now I lived in Cameroon for three years and I’ve read a lot of books about Africa (reading Paul Theroux’s latest The Last Train to Zona Verde now) and most of the words in the above paragraph are really not heard often in relation to African nations. Conservation, visionary, transparency, least corrupt—how wonderful to finally see these words paired with Africa and Africans. In fact, I was skeptical at first so I went digging around on the Internet for more about President Khama. In my short search, the only negative I found was that he possibly insulted large women by saying he would only marry a skinny woman. I found this to be funny since the one place my largeness was not only accepted but desired, was Africa. Either way, I feel sorry for anyone who bases potential relationships on looks—skinny or large. Regardless of that gossipy stuff, I feel hopeful in reading about President Khama and his crew and the forward thinking they are bringing to Botswana.

After my short but incredibly sweet love affair with African nature, I dreaded coming home. I did not want the meandering replaced with rigid routines, the vim and verve replaced with haste and rush, the open air replaced with boxed living, nor any of the electric wires, cement, confusion, TV chatter, and all that yak. But the morning after coming home, our sleep patterns still a mess, we were up at 5AM. We went down to the beach. Low and behold, the African fireball sun was there waiting for us. And it was even deeper orange than on safari because of the contrasting bright teal of the lake. Of course the sun was always there. It was me who wasn’t there. Now I am. 

Guess what else is there? Grass. This sexy, gorgeous American grass. Right there all along. It only took a trip across the world to Africa for me to see it.