The Okavango is a river that goes nowhere. A water world surrounded by desert and the Okavango River crossing it In the morning light along the eternal Okavango River

Wayward river Okavango. It would seem that starting only three hundred kilometers from the Atlantic Ocean, it would have to direct its waters there. But no, the Okavango turned away from him, as if drawn to it by another ocean, the Indian Ocean, there, thousands of kilometers to the southeast. But the river cannot reach it: the greedy sands of the Kalahari dry it all up, without a trace. However, before sacrificing itself to the fire-breathing Okavango desert, it overflows widely, forming the largest inland delta in the world.

A bit of geography

Spread over twenty thousand square kilometers, the Okavango Delta is home to fish, birds, predators, and, last but not least, humans. It is difficult for a person to make his way through the dense thickets of papyrus that cover the unsteady swamps. The expanses of the delta remain virgin - its numerous islands and islets. Many of them owe their existence to industrious termites: it is they who build high termite mounds in dry times and loosen the soil into which the plants then take root.

The face of the delta is constantly changing - with every year and season. And the reason for this is the river itself and its original inhabitants. Termites build islands, and hippopotamuses lay channels to the islands - places of new pastures. Rare visitors to those remote places make their way along these channels, through the reeds. The only means of transportation are native pirogues, hollowed out from tree trunks - “mokoro”. Due to the narrow, elongated body, they can move among the thickets of papyrus, however, if the thickets are not too dense.

The ease with which other species of plant and animal life adapted to life in the delta (which I witnessed) and in the arid, almost waterless conditions of the central Kalahari is amazing.

When talking about the Kalahari, the phrase usually suggests itself: "dead desert." The desert, yes, but the dead, no. There is water and, accordingly, life. That's right: the water is hidden under the most powerful sand cover in the world, stretching for a distance equal to the space between the Urals and Poland. Whatever tricks the plants resort to to get to the precious moisture and prevent it from sinking even deeper. Densely intertwined root system of grasses retains rainwater. The roots of some acacias go to a depth of 30 meters. Large root crops manage to accumulate up to 10 liters of water. These tubers are not hidden very deeply, and, for example, springbok antelopes, tearing them out of the ground and eating them, perfectly quench their thirst, even far from water bodies. Similarly, predators: they get water from the body of their victims.

Another source of life-giving moisture in these parts is rain. But he does not often endow the desert.
Two seasons are typical for the Kalahari - dry and rainy seasons, although in the usual sense they cannot be called seasons. The dry period lasts from May to October; rainy - from November to April. However, the word "rainy" can be put in quotation marks, since it hardly rains at this time. And if the drought continues for several years in a row, then both animals and people suffer. But as soon as the life-giving moisture pours from heaven, a significant part of the Kalahari is transformed. Grasses appear on vast expanses, dried-up lakes fill with water, attracting flocks of birds of different voices; animals disperse over many thousands of square kilometers. It is not for nothing that in Botswana the same word is used for both the currency and the greeting: “pula”, which means “rain”.

However, what happens in the delta is somewhat independent of local atmospheric conditions. The Okavango originates in Angola and flows for hundreds of kilometers through mountainous terrain. In the mountains of Angola, during the usual monsoon period for those subequatorial latitudes, a lot of moisture accumulates, and the Okavango regularly brings it to the very delta - after one and a half thousand kilometers.

Due to the flat nature of the terrain and the width of the delta, the river flows slowly - at a speed of up to one kilometer per day, so it also spills slowly. And it takes almost five months for the new water to cover the distance from the headwaters of the delta to its downstream, where it gradually sinks into the sand. It goes away, but not quite. Okavango, as if not wanting to give up, gathers his last strength - and a tiny stream flows further through the Kalahari, however, already under a different name - Botletle. Thus, the rainwater that feeds the Okavango in the mountains of Angola reaches the lower reaches of the delta in about half a year - just at the height of the dry season in Botswana. And the water in the delta is crystal clear: it slowly flows through papyrus and reed thickets - a kind of "filters", and therefore is suitable for drinking.

Maung

Almost in the heart of the delta is the town of Maung. Once upon a time, a small village huddled in its place, and this could not but affect the motley appearance of the city. Next to the tall modern building of the telecommunications center, characteristic African huts, the so-called "rondaveli", nest here. Powerful diesel engines rumble on the embankment, where, according to stories, crocodiles sometimes get out, devouring negligent onlookers - several people a year. On the streets, among the passers-by, dressed in ordinary summer clothes, you can often see Herero in wide skirts, which are more suitable for ballroom dancing than for walking on the sands of Maung. The Herero tribe once adopted this strange fashion from German missionaries and are now extremely proud of their dress.

But in what the inhabitants of the town are united, it is in their cordiality. Everyone here is friendly, both black and white. Perhaps this is due to the fact that Botswana managed to avoid the worst forms of British colonialism and apartheid carried out at the end of the last century by Cecil Rhodes in other countries in southern Africa. People of different skin colors really live in friendship here. I saw this for myself when I attended a meeting that took place in Maung. Members of the meeting discussed the rights to hunt and use the waters of Lake Ngami, located south of the Okavango Delta.

The fact is that the shores of Ngami are the true kingdom of animals ... when, of course, there is water in the lake. In a drought, Ngami dries up to the very bottom.

Now life is in full swing. However, despite the abundance of living creatures, it was necessary to hunt according to the rules. It is clear that hunting is an important source of food for local residents. But even for them, restrictions had to be set - you can’t exterminate animals indiscriminately! Not to mention foreigners: maybe they should not be allowed to hunt at all? However, from an economic point of view, this would be unreasonable, since visiting white hunters are wealthy people and for a trophy - for example, a zebra - they are ready to pay ten times, or even a hundred times more than they are able to pay for the right to hunt that same zebra local resident ...
And where and how much water can be diverted so as not to upset the ecological balance in the Okavango Delta? ..

In general, the meeting lasted several hours. There were both whites and blacks in the hall and presidium; a white woman presided, she was also a translator. It was clear that English was understood by everyone, but some speakers spoke in their native Tswana, and then the floor passed to the presiding interpreter. It was also obvious from the speeches that the whites were citizens of the Republic of Botswana. As far as I have been able to learn, in Botswana, no one and nothing can force whites to take citizenship - neither the government nor circumstances. Moving here from other countries, they completely voluntarily become citizens of the “Negro” state, which is not at all typical for whites in other African countries.

To be honest, I was not so much interested in the issues under consideration, which, in fact, were incomprehensible to me, a stranger, as in the people themselves - the expression of their faces, temperament ... The opinion of both whites and blacks was treated here with the same attention and respect. Of course, there were disagreements, but for all the time spent in the hall, I did not hear a single sharp attack - no one even raised his voice even once. In general, I left the meeting with a good feeling in my soul ...

Sitatunga and others

And the next morning, a small plane took me and three of my companions from Maung to a campground, spread out by the blue waters of a creek bordered by thickets of papyrus. The camp was equipped with everything you need - in a word, complete comfort. True, occasionally it was disturbed by the tedious buzzing of tsetse flies. But here nobody panics from them. These nondescript Diptera sting quite painfully, but only one in a thousand flies turns out to be a carrier of sleeping sickness. In addition, thanks to spraying, which is carried out under the supervision of national park rangers, the number of tsetse in the delta has significantly decreased in recent years. So on the first night, after driving a couple of annoying insects out of the tent, I happily indulged in a peaceful sleep.

In the morning, throwing back the floors of the tent, I saw a whitish veil of fog, chest-high, another climatic feature of the delta.
Having plunged into the pirogue, we set off on our way. "Mokoro", skillfully managed by Manila, my guide, glided either through clear water or through reeds - and almost every ten meters, new landscapes opened up before us. Water lilies, blooming after a night's sleep, offered their tender petals to the morning light. The foggy curtain gradually dissipated - visibility gradually improved.

In the thickets of papyrus, something thrashed: it looks like we scared away some large animal.
"Sitatunga," Manipa said, as if I understood what he was talking about.
- Such a big animal, how can it run ahead through the thickets, and even through the water: it’s not shallow here? I asked the conductor.
“Not on the water,” Manipa clarified. “This antelope is stomping right on the papyrus... comparatively thick, of course. Stepping on shaky places, she spreads elongated hooves widely. The Sitatungas even breed their young on papyrus islands where predators cannot reach them.
“Never heard of such an antelope,” I muttered in surprise.
- We are located on the territory of the reserve - only here you can still see them. And in other places they are rare. Maybe that's why so few people know about them.
"Sorry, I didn't see her very well. And what size are they?
“Now it is generally forbidden to hunt sitatung, but before my father sometimes brought them home and sold the meat. Some weighed more than eighty kilograms.
- Eighty kilos - and on the water as if on dry land.
- I'm sorry, what? Manipa did not understand.
"Nothing," I say, "it's just me...

Sometimes, in order to shorten the path, Manipa sent our sharp-nosed "mokoro" through the thickets to some island. On the islands, the grass had already turned yellow, although in places it was still tall. This attracted swift impalas, and from a distance large, grim wildebeests, called "wildebist" - a word borrowed from the Dutch language, which means "wild beast", looked at us severely.
Having moored to the shore, we entered the grove, and then larger herbivores appeared.

The terrain resembled the usual African savannah: bushes and trees gave way to the steppe, then - again a grove. Trees attract animals: in the open space you can see them at a glance. The first people we saw in the grove were black, or African, buffaloes. The African buffalo is very different from its Asian counterpart in ferocity and unpredictability. He tends to attack suddenly, which is explained by his myopia. Poorly seeing what his “probable” opponent is doing, the buffalo sometimes rushes at him for no reason, following the principle “attack is the best defense”. Like it or not, but the “blackie” is definitely more dangerous than the lion, which is usually indifferent to people.

A herd of buffaloes trotted past in the distance, but then, less than a hundred meters from us, a large male appeared and, seeing us, froze in anticipation. Manipa didn't like it.
"Let's stop and let's not tease him," he whispered. Who knows what's on his mind.
For a minute that seemed extraordinarily long, we stood motionless, playing peepers with the staring buffalo.
- You know, you better climb a tree. The guide pointed to a tree standing nearby, on which there would be enough space for only one.
- And how are you?
“It’s okay, I’ll guard you down here.

Without asking what he meant by the word "protect", I obeyed the order and somehow settled down in the place where the tree trunk forked. Just then I remembered the camera... But in the next moment the picture changed: two "ladies" appeared on the stage, whom our gallant cavalier, apparently, considered it his duty to protect. Paying no more attention to us, he disappeared into the bushes with them.

“Come on, get down from the tree and get into the Mokoro.” Now we will go to Chief Island - you will see elephants, and lions, and maybe hyenas.
We rounded Cheef on the western side along a narrow channel that divided this neighboring island. Suddenly, loud splashes, squelching were heard ahead, some kind of fuss began.
“It's an elephant,” Manipa assured me. “Maybe not just one. Let's stop and take a look...

Returning from reconnaissance, a somewhat embarrassed Manipa reported that a large elephant lay down to rest on the bank of the channel and even blocked it a little. So it's hard to say when he deigns to clear the way for us.
And then he added:
“Although it’s possible to get through there. But if we suddenly appear so close to him, the elephant may be frightened, and then only wood chips will remain from the “mokoro”, and a wet place from us.
- Well, let's go back another way, there are many different channels here ...
- Weight is not easy. To the right of this nameless island, an impenetrable papyrus plug will block our path. Going around the Chief on the east side is too far. We won't make it to the camp before dark. And the sun sets at six. Can you imagine what it is like to be in this labyrinth in pitch darkness? Then they won't pat me on the head for this.
- And what if you scare away an elephant from afar? I suggested. "Maybe he'll get up and leave?"
“So he won’t pay any attention to us,” Manipa remarked reasonably. - And if we come close, we can run into ...
- That's the way it is! What to do?
“The only thing left is to eat. This ingeniously simple answer puzzled me somewhat.
- Have a bite to eat? Well, we've already had breakfast...
“Then we must have lunch.” Manipa was young, strong and could grind breakfast, lunch and dinner without batting an eyelid. With the dexterity of a real waiter, he quickly arranged folding chairs, a table and laid out all kinds of food. Opening a thermos of tea, I suddenly stopped and asked:
“And what if this thug comes to us for a cup of tea without an invitation?” This is not a buffalo for you. For example, he will break this tree like a match if we climb on it.
“Of course it will,” Manipa agreed impassively. “But why on earth would he break it?”
- Why, elephants break trees all the time!
They break to get to the branches they feed on. Elephants don’t just attack people just like that – only in case of a clear threat. True, there are exceptions - lone elephants. Among them come across real monsters. They basically attack. But this rarely happens. So pour tea and do not be afraid - the elephant will not encroach on him.

Having finished the meal, we, like clean housewives, went down to the canal to wash the dishes. Either our noise disturbed the giant, or something else, only he suddenly got up. Manipa told me to lie down in the "mokoro", and he hid behind the boat. And we waited to see what would happen next. To our relief, the elephant crossed the channel and began to climb the steep bank of Chief Island. There he stopped, turned his back to us ... and did not notice how we quietly slipped past.

The biggest lions

Manila felt indebted to me, promising to show me a lion and a hyena during our walks, but, alas, nothing came of it: we never got hyenas, and I saw only half of the lion. The other half of it - the head and front of the body - was behind the bushes, and I could only guess that it was a male.

“Just a male,” Manipa assured me. “Just look at his paws. We have the biggest lions in Africa in Botswana. They attack buffaloes and even young elephants in packs. And retreat before only one enemy - hyenas.
- Hyenas? I was surprised. “But lions are incomparably stronger and bigger.
- Yes, they never fight one on one - hyenas cowardly run away. But when hyenas gather in a huge flock, it’s still a question of who wins. It happens that lions shamefully take flight ...

In the end, we were lucky: during the next trip to Chief Island, we saw a lioness devouring a wildebeest in full view.
“Now we have a lot more wildebeest in Botswana,” Manila continued. “And a few years ago, during a long drought, it was simply terrible what happened. Wildebeest died by the hundreds of thousands, all because of the hedgerows.

Manipa was referring to the fences erected in various parts of Botswana to protect livestock from wild herbivores, carriers of contagious diseases that can be transmitted to people through food: foot-and-mouth disease is especially rampant - and often fatal.

"Fences" that stretched hundreds of kilometers across the Kalahari, fenced off large pastures, where herds of buffalo, wildebeest and other antelopes grazed in dry times, from perennial water sources - and especially the delta. But then a multi-year drought hit - this happened before - and herds of thousands of heads began to migrate along the familiar route north to the water.

The main tragedy occurred in the depths of the Kalahari, south of the delta. The hedge delta itself helped a lot. On the western side they stopped the herds of cattle. If there were no hedges, livestock would invade and devastate the delta's water meadows, leaving wild animals to die out.

Now the delta is full of life - on land, in water and even under water, which greatly frightened one of the families of our camp. Father, mother and their sixteen-year-old daughter once went for a walk in two Mokoro. Piroga with dad and mom safely left the bay near the camp, but something happened to the boat where the girl was sitting. "Mokoro" suddenly jumped on the spot - the conductor with the passenger were in the water, and the boat - in the mouth of a hippopotamus. Having bitten off a piece from the side and brought the pie into disrepair, the hippopotamus disappeared under the water. The other "mokoro" was already some distance away. Frightened parents with horror expected that the monster would emerge again and their daughter would be in his mouth. The guide and the girl, as if in a race, swam to the shore, which, fortunately, was close.

The terrified guide explained that nothing like this had ever happened here, near the camp itself, but in other places such incidents still occur, sometimes with human casualties. The fact is that hippos love to graze at night, and in the daytime, when it's hot, they prefer to rest in or under water.

On the same day, the unlucky family left the camp, leaving the following entry in the guest book: "The place is interesting, but very dangerous."

Meeting with the "forest man"

I often pestered Manipa with questions about the Bushmen. I was interested in the past and present of this people, which differs from most other African peoples not only in their external, physical, appearance, in particular, skin color - they have it much lighter - but also in a number of linguistic features, anthropologists even attribute them to some special race .

Bushmen (Bushmen, translated from English letters. “bush people.” - are divided into groups: kung, kong (makong), khomani (nusan) and others. - Note. ed.) and the Hottentots, the original inhabitants of South Africa, settled here long before the arrival of the tribes of the Bantu language group that inhabit these places now. Even before the establishment of white rule, the Bantu drove the Bushmen out of the best areas of the Kalahari into the barren areas. But the "forest people" showed extraordinary ability to survive there, having adapted to find water and write in an environment hostile to humans.

However, the harsh living conditions and the constant persecution of foreigners greatly reduced its numbers. Although today the Bushmen are assigned special settlements in the Kalahari, or, simply put, reservations, they practically do not live there: most prefer to hunt and gather - that is, lead the traditional way of life of nomads. The rest are employed by the same blacks and whites.
"Why are you interested in the Bushmen?" Manipa asked.
I have heard a lot about them and would like to see where and how they live.
How do you live, you say? Badly. But, if you want to see them, we can go to the village, at the very end of the delta.

The skin color of the Bushman, whom Manipa introduced me to, was, indeed, not black, but apricot, but otherwise, in appearance, our Bushman did not differ much from other Africans. What was surprising was his suit: a jacket and trousers in dark blue with white stripes. Such a couple is more likely to be seen at a diplomatic reception, and not at a farm worker in the wilds of the Okavango. The suit was obviously from someone else's shoulder - unbuttoned, too large, the jacket dangled strangely on his thin, naked body, exposing protruding ribs. When I asked if he was going to the parade for an hour, the Bushman replied that a visiting European gave him the suit, and he wears it, because now he has no other clothes left.

Then, looking at me from head to toe, he suddenly asked:
— Could you give me a shirt? It's winter time now. And although the days are hot, the nights are cold.
Unfortunately, I could not satisfy the request of the “forest man”, as I took only the most necessary things with me on the road. And left everything else in Maung. But I still promised to send him some clothes from the camp - when I fly back to Maung.

“Tell me,” I turned to my new acquaintance in turn, “do you have any relatives among the nomadic Bushmen in the Kalahari?”
“What kind of relatives are there,” he answered contritely. Those who were there are long dead. It was our custom to leave the weak and old to die in the wilderness in times of trouble, in order to save food and water for the stronger. The old people themselves asked to be thrown.
But is there anyone still alive? I wondered.
- Oh sure. Those of my family who survived now work on farms, like me and my brother.

Then his brother approached him, and they spoke in their native language. I noticed that during the conversation they somehow smacked their lips, but then I did not pay much attention to it. Later I learned that smacking is characteristic of a peculiar family of so-called "clattering tongues" common among the Bushmen and Hottentots. There are several types of clattering sounds, all of which function as consonants (Linguists, unable to spell these sounds, use exclamation points and colons in the middle of the word to denote them. For example, "tzwa! na." - Note. ed.).

The culture of the Bushmen - their songs, dances, rock art - is now in decline. At 90 kilometers from our camp there were rare hills in the Kalahari - the Tsodillo hills, dotted with rock paintings. These are very well done ocher images - mainly wild animals, and sometimes people. There are a lot of drawings, maybe more than a thousand. Who created them? Bushmen living near Zodillo have no idea about this ...

But, in general, I have a gratifying impression of this country, because people here build their lives in a civilized manner, without racial hostility, and diligently protect the unique gift of nature, the Okavango River Delta, which flows into the sandy Kalahari Ocean.

Vadim Dobrov
Botswana

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