We emerge from our overnight hiding place in the bushes excited to be crossing into a new country.
In Livingstone we bump into my Mum. I mean I knew she was in Zimbabwe but, I was in the midst of fussing over something, when she pulled up in a taxi behind me. She had brought us cold drinks! Cold drinks. That needs saying twice or even thrice. There is nothing as gorgeous as a cold drink when you are sticky and stinky and have been sweltering in the hot sun for days. When I drink cold water in this state, it tastes like honey.
Livingstone itself, is a busy border town with everything we need. Money changers and diesel. I am worrying about Emma as she has been in a lot of pain but when she arrives she is in good spirits, particularly for seeing my Mum. Variety is an essential spice for Emma. I have no idea how she runs for hours a day.
Mum’s taxi driver knows of an idyllic place for our picnic lunch under a huge tree, where elephants like to hang out, and up a riverbank from crocodiles. The taxi driver is the son of a chief in the area and has extensive understanding of the local animals. I consider the impractical idea of taking him with us.
After lunch we head for the Zimbabwe border. Visa requirements for UK citizens are $50 and for Polish citizens only $30. I joke to the Immigration Officer:
“You like Polish people better than the British.”
“No,” He deadpans back, “We like you better, you pay more.”
The immigration officers, as always, are intrigued by Emma’s achievement, friendly and helpful.
The border is stunning. We stand at the top of vast cracks in the earth cutting down to the river below.
And then we are in Zimbabwe, a completely new country for Mike, Emma and Woocash, Robert’s home, and my history.
This day to be continued tomorrow …