Driving across the Kalahari Desert brought images of a red sandy dust bowl when it was first suggested we try this as a family unit. I live to tell the tale it was much more beautiful than I imagined. Even in a confined space of a LandRover jam packed with our essentials and our little family
Being Australian, my overseas adventures often started as I landed in an airport and went though the usual arrival etiquette of handing over my passport and smiling. This approach has held me well on my travels for the past 30 plus years, and it wasn't until crossing into Botswana that I had ever experienced a land crossing. We had landed in Johannesburg during the day and then drove the several hours to the border crossing into Botswana, and it was an exciting milestone to be standing between two countries. On reflection, the border crossing was quite stressful due to jet lag and inexperience, and getting through the various queues and paperwork took quite some time.
After we thought everything had been completed, we jumped back into our trusty LandRover and proceeded to cross the Kalahari Desert. One road. One very long road.
The first thing I noticed were the monkeys on the side of the road at the border crossing. There were thousands, and they looked mean. Then came the donkeys. Everywhere. Wandering aimlessly on the sides of the roads, across the roads and everywhere in between. Even though it was only my first hour in Botswana, I really thought I would see some zebras. Instead I got donkeys. Until we arrived at our first rest stop.
We had made previous bookings to stay in a cute little Rondaval (hut) at The Kalahari Rest Stop, and arrived late at night. I was exhausted after what seemed to be 24 hours of travelling with two children by myself. My husband had arrived a few days previous to prepare our car and hang out with friends in South Africa. I didn't really care what our accommodation was like, I just wanted to put my head on a pillow. Waking the next morning though, I was in awe of our little stone hut with open bathroom and mozzie nets. And then I remembered something, we forgot to collect our passports at the border crossing!
Another six hour drive back to the border crossing, to be heavily questioned by the immigration officers on why we had entered Botswana illegally, more smiling, we returned back to our hut. Exhausted, embarrassed and extremely grateful that we remember here rather than at the border crossing to Namibia in a few days times.
Our little hut welcomed us again, as we welcomed it. We also welcomed the home cooked meal prepared for us, it was the best steak I had ever eaten. It turned out to be donkey and I didn't care.
Our second morning in Botswana was far more exciting. We met our neighbour who fell instantly in love with my youngest son. He followed us everywhere and nudged at my son for apples and other on-hand treats. Like too many in Botswana, he was an orphan, his father had disappeared before he was born, and his mother was bitten by a snake and died soon after. The poor little guy was only 18months old, yet taller than my husband. Georgie is a Giraffe, he had been taken in by the hut owners and reared as a domestic pet. He was named by my son, who still tells people he has a friend who is a giraffe.
Georgie let us pat him; he stood beside us for the obligatory photos, he ate apples from our hands and he let us count his spots. There is still some heated discussion about how many spots he had, it ranges from 90 (which is how high my youngest son could count to before he got really bored) and 8001. I'm going with the latter.
