THUNDERSTORM IN HOGWE: Observations of nature and culture from the pencil of a Ranger in Matusadona National Park: Mafuka, E.R.

The nocturnal atmospheric rhythm of Matusadona Range was illuminating and would flow into a long threatening and exciting darkness. The sounds were invaded by music and dance from Chief Nebiri, a vital form of Traditional communication in rural Zimbabwe. Just or unjust, like any animals wish in long, lovable and hate or hurting songs, backed by traditional drums and “hashes”, expressing joy and sorrow, respect of complaints, and all aspects from localized walks of life, I could hear them sing and dance, bringing the spirits of the Tonga Kings and Ancestors into their song, of praise in great serenades.

Hyaenas whoop sharply in gratitude of a successful hunt and calcium rich dinner from carcasses of dead animals. Chief Nebiri’s village men, our neighbours, crying every morning of February to injust baboons destroying nearly ripe maize crops. There I see a battle for sustainable agriculture in progress but what about stream bank cultivation along part of Ume River in rural Nebiri area?

I had spent many days in the wilderness with Paul, the Ecologist, tracking the lone lion of the Gwembe Valley. At Hogwe, crossing the bridge was in bad shape, part of the main road to the Park, partly impassable. Large volumes of water had carried Harudziva River crossing away. The Area manager and his Senior Wildlife Officers were deeply worried; 4×4 visiting campers would experience difficulties in paying a visit to Matusadona National Park, part of the beautiful soul of Africa.

I had seen rain, I had seen sunshine, a happy little handsome soul of Africa and this time it was to be a Thunderstorm in Hogwe, promising without doubt.

Dark clouds gathered above Hogwe and upstream Masuka with a threat, flashes of lightning illuminated the sky and thunder was bolting and rolling in the south, due our location. Large drops like boulders of rain began falling. On my bare skin, I felt like being hit by grains of coarse salt, Cape Fig Tree started shaking, I felt it, I heart it, thunder lightning that exploded like hand-grenade leaving me perplexed, I heard a confused elephant scream, with appeal and baboons barked with my regret. Trees whistled and whistled again, then the sound grew into a large sound, like the taking-off of a helicopter, as the wind blew stronger and stronger. In a couple of minutes, Hogwe River had already flooded with waves, carrying logs, animal carcasses, sand, leaves and foam, flowing at a supersonic speed. Hogwe was rising steadily.

I fell in love with the smell of the rain carried by the strong wind, fear and excitement, that was the game.

I had worked with “vePara” Mbozi, a local ranger from a nearby community. He remained very calm, very calm and shamefaced whenever he sensed such danger….real danger, really. Looking back, over my shoulder our eyes glancing in each other, I saw Mbozi wearing a forced smile to bury the anger and fear in him as we walked to the camp where Paul was busy with the uprooted dome tents.

I recall a memorable day I was in the company of Lynne, Gabriel the electrician and always smiling Rhino Safari Camp’s Boat Captain, Funny Boy, at Sanyati West Camp. The polypipe of the sunk water pump had bites from a resident crocodile. No water was coming up to the camp. Solar power systems had gone down at Sanyati, Changas, and Tashinga after a heavy storm. The polypipe deserved a bite as it had not received permission to find a place in water for its purpose from Nyaminyami – the River God of the Tonga people. I was swallowed into deep thoughts of that moment, until suddenly the storm fine-tuned me back to remind me that I had someone near me. It was Mbozi.

The storm grew louder and louder. In Msambakaruma, Nebiri, Mola, Mayovhe and Negande, it had carried away the Tonga styled pole and dagga upstaired huts. In Kariba, some roofs were carried away. This could happen after an unjustifiable couple of years before or soon after a different New Year. That’s what they said.

I felt cold and left with no energy. The thunder crashed and vibrated in and about the escarpment. A yellow red lightning struck in the mopane trees and surprisingly, one burst, and engulfed in a large blue flame, then gradually put off by rain. I could smell rain, charcoal smoke and the smell of well-managed soils of the escarpment. Some shots of lightning struck and struck due north of Hogwe. In just a few gorges walking due west from Hogwe, was Ume River, impregnated with debris, waves of large volumes of water from small rivers, like Harudziva, Hogwe, Masuka and Kajokoto. These rivers became a greater force in Ume, that by event reached Lake Kariba in full force. It carried everything.

Grass, water, plants and animals remained, to continue with life as if nothing had happened. Fire could come in the dry season and invade some small patches of the Valley Floor – burning all diseases, viruses, pest, innocent creatures and small game.

Fork-tailed drongos fly above a dark cloud of smoke, catching grasshoppers. This soon initiated new grass shooting and grazers coming to enjoy the palatable leaves. There was life.

Have I ever written anything about Buffalo? But they have always been there, stalked by Lions of Matusadona. Breeding well….staring at you, mouthful portions of grass in mouth….

I appeal to those privileged to have a chance in writing out to the world their passion for wildlife, to write responsibly. I am on a journey with you and wish this journey to change your lives.

The battle for wildlife welfare continues with all forms of attacks – be it by the smell of a gun power, projects or education.

The next morning, there were sunshine, wet and cool soils. I could smell fresh African air of the escarpment marking the Valley. Hyaenas crunching up bones at vulture restaurant. In rural communities, vultures were not sighted at all, Hyaena being the missing link in these areas.

Seeds from grass and plants drop. Ants carry them. Plants and animals depend on other species for survival. Ground hornbill tiptoe with less grace than ballet dancer! Yellow billed oxpeckers feeding on ticks on Buffalo and Rhino, all scattered in Matusadona National Park. The vegetation is green and colourful. So amazing!

Had I known, time to go home will come after episodes of adventure. Waiting for our uplift vehicle, I remember Sekuru Chiomwera Siahumelu “Mr Zambezi” as most people know him. He was Tonga, working as a gardener at Staff Cottages. When bitten by a scorpion, Sekuru “Zambezi” could come and also bite on the bitten spot and you could not swell or feel the bitter pain. He was raised from the Gwembe Valley, in the times when they never knew neither salt nor sugar. They only knew the sweetness of honey and bee’s bites, the smoked “lubanje” (Cannabis sativa) and it made him strong. He was an old age friend of mine. He speaks sadly about the building of Lake Kariba in the 50’s, he was a small boy, when the Government of Rhodesia asked them to move out of the Valley floor. Animals died as the Lake level rose. The great job of a well spoken hero, Rupert Fothergill began. Serving all animals from drowning in the rising Lake to safer zones.

By 1999, Sekuru “Zambezi” had retired from National Parks. Still alive and strong, in Mola, five wives and thirty-something children, but just and just still gifted with a passionate conservation ethic on common. Sekuru ‘Zambezi” had seen love, grew up in war and other experiences. There were days of hunger, drought spells and heavy rains, in some cases. Thunderstorm and the unpredictable “Binga Wave” in Lake Kariba, but hid dedication to our sacred land of all races and tribes grew with age, each representing unnoticeable blessings in the wilderness.

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