Monday 10 March

Journey to Imire

We were all up and in the Landcruiser at 7am, raring to see our first big animals at Imire game reserve. Ryan and I bundled onto foam cushions in the boot (which is perfectly acceptable in Zim, but heaven forbid you drive without radio tax) and Reece drove us to Living Waters Bistro at Marondera, an hour southeast of Harare, for an en-route coffee stop. The view from the road comprised sprawling fields, scrub, occasional villages and – thanks to one wrong turn – a dirt track flanked by tall thickets of grass and pink and white cosmos flowers.

The café had an indie vibe, served very good coffee and broke up the two-hour journey nicely. Shortly after clambering back into the car, we turned off the main road onto a wide, pothole-peppered dirt track through verdant scrubland. Being shaken around in the back was fun until the novelty wore off; after over half an hour of lurching and teeth-rattling, we were quite relieved to reach the gate to Imire.

Imire Game Reserve

On arrival Reece was informed that we were booked in for the following day, but to our great relief they managed to squeeze us in. We parked under some tall trees and wandered over to a grassy area bordered by a handful of fancy-looking thatched lodges, where our friendly guide – Anyway – served us a quick cup of tea and flapjack. It all felt quite posh. We were soon ushered over to the safari truck, a small, raised flatbed with five rows of benches under a canvas top. The seven of us piled in with a small handful of other visitors (to their disappointment, I suspected) and we set off on the game drive at 10am.

A motley herd: zebra, warthog, kudu, wildebeest, deer

The truck passed through some heavy-duty gates and we immediately glimpsed – to our delight – a couple of huge white rhinos dissolving into the long grass. We continued along a bumpy track that carved between swathes of grass and bush and came to a green, open plain – a small air strip – teeming with animals. Zebra, warthogs, kudu, wildebeest, egrets and deer (I missed the species, to my continuing chagrin) grazed together in a strikingly harmonious herd, barely looking up as the truck stopped a short distance away, and we watched in awe. I think everyone liked the family of warthogs best, as the piglets trotted around erratically with their little tails raised. Anyway was very knowledgeable and very funny – we learnt that the stripiest side of a zebra is the “outside”, and that a kudu is so-called because its balls go kudu-kudu-kudu when it runs.

Nzou the elephant & her herd of buffalo

After a few minutes spent gawping at the four-legged assembly, we continued along a rough track that took us past a small herd of antelope and stopped in a wide area of open grassland. A throng of about 20 big, dark brown buffalo ambled towards us, followed by something I’d been so desperate and so excited to see: an African elephant. She approached with slow, easy grace, plodding softly behind the herd, chaperoned by a ranger who looked incredibly small and vulnerable but completely at ease. Nzou was orphaned at two years old and, at 53, is the oldest elephant at Imire. She thinks she’s a buffalo – she leads the herd and, if she feels that her authority is threatened by a bull, she simply squashes him.

I did my best to listen to the guides’ commentary, but it was difficult to pay attention in the presence of such a magnificent distraction. Nzou came within a few metres of the truck and stood among her herd, idly chewing and twitching her enormous trunk, ears and tail. I couldn’t believe how big she was. She’d clearly been rolling around (I hoped no buffalo were involved) as her wrinkled, leathery skin was caked in dried mud, and as we ogled this incredible creature she deposited an enormous poo that landed with a dull thud. Meanwhile the buffalo grazed placidly in the long grass, never straying far from their matriarch.

Crispin the crocodile & a caterpillar clump

We moved off after about 10 minutes and passed another herd of antelope before coming to a large, thickly vegetated pond, where a fat-looking Nile crocodile basked lazily by the bank, as still as a log. Anyway explained that Crispin had been at Imire for over 40 years after being removed from a local village and he used to have a girlfriend, Margaret, but she left him (escaped) a few years ago. Crispin showed no sign of moving, so we continued up a small hill to look at a cluster of large, fluffy caterpillars attached to the trunk of a tree.

Running white rhinos

The truck backtracked past Crispin, who still hadn’t budged, and took us to another area of bush and long, yellow grass. We turned a corner and saw three white rhinos ahead, which emerged from the grass and trotted along the track in front of us. Their rear ends were muscular and astonishingly wide, but they moved with surprising finesse. They sped up as they turned off the track and, with their short legs hidden by the long grass, they could have been floating. We rounded another corner and spotted them again – three great, grey boulders with ears and horns, watching us cautiously from a golden sea. In an instant, and for no apparent reason, they started running; they emerged from the grass and crossed the track behind us with alarming speed, but it was clear that this was just a gallop. I’d love to see a full-throttle 30mph charge, from a sensible distance.

Giraffes

Once the rhinos disappeared we returned to the gate, crossed a road and entered the other half of the reserve. This side seemed more open, undulating and somewhat wilder. We drove towards a huge, granite outcrop which sat atop a thickly wooded hill, surrounded by a great sweep of bush-studded grassland, and were surprised to notice a large head peering at us from above some nearby treetops. The giraffe ambled inquisitively towards the truck and posed for some photos. Like the elephant and the rhinos, I was amazed by its size and – for such a big animal – its elegance. It looked too tall and slim to be able to stand upright, but did so with impeccable poise.

Lone white rhino

We passed a younger giraffe, then continued along the track to a dead-end section that took us to a single white rhino. We stopped just a few metres away, which felt quite bold given the sudden mini-stampede we’d just witnessed, but this one seemed perfectly content. Anyway explained that “white” rhino is a misnomer stemming from “wide”, which refers to the lips; by comparison to this broad-mouthed ground grazer, the black rhino has a small, hooked mouth for eating leaves. As we observed each other, I noted the long, horizontal marks along her leathery sides, presumably from scratching, and the deep skin folds at her shoulder (or elbow?). I wondered what she thought of us.

A wild landscape

We returned to the main track and coasted through a vast, open expanse of grassland that afforded magnificent views of rippling plains dotted with deer, swathes of woodland and the singular, bulky silhouette of a distant mountain range. After 10 minutes we came to another pair of huge white rhinos grazing peacefully on a grassy hillside. Behind me I heard Gus say “are those elephants?”, and just as I was about to call him an idiot I saw two great boulders on the top of the hill ahead. I grabbed my binoculars and confirmed that they were indeed elephants, moving slowly towards another safari truck, but even then – stood next to a couple of large trees – they looked too big to be real.

Into the bush

To our dismay, the truck turned away and headed across the hill towards a clump of trees. We were a little surprised when it left the dirt track and entered an impenetrable-looking thicket. The outermost passengers – including me – dodged whip-like branches and three-inch acacia thorns as they flung themselves towards us, while we tried to work out the purpose of this detour. Reece suggested that Anyway had hoped to call over the giraffes, but – for the sake of his truck and his clients – backtracked on seeing a handful of vervet monkeys. We left the bushes the same way we’d come in.

Elephants: Meeting Mac

Back on the track, we headed up the hill and realised with sudden excitement what that might mean: that we hadn’t missed the elephants. We rounded some trees and saw them, two adult males heading slowly towards us through the long grass, which didn’t even reach their bellies but came up to the shoulders of their tiny human chaperone. They moved in slow motion, gently flapping their ears and munching grass pulled absent-mindedly into their mouths by their incredible trunks. It was one of the most magnificent things I’d ever seen.

They came right over to the truck and stood contentedly as Anyway and another ranger told us all about them. It was hard to take in what they was saying in my awestruck state, but I gleaned that Mac – the larger of the pair, who is over 40 and has two enormous tusks that touch at the tip – was rescued as a baby and raised at Imire. We watched delightedly as they snuffled up pellet feed. This soon attracted a family of warthogs, the bold, cheeky scavengers of the bush, which appeared from nowhere whenever it was someone else’s feeding time. I was touched by how gently the elephants shooed them, with a slow, careful sweep of their trunks.

Reece, who could charm anyone into anything, had a word with the ranger and before we knew it, he was climbing out of the truck. He stood in front of Mac, who raised his enormous trunk, took the hat from Reece’s head and put it into his mouth. He returned it a moment later, slightly mucky. The ranger ushered the rest of us out of the truck (in my excitement I knocked over my cider) and we took it in turns to feed Mac some pellets. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Standing next to an elephant is the only way to appreciate its sheer size; photos diminish them. I was eye-level with Mac’s chest and a fair bit shorter than his trunk, which – even when curled at the end – came down to the ground and was covered in thick, wire-like black hairs. He could have sent me flying without batting an eyelid but, towering over me, he took the pellets from my outstretched hand very gently, twisting his trunk so I could drop them in. I was amazed by the dextrousness of his “fingers”, which he used to shovel the feed into his mouth. His skin was leathery and wrinkled, which helps with moisture retention and temperature regulation, and there was an inexplicable wiseness in his long-lashed eyes, which observed us calmly from beneath a pronounced, bony brow. I could have stood there forever.

When my turn was up, Mac performed the hat trick on Ryan and held the cap in his mouth for so long that we thought he planned to keep it. He looked like he was smiling when he finally gave it back. Once everyone had fed him, we snapped a group photo and clambered back into the truck, not quite believing that we’d just met an elephant.

Just before we headed off, Mac took a fancy to the tree the truck was parked under and reached up, trunk outstretched, for a leafy snack. He seemed even more enormous from underneath his great, upturned head. This earned him a (rather bold) telling off from the ranger, as the branch above us was huge and would have squashed us if it came down on the canvas roof. It was bizarre to see such a big animal yield so readily to a sharp rebuke and a few whacks on the chest (which definitely wouldn’t have hurt) – he brought his trunk down like a dog that knew it’d been naughty. With that, the truck pulled away and set off across the grassy plain.

Black rhino

We passed a small herd of glossy cattle, then entered a wooded area and came to a pair of black rhinos – a mother and daughter. They were smaller than the white rhinos, with narrow, pointed lips and two sharp horns. We pulled up in a clearing and a ranger scattered some pellets on the ground, which brought the warthogs running, tails lifted in their funny way. They didn’t seem to bother each other much and the warthogs, although a little wary of getting too close, could almost have been little rhinos themselves. We watched them eating together, accompanied by an armed guard, and I stewed over how humans could have knowingly pushed such beautiful, gentle-looking animals to critically endangered status.

After a few minutes wondering at these quiet creatures, we continued through the trees. There were a lot of deer shading themselves in the wood, but so many species look so similar that I couldn’t say what they were. We left the canopy and bumped along a track towards an area of taller trees. A giraffe emerged and strode inquisitively over, accustomed to being fed, then stood and watched us amicably. We drove into the trees to look at several more giraffes, which – until they were in the open – blended seamlessly into their textured backdrop, then sped off for lunch. It was 1pm and we were very hungry.

A scenic (and delicious) lunch

The lunch spot was set on a raised plateau overlooking a lake surrounded by verdant forest, with posh toilets, a permanent bar and a built-in stone seating area. The food was spectacular: chicken curry, crunchy veg, bread, kale-like rape greens and sadza, which is a thick, polenta-like porridge made from finely ground cornmeal, followed by sponge cake. We ate at a rustic stone table, looking out for animals around the lake. Once I’d finished I wandered off and found a few bluetail scrub lizards, a nightshade with a tomato-like fruit and a wobbly rubber fishing lure that I threw to Tilman, the group prankster, to revenge some earlier misdemeanor.

Cattle, zebra, monkeys & an ant

After a blissful hour spent eating, talking and watching the chefs chase off a small herd of hump-shouldered cattle, we returned to the truck. We went on a quick detour to watch a gathering of feisty zebra irritate each other under a cluster of trees, then returned to the lodge area via wild, grassy plains.

Back at the lodge, we wandered over to the central lawn and sat down for a drink. In a moment I was up again to watch a pair of white rhinos that appeared on the other side of a high but disconcertingly skinny wire fence that separated us from the game reserve. When they disappeared into the long grass, I turned my attention to a huge ant making its way up one of the big trees that shaded the lawn, then to a family of vervet monkeys playing boisterously by one of the thatched huts. After our drinks, we settled the bill with Anyway and returned to the car, all utterly overjoyed with our experience at Imire.

Tobacco farm tour

The fun wasn’t over: we left at 3pm and took a short drive to Reece’s friend’s tobacco farm for an exclusive tour. Mark lives down a long dirt road in a rural area overlooked by “baboon mountain”, a long, prominent granite hill. He gave us a warm welcome, as did his delighted alsatian, then took us to see how tobacco is made. First he showed us round a couple of tall, barn-like buildings situated on a large yard near the house and talked us through the drying and grading process:

1. After harvesting, the large tobacco leaves are clamped tightly into long wire frames and laid out ready for drying.
2. The frames are hung on racks in big barns which are heated by a furnace to stifling temperatures.
3. Once dried, the leaves are collected, sorted into grades, put into wooden crates and stored in huge stacks in a pungent (but not unpleasant-smelling) warehouse.

To my delight, and once Dan had finished chasing the chickens in the yard, we bundled into the open back of a pickup truck to go and see the tobacco fields. We sped along rough dirt tracks that wove through the wonderfully green, maize-filled landscape and I couldn’t stop grinning – I felt like a rogue, unsupervised child on the best school trip ever.

After ten minutes we arrived at an enormous field full of neat rows of tobacco, which grows shoulder-high with huge, floppy green leaves  issuing from a single stem. Mark picked a few leaves, clamped them into a wire frame and passed it round – it was surprisingly heavy. He explained the growing process and casually warned us of puff adders, which are particularly venomous and occasionally appear between the orderly rows.

We hopped back into the truck and went to see the solar power system, which has transformed the farm by providing reliable, clean electricity. It was situated by a neat little settlement of squat brick and red-painted houses, where washing hung on lines and children stood smiling and waving at us. This was nice to see, as Zimbabwe has a serious unemployment problem and the farm has supported the rural community by creating around 200 jobs. Our tour concluded on that happy note, and we bumped back to Mark’s house perched precariously in the pickup.

Mark’s lovely mum greeted us and sat us all down in a homely, open-sided lounge room overlooking the domed end of baboon mountain, which hulked on the horizon above swathes of green fields and a clear blue garden pool. She brought pots of tea and a delicious, freshly made pistachio cake, and we sat talking with Mark and his parents for nearly an hour. Once again I was struck by the warm, unconditional hospitality of Zimbabweans and their willingness to welcome strangers into their home with nothing but kindness and generosity.

A whirlwind journey home

We said our goodbyes just after 5pm and began the two-hour journey back to Harare. For the first hour we remained on rough dirt roads, passing occasional pedestrians and cyclists travelling between invisible rural destinations. The atmosphere in the truck was muted compared with the babble that morning; I’d called shotgun and when I turned around, everyone was asleep except Gus, who – despite being really quite broad – was squeezed into the middle seat. The sun’s orange glow deepened as it set, bathing the verdant landscape in soft, warm light, and a clear moon appeared in the deep blue sky to the east. We stopped on a long, straight stretch and everyone bundled out to pick pink and white cosmos flowers for Shelley. This simple, spontaneous act felt strangely special, in a wild, quiet place between the rising moon and the setting sun.

Eventually we hit a main tarmac road and Reece really had to concentrate as the dark crept in. I regretted sitting in the front as it meant I bore witness to several near misses: terrifying overtakes, sudden swerves, people milling frighteningly close to the edge of the road and unlit vehicles that appeared out of nowhere. On the outskirts of Harare, Gus emitted some kind of alarm call and it was only after Reece started braking that I saw the man running across the three-laned road. I’d have missed him if it weren’t for the white soles of his trainers.

Thanks to Reece’s diligence, we arrived back at the house at 7:30pm without incident. Despite our lateness Paul cooked up an excellent braai (barbecue), which included lean, tasty impala steak and traditional boerewors (beef sausage). We spent the evening rabbiting on about how incredible Imire had been and were all in bed by 11pm, happily exhausted.

I know this is a long, rambling post but feel strangely humbled by that day. At Imire I was struck by the respect and acceptance that different species showed for each other as they grazed together, the unlikely gentleness of Mac towards pesky warthogs and fragile humans, and the way that wilderness (although managed) – if we let it – sustains a perfect kind of equilibrium between animals, plants and landscapes. That was the day I knew that Africa had got into my blood.

Photo credits – everyone but especially Isabelle, who is responsible for most of the best ones!

Endnote: on 28 April, less than two months after we visited, Gomo – Imire’s 22-year old male black rhino – was tragically killed by poachers. Imire are fundraising to help bolster their security systems and help protect their incredible animals against such horrific incidents. Please consider supporting their efforts by donating here.