Welwitschia - living fossils of Namibia

It is rather amazing that the Welwitschia has survived all these years; it grows in one of the most inhospitable places in the world, collects water only from dew and as it can reach over 2,000 years in age it is often sought after by illegal plant collectors.  All in all, its survival does not look great.

Welwitschia are found in the deserts of Namibia and Angola, the plant population in Angola is fairing better as landmines prevent over zealous collectors.  Each plant is made up of only two leaves, which split as the leaves grow, making it very difficult to discern where the leaves begin, believe me, I have tried.  On these leaves there are approximately 22,000 stomata, small holes, per square cm (upper and lower sides) which are used in the exchange of gases during photosynthesis.  These are also used to absorb moisture, in the form of dew, and during wet and foggy conditions these stomata remain open, unlike the stomata on the leaves of its counterparts.  The species is also dioecious, meaning that each plant is either male or female, and insects are used for cross fertilisation.  The plant ingeniously attracts specific insects to both plants by a delicious nectar that these insects find very attractive.

All in all a very weird plant.  The big Welwitschia (pictured above) stands at 1.4m high and is aged at 1,500 yrs old, however there are some experts that claim it to be twice that age.  It is a plant which is well worth the visit, permits required along with a sense of adventure.  And remember to take water with you.

'Too' Close Encounters with Mozambique Spitting Cobras

When I first lived in Zimbabwe, I was given an old farmhouse which the first Europeans had built back in the times when there were vast herds of game wandering across the plains of Africa.  It was a beautiful five bedroom house, built out of teak, but had not been lived in for ages.  I was not too concerned by this as it was four walls, (well more than four with all those rooms), and a roof over my head.  With the house came an enormous garden that was over run, a large kitchen with a wood burner, the use of the swimming pool in the compound and  a very large game fence to protect us from wildlife.  Or maybe it was the other way around?

What I had not banked on was the wildlife inside the compound.  As I moved into my new house, Derek, the land owner, asked me how I was with snakes.  I was not too sure whether this was a trick question or not, I mean, I have not handled that many snakes but they do not give me the heebie jeebies if that was what Derek was asking.  He promptly gave me a shotgun and told me to keep it under my bed - Mozambique Spitting Cobras had a penchants for this particular house and I was advised to shoot from the hip.  I was told that if I shot from the shoulder I would probably dislocate it.  I was left holding a shotgun with my mouth wide open.  I did not sleep well that night, even with that loaded gun under the bed.  No wonder the house was empty...or was it?

That was my first experience of not seeing a cobra.

My second experience was that I was far too close for the state of my own health.  I was staying with a friend of mine called Karen Paolillo, who has single handedly saved a pod of hippo in the Turgwe River and in my mind is the Jane Goodall of hippos.  She, and her husband Jean, have built a wonderful house over looking the Turgwe River in Save Valley Conservancy.  One night, myself and Karen were at the house by ourselves.  Karen was busy feeding the menagerie of animals that regularly came to her place to be fed during the drought, all completely wild, but the trust that she had gained from these animals was amazing.  There was 'Arthur' the extraordinarily large warthog, contentedly feeding at the back door along with a few vervet monkeys, 'Jenny' genet (not named after me I hasten to add), a few baboons and her pet cats and goats. 

I needed the loo and walked out of the front door to go to her long drop and to avoid disturbing 'Arthur'.  My sixth sense kicked into gear.  I have no idea why I looked back over my shoulder as I was passing through the door, but I did, and there, standing at full striking height, and at eye level, was a Mozambique Spitting Cobra.  Its hood was fully inflated and it could have nailed my eyes with a shot of accurately spat venom.  The chances of not been blinded were against me.  There then followed a comedy moment as I reversed direction in mid air, slammed the door shut behind me and then let my knees buckle as I sat on the floor to recover.  Once I had gained composure I calmly told Karen that I was going to wee in her bath.

Now that was too close for comfort!

Killer bees - part African, part European.

There seem to be a lot of bees around at the moment which made me think about the African 'Killer' bees.  These killer bees are a cross between the African honey bee and various European honey bees, mostly from Italy.  Killer bees are descended from 26 Tanzanian bees which were accidentally released in Brazil and these mated with European bees that had been brought over from Europe in order to provide productive hives.  Unfortunately the resulting cross were bees which swarmed more frequently, were more aggressive when there was a perceived threat, had a larger proportion of guard bees in the hive, deployed a greater number in the defence of the hive and had a larger alarm zone around the hive, thus making these bees more of a threat to humans and surrounding wildlife.  These bees had a major impact in southern USA.

Back in Africa it has been seen that African honey bees can be more protective of their hives and when disturbed more guard bees will attack that threat.  But these guys are not the same killer bees as in the States.
Their sting is not more venomous, it just means that you will probably be stung more often and therefore feel worse after the incident - believe me, I know.  I have been chased by a swarm that had been accidentally disturbed and ended up with numerous stings all over my back.  Despite all this, bees do tend to keep themselves to themselves, I was just rather unlucky.

The most incredible thing that I have seen are some local Zulus smoking out a wild hive of bees.  After a lot of preparation and smoke, my eyes were steaming by this point, one (brave) guy inserted his arms into the depth of the tree trunk to emerge with his arm covered in sleepy bees and holding a dripping honey comb.  He had not been stung once.  The knowledge that these guys have is incredible, living in harmony with the wildlife, and the honey was as sweet nectar!

Impala Steak anyone?

At the moment I am surviving on mass catered food courtesy of the Navy.  It is not that bad, but I am getting a bit bored of knowing what I am going to get as the chef's special each day of the week - it has not changed over the past three years.  It was scampi tonight.  And the lack of really fresh food is making my body revolt against it all.  What I am missing is some fresh African cooked food.

There is something special about the food that is cooked in Africa, it is fresh (probably picked, dug up or killed that morning), it is untainted from additives and pesticides and it always tastes better when you eat it outside. Fresh fruit and vegetables are available all year round, where they have not been processed, injected, shaped, sprayed, packaged, moulded or battered into what we are told that we like to eat.  Instead, the fruit and vegetables come as they are, malformed, distorted, bobbly, non-conformist and pure and free of chemicals, you can certainly taste the difference in the misshappen African tomatoes to the perfectly formed, force ripened ones in the UK.  My mouth is watering at the thought of it all.

But for me, the best thing is the choice of fresh meat - beef, lamb, impala (roasting in the picture - can you smell it?), warthog, kudu, crocodile, bushbuck, the list goes on.  The meat is often fresh that day and the flavour is an assault on your taste buds.  I suspect that it is all helped with the atmosphere; dining on decking, over looking a hippo or elephant watering hole, with the sound of the African bush in chorus around you and the African sky towering above, you can not help being sucked into romantic notions whilst you dine with everything tasting absolutely wonderful.  And it is not just the dining experience that is memorable, it is also the the knowledge that it will all happen all over again tomorrow.  It is a healthy eating with a healthy lifestyle.

Not so looking forward to the chef's special tomorrow now, it is mince.

Sleeping Hogs

At the moment I am working with Dave Thomas down on HMS Raleigh, and we were reminiscing about our trip to Swaziland.  Dave has travelled to Africa many times but Lori, his wife had not, and he wanted someone to organise it all for them both.  The only thing Lori was not too keen on were the creepy crawlies, so I planned the trip to be in Swaziland's winter, when no self respecting bug would be seen out in the cold.  So there were Dave, Lori and myself, sitting around the fire in Mlilwane, enjoying our after meal drinks and doing a spot of star gazing.  We were the only people sitting out that night, it was wonderfully quiet.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught some movement, there was something out there.  There then appeared three warthog from the inky blackness of the surrounding area, which approached us without a care in the world.  The tusks on the mother were enormous and I curled by legs up under myself, as it just felt safer to do so!  As they had come into our space and not the other way round, we made no sudden movements and watched with anticipation as to what would happen next.  What did happen next took me completely by surprise, and also Dave - who has travelled nearly as extensively as I have in Africa.

One of the younger warthogs, which was still the size of a large Labrador and supporting very big teeth/tusks, pushed Dave's feet out of the way of the fire, dug a small bed shaped hollow in the ground and promptly lay down next to the fire to keep warm.  This was obviously their bedroom for the night and we were in it.  A snout lay gently on Lori's foot and the mother took stock of the situation, eyed me up, and then went to bed on the other side.  I don't think any of us breathed for a minute.  We sat there for a while with our mouths wide open, we then finished our drinks and quietly crept off leaving leaving our hogs snoozing by the fire.

Now that was certainly an African memory not to forget.