experience
“Are we lost?” I fought the urge to ask the polite driver from Singita who’d come to pick me up. He reminded me of someone from one of my favourite British TV shows, proper and poised, with a quiet knowledge behind his eyes. Surely, we were lost. I, a thirty-something- year-old veteran of Chiredzi, would know when we were lost in my hometown. To be fair, I hadn’t been home in six years, not by choice. This homecoming was special, and I had chosen to spend it at Pamushana , rediscovering the texture of the Lowveld. We’d driven for a while and were meandering into trails unknown. The dusty road was long and straight. “If we continue, we will get to Gonarezhou. We are now in Malilangwe ,” he explained. I nodded. “Surely there can’t be anything out here in this wilderness?” I thought. “Let alone a lodge?” The land was untouched, nothing resembling civilisation left or right of me. I didn’t say this out loud, but my eyes did. The driver, whom I later learned was my Guide and whom I would grow to adore, smiled at me, forcing me back into my seat. “G10, we are coming up the hill,” he whispered into his walkie-talkie. Then, without warning, a stone road. A tall wall that resembled Great Zimbabwe’s architecture. There was a sudden elevation.
I peered to my left as the landscape opened up below us, land as far as I could see. What caught me first were the baobabs, incidentally my favourite tree. Not one towering tree as I was used to. Not two, or even ten, but over 50 magnificent trees spread over the dry winter lands. Before I could stop gawping, the car stopped, and I was led to a golf cart. I left my luggage and stepped in. The cart then took us up a narrower, ascending road, lined with cobbled stones; mismatched, with no urgency or need for perfection. The higher we went, the more my heart lightened. My shoulders dropped, and I inhaled and exhaled the freshest air. I came in with expectations, but as this winding road led me further into the sky, it dawned on me that what I had expected was nothing close to this. We came to a slow but steady stop. I don’t even remember disembarking as I floated towards the entrance that called me. I couldn’t take my eyes off what lay ahead. Three well-dressed people met me with warm hellos. They had laid out a table with beautiful, dark water bowls, a heated scented towel, and a handmade handwashing paste. That greeting was incredible, but I couldn’t focus on them as I looked forward. My heart slowed. My breathing shallowed.
Previous spread People have inhabited this region for millennia, passing on an intrinsic memory of the land. Left To some communities in Zimbabwe, baobabs are sacred gathering places, believed to shelter ancestral spirits who watch over the living and protect the land.
Powered by FlippingBook