Some 180 kms and eight days later after several delays (getting stuck was a recurring theme), found me on the banks of the Luangwa River across from this remote park. The coffee colored, croc infested, couple hundred metre wide Luangwa River. The river that John Coppinger, a well-known Zambian guide and safari operator, had pioneered canoeing on the Luangwa. He had written about his experiences a few years earlier, of his encounters with some very large aggressive crocs while canoeing this same remote section. This is where I decided to camp, on a sand bar with an Nsenga fish poacher that latched on to me when I arrived for the evening, to share a fire and dinner. He spoke not a word of English, but we got along well. He shared his nshima and dried fish, and I threw in a steak from my Minus 40 fridge/freezer for him. Not that he appreciated the choice cut. He burnt that sucker to a crisp, as most Africans do. However, I could tell by his smile and enthusiasm that he appreciated that chunk of beef. Protein is not something normally found in the diets of remote villagers.
The next morning, the poacher and I walked the river to find the shallowest and least sandy track, marking with reeds as we went (This was obviously a time before a pontoon was brought in a few years later). I then tried to ford the river, but promptly got stuck. I should say at this point, the crocs were mostly sunning themselves, because it was quite cool in the early morning hours. At least that was my presumption, because they did not seem in a hurry to join us in the river. With the landy firmly stuck, I asked the fisherman to get me 12 Nsengas to push me across in an ‘on the fly’ sign language. He came back with seven, who immediately declared one younger Nsenga to be the leader and engaged me in negotiations for payment. Where in the hell they came from, I haven’t a clue. They pushed me back to the sand bar, where we unloaded the landy and carried all the gear and supplies across. I tried two more times with only front wheel drive engaged, and still got extremely stuck. The final time, crotch deep in the middle of the river. There was no pushing me forward or back. Now the poacher understood my request for more help and off he went. The rest of the Nsengas and me hanging around the land rover, while I pondered on the question of the day, ‘do crocs prefer white meat or dark meat?’
A few hours pass, the crocs are no longer sunning themselves on the banks, and more recruits arrive. With that, the fresh meat entered the river and we started negotiations again… in the middle of the river. You don’t think they’d risk life and limb with little reward.
