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Nine countries, 9,000km and 40-something crazy days later – the end of an incredible African journey

Cows in the road. (Photo: Bridget Hilton- Barber)

By Bridget Hilton-Barber

1 Nov 2023

Calling Bridget Hilton-Barber and fellow traveller Hugh Fraser’s experience in Africa an Epic Road Trip is no exaggeration. Now, after 40-plus days, home was a few hundred instead of thousands of kilometres away.

When the wild dirt roads of Tanzania shredded the car tyres on our return journey, Hugh’s darling brother Dugan, who lives in Europe, sent him some money to help with the costs. Dugan messaged Hugh a week or so later to say he’d made a deposit. It sounded like a hefty contribution to me. “If it really is R80,000,” said Hugh, with a faraway look in his eyes, “shall we just carry on?”

Hell, yes.

We had visited nine countries and travelled well over 9,000km, and 40-something crazy days later we were nearly home.

But, to be honest, I think both of us would have simply turned around and carried on if we could have. Yes, we were tired and in dire need of clean clothes and fresh horses, as it were. Yes, our bones and brains had been thoroughly jiggled about. But we both agreed that our epic trip had been the best thing ever.

African journey Guides help to get our car across the river. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

African journey Last night camping. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

We’d done sunrise on the Makgadikgadi Pans, sunset on the Caprivi. We’d seen the Victoria Falls, the Kundalila Falls, the Kakombe Falls, the Manchewe Falls. We’d had cocktails on the shores of Lake Tanganyika; we’d had more cocktails on the shores of Lake Malawi, the lake of stars.

We’d dipped in the Zambezi, frisked in hot springs, had our souls stirred by the ancients at Great Zimbabwe. We’d seen chimps, baby elephants, black mambas. We’d seen more baobabs than you can imagine, which is never enough.

We were wide-eyed from the sheer scale and intensity of what we’d experienced. The enormous distances, the elasticity of time; so many long, hot and relentless days and yet here we were. The borders, all those trucks, the potholes. The sand pans of Botswana, the soft green mountains of Rwanda. All the different beers, the fleeting meeting of lovely like-minded people. The emptiness of northern Zimbabwe, the stuffed fullness of Burundi. The sheer road-trippiness of it all.

Elvis checked us in. Yes, he is alive and well and living in Gonarezhou. Nothing surprised us any more.

“Remember that Belgian guy we met on the third day of our trip?” said Hugh. “The one we met on the roadside in Botswana, the one who was walking to Cairo?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder where he is now.”

Last sunset. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

Tshipise. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

Unfortunately, it turned out that Dugan had added a zero to the amount in his message – “Oh no, so sorry, darlings” – and so we spent our last night of camping in Gonarezhou, Zimbabwe’s second-largest national park, in the southeast.

Elvis checked us in. Yes, he is alive and well and living in Gonarezhou. Nothing surprised us anymore. And then we were all alone in this beautiful spot alongside a river glowing gold in the sunset, with glorious light pouring through the trees.

We had the last of the summer wine, in this case the warm box wine, ice a long-forgotten memory. We had the dregs of the Zimbabwean whisky, the last of the soya mince, the last tin of whole peeled tomatoes. The next day was Sunday and it felt a bit like we were going back to boarding school…

Read more in Daily Maverick: Slowly, slowly getting hassled by cops before relaxing at a beautiful lake lodge in Tanzania

We headed out at first light, down a dusty track along the border of Gonarezhou, through sparse mopane bushveld. It was eerily remote – we barely saw another soul, let alone a car, for hours.

Welcome nibbles. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

Eventually, we connected with a main dirt road that led to the border and we crossed back into Mozambique at Chicualacuala. It was hot and dusty, and everyone was slow and grumpy. Once we’d crossed over, the road to Pafuri, the very road we needed to take, simply disappeared into a village.

The overland app Tracks4Africa was seriously useful in manoeuvring us somehow to the right track, an unmarked dirt one that in 60km would turn into a crossing over the Limpopo River back into South Africa.

He turned grey, his jaw locked, his brow furrowed like a concertina, his eyes rolled backwards. He tried to abandon the car in mid-crossing, while driving, as I shrieked and swore.

It was a long, straight road through mopane trees, with the odd small hill, big dongas and the occasional herd of cows blocking the way. We passed a broken-down car and a convoy of happy travellers in 4x4s heading to where we’d just come from.

It was well over 35°C when we arrived on the banks of the Limpopo, which appeared to be flowing uncharacteristically strongly. We tried several different places before we found a safe place to cross. We enlisted the services of a group of young river crossers, guys who would walk ahead of us on foot, through the river, making sure there were no potholes or nasty surprises under the surface. And with rising anxiety, we drove the car into the river…

Gonarezhou sunset, Zimbabwe. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

The station in Chicualacuala. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

We nearly didn’t make it. Hugh was suddenly sideswiped by a ferocious panic. He turned grey, his jaw locked, his brow furrowed like a concertina, his eyes rolled backwards. He tried to abandon the car in mid-crossing, while driving, as I shrieked and swore.

Panic is osmotic. For a ghastly second, I saw the Subaru Forester with all our gear, our drone, our phones, our laptops, the solar-powered coffee grinder and the tent all floating gently down the Limpopo River…

We awoke to a cold morning and the news of snow in Jozi. We immediately thought bleakly of power blackouts – we’d had all-day electricity, as Hugh put it, for more than 40 days.

The river crossers were doubled up with laughter and somehow – perhaps it was the will of the ancient river gods – Hugh’s soul returned to his body and he managed to steady up and carry on driving without stalling the car. Oh, how the sand sparkled on the banks on the other side of the river.

Road into Pafuri SA. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

First sunrise back. (Photo: Bridget Hilton- Barber)

The road home. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

Cows on the road. (Photo: Bridget Hilton-Barber)

I barely remember crossing the border back into South Africa. We were completely elated, billing and cooing at the baobab trees, gasping in wonder at the lone road ahead of us. It was school holidays and everywhere was full, so we spent the night at a strange resort near Pafuri, where jolly families played bowls and tennis and soccer on the lawns and the bar closed early because it was Sunday.

Read more in Daily Maverick: Revelling in Zimbabwe’s beauty while retracing routes through the badlands and valley of the ancients

We awoke to a cold morning and the news of snow in Jozi. We immediately thought bleakly of power blackouts – we’d had all-day electricity, as Hugh put it, for more than 40 days. We put on all the warm clothes we could find and closed shoes, which was a shock after 40 days of glorious open-toed warmth. And then we hit the road to Houtbosdorp near Magoebaskloof, to the gorgeous Graceland Eco Retreat where we’d started 42 days before.

It was a glorious jumble of bubbly, delicious food, warm greetings and tall stories. The sunset was excruciatingly beautiful, the dawn unspeakably gorgeous. A light dusting of snow had also covered the Iron Crown overnight, the highest peak in Magoebaskloof. We were back in South Africa, back to load shedding, State Capture, collapsed services, corrupt politicians and crazy citizens. And it felt really good. DM

Our Epic Road Trip was sponsored by ClemenGold Gin.

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R29.

DM168 21 October 2023

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