TheTraveler

A Monthly Special Feature from The Traveler at TouristTravel.com

Under the Stars of the Kalahari
By Susan Stafford

There's nothing bigger or darker than the sky at night in the Kalahari. We've motored out to the middle of nowhere on all-terrain vehicles (ATV) to watch the sun set in its glory and have a sundowner. It’s our first night at Jack’s Camp, a British-style safari camp situated on the edge of the the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans of the Kalahari Desert in the northeastern corner of Botswana.

Before our group of eight couples start out, Ross, our guide, gives us lessons in tying an Arab-style headdress for protection from the wind and salt as we whip across the salt pans. "Yes, I think I've got it: start from the front with hand on forehead, twist, twist, twist, wrap around to the right, and tuck under." No, I definitely don't have it as I come up short and do not have enough to tuck under. When we are all properly "helmeted," we mount our ATVs. We make a funny sight strung out across the pans each ATV lost in the dust of the one in front. I can barely hold onto my husband, David, who is driving (no clutch, but five gears makes for some fast starts and stops to the uninitiated).

We stop to watch the sun begin to sink and simultaneously begin to put on the next two layers of clothing as the temperature begins to plummet. Eighty degrees to forty in a matter of minutes. A searing orange ball, huge on the horizon, the sun sets and darkness begins to envelop us. Ross tells us each to walk by ourselves in any direction and breathe in the stillness and beauty of the evening. As we crunch across the salt pans, the stars begin to appear. First, one bright spot and then thousands. A filmy haze seems to arch across the entire sky. I'm curious and say, "There didn't seem to be any clouds. Where did this come from?" It's not clouds, but the entire galaxy of the Milky Way, seeming to be almost within reach of my outstretched arm.

We remount our steel steeds, fueled with the promise of a stop to visit some researchers who are studying the brown hyena. Fifteen minutes later, we arrive, again in the middle of nowhere, rather breathless and cold. There are familiar faces from the camp plus a bar! Ross has taken us in with his story about the research, the first of several deceptions during our stay. We gather round the fire pit, stretch out in the camp chairs, and drink up and try the dried beef hors d'oeuvres, a local specialty. Dinner will also be alfresco as the camp staff has set up a long table to accommodate sixteen within twenty feet of the bar. Ostrich fillets, potatoes, vegetables and a fancy apple dessert - a veritable feast for the palate. As it gets colder, the problem of keeping warm is solved by a quick shovel of coals from the fire under our chairs. They're canvas, however, and very soon the coals give new meaning to the term, "hot seat." Mary and Violetta, our dinner and Land Rover companions, both let out yelps and cushions are brought to put between their seats and the heat.

The deception continues after dinner. Ross persuades us to walk with him a way to see some trucks from the Botswana Defence Forces that supposedly got permanently stuck in the mud during the rainy season. His light plays along a metal frame. It doesn't look like a truck, but it is oddly familiar. It’s a steel frame bed! A bed that's completely made up and that has toiletry articles lying on top. We're bewildered: "Why is there a bed in the middle of the salt pans?" Not only is there one bed; there are enough for each of us scattered across the salt pans for some privacy, each with our toiletry articles on top.

Earlier in the day, we had been asked to take the plausible precaution to put our medicines and toiletry goods in the top left hand drawer of our dressers. In case there was an emergency, such as a fire, both we and the staff would know where to look. The true reason for this request now dawns on us all simultaneously: We've been tricked again! Now, our stuff is out here in the middle of nowhere and, clearly, the staff intends for us to spend the night outdoors. This was definitely more adventure than I’d anticipated.

Ross walks each of us to our beds and tries to persuade us that spending the night under the stars is an unforgettable experience. Only one couple opts to cuddle up outdoors with their hot water bottles. It was his birthday and his wife assured the staff he'd love it. The rest of us cheerfully decline and remount our ATVs and return under the twinkling stars that seem to be laughing at our collective cowardice to another round of drinks and our equally cold, but more comfortable, tents at Jack’s Camp. The staff assures us that we aren’t a bunch of wimps and that the couple that stayed will definitely be alive and well in the morning.

The next day, we return to the site for breakfast and to begin our day-time exploration for Stone Age tools, remnants of ancient man scattered on the crusty surface of the salt pans. The stars have receded into the heavens, replaced by a blazing sun. Our companions are indeed alive and well and happy for the experience. The rest of us are left wondering if we should have accepted the stars’ invitation to spend the night under their watchful gaze.

Susan Stafford is an anthropologist and freelance writer who lives in Alexandria, Virginia.

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