Crash in the Caprivi

By Duncan Watt

Muyunda invites his two friends, the Wallace Boys, to Mongu in Western Zambia to witness the colourful Kuomboka Ceremony in which the Lozi people move from their homes on the Barotse Plain flooded by the rising Zambezi River to their winter quarters. Muyunda himself is a paddler in the ceremony during which he sees someone behaving very strangely; when this same person takes the same aeroplane flight the boys are on, Muyunda realizes that something very strange is going on.

This is confirmed when the man orders the pilot of the Beaver aircraft to fly along the narrow corridor of land known as the Caprivi Strip to the Etosha Pan in Namibia.

After a hair-raising landing on the flat surface of the salt pan, the boys find themselves up against Isaacs and Lambert once again!

The return flight, now with a hoard of diamonds, crashes. The pilot is out of action with a broken leg and Bruce is taken hostage, to ensure Isaacs and Lambert’s safety after they cross the Kalahari. However, Bruce is spat in the eyes by a spitting cobra, and the men abandon their now blind hostage.

A Bushman boy of their own age leads Nigel and Muyunda across the Kalahari to the Okavango Delta (check out this very good National Geographic video) in Botswana where a dramatic chase ends the flight of Isaacs and Lambert who have commandeered a swamp buggy. Once again, Scottie and his Fox Moth biplane, this time with floats, have got in on the act!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan Watt
• Release date: Feb 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465854803

Duncan Watt

I was born in Africa where I grew up; but I have lived in countries like England, America, Papua New Guinea and Japan. I have now lived in Singapore for 35 years.When I was teaching in Zambia I wrote a couple of books in simplified English for my students and these were published by Oxford University Press. Since living in Singapore, where I have, among other things, appeared on the TV News for nearly twenty years, I have written 20 books in my Wallace Boys Series - 11 of which were published here in Singapore.Please visit The Wallace Boys Web Site to find out more about the books, and there is more about me too.

Book preview

Crash in the Caprivi

An Adventure of the

Duncan Watt

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1993 Duncan Watt

All rights reserved

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

First published in 1993 by Tynron Press, UK

Reprinted in 1995

Revised edition published in 2001 by Graham Brash Pte Ltd, Singapore

My sincere thanks to Michael Daniell of Oxford University Press for allowing the use of a number of drawings by Josephine Crickmay from the New Oxford Supplementary Graded Reader for African Schools, Caprivi Crash, by Duncan Watt published in 1970. I am most grateful to Oxford University Press.

Cover and drawings by Paul O'Shea

Additional drawings by Josephine Crickmay & Jen Mannall

Maps by Duncan Watt

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To the boys of Kambule Secondary School in Mongu, Zambia, 1965-1968, for three and a half most enjoyable and rewarding years of teaching.

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A note about this edition of Crash in the Caprivi

While I was teaching at Kambule Secondary School in the Barotse Province of Zambia, I wrote two graded readers for learners of English published by Oxford University Press (UK) in 1970. These were Caprivi Crash and Kafue Killers which have now been expanded into the present books Crash in the Caprivi and Kidnapped in the Kafue in the Wallace Boys Series. A number of excellent drawings by Josephine Crickmay from Caprivi Crash have been included in this book with the kind permission of Oxford University Press.

Also included in this edition are some photographs I took while I was in Zambia, including photos of the exciting Kuomboka Ceremony which takes place annually on the Barotse Floodplain. During the Kuomboka Ceremony, the Barotse king leads his people from his flooding Summer Capital to the dry Winter Capital.

[Duncan Watt]

Table of Contents

Maps

1. The Nervous Passenger

2. A Sudden Change of Plan

3. Muyunda’s Proud Day

4. Go West

5. A Bumpy Landing

6. Among Old Friends

7. Animal Interlude

8. The Cloud

9. They Didn’t Have a Chance

10. A Rude Awakening for Nigel

11. Bruce is in Trouble

12. The Masters of the Kalahari

13. An Education in Living

14. Living with Nature

15. Bruce’s Story

16. Nigel Falls Down

17. Giving Nature a Helping Hand

18. Scottie Hits the Breeze

The Savuti Channel

A Word about the Bushman and His Language

End Notes

Maps

South Central Africa

The area where the story takes place

Flight Path: Mongu to Livingstone

The Barotse Plain near Mongu

The Caprivi Strip and Okavango Delta

1

The Nervous Passenger

It was hot at Mongu airport. The strong afternoon sun beat in through the dusty windows of the small airless waiting-room, and several flies were buzzing angrily against the glass trying to get out. The room was roughly furnished with some plastic chairs and a round table that had seen better days. Its surface was stained with circular marks, and all round the edge were blackened patches where lighted cigarettes had been left to burn. On the walls were tattered posters advertising ‘Zambia in the sun’. The floor was littered with paper and hadn’t been swept recently.

Three boys in their late teens were the sole occupants of the room. They were sitting with bulging rucksacks at their outstretched feet. Two of the boys were brothers though they didn’t look much alike. Nigel Wallace was about a year older than Bruce who was slightly shorter and stockier than his brother. Bruce’s tousled fair hair contrasted with his deep tan. Nigel had dark hair and he too was tanned. Both boys had vivid blue eyes. They were from Zimbabwe. The other occupant of the waiting-room was Muyunda Munalula, looking decidedly tired. He wasn’t quite as tall as Nigel and he had a ready smile that lit up his handsome face. He came from the Western Province of Zambia.

All three boys were students at the University in Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe where they had met some years before and become firm friends. They nearly always spent their holidays together and had somehow managed to get involved in various hair-raising adventures in the Central African bush.

For the last few weeks they had been staying in the Western Province of Zambia in the small dusty settlement of Mongu, Muyunda’s hometown where he had gone to school. Muyunda was very pleased that his parents had asked the two Wallace brothers to come and stay because this visit to Mongu had been very special for him. He had been invited to be one of the royal paddlers in the Litunga’s[1] barge, during the colourful and exciting Kuomboka Ceremony. For Muyunda the last weeks had been hectic, preparing for the ceremony, but at the same time he had somehow managed to show his guests a lot of places of interest in the area.

The Kuomboka Ceremony was now over and the three boys were returning to Zimbabwe and were waiting for the flight to Livingstone.

Gee, I’m boiling. Open a window, Nigel, can’t you? That’ll make it less stuffy and it’ll stop those flies.

I’ve tried, came the response. Someone was too free with the last paint job. The windows are all stuck. Nigel crossed to the door and wedged it open with a chair. One of the flies escaped. Outside, the boys could see the flat expanse of the grass runway, dry and dusty. The windsock hung idly against the deep blue sky where there were a few clouds, probably the last of the rainy season that had recently ended. Soon the skies would be cloudless for the next six months or so, during winter and spring.

The plane should be here soon, said Muyunda, looking at his watch for the tenth time in the half hour they had been sitting there. I wonder if we’re the only people on it.

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else, replied Nigel, standing in the doorway and looking around. I can’t even see the ticketing clerk. I’ll go and find him; see what’s happening to our flight.

Gosh, he’s energetic, said his brother. "I’m exhausted but you must be absolutely shattered. That Kuomboka Ceremony of yours is certainly all go and I was just a spectator. What you must feel like, I don’t know. How long do you think you were actually paddling for?"

I don’t know. Time seemed to stand still after a bit and I felt that I was in a kind of trance. It’s hard to believe that it was only yesterday, said Muyunda.

I don’t think so. I’m still sore from my sunburn. My face is so dry it feels as though it’s going to crack. But it was worth it; when you described the ceremony to us before we came, I thought, ‘Mm ... mm, so it’ll be interesting, maybe.’ But to be there! It was fantastic - the colour, the movement, the noise, the crowds.

Muyunda smiled broadly. I’m very glad you enjoyed it. Thanks for coming.

"Thank you, said Bruce. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything; and what you must have felt, actually being chosen to be a paddler! Taking an active part in the whole affair."

It’s an honour of a lifetime that’s not given to many of my people, Muyunda answered. As I’ve told you. . .

Many times, Bruce interrupted with a grin.

As I’ve told you - many times, Muyunda continued, the Kuomboka Ceremony is perhaps the most important ceremony we Lozis have.

Just then Nigel returned and announced that the plane would be landing in a few minutes. There was some delay in Lusaka apparently. The clerk said it won’t take long before we leave and we are the only passengers.

I hope your aunt won’t have to wait too long at Livingstone airport, Muyunda, put in Bruce. Listen, there’s the plane now.

Through the hot air came the sound of a distant aero engine which grew louder and louder. The boys went outside and stood in the shade of a rather sad frangipani tree and watched the small plane’s arrival. The sun glinted off the silver fuselage as the plane touched down, leaving a plume of dust along the runway. Slowly the rear wheel sank to the ground as the plane lost speed. Blipping his engine, the pilot brought the little craft, bumping over the uneven ground, right up to the quaint thatched terminal building with its small bay windows.

A shiny red Land Rover, that acted as the airport fire engine, stood smartly beside the runway and was promptly covered in a layer of thick dust and sand.

The ticketing clerk strode self-importantly over to the plane, clipboard at the ready, and opened the passenger door. A few passengers descended and once the luggage had been unloaded, they got into the cars in the car park behind the terminal building.

The boys were left alone again.

Right, you three. Time to get on board.

What! No boarding passes? asked Bruce in mock horror.

You must be kidding. And today is busy, I’ll have you know, said the clerk with a smile.

"What about yesterday, before and after the Kuomboka Ceremony? That must have been busy," Bruce suggested.

Yes. That’s true, but it is only once a year, thank goodness. All the visitors and VIPs from Lusaka! I’ve never known so many flights in one day. They started coming in early and left here just before last light; it was touch and go if they would all make it before it got too dark to take off.

So you’re back to the old routine now? said Muyunda.

That’s the way I like it. Come on. Is that all your kit?

The boys looped their rucksacks over their shoulders and followed the clerk to the aeroplane. It was a single-engined Beaver with fixed undercarriage and wings set above the cabin. Nigel thought they would be able to get magnificent views as they wouldn’t have the wings in the way. He judged the wingspan was about fourteen or fifteen metres and that the plane could carry six passengers.

This is all I could find, the clerk said cheerfully to the pilot.

Welcome aboard, boys, he said, straightening up from examining one of the wheels. He put out his hand. The name’s Phiri. He was a tall man, powerful across the shoulders. He had a ready smile and Nigel thought he would be a formidable opponent on the rugby field. Like all pilots, he wore expensive reflecting dark glasses with gold frames. His peaked cap was pushed back jauntily from his forehead and the top buttons of his open-neck shirt were undone.

Nice to meet you, said Nigel. Where do you want us to put our rucksacks?

Just shove them in here. Captain Phiri lifted open the luggage compartment door. That’s the way. Now climb aboard and we can hightail it to Livingstone. One of you can come up in the front with me if you like. He swung himself easily into the cockpit.

Nigel started to go round the front of the plane to get into the seat next to the pilot’s and the others climbed into the cabin behind the front seats.

Wait a minute, the ticketing clerk called. There’s someone coming.

Just then, the boys could see a thick cloud of dust as a big car raced up the road to the airport. Barely waiting for the car to stop, a figure emerged carrying a briefcase and raced over to the waiting plane. The ticketing clerk made off to intercept him.

I’ve got to get to Livingstone this afternoon, at once, the boys heard the newcomer announce loudly. I can’t wait for the next flight, you know.

The ticketing clerk looked at the pilot, who shrugged and said, No problem, as far as I’m concerned. We’re late, as it is. A few more minutes aren’t going to make any difference.

I’ll go and issue a ticket and collect the money, the ticketing clerk called. He led the way into the terminal building.

Bit of a strange-looking chap, said Nigel. With those clothes he ought to be a used-car salesman.

Shifty character, added Captain Phiri. And a bit pushy. I didn’t hear him say please or thank you! Anyway, it takes all sorts, I suppose.

He’s the sort who will probably want the front seat, too, smiled Nigel.

While they were waiting, the boys introduced themselves and told Captain Phiri what they had been doing in Mongu. He was very impressed to learn about Muyunda’s exploits the previous day.

A few minutes later, the newcomer emerged and strode across the apron to the plane. He was wearing a flashy suit of a loud check material with wide lapels. A bright silk tie hung loosely round his neck and on his feet was a pair of the most hideous tooled, high-heeled leather cowboy boots Nigel had ever seen. On his stubby fingers were several tasteless rings that glinted in the sunlight. His eyes were completely hidden by a pair of cheap dark glasses which partially masked a vicious scar that puckered the left side of his face from jawbone to eyebrow. The skin had sometime in the past suffered the ravages of smallpox and was covered with a rash of craters.

Muyunda looked closely at the man and seemed about to say something but kept silent.

The man headed for the seat next to the pilot. Right. Let’s go. I’m in a hurry. We can’t waste any more time, he said.

Nigel glanced at the pilot, who raised his eyebrows but kept silent. A slight smile played round his lips. It was obvious that he had met all types and nothing really surprised him.

Excuse me. The pilot opened the passenger’s door. I haven’t seen your ticket.

But you’ve just seen me buy it, protested the man angrily.

I’m sorry but they’re the regulations.

Reluctantly the man pulled the ticket from his briefcase, snapping the brass catches noisily.

That seems to be in order, Mr Mulele. Thank you.

Of course it is in order. Hastily, he stuffed the ticket back into the briefcase.

I’m glad he’s not sitting with us, said Bruce as the three boys clambered aboard. I feel sorry for Captain Phiri, though.

It’s only for an hour or so and he can ignore him, said Muyunda. Get your seatbelt done up.

He looks like one of the Mob, Bruce whispered to the others. I suppose the Mafia have links in this part of the world.

By now the pilot was getting ready for take off, flicking various switches and murmuring into the microphone. Bravo Echo Two Seven ready for take off, tower.

The boys heard a crackle of static coming through Captain Phiri’s headphones which covered one ear. The pilot glanced round the cockpit, leaned over the passenger on his right and checked that the door was properly shut. Seatbelt, he said to the man.

What? Oh, these. He indicated the two straps. That’s all right. I don’t need a belt.

Oh, yes, you do. Regulations.

It was obvious that the man had never done up a seatbelt before as he fumbled with the catch and didn’t know what to do. Patiently Captain Phiri showed him.

Sorry, tower. A slight technical hitch which has now been rectified. We’re off now. He switched on the ignition and, after a few seconds of whining, there was a cough from the engine and the single propeller started spinning. Captain Phiri ran the engine up to full revs and the little plane vibrated against its brakes. Kicking the rudder pedal, he eased off the brake and the Beaver spun round to face the runway.

"Do you know, I am sure that guy has never flown before? That’s probably why