Loofah

After the first big rains of the season early evening yesterday, the river had swelled. Michelle was off with her binoculars looking at bee eaters so after seeing the red sun rise, I enjoyed coffee by the river in the company of a big crocodile on the bank. At 5.30am the sun was already strong and very warm.

Mid-morning Chelene walked me around camp and told me more of the history. There are a number of lovely river viewpoints, such as this, with loofah (I have since learnt more correctly spelled luffa) growing wild. Last week Michelle pilfered some, peeled it like a corn on the cob, and stashed it in her luggage for exfoliation duty in the UK. Potentially an enterprise idea for the Conservancy with the small issue of extraction of natural resources not being permitted in a protected area.

It’s Bonfire Day in the UK, arguably our oddest commemoration. If Guy Fawkes had been successful in wiping out early politicians it could have spared us the ‘service’ of the likes of Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg by obliterating genes that have loitered in the political system since time immemorial. This homogenous strain of chromosomes has produced British MPs since peasants were forced to hand over half of their harvest to those guffawing in mansions over bowls of jellied tripe and port. The dynamic hasn’t really altered in the centuries since.

The nearest thing to bonfires here was Alifa at 4.30 snapping branches for a fire to heat the water for showers. Today I’m happy to be in the tropics and not clustering around a pile of smouldering crates, face singeing whilst back freezes, chipping a tooth on a toffee apple and avoiding an over-zealous sparkler waver who will later find herself getting treatment for first degree burns.

It’s 9.30pm as I write and I’m struggling to stay awake after our early starts. Something medium size is scruffling near the tent, which on our last night is an excellent reminder that wildlife abounds in this place.