Zip across to Zambia

The white-browed robin-chats are competing to see who can sing the loudest. A swamp boubou hops along the water’s edge looking for a nibble. I’m on a side channel of the Zambezi; the main river course is on the other side of an island where cattle graze with egrets riding on their backs. Boats are anchored in the shallows, where hundreds of small fish dart around – some three-spotted tilapia, some redbreast tilapia. A fisherman bundles a wet net into a mokoro, a rooster crows and lodge manager Dave Orr sits on the stoep of Shackletons Tiger Fishing Lodge with a book in his lap – Brother Fish by Bryce Courtenay. The book is rubbish, Dave agrees, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. The closest Exclusive Books is probably in Joburg.

Last night I was the only guest at Shackletons. Most guests fly in from South Africa, landing at Livingstone – from there you’re transferred by road to the camp, about 140km away. Dave told me there are three guests en route, so he’s waiting it out with Brother Fish, two cellphones, a cup of coffee and a red plastic fly swatter by his side. But mostly his gaze is lifted from the table, looking out at the beautiful waters of the Zambezi, where uncaught fish await.

Wait, and you’ll be rewarded

I did a lot of waiting today. I entered Zambia from Namibia, leaving Katima Mulilo just after breakfast. It’s easy enough to leave Namibia – a stamp later and I was off – but the Zambian side of the border was another story. It’s actually a nice border post with a logical layout – all the counters you have to visit are in one room so you can easily move from one point to the next. But this is easier said