Across the border—Zimbabwe
HWANGE IN THE GREEN
when the rain reigns
Writer: Flo Coughlan Photography: Flo Coughlan
L
ike Picasso, nature matches its colours to its moods. When it comes to national parks, Mana Pools is famous for its hazy October blues, Gonarezhou for its geographical layers of brown and Hwange for the scale and depth of its greens during the wet.
If you mention to anyone that you’re going on safari between November and March— the green season—they look at you with dismay and alarm. They ask, ‘Has nobody told you that peak safari season is from May to October?’ And they question, ‘Do you know that you won’t see a thing? And that it may rain?’ Well, truth be told, part of the last statement is valid, but as anyone who has experienced a Zimbabwean thunderstorm knows, it never lasts long, it’s a spectacular show, and there will definitely be plenty to see...especially if you look beyond the obvious.
It’s certainly a privilege to be out in the bush in general, or Hwange in particular, when the first rains come. The vastness of Hwange National Park—14,651 square kilometres (5,657 square miles)—affords a multitude of locations and vantage points from which to experience the spectacle that is a rainstorm. In early November, the onset of the rains is heralded by the intense heat—stultifying, stupefying heat—heat that beats down and bakes the earth and sucks every bit of available moisture upwards into the atmosphere. This oppressive heat slows down every aspect of nature, until it’s in a self-induced slumber... an African equivalent of hibernation or a kind of overdue pregnancy. Not a breath is wasted—not even by the wind—as the big wait continues.
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TRAVEL & LEISURE ZAMBIA
Well into November, deep rolling thunder in the distance heralds the arrival of moisture-saturation and a dull and dusty sky soon transforms into a canvas of sharp shards of lightning piercing deep purple-grey clouds. All this built-up energy is about to be unleashed and spent where it is most needed, and it must return from whence it came—earthwards.
As the wind picks up, the rain arrives at a tree near you. Big blobs of moisture bounce off dust-laden leaves and bark and there’s an audible sigh of relief as six months of dust is settled. Flora can breathe again and the animals will soon eat again. And the best part is still to come...that first whiff of petrichor, a musky scent formed by the reaction when chemicals emanating from the concentrated spores of soil bacteria collide with the first rain drops. Add to this the fragrance of oils given off by plants in arid conditions and the result is a heady fragrance that makes your evolutionary brain smile. Ask any African, it’s the very stuff that formed our souls and continues to feed them. It’s a primal sensation and it smells of new beginnings and times of plenty. Somebody should surely bottle it and label it thus.
When these first rains arrive, nature literally springs back to life from its heat-driven coma. The recovery is instantaneous; and as a visitor, now is the time to take pleasure in wondrous things: the migrant birds, the wild flowers and the depth and clarity of the colours. It’s also a time to share in the joy that is nature’s bounty—the grasses that shoot up overnight, the bulbs that poke their heads up through the soft earth and the new leaf on the trees. From the dark and moody skies to the soft green leaves and shoots, it’s a landscape of delight. Throw in all the colourful birds, butterflies and new-born animals and you’ll be
