Tale guide

Abangani - You need to see a doctor!

It was on another excursion to Zimbabwe that I discovered that I had been suffering from an ailment, probably for a number of years by then, but that I became aware of for the first time on this fishing trip.

On this particular expedition, we took the team to Binga on the western shores of lake Kariba where we boarded the Abangane houseboat for a five-day fishing cruise on the lake.

One of the regular members, who also accompanied us on this trip, was a rugged, strong willed Afrikaner with an amazing understanding of nature and rated amongst the top birders in the country and whose bark was worse than his bite. For purposes of this story I’ve called him Jan.

The Abangane is an 18-meter, twin hulled boat powered by two 85 HP diesel engines. It tows three tender boats for the fishermen to launch and access the shallower waters along the banks of the lake.

It can accommodate twelve people and was manned by a fabulous crew of four local Zimbabweans who provided for every need including cooking, sailing and making sure their guests actually caught some of the famed Tiger and Kariba Bream without becoming feed for the multitude of crocodiles and hippo that populate the lakeshore.

The lower deck was primarily used to accommodate the crew and the kitchen which was equipped with multiple freezers as well as a couple of fridges.

This observation reminds me of another anecdote peculiar to TSF (Team Smelly Fingers). We were never, ever, absolutely never, allowed to depart on an expedition without enough ice!

When running through the check list immediately prior to departure on each of these trips, the collective wisdom of the team members was enunciated in unison by the rendition of the call for “Ice, Ice, Ice”.

On at least one occasion, two of the team forgot their passports at home and had to turn back at Beit Bridge to fetch them and join up with us a day later, but we never forgot the ice.

It goes without saying that we also never forgot the beer, Bacardi, and whisky.

The spacious upper deck was an open area and largely covered. A circular bar containing an ice making machine and bottle cooler was positioned towards the bow. It was on this deck that we slept on mattresses under mosquito nets.

The open sides of the deck allowed the free flow of air and a cool breeze that displaced the humidity, provided welcome relief from the daily temperatures that ranged as high as 40 degrees Celsius.

It was a perfect setting for Team Smelly Fingers.

Once all of our equipment, food, liquor, rods and bait were stowed away, we set sail into the afternoon sun.

The first night out on our trips have always been the craziest. I have no idea why. But the boys seem to let their hair down and let rip as if it was the last night of their lives. Caution is thrown to the wind. The whisky flows like the Zambezi in flood and most, if not all inhibitions are cast aside.

By one o’clock in the morning, only the most resilient amongst us were still standing and shortly thereafter the last man collapsed onto his mattress, and the houseboat fell silent, or at least I thought it did.

The following morning, as the African sun peaked above the lake’s horizon, one by one, the men raised their heads from deep sleep and slowly gathered themselves for the new day.

Any signs of discomfort were well and truly hidden as it is the nature of the beast not to expose its weakness in the face of its herd; but notwithstanding, the evident difficulties that each of the men were quite obviously displaying, attracted a degree of uncompromising ridicule from their comrades, probably as part and parcel of some misguided sense of self defence.

It took a while for the crowd to come it its senses around freshly brewed coffee at the bar.

It took a good twenty minutes of good humour and loud interaction before someone noticed that Jan was missing.

“Where is Jan?” someone asked. Somebody checked the bathrooms below while the rest looked about the decks, but Jan was nowhere to be found.

“There he is!” another shouted and pointed out to a bundle on top of a tender boat that, although tethered to the houseboat, lay a good 100 meters out in the lake, surrounded by a bloat of hippos.

There was a burst of laughter and loud calling across the water as two of our team ran down to the lower deck where the rope was tied to the railing and started to pull the tender boat in.

Everyone gathered around as the dingy slowly made its way towards the houseboat.

In the tender boat lay a small mound draped in a blue sleeping bag. Slowly, as the boat came closer, the mound stirred, and Jan emerged with a long stretch and a yawn before standing up to face his ‘rescuers’.

By this time, I had joined in the joviality, jeering and laughter, completely unaware as to why on earth Jan would be sleeping on a tender boat way out in the lake amongst the hippos.

The dingy finally came up alongside and Jan clambered over the railing.

Once on board the team crowded around him laughing and wanting to know what he was up to. I was standing at the back of the crowd waiting to hear his response, when he looked up and caught my eye. He pushed his way past the men around him and came directly up to me, all the time with a firm accusative look in his eyes.

He raised his hand and pointed his index finder straight at my nose and almost touching, declared in Afrikaans “Jy moet a f#@king dokter gaan sien!” (You must go and see a F*#king doctor!”)

I laughed nervously, oblivious as to why this unexpected verbal assault.

In response he said again in Afrikaans, “Nee man. Ek’s erenstig. Jy moet a F$#king dokter gaan sien!” (No man. I’m serious. You must go and see a f*#king doctor!)

He then turned to the rest of the team and explained “In all my years I have never heard anyone snore as loud and as much as this Engelsman!”

I must admit, in all my years, no one had ever told me either!

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