The Land Rover TD5 90 was loaded to its absolute limit, with a 4-meter-long trailer packed so full I estimated the load exceeded 2,000 kg. Hannes had a closed trailer of his own, a relic from his days distributing books and newspapers. It too was crammed to the brim. His Isuzu bakkie was about to be stuffed with the overflow of boxes that simply wouldn’t fit into either trailer. The plan was simple—or so we thought. Hannes and Riaan would arrive at my place around 9 or 10 p.m., catch a bit of sleep, and then we’d set off for Maun at 3 a.m. sharp. Easy enough, right? Wrong.
By 10 p.m., there was no sign of them. Then 11 p.m. came and went. Frustrated, I called Hannes. "We’re leaving shortly," he assured me, but added I needed to be patient—Riaan was having a hard time, as it was the anniversary of his father’s death. Midnight rolled around, and I decided to grab some sleep. Barely two hours later, Kim shook me awake to tell me the "boys" had finally arrived. Groggy but determined, I got up, and we spent the next hour packing the last of the furniture onto Hannes’ bakkie. At 3 a.m.—right on schedule, though none of us had much sleep—we hit the road. At least I had the advantage of being sober, unlike the other two.
Three hours into the journey, just before we reached the Botswana border, Hannes and Riaan began furiously flashing their lights at me. I pulled over.
"There are sparks flying out from under the trailer," Riaan exclaimed.
"Fantastic," I muttered sarcastically. "Just what we need."
Hannes slid under the trailer for a closer look. "The brake mechanism is dragging," he declared.
"Can we secure it with cable ties? Any consequences?" I asked.
"Cable ties will work. It won’t be a problem," Hannes replied.
Crisis averted—for now. However, crossing the border was another story entirely. What should have been a straightforward process turned into a grueling three-hour ordeal. Despite my best efforts to explain that we were moving to Maun and shouldn’t be paying import duties, the border official was insistent. He seemed to enjoy delaying us as much as possible. Finally, with no other choice, I reluctantly handed over the money and we pressed on.
The drive through Jwaneng, Kang, and Ghanzi felt endless. Exhaustion crept in, and we swapped drivers every hour and a half, each of us struggling to stay awake. About 50 kilometers past Ghanzi, on the final 300-kilometer stretch to Maun, I dozed off behind the wheel. The Land Rover slowed to 80 km/h before I startled awake. Slapping myself to stay alert, I sipped water and pushed the accelerator. But instead of picking up speed, there was a loud *clang* from the Land Rover, and the engine revved wildly. Fifth gear was gone. I shifted to fourth—it worked. Deciding not to push my luck, I stayed in fourth for the rest of the drive.
We finally reached Maun around 10 p.m., navigating a narrow dirt track that led to our new home by the Boro River. A few hundred meters in, the Land Rover sank into soft sand and refused to budge. Muttering a string of profanities, I engaged low-range and diff lock. The wheels churned deeper into the sand. Frustrated, I got out and deflated the tires, counting to 60 for each one. It worked, and we managed to crawl forward. However, the unfamiliar terrain and darkness had me disoriented. When I spotted the sparkle of the river in the headlights, I realized I’d taken the wrong track.
I reversed. Or at least I tried to. Reverse gear was gone. Fifth gear was gone. First, second, third, and fourth still worked, but that was little comfort. I got out and walked back to Hannes and Riaan.
"We’re lost," I admitted.
Riaan wasn’t amused. "You’ve made us drive for over 20 hours, and you don’t know where the f*** we’re going?"
An hour of stumbling through the bush later, we found the Boro plot. Turning the Land Rover around without reverse was another challenge, but somehow, we made it. By midnight, we reached the cottage. It was empty, as all our furniture was still on the vehicles. We decided to unload a few mattresses and crash for the night.
While searching for the mattresses, I wandered into the cottage. The bright white walls and lingering smell of fresh paint were a pleasant surprise—Albert had clearly instructed the staff to repaint. But my relief vanished in an instant. As I lifted a paint tray, a massive spitting cobra launched itself at me. My blood turned to ice. Grabbing a broom from the kitchen, I carefully swept the snake out the door and slammed it shut.
The next morning, my first day at work, we unloaded the trailers in sweltering 42°C heat. By 2 p.m., drenched in sweat, I collapsed onto a mattress for a quick nap. I woke groggy and parched around 3:30 p.m. Hannes handed me an ice-cold brandy and Coke.
"I don’t drink brandy," I protested.
"Well, the water here is s***, so drink up. Time to make you a real man," he laughed.
Reluctantly, I sipped the drink. Hannes and Riaan had helped me move across countries; the least I could do was join them for a late lunch at River Lodge. Afterward, the rain came—a steady drizzle that cooled the oppressive heat. I switched to tea, trying to pace myself against their relentless rounds of shooters. By midnight, the bar closed, but Hannes and Riaan weren’t ready to call it a night.
"Let’s find another pub!" Riaan declared.
"This is Maun," I said. "A small village in the wilderness. I doubt you’ll find another open pub."
But they insisted. Exhausted, I convinced them to drop me off at home and head toward South Gate Moremi instead. "Just remember," I warned, "you’re in Big 5 country. Be careful."
They laughed off my advice and left. The next afternoon, they returned looking like they’d been dragged through hell. Mud-covered and miserable, they trudged to the outdoor shower.
Over coffee and boerewors rolls, the truth came out. A sudden cloudburst had turned the road to Moremi into a river. They hit a ditch and got stuck in deep mud. Stranded for hours, they heard elephants cracking branches nearby but had no torches to check their surroundings. Their only sustenance was my stale ginger biscuits and a quarter flask of Jack Daniels.
By 11:30 a.m., dehydrated and desperate, a Wilderness Safaris Land Cruiser finally pulled them free. They turned back, defeated.
Sipping my coffee, I struggled to hide my amusement. "Well," I said, "at least you made it back in one piece."