Victoria Falls, or Mosi-oa-Tunya- "The Smoke that Thunders"

Flying in to Livingstone, the pilot alerted the passengers that Victoria Falls, the world’s largest, would be visible to those lucky enough to be seated on the right side of the plane…I was not. I knew it was only a 30 minute drive from Wayi Wayi Studio to the falls, and there would be  ample time to explore it once I was settled in. On my daily walks, I had occasional views of the surrounding countryside, the vast, dry savanna that dominates this section of the sub-Saharan continent. Hovering hundreds of feet into the air hangs a massive plume of mist that marks the falls. To my eyes, it looked like a cloud of industrial exhaust, much  like what I see in the sky west of my home in Vancouver on a cool winter’s day.


A week after I arrived, my chance to view the falls came with an offer from a group of women involved in Global Sojourns Giving Circle, an organization that supports and sponsors girls who are trying to better themselves (and the organization through which I met Lawrence and Agness).  I was invited  to join a busload of girls who come to WayiWayi Studio for free Saturday art classes and a group of girls from a local high school.

Most of the young people of Livingstone have never seen the falls. It is a lengthy walk from the city, along a busy highway. And once there, you can only hear the thunderous roar and see the mist, unless you pay to walk on the falls trail. Most cannot afford it, so the girls were excited to be going and filled the bus with their laughter and singing.

The girls at the falls

The Zambizi River separates Zambia and Zimbabwe at the point of the falls and can be viewed from either country, but most locals will tell you the viewing is better on the Zambian side. After fees were paid, most of the group rented rain slickers at the trailhead, but I declined, having braved many a Northwest rainstorm. I figured a little mist would feel great on a hot day. Big mistake. The trail is carved into a cliff a few hundred yards from the face of the falls, and unlike Niagara or any other falls I have seen, the topography is such that you can walk a good distance in front of the falls as if you were centering yourself in a theater. You look directly at the spectacle in front of you, as cascading whitewater more than a mile wide, drops 350 feet into an unseen chasm far below. And sends another rush of water back up as spray, mist, rain, whatever you might call it that immediately drenches you to the bone. And it is cold.

Crossing the footbridge

 I tried desperately to see the face of my droplet-covered pad screen to record a video of the spectacle and ended up pushing the selfie button by mistake. Later when I reviewed what I had captured, what I saw was a water soaked close-up of me, valiantly panning back and forth, sure that I was filming one for the Ages.

In May the river is near its peak flow, and conversation was nearly impossible through the roar. The girls, having been sufficiently impressed, were soon eager to return to tranquility, and the adults were more than happy to oblige. This required crossing a slippery, narrow footbridge, spanning the depths, as the girls clung to us in semi-panic.

Me, thinking I was getting "the" shot

The hot afternoon sunshine had us dry  and comfortable in a short time, and as we hung around the area reading about the history of the falls, we were visited by resident baboons and monkeys looking for a handout. Our adventure paled in comparison as we read about how Dr. David Livingstone had come upon the falls from upriver in a dugout canoe on his journeys into the heart of the continent.

A litle slice of the falls