"Bangweulu Swamps”. That is all our map said of this area. Hardly inviting; something probably best avoided, considering it’s the height of the wet season, we thought during the initial stages of our planning.
So we soon forgot the name, until it caught our eye again in a forgotten travel guide while we were already under way. And changed everything.
And now, after a journey that felt like it was never going to end, searing heat and torrential rains, we are surrounded by a vast grassy floodplain.
But the plain isn’t empty.
Next to us, black lechwe are grazing peacefully from horizon to horizon.
Behind them dust is lazily swirling up from playing tsessebe.
Ahead, a flock of yellow-billed stork is a flash of white against the blue sky before settling in a clump of trees.
I fill my lungs with sweetly scented air. We have arrived!

‘No go, sir’
Bangweulu – “where the water meets the sky” – is one of the world’s great wetland systems. It comprises Lake Bangweulu, the perennial Bangweulu Swamps and the seasonally inundated Bangweulu Floodplain.
It’s at least as big as the Okavango Delta and it lies on the great plains of the North Zambian Plateau. The basin in which it lies is fed by 17 rivers but drained by only one.
At the centre of the basin the water is only 1 to 2 m deep, yet the floodline advances and retreats by up to 45 km. It’s this seasonal pulsing of floodwater that gives rise to the prolific life in Bangweulu’s swamps.
Much of the area southeast of the lake is now protected as the Bangweulu Game Reserve. Its abundant wildlife includes the attractive endemic black lechwe, as well as the near-extinct shoebill stork, Africa’s most sought-after bird-watching species.
A tiny movement in the distance interrupts my thoughts. A little white dot detaches itself from the horizon and gradually turns into a white bakkie bouncing towards us.
The driver and I get out to shake hands, and David introduces himself as the manager of Shoebill Island.
He looks incredulous when I ask him whether we could go to Shoebill Island. “No, you can’t,” he says.
Now it’s my turn to look incredulous. But he just repeats it with more emphasis: “No, you cannot go to Shoebill Island; it is inaccessible now!” I try again, but he remains adamant.
I look at my shoes. Silent. Devastated. We’ve come all this way and we’ve seen many amazing things. We’ve seen the sun pushing aside a thunderstorm to reveal the sparkling Kundalila Falls where the Kaombe River tumbles over the edge of the Muchinga escarpment. It was so beautiful it made my heart ache.
We’ve hiked high up the Nsalu Hills to majestic caves overlooking the woodland-covered rolling hills, and we’ve stood in awe before an 8 m high and 20 m wide panel of rock art.
We’ve travelled along a track winding through dense and mysterious miombo woodlands, suddenly opening to reveal the still waters of Lake Waka Waka. Dainty fireflies visited our camp on its shores that night. It was one of the most exquisite and nourishing experiences I’ve ever had.
And all along, in the back of our mind, was Bangweulu. It became our driving force, the heart and soul of this journey. And now this ...
David finally relents, just a little. “OK,” he says, “when I return tomorrow morning, we can meet at the base and see if we can negotiate something.”
His head turns to follow the direction of his outstretched arm. “You can stay there with Godfrey tonight. I know him very well.”
So we spent the night at the Nsobe Camp, where Godfrey and his two teenagers surprised us with hot water for showering.
Sitting back, I looked at the lightning flickering through the clouds, the birds flitting about one last time before nightfall, the fireflies coming out to dance. The whole world seemed to be at play, yet our hearts were heavy.
We tried to talk excitedly about the things we had enjoyed on the journey, and we wondered what the morning would bring.