When I set out on the 21-day journey across Zimbabwe with this group of Zimbabwean expatriates and their Australian friends, I knew it was going to be special. But I didn’t quite know just how much laughter would be folded into the adventure.
We covered the breadth of the country: from the stillness of Mana Pools to the vast Kariba waters, the misty heights of Nyanga, the sacred Bvumba, the ancient walls of Great Zimbabwe, the granite of the Matopos and the wildlife-rich Hwange. Each place left its mark, but it was at the Chinhoyi Caves, right at the beginning of our journey, that we shared one of the more humorous moments.
Chinhoyi Caves is a place where light and water meet in the most spectacular way. The main attraction is the “Sleeping Pool,” a natural, crystalline pool of cobalt-blue water hidden deep inside the limestone caverns. The sunlight plays tricks on your eyes as it filters down into that impossibly blue pool. But the caves also include tighter tunnels and narrow steps leading deeper into the ancient rock.
On this trip, one of our group members, Baz, stood out immediately as the gentle giant. Baz had grown up in Zimbabwe but had lived in Australia for years, and he was showing his Australian friends the country he still loved. Over the trip, Baz and I had formed a bond; his easygoing nature made him the kind of person everyone gravitated toward.
When we reached Chinhoyi, we descended the main cave to see the Sleeping Pool first. It’s always a moment of awe; watching faces as they first take in that surreal blue. Baz was right there with us, marveling at the pool, but as we moved toward a smaller passage deeper in, I could see he was breathing heavily. The Chinhoyi Caves have some tight squeezes, and while Baz never complained, it was obvious he was feeling the strain.
“Baz, my friend,” I said, resting a hand on his shoulder, “why don’t you take a break here? The next part is a bit tighter.” He smiled, sat down, and with his usual graciousness said, “I’ll enjoy the cool air up here.”
We explored further down, squeezing through narrow sections, and eventually returned to where Baz waited. As we reemerged, his wife grinned and said, “Baz, Webster wasn’t being kind; he was being diplomatic. There’s no way you were fitting through those spaces!”
The whole group burst out laughing, and Baz, always the good sport, chuckled along. “You saved me from getting stuck, Webster. I owe you one,” he said with a wink.
It’s moments like these that transform a tour into something more. Over long trips, you stop being just a guide. You become part of the story. By the time we reached Victoria Falls, Baz wasn’t just a guest. He was a friend. And the laughter we shared in those caves reminded me that sometimes, it’s not just the landscape that leaves an impression; it’s the people you share it with.
