Finally arriving early morning and later than hoped for at the gates to Lekhubu Island, I was greeted by two surprised park rangers and locals. ‘Usually, visitors don’t reach this gate till later.’ ‘There is nothing usual about us two’ I explained. One night, two days I wanted to stay. It will be hot, it will be dry, it will be a tight affair.

Numerous African National Parks offer to pay with a credit card. Ironically, or typically, most entrance posts have no electricity. Paying cash is the obvious and preferred option. However, no change is kept in cashiers, particularly in remote areas. Visitors are expected to have the right amount of cash at hand. And if you are a dollar short, they won’t let you in.

A handy tip is to always have a fair amount of cash with you, in any African country. I had some spare water to share but no pineapples this time.

It was still relatively early and I felt sleepy after last night’s epic venture. I needed to lie down and relax for an hour or two. I dragged the mattress out of the loftus tent onto a shady and fairly even area. At least I am off my feet as flies pestered my serenity.

Island Haven Botswana style. Surrounded by salted lakes, nothing and no one is around for kilometres. Isolated and cut off from any human contact, just what my doctor ordered.

Nevertheless, the shade had moved and buzzing insects had increased. Temperatures had reached hellish degrees of Fahrenheit, far away and near.

I felt like being the topping of an oversized pizza in this stone-baked environment. Gigantic granite boulders store the heat like an oven does.

Signs of relief congregated over the horizon. A cold front rapidly moved in from the east as dark and stormy clouds swept over the pan.

This is a hefty downpour which didn’t give me much time to squeeze the mattress into Zimba’s hatchback. Just made it. The pouring waters turned out to be a perfect wake-up call as I stood under the soothing shower for some time. Bliss.

As I was walking around this heavenly island, staring at the pearly baobab gates with OM-D in hand, I heard some strange voices in familiar lingo. Is it you?

Did the storm really open the gates above?

I was only admiring the forbidden baobab fruit, I swear.

I didn’t eat it.

Adam and Steve appeared. Holy smoke, this is baobab heaven.

Was I dreaming this? A hazy illusion due to lack of sleep? Possibly, Adam and Steve appeared like a ‘Fata Morgana’, a Common and natural phenomenon in dry and hot conditions. A figure of my imagination?

Nope!

Here they are, hand in hand, walking this holy ground. Only wearing a leaf? Hang on a minute! That’s not a leaf. I know my leafs as they leaf around here. Adam was wearing a purse. Times surely have changed. What could possibly be in the purse? Does one need a passport to re-enter this heavenly island? Make-up? Or Condoms?

Adam and Steve just attended the FKK convention in Frankfurt. FKK is a German abbreviation and means as much as Free Kock Kulture. Or Frankfurteler in short.

‘Freedom for the sausage’ is a well-known European Movement, rehearsed and practiced all around the world. I didn’t realise that the dry and hot conditions of Botswana were part of the campaign. Surely the natural soil and minerals will soothe body and soul.

Off they went posing on an elevated dock, hard as a rock, holding their

Dick appeared out of nowhere. He tried to talk some sense into Adam and Steve.

‘There are just too many assholes here’ I noted. So much for a sense of freedom.