Take the Zambezi, one of Southern Africa's largest rivers. Let it loose across the floodplains of Angola and Zambia, Cliffstributaries swelling it until the river is as large as a racing track. Once the waterway is flowing with full force over the basalt plateau of southern Zambia, cut a 1700-meter wide gash in the valley and watch the entire width of the river come pouring down an 180-meter face of rock into a narrow gorge. That is Victoria Falls, one of the most monumental waterfalls in the world.
The falls indigenous name Mosi-oa-Tunya means “the smoke that thunders”.
And indeed it roars it throws up spray it crashes and it swirls Victoria Falls is an overwhelming sight, twice the height of Niagara Falls. So spectacular, in fact, that it already was a popular tourist attraction in 1905, when the railway from then-Rhodesia to Cape Town was completed under British colonial rule.
While in Zambia on a work assignment, I took the first opportunity to escape from the dreary capital, Lusaka, and visit Victoria Falls, which are a six-hour bus ride away through flat, dry savannah. In fact, African public transportation schedules being what they are (“when it is full o'clock” is as close as it gets to a departure time), it took me and my friend Leila most of our Saturday to reach the characterless town Fallsof Livingstone, then the park.
We first heard the low rumble. Then we came across the life-size statue of David Livingstone, the Scottish explorer of Doctor-Livingstone-I-presume fame. As the first European to have seen the falls in the mid-19th century, he named them in honor of his monarch, Queen Victoria. A little further down the path, we caught our first glimpse of the cataracts.
The next day, we made our way to the bungee jumping center on Victoria Bridge, which spans the second gorge a Gorgesfew hundred meters downstream, linking Zambia with Zimbabwe. As we reached the entrance, 120 meters above the rocks and rapids of the Zambezi way below, my knees went weak. How could my so-called friend have talked me into hurling myself off that bridge?
Feeling hollow inside I trudged to the jumping platform amid the traffic of indifferent African women carrying bundles on their heads. As the instructors strapped my gear on they directed a steady stream of chatter at their idiotically consenting victim to distract me from what was coming. I had picked the gorge swing, so I was to step off the structure not drop headfirst. "Look straight ahead not down and when we count to three just walk” they told me.
