Steve Pope – Chipembere Safaris

I received sad news recently. Steve Pope, a well known Safari guide based in Kariba, is very poorly in a hospital with cancer, and is not expected to live.

It is really strange that whilst I have had no contact for many years, I found him on Facebook three weeks ago and sent a message.

His daughter, Chessa, stumbled across my Mana Pools videos on YouTube. She is in some of them, along with her father. She was naturally gob-smacked. I was then contacted by her mother who told me the news and that Chessa is trying to get some pictures of her dad to put up on Facebook. 

 

 

Steve himself was a prolific photographer of wildlife but it can be presumed that he didn’t take many pictures of himself. I know there are many people out there who went with Steve on safari and have pictures. One such bunch were the Quantas aircrew during the late ‘80s early ‘90s. My ex and I met many of them whilst on safari with Steve. They told us that, it was at the time, the most coveted long haul job in Quantas. You worked the flight in and then had a week off. They would chip in together, rent a car and dash down to Steve and go on safari. Nights were spent around the campfire listening to his stories and getting well pissed.

So popular was the man, that they arranged a flight for him, and took him around parks in Australia. I recall seeing at his home (we spent many private nights there as we became good friends), of him in his Zimbabwe bush outfit, squatting next to a kangaroo.

I also took quite a few pictures but they were all slides. A couple of years ago I digitalised them, hence the quality is not that good.

Here is a story from one of those wonderful trips.

 

I am not sure what year, but the ex and I are camping with Steve at the main camp in Mana, right next to the Zambezi. So, one night, we listen to some right roaring, screeching and bellowing; enough to wake the dead stoned likes of even me. Whatever was going on outside in the bush surrounding the camp (unfenced), was serious shit man; so I pushed the ex to the front of the tent to make sure she gets eaten first.

Next day we ascertain that there is a wounded buffalo, up to its knees in the Zambezi, looking rather sorry for itself. It had been in a serious fight with a pride of lions and managed to get into the river. The fully grown male was in a bad way. (Sadly no photo found.) Steve explained that the lions are hanging around (run for your lives), and will be back in the night when they reckon the buff will be so weak they can take it.

Some smart alec guide, from another safari camp, asked if any of us would like a little stroll through the bush to find afore mentioned giant pussy cats. Steve was busy at that time. Quite a few lion bait volunteered to check out the scene. I didn’t like this idea, but fortified with half a dozen Castle beers and a couple of spliffs, I meekly tagged along 'up the rear'. 'Up the rear' is the Rhodesian terminology of the last member of a stick on counter-insurgency patrol. It is the opposite of ‘point’.

So, ‘point’, in this case, was also armed with an F.N. Thank fuck for that because the twat guided us on top of the bloody lions skulking in the grass. As one of the bastards stood up and gave us a right stare (all this from twenty paces away), super clever guide says, whilst cocking the rifle –

            ‘Everyone walk slowly backwards and do not look into the lions eyes.’

He might have gabbled some more survival bullshit, but as I was at the back and legged it asap, I was already in camp on my second beer when the other panty-shitters staggered shell-shocked in.

That night, after an excellent braai of steak, boerwors and piri-piri chicken with sadza and baked potatoes with onion and tomato relish, we all went on the piss again.

Around about, no idea - Fuck Me! - if the whole night doesn’t once again go nuts!

I was well oiled and stoned. Steve wanders off (ha-ha, how mad is that), and comes back all excited.

            ‘Come quickly. The lions have dragged the buff out and eating it –alive!’

All this was happening less than fifty paces away. I wasn’t that hot on the idea, but with my ex eyeing a life insurance payout, I was bullied to go up to where the soft, sandy banks of the Zambezi were quite steep. The lions had a flat area from where occasional flood water poured in.

I was totally wasted. Steve and the other rangers had driven up their 4x4s and plugged in spotlights. I could hardly focus, but got these shots.

The next morning Steve took us in his canoes and I got this shot from the river.