Finding the Sacred at Mosi-oa-Tunya, “The Smoke That Thunders”

A Journey to Victoria Falls, seen from Zambia and Zimbabwe

By Ridvan Idara Executive Director, New Era Creative Space

When I mentioned I was visiting Zambia, the message from friends who had travelled to Zambia was clear: I should make it to Victoria Falls. I mapped it and realized the journey would take over nine hours from my hosts Irene and Edward’s location in Liteta, and I didn’t want to impose such a trip on them. But before I arrived, they insisted on the journey, suggesting I must witness the majesty of the Falls. I had not planned this detour, but as this sabbatical is unfolding, I am realizing this trip has chosen to reveal itself to me in ways I did not plan.

The journey began in the dark, quiet hours at 4:00 AM; the rhythmic drumming of rain against my window woke me up earlier than I would have liked. It was the period of the Baha’i fast, which meant that my friends would be up early as well, as we planned to eat and head out. By 7:00 AM, we were on the road.

The drive to Livingstone is a long journey through the Zambian countryside. For hours, we moved through a landscape of thatched and brick homes, bustling marketplaces, and children weaving their way to school. To pass the time, we shared a soundtrack as diverse as our conversation: Baha’i prayer music, vibrant Afrobeats and, to my genuine amusement, American country music. Hearing Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton while gazing out at the Zambian bush was a juxtaposition that kept me chuckling between chapters of my audiobook.

Midway through, I took the wheel. Driving on the left side of the road is a bit of a mental hurdle. Less than ten minutes into my stint at the wheel, while I was deep in a story about a passing police entourage, thump. A pothole claimed our tire. We were about three hours from Livingstone, stranded in front of a busy village. But the universe provides; a local man spent over an hour helping us find a mechanic. Soon, we were chasing a sunset, a sky so vast and painted with hues of red and orange, it felt like a prelude to the wonder ahead. We rolled into Livingstone around 8:00 PM, weary and hungry after having fasted the entire day, but ready for the adventure ahead.

The Audacity of “Discovery”

We found delicious food at a local restaurant, next to the Livingstone Museum. Livingstone is a town draped in colonial history, named for the Scottish explorer Dr. David Livingstone. As I walked its streets, I couldn’t help but reflect on the terminology we use. To say he “discovered” the Falls implies that the people who lived here for centuries, the Lozi, the Tonga, did not exist or could not comprehend the magnitude of what lay before them.

The audacity of that assumption is striking. These people did not need an explorer to tell them the significance of the site; they had already named it Mosi-oa-Tunya: The Smoke That Thunders.

Bathed in Glory

The next morning, we decided to view the Falls from both the Zimbabwe and Zambian sides. Zimbabwe is only a few hundred meters away, so we chose to experience the Falls from both perspectives. We crossed the border into Zimbabwe, passports stamped and ready for the adventure. While locals offered raincoats, Irene and I declined. Edward, however, equipment in tow, decided to play it safe and took the raincoat. We figured if we got soaked, the sun would dry us. Through the turnstiles, we followed the pebbled paths through lush vegetation until we reached the first overlook.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I beheld. We were standing before the mighty Zambezi River, the 4th longest river in Africa, boasting a whopping 2700km and traversing Angola, Namibia, Botswana, Mozambique, Zambia and Zimbabwe. It is a river steeped in folklore, including the legend of Nyami Nyami, the Zambezi River God. Because it was the season of high water, the Zambezi was surging, pouring over the basalt cliffs with a ferocity unlike anything I have ever felt. The roar of the falls can be heard 25km away, and standing there, it felt like the very earth was vibrating.

I saw more rainbows in the few hours that we spent at the Falls than I have in a long time — five, maybe six, arching through the mist, not in the sky but the gorge. The indigenous people once referred to the area as Seongo (or Chongwe), “The Place of the Rainbow.”

The mist was so dense in some areas that the Falls themselves vanished behind a white veil of their own making. It was no longer just a sight to see; it was an atmosphere to inhabit. By the time we reached the final outlook, I was completely drenched, baptized by the waters of the Falls. The “smoke” was no longer just a distant plume; it was a torrential rain falling upward from its depths.

At some point, we surrendered and stopped trying to stay dry and became one with the Falls. On the Zambian side, standing on a bridge enveloped in a vertical deluge, I felt a surge of pure, childlike glee as we laughed, danced, and stomped in the puddles beneath our feet. I stood there as the water cascaded over me and whispered, “Blessed is the spot, where mention of God hath been made and His praise glorified.” What I felt was a profound sense of praise to the Divine, to the ancestors, and to the earth itself.

Pictures cannot capture the full spectrum of this majesty. Mosi-oa-Tunya is evidence of the divine power of our planet. To me, it felt like the thundering roar of Africa: powerful, unstoppable, and beautiful. Witnessing such beauty felt sacred and brought with it a feeling of conviction. How can we behold such glory and then return to a world where we treat the earth with such disdain and lack of care?

We ended our journey with a boat ride on the Zambezi. The hippos and crocodiles remained hidden beneath the high waters, and the rain clouds obscured the sunset, but the peace of the river and the company of good friends were enough. Over a simple dinner of fish and chips, I felt “bathed in glory.”

I am moving through this journey with a feeling that the spirits are guiding me, showing me things I didn’t know I needed to learn. Zambia was not one of the destinations I had planned, yet here I am. From the thundering mists of Zambia, I head toward the safaris of Kenya and the ancient air of Morocco. I leave Livingstone humbled, puny in the face of nature’s power, yet infinitely grateful to belong to such a wondrous world.

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