Buddleia David, or the Butterfly Ball. African bush: flora and fauna Bush plant

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Almost all vegetation in the bush has thorns or thorns; some types of acacia have needles reaching eight centimeters. The sweet scent of its flowers attracts bees. Acacias are found throughout almost all of Africa, except in tropical forests. In some areas, especially desert ones, these are just low bushes, in others they are trees 20 meters high. Large acacias in the arid regions of the continent have a short, thick trunk and an umbrella-shaped crown. It would seem that the thorns are designed to protect the trees from being eaten by animals, but in reality such a protection system is ineffective, because animals that feed on acacia leaves have adapted to this inconvenience and the thorns do not bother them. Some antelopes have such narrow muzzles that they can stick them between the thorns and bite the leaves. The pointed muzzle and long tongue allow giraffes to pluck leaves between the spines. Rhinoceroses eat twigs with thorns, but chew very carefully. It seems that the thorny branches do not bother the elephants at all.

One type of acacia - Acacia dreponolobium - has developed a very special way about protection: at the base of each pair of long spines there is a hollow egg-shaped bubble. When it dries, it becomes hard, and the ants do invisible things in it. round holes. The wind, penetrating these countless holes, produces an unusual howling sound, which is why such acacias are sometimes called “whistling trees.” Entire colonies of small red ants live in the bubbles, like houses. They live with acacias in a special symbiosis: the tree protects them with its thorns, and the ants, as soon as any animal begins to eat the leaves, pounce on it and bite its nose. Only the ants do not bother the baboons at all: they tear off the bubbles and chew them along with them, and spit out the husk.

Big old whistling acacia trees are home to rats, the only species of African rat that lives in trees. They build nests in the crowns of trees, and pods, seeds and resin are their food. Egyptian flying dogs often rest on lonely large acacias, hanging upside down.

Typical large animals of these places are elephants, black rhinoceroses, giraffes, beautiful lesser kudu and gerenuks. Impalas live near the water. Elephants, rhinoceroses and giraffes are tree destroyers. Giraffes eat succulent acacia leaves, although not in such quantities that the trees can be completely destroyed. But even against a herd of elephants they are powerless thorny bush And big trees. They tear off branches from some plants, simply uproot others, and eat all the foliage on others. If you come across an area with upturned trees, scattered branches and roots sticking out, you can be sure that elephants were grazing here. The uprooted trees remain lying on the ground, the roots that absorbed the moisture of the entire area are dead, and the crowns no longer create shade. In such areas, grass begins to grow quickly. After a year or two, where there was dense bush, tall, dry grass appears, along with a mass of creeping branches and trees. Then a fire will break out and burn out everything: grass, dead branches, trunks, which will smolder for a long time before turning into ashes. This is an example of how elephants are able to transform dense bush into open spaces covered with grass. But the movement in nature continues: herbivores come and eat the grass that has grown after the fire. The danger of fire decreases, trees begin to grow again, taking over the entire region. Their crowns deprive the grass of life-giving light. This cycle can continue for many years before new trees grow large enough for elephants to uproot them again. There is only one conclusion: the main purpose of elephants in the Nyiki ecological system is to destroy trees and provide sufficient food for animals that eat grass.

There are enough places in Nyika where you can find water under a layer of sand. Elephants get it not only for themselves, but also for other animals. They trample holes, which fill with water after a few minutes. After the elephants, rhinoceroses come here to drink, birds and even bees fly here. Through dense, impenetrable bushes, elephants make roads from one water hole to another. The roads are so straight, it’s as if they were drawn with a ruler.

Elephants cannot stand it when tree debris or other obstacles get in their way; they immediately throw them to the sides. These trails are used by many other animals, and they often serve humans.

Among the small animals that live in Nyika are duikers. Their legs are slightly thicker than a pencil, but their hooves are so sharp that a blow from them can injure a person. Lions and leopards live near water sources. Termites are everywhere and feed on dead trees. Some types of termites build huge termite mounds, up to four meters high, with very strong and hard walls from clay mixed with small pieces of grass and cemented with insect secretions. These structures last for many years and remain standing long after the termites have abandoned them.

(early Russian impressions of Australian nature)

Do you, reader, remember your first meeting with Australian soil? How you peered at her from the side of a ship or from an airplane window and how you found yourself alone with her for the first time - in the bush. Did your heart swell with longing at the sight of this foreign land? Or maybe its nature immediately captivated you? Do you now, having spent part of your life in Australia, feel it is “yours”, no less native than Russian? The Russian image of the Australian land has a long and whimsical history, and we hope that your memories will continue the theme we started - after all, for future historians this material is no less interesting than the impressions of the first Russian travelers are now for us.

“Only sailors understand the joy that is felt after a long voyage at the sight of the shore,” wrote S. Unkovsky in 1814. Approaching Australia, the sailors especially strongly felt this craving for land, since the passage in the cold southern latitudes often lasted about three months. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Australian coast seemed “desirable”, “coveted”, “lovely”, “charming”, “blooming”, “the kingdom of eternal spring” and even “paradise” to the sailors.

Early settlers generally found the Australian land and nature to be alien, strange, harsh and hostile, the land overwhelming them with its space. Russian sailors had a completely different image - at first they perceived Australia only as the shore of the desired wild southern island, a tropical paradise. This image can be called Sydney-centric; sailors at that time did not seem to realize the enormity of the Australian continent and its natural diversity. The description in 1814 by A. Rossiysky, the navigator of the Suvorov, of Cape Bennelong, on which the Opera House is now located, gives a typical example of such a romantically enthusiastic perception: “From one edge, sea cliffs rise in ledges, against which the waves splash, breaking with foam on the stones; on the other, flowering valleys stretch, shaded by fragrant groves, from which comes the delightful singing of birds.” A similar fascination with the Australian land is heard in the notes of other Russians. “My favorite walk was the New Holland forests,” recalled midshipman of the Mirny P. Novosilsky. “Often in the early morning... I set out with a pocket compass for many miles into the thicket of the forest... Along a narrow, sometimes impassable path, through the stones , through the bushes from which thorny snakes crawled, I made my way further and further... How many new trees, plants, flowers, birds attracted attention... Tired, exhausted, but full of pleasant impressions, I sometimes returned late in the evening! to the sloop." The “East” astronomer I. Simonov, who lived in a tent on Cape Kirribilli, was captivated by the “silent grandeur of the Australian night,” his description of one of these nights is filled with poetry: “The silver crescent of the Moon was already rolling down on the blue vault and spreading long shadows across the green meadows hundred-year-old banksias, a light cool breeze picked through their leaves, whispered something to them and frolicked with them.”

Unlike the Australians, who were often irritated by the oddities of Australian nature, the Russians perceived them with interest, they were often captivated by precisely this unusualness of everything around them. D. Zavalishin, who visited Tasmania on the “Cruiser” in 1823, wrote: “Australian nature did not amaze us with its power and did not dazzle us with its magnificence as much as Brazilian nature, ... [but] it was almost for us more interesting because it subverted all our usual concepts about the works of the plant and animal kingdoms."

These features of the Russian vision can be explained, on the one hand, by the fact that the Russians, like northerners, were not spoiled by warmth and rich vegetation. On the other hand, they, unlike the settlers who had to conquer new land, came to Australia only for short term, on vacation. In addition, psychologically, Australia was for them a threshold on the way to the South Seas, to Oceania, and therefore was seen more as part of the stereotypical image of the Oceanic islands than as part of a vast continent with predominantly harsh conditions. Gradually the image changes from romantic to realistic, and the vision of nature becomes deeper, from the shores of Port Jackson the gaze turns to the Blue Mountains and penetrates beyond them. The “fragrant groves” of Russian are being replaced by detailed descriptions of plant zones made by Bellingshausen and Stein in 1820, and A. Shabelsky in 1822 discovers that “the flowers of New Holland, which nature painted with rich colors, are devoid of an aromatic smell.” The "delightful singing of birds" (1814) is replaced by "sharp cries" and "whistles" (1820) and the absence of "pleasant singing" (1822). And in 1829, the midshipman of the “Meek” E. Behrens discovered that “birds in the vicinity of Port Jackson have become extremely few, ... for every local colonist has a gun and hunts.”

Ultimately, despite the initial charm, the Russians remained loyal discreet beauty native Russian land. Bellingshausen wrote in his diary: “No matter how striking this beautiful blooming nature is, the excessively hot climate, the heat of the sun and the very aroma involuntarily encourage one to mentally turn and remember the pleasant cool spring evening of our fatherland in a birch or linden grove, of which the smell touches only lightly.”

In the second half of the 19th century, the romantic image of Australia began to fade into history. Ideas about distances have changed, travel has become more predictable and commonplace. “On the thirteenth day... from the deck we finally saw the sandy shores of Western Australia,” Eduard Zimmerman wrote casually in 1881. Perhaps only Sofia Vitkovskaya expected something special from the meeting with Australia. Russian trips to the interior of the country radically changed their image of Australian nature; eucalyptus forests, alien to the Russian eye, came to the fore. Now the Russians seemed to use all the wealth of negative epithets when describing the Australian nature: “What a sad appearance the eucalyptus trees represent, no matter whether they stand alone or clustered in forests. The light brown bark is peeling off and hanging shreds, like dirty rags, surround bare trunk“, Zimmerman conveys his first impressions. And further in his descriptions of the Australian landscape, he constantly contains “gloomy”, “cheerful”, “depressing” eucalyptus forests, “gloomy” casuarinas. Both he and Vsevolod Rudnev write about the “rough, dull grass." Even the Tasmanian nature, where the climate was more humid, is characterized by Admiral A. Aslanbegov as "gloomy and dull." Vitkovskaya (1896) is not far behind them: "I don’t know trees sadder than eucalyptus... The tufts hanging along the trunk [the barks] give the tree the most pitiful, beggarly appearance." And then again and again she flashes the epithets sad, dull, melancholy, pitiful, monotonous. Obviously, the Russians especially keenly felt the contrast between the Russian forest and meadow - and the whole chain associated with them cultural and folklore associations - and the Australian bush. For Russians, the forest is shady oak groves or bright birch groves filled with the play of sunlight, clearings in the forest with soft grass. Under the influence of these associations, Zimmerman writes about Australia: “the local meadow is not fun. look like ours."

Even Australian “beauties” left Russians indifferent in those years. “Not distinguished by the richness of vegetation, the Blue or Blue Mountains still provide a beautiful panorama,” this was all that Rudnev found necessary to say about them. Vitkovskaya is even more critical: “The “attractions” [of Katoomba] were insignificant, not to say pitiful. Tiny, ridiculous waterfalls, of which there are dozens on any stream, can only evoke the admiration of the Australians themselves, and only because they are their own; We wouldn’t dare invite people to see such “miracles” in print.” It is obvious that the nature of south-eastern Australia, in contrast to the Russian nature, at the same time “fell short” of the romantic image of “wild” nature that the Russians expected to find here. This thirst for the exotic could best be satisfied only by the Australian tropics. For example, Vitkovskaya, “after a long series of prosaic, everyday impressions,” felt “at ease among free nature,” and felt its poetry only in tropical Darwin.

Russian travelers of the early 20th century continued the same tradition. Naturalist Alexander Yashchenko, traveling in 1903 in the vicinity of tropical Cairns, speaks of the landscape as a poet, not a geographer: “The cry is mysterious, framed on both sides by mangrove trees... The return was positively enchanting. The mystery of the places, the quickly approaching darkness, the lights the phosphorescent lights of flying insects, the damp coolness, the serpentineness of the path, the bizarre stems of descending vines, the distant ringing of a bell.” Economist Nikolai Kryukov, who also believed that eucalyptus made the Australian landscape dull, was enchanted only in the Victorian mountains when he saw tree ferns, which he described as “an antediluvian landscape of fairy-tale charm.” Although not tropical, it was something exotic.

And yet, already at the beginning of the 20th century. Russians are gradually developing an understanding of the value and beauty of non-tropical Australia. Yashchenko, who at first, like his predecessors, wrote about the “dull landscape”, just a few days later, during his first trip to the bush in the vicinity of Adelaide, was overwhelmed by completely different feelings and writes “about the island of a real scraper” that survived among the clearings, “among widespread destruction in the name of culture" as "the wonderful remnants of Australian nature." These feelings were expressed even more clearly by Konstantin Balmont in 1912. He praised not the tropics, but the Australian bush:

"The slender trunk of the eucalyptus turns blue,

a bush of unprecedented acacia blossomed...

Only this is all just a small corner, -

louder than the singing of birds in a factory whistle...

They devastated the entire region with their crowd.

Sing a farewell song to the black swan."

In 1916, teacher A. Nechaev, traveling through the Blue Mountains, found new images to describe eucalyptus trees: “Picturesque groups of transparent-deciduous eucalyptus trees, with their radiant trunks shining like silver.” And the view from the hill of the “dark blue velvety” crowns of eucalyptus trees reminded him of the bursts of grandiose frozen waves. Naturalist V. Lyubimenko in 1913 wrote about eucalyptus not so poetically, but still positively: “The eucalyptus forest amazes with its transparency, combined with the power of the trunks. You comprehend its greatness only when observing from afar.”

So, in just over a century, Russian sailors and travelers in their perception of the nature of Australia have gone from an enthusiastic image of a tropical paradise to early XIX V. to the point of acute rejection Australian bush at the end of the century and to the gradual awareness of its peculiar beauty in the face of destruction at the beginning of the 20th century. The Russian press, on the contrary, has always perceived Australia only as a synonym for an exotic land at the end of the world.

Bush is an English word and means “bush, bush.” In Africa it has the same broad meaning as, say, our word “outskirts”. When you cross the Zambian border by plane, a monotonous plain opens under the wing, entirely emerald in the rainy season, or yellow-gray-greenish in the dry season. Dense, impenetrable forests are interspersed with endless steppe. Tiny groves of acacias and ferns give way to swampy lowlands. It's all bush. Any vacant lot, whether in a city or a village, is also called a bush.
Finally, "bush" is simply rural.

Bomo

"G where do you live?” “In the bush.” Far away, that is. In the middle of nowhere. Bush may be a wilderness, but it also has its own cities. They are called "bomo". “Where are you going?” heard often in Zambia. "In bomo." To the city, that is.

Solwezi is one of the Bomo. Nine hundred miles from the equator, two hours by plane from Lusaka. Solwezi is the capital of the North-Western Province, although this, of course, is a strong word for such a town. Only 20 thousand people live in it. But this is the largest village in the entire North-West.

Solwezi, like any other bomo, has only one street. From it go alleys, driveways, paths to houses, warehouses, and offices. Zambian bomos are so similar that you can often tell one from the other only by vegetation and terrain. In Solwezi the greenery is vibrant. Even defiantly bright near the sultry equator. When jasmine, orchids, and acacias bloom, the town looks like a huge flowerbed. In addition, Solwezi rests on hills, which during the rainy season turn into giant green hemispheres, giving the town its uniqueness. Finally, the Solwezi River skirts the town from the north. And this is a catchy sign in Africa. Not every bomo is lucky with the river.

About two kilometers from Solwezi, pale green and white houses spread out on the top of the highest hill. "School Camp" school campus. It is inhabited by five hundred children aged from twelve to twenty years old - students of a male secondary boarding school.
This is my home from now on. My class. My life.

First lesson

I learned it by heart. I wrote it down minute by minute and memorized it so that if you wake me up in the middle of the night, I’ll answer.
When the bell rang and the teachers crowded around the shelf with class magazines, the school principal, Mr. Bobo, a thin, short Zambian, took me by the arm and, leading me to the corner of the staff room, said decisively:
The main thing is initiative! You are the master of the class, so no panic!
“I understand,” I replied. The main thing is initiative!

The sound of chairs being pushed back hit me as soon as I opened the door and stepped into the classroom. Forty boys stood at attention. Forty boys were eating me with their eyes.

The classroom is spacious, but a bit dull. The floor is cement. It feels like a broom hasn’t walked on it for a long time. There is not enough glass in two windows, and there are cobwebs with adhered specks in the corners. The walls are stained. The tables are so shabby that they rest on boys' knees. A rather poor class, in general. But the students, as if by choice, are neat, wearing white shirts and gray loose trousers. True, many of the shirts were so washed that they became almost transparent.
Let's start the math lesson... I said busily and opened the class magazine.
Sir, the boy at the first table on the right suddenly spoke up, excuse me, sir... could you tell me about Russia?

The boys looked at me with sincere interest. They really wanted to know about our country. “So much for your initiative!” I was confused. The memorized lesson flew out of my head. One could remind that this is not geography, but mathematics, but... I began to tell...
Please tell us about last war, sir, this is a somewhat unexpected request for me.

I notice a history textbook in the hands of one boy. He feverishly flips through the pages. He probably read something dubious and wants to listen to me. What do I think myself?
There’s not enough lesson to tell... I look at my watch and shrug my shoulders. In fact, is it possible to tell the story of this most difficult war for our country in forty-five minutes?!
And we are the second world war Let's get through the lesson! Several voices are heard. And in our textbook very little is written about it.

I'm curious to look at this "History". An interesting book, I tell you. Even with a quick glance you can appreciate its “advantages”. “...The Bolsheviks are a bunch of terrorists... They took advantage of the fact that the Tsar was not in the capital and seized power...” “The Western Allied armies attacked Germany with all their might, and the German troops capitulated...” Similar I could collect more than enough quotes! Soviet Union There are only twenty pages devoted to this “History!” By the way, this textbook, like all others, was written and printed in England. Probably, its authors did not really want to tell the truth about the homeland of the Great October Revolution.

And in the newspapers that the school receives or that you can buy at bomo, they write timidly about the Soviet Union. But, apparently, the Zambian guys want to figure everything out. How, for example, did it happen that, despite difficulties and numerous enemies, soviet people survived the war, were the first to create spacecraft, began to explore the expanses of Siberia?.. The conversation dragged on and turned out to be so stormy that I did not immediately hear the bell. Only when I saw geography teacher Nagendran on the doorstep did I realize that it was time to call it a day.

Pushing the boys around me.
Will you tell us more about Russia?
Did you bring Russian books?
And magazines?
Let's get together after school...
Since then, every day has been a LESSON for me.

Hottest day

“It seems that today was the hottest! The temperature in the shade is plus 43.” I made this note in my diary on October 5th.

Old Zambians say that the hottest day is felt long before dawn. In the middle of the night it becomes unbearably stuffy, you wake up: your throat is dry, you want to drink, but no matter how much you drink, the thirst does not go away. This is how the nights of the dry season dragged on. I woke up long before dawn and ran to the water tap. It was as if someone had warmed the bed from below. It seemed that today would be the worst of it. But days passed after days, and the mercury stood at 34. And now it’s plus 43. Cloudless sky. Blue-blue! This color is used to paint on geographical maps the deepest places in the world's oceans. The sun froze, a huge flaming disk in a yellowish-gray halo.

At school, “tee time” “tea time”, the boys wander around the courtyard and sports ground, crowding under the pine trees. There seems to be more shadow here. But today neither the pine trees nor the water pump can save us.

At this hour, life in the bush becomes quiet. The bomo streets and paths leading into the town are dying out. Cars huddle in the shade until the heat subsides a little. The boys perceive the man walking along the road to the bomo as a ghost. A matter of extreme importance apparently drove this eccentric. The man is wearing a sweat-dark shirt and blue trousers. On his head is a straw hat. It’s incomprehensible how he walks barefoot on hot asphalt! The man has a basket behind him.
Hey Mukula! David Mulenga calls out to a passerby. Where are you rushing in this heat?
To the market. I caught some fish and want to sell them.
What a fool! Yes, you can sell fish everywhere.
Uh, Mukula shakes his head. At the market good price they will give it.
What a price! They’ll charge you an extra twenty ngwe!

For fifth-grader David, twenty ngwe is nothing. What are twenty ngwes when there are five or six kwachas jingling in your pocket! Mulenga's father works in a bank and earns good money. So David won’t go for an extra twenty ngwe in this heat.

And for Mukula, twenty ngwe is money! It's not easy to catch fish at this time of year, but he only feeds himself by fishing.

Copper belt

Our bomo lies right next to the Copper Belt.
At the beginning of this century, copper ore deposits were discovered in a ridge of hills stretching from north to south for two hundred kilometers. That ridge, like a belt, covered Zambia in its middle, narrowest part. This is where the name Copper Belt comes from.

There are many signs near the Copper Belt that will immediately distinguish this area from any other in Zambia.

For example, air. The air here is not at all the same as in other provinces. Acrid, bitter, as it should be with such a concentration of metallurgical plants! One of my friends, when he came to the Copper Belt for the first time, said: “I once ground my skis in a bathhouse, and I almost got burned... Your Copper Belt is the same bathhouse, only thousands of people grind their skis here!”

Solwezi lies on the edge of the famous Copper Belt, Africa's richest copper mining region. Not far from the town, at the Kansanshi mine, copper ore is mined and transported one hundred and twenty kilometers to copper smelters. The mine gave rise to Solwezi.

And one more sign - trucks. Huge twenty-ton trucks scurry from quarries to copper smelters day and night. Crawling along the roads of the Copper Belt. When you see a truck like this in Zambia, whether in the bush, on a country lane or on a concrete highway, you know that you have entered the domain of His Majesty the Copper Belt.

Peace to your home

Our people greet each other differently. Some shake hands, others nod their heads, others shout something like “Hello!” or “Salute!”, still others clap on the shoulder, others... In general, greetings don’t make much of a cult.

It's different in Africa. In Africa, greeting is a whole ritual. There is a special procedure for greeting an official with his subordinates, a rich man with a poor man, a man with a woman, an elder with children... You will see how a Zambian greets and you will learn a lot about him.

Noon. There are people milling about on both sides of the highway. Plump majestic woman in a bright red chitenga (Chitenga is a cotton fabric from which Zambian women sew elegant blouses and dresses for themselves, or wrap a five-six-meter piece around their hips instead of a skirt. Note by author.) slowly returning home from the market. A baby tied with a towel is snoring on his back. A wicker basket with shopping will not sway on your head. Suddenly the woman stops, bends her knees and begins clapping her hands. Joyful surprise on the face. About ten meters from her, on the other side of the highway, a thin, long-legged man bent his knees in the same manner. In a suit, tie, hat. His claps are louder and more energetic, and there is joy, surprise, and respect on his sweaty face.

Is Aunt Elsa well? the woman asks, without weakening the claps.
Yes, I’m healthy.
And her sister?
Thank God.
And what about your sister’s daughter Margarita?
And the daughter is healthy.
And your sister’s husband?
Healthy husband.
And his brother, the one who lives in Mufulir?
And my brother is healthy. Got married recently.
Uh?

The basket on the woman's head swayed, but she deftly straightens it...
Cars rush by, people wander. Voices, noise, beeps merge into a bass note. But these two manage to hear each other, and they don’t care about the bustle of the street.

It was the man's turn to ask. The woman had thirty relatives! The man said hello to all of them.

As if on command, the claps weaken. The man and woman straighten up.
Peace to your home! - says the man.
And peace to your home! the woman answers.
The greeting is over. Everyone goes in their own direction.

A little further away two teenagers met. First they shake hands, then thumbs hands and palms again. Serious faces. The guys have probably known each other for a long time, because shaking a thumb is a sign of special trust in a person...

“Is there any work?”

I hear this question every morning. Every morning, in any weather, two barefoot teenagers of thirteen or fourteen years old walk around our street and ask: “Is there any work?” Having been refused, they go to another house, a third... The boys' names are Pete and Greg. They are wearing purple shorts and T-shirts, torn and washed. They come to the town, having traveled tens of kilometers, and wander around all day in search of work. They are rarely lucky. People of wealth have permanent servants, but poor households get by on our own. From time to time, Pete and Greg get to dig up someone's garden, wash clothes, or mow the grass around the house.

There are dozens of these boys in every bomo. For a few kwachas a week they agree to do any work. Even the dirty and dreary ones that an adult would refuse. Zambian families have six to eight children. How to feed such a crowd? It's good if the head of the family works. What if not? If he is sick, crippled or unemployed? So the older children have to earn extra money, and sometimes just beg for alms.

Early in the morning I rush to school. At the end of the street, in Mr. Bobo's yard, I notice Pete and Greg. Pete waters the lawn with a hose, Greg hoes the papaya trees.
Hello! I nod to the guys. Lucky?..
Yes, Pete smiles. Mr. Bobo's employee fell ill. Now you can live for a week...

And he blows around himself, stretching his lips funny. As if water were spraying from mouth. A sign so that luck is not jinxed.

"Russian mushrooms"

One day in early December, on the way home, I caught up with the boys. They were carrying a pile of yellow-greenish-brown mushrooms and were shooting them at each other.

Butter! Where did you get these mushrooms from? I was amazed. I’ve been in Solwezi for three months now, but it never occurred to me that boletus can grow in Africa! The guys looked at each other.
So there you go, sir... The boy, bolder, waved his hand. Where are the pine trees... There they are, visible and invisible...

The local pines surprised me on the first day of my arrival. A dozen of them grew along the highway, sheltering the school building from the sun. sports ground. Huge, strong-trunked, with long light green needles. And here’s the second miracle: it turns out that there are boletus under the pine trees...
Are you bringing it for lunch? I asked the boys.

The guys looked at me as if I had just turned into a crocodile. They threw the mushrooms into the grass and ran away. A quarter of an hour later, taking a basket and a knife with me, I went to the pine trees... It was getting dark. The highway was busy. Residents of surrounding villages were returning home from the city on foot and on bicycles. Men are from work, women are from the market. Clinging to the treetops, clouds dragged watery curls. The rain is just about to break out; the rainy season has come into its own. The basket quickly filled up. Unable to curb the excitement of an avid mushroom picker, I used a hat to match the mushrooms. When I turned around, I was stunned: about fifteen to twenty people, some standing, some sitting on the side of the road, were looking at me.

“What are they, they’ve never seen how they pick mushrooms?..,” I thought. Or maybe I overdid it I cut so much... Although there is so much butter that there is more than enough for all of Solwezi!”

Among the kids on the playground is Joseph Mwansa, a student from my class. I called him over and asked him to find out what was so interesting to passers-by. Mwansa looked at the basket and hat in confusion.
Why are you collecting this?
To eat...

If I suddenly grew wings and flew, Mwansa would probably be less amazed...
They are poisonous! People wonder why you need so many poisonous mushrooms. Aren't you a sorcerer?..
Who told you that mushrooms are poisonous? I was taken aback.
We don’t eat them like that. And you don't eat, teacher. I'll bring you some edible mushrooms. White...

White ones are champignons. There are so many of them in these lowlands that you could mow them down with a scythe! I refused and invited Mwansa to come see me in an hour. When he arrived, I sat him down at the table and brought him a frying pan of fried mushrooms from the kitchen.
Now you can taste it. Here in Russia...

Mwansa jumped up from the table and ran to the door, ready to rush away. I moved the frying pan and began to gobble up the mushrooms. Having finished the roast, he winked at Joseph:
Now we will wait to see if I will survive...

A week later, at the market in Solwezi, I noticed a woman selling... butter. True, there were no buyers; people came only to look at the curiosity. But the woman did not lose heart and persistently offered the goods, cheerfully saying: “Russian mushrooms! Russian mushrooms!..”

Trying to find out the secret of the appearance of boletus on the land of Solwezi, I learned that in the last century some European missionary planted pine seedlings here. Whether he brought them from Europe or grew them from seeds on Solvez loams, no one knows. If you brought it, maybe there were spores of “Russian mushrooms” on the roots of the seedlings.

Goodbye Zambia!

On any journey, the bitterest and most joyful day is the last. Bitter because you are breaking up with amazing world who managed to fall in love and leave a piece of his heart in him. Joyful, because every journey is a test. Isn’t it a joy to know that you have passed the test?

Last lesson. Last smiles. Last words...
The whole class came to the bus station to see me off. Everyone shakes my hand thumb and again the palm. This is how boys express their friendly affection. Wishes are drowned in the roar of the departing bus. Children's hands reach out to the open windows. Someone realized:
Sir, nuts for the road! We brought you peanuts...

Bags of nuts fly out the window. One two Three...
Familiar pictures sway before my eyes: peasant huts, greenish hills covered with a gray haze, lines of women wandering from the market... Everything is familiar. Everything is familiar. It’s like I’ve lived my whole life in Zambia. On the plane, while we were flying over the territory of Zambia, our entire group of teachers became silent. Everyone clung to the porthole. Everyone is looking for HIS place.

There, behind the chain of hills of the Copper Belt, is my Solwezi.

Solwezi Moscow

Victor Rybin, Candidate of Pedagogical Sciences

Let's go for a walk through the Australian bush(author’s note: “bush is any vegetation not planted by human hands”)? I don’t need to travel far for this: in Australia, not only parks and gardens, but even huge national parks- because the territory allows it. By the way, this is one of those things thatmesurprised upon arrival in Australia (in addition).

So, we decided to take a walk through the bush on the weekend, but this time we complicated the task with two conditions: close to home and with dogs (and let me remind you that pets are not allowed in national parks). The problem was solved simply - not so far from home there was an untouched piece of bush (or in Russian, forest) called Parramatta Lake Reserve. This is where all the photos will come from - the lake itself, an introduction to Australian flora and some fauna in the form of my sweet dogs. Let's go?

Firstly, let's take a closer look Let's figure out what "bush" is. I have already mentioned above that by bush we mean all vegetation that was not planted by man- which means this concept is broader than Russian word"forest", although it will be close in meaning. Australians themselves consider the word “bush” to be truly Australian and almost elevate it to the rank of a cult word. Wikipedia sings praises to the bush, and this government website about Australia talks about the reflection of the word "bush" in local art and culture - and they have something to say!

Now let's back to Lake Parramatta. Today I was telling my Australian colleague how I spent the weekend, and accordingly, I told about the walk by the lake. But she had never even heard of such a lake existing: “a river,” she says, “I know, and the area too, but the lake doesn’t.” But nevertheless, the lake also exists, I am convinced of this and will even show it to you.

It turns out that about The Parramatta lake is of artificial origin: it was dug out in 1856 to supply the surrounding houses. At the beginning of the 20th century, it was left to decorate the area and began to be used as a vacation spot. local residents. Among the interesting facts: it was forbidden to swim in this lake for a long time due to the deplorable ecological state of the water, but in 2015 it was allowed - when I read this, I had doubts. But judging by the fact that lilies grow in the lake, the water there should be clean.

So, let's go for a walk: There are several tracks in the natural reserve around the lake (). We chose the longest one - 4"200 meters. This track actually consists of several others and encircles the entire lake. Here we were promised: flowers(you will see a lot of interesting things below), small area rain forest(didn't notice) birds and animals(there are really a lot of birds). Track difficulty: average, the duration took us about 3 hours, but we were in no hurry(it took a lot of time to photograph).

2. All trails are marked with such posts with the name and directions.

3 - 4. These are the trails of average difficulty

5. When the lake became a very thin stream, we crossed it on the pebbles

6 - 7. Like a path in the forest... and even roots rely...

8. Another crossing across the lake. This time across the bridge

9. As I already wrote, you can swim in the lake, but bungee jumping is prohibited, which, however, does not prevent these Teletubbies from having fun. By the way, these kids were the intelligentsia themselves, the word FCUK was inserted into every phrase :)

10 - 14. And here is the lake itself. This painting is called "Consequences of Urbanization" - do you see the jar among the flowers?

17. Shall we plunge into the bush forest? The sign reads: "Forest restoration is in progress. Please stay on the trail." I honestly tried to “climb the bushes” and take photographs while staying on the path.

18. Despite the end of spring, many plants continued to bloom. This shrub is a subspecies of acacia called Acacia Suaveolens or Sweet-scented Wattle

19 - 20. And this beauty - Hibiscus Heterophyllus or Native Rosella - comes with white, yellow or pale pink flowers.

21. Please tell me if anyone knows the name. A? :)

22. This shrub is called Needlebush or Silky Hakea

23. Please tell me if anyone knows the name. A? :)

24. This modest shrub with red flowers is called Lambertia formosa or Honey Flower or Mountain Devil

25. This baby is called Flannel Flower

26. And this shrub is called Ozothamnus Diomifolius or Rice Flower

27. With this I conclude today my brief introduction to the Australian flora, typical of Sydney and New South Wales.

And here are my sweet buns: I already wrote on Instagram that I shaved them myself: I bought a machine and was fooled after I found out that a haircut for one costs $60, and an appointment is 1.5 months in advance! Here is a ready-made business idea for those who love dogs:) Mine have already begun to grow, but are still cute and cute.

28. And so, meet Sebastian or Seba, or even sometimes Puzyan Puzyanych, or in a menacing way Sebastian Perreira the Black Gold Merchant (and don’t ask who came up with this idea)...

29. And the second friend - Eugene or according to his passport Dreadnought Chaming Yuji - a little boy of noble blood