Beers of Africa

The Botswanan Thirstland

- Dominic Chadbon

Dominated as it is by the Kalahari Desert, Botswana's resident Bushmen hit the nail on the head when they called it the 'Land of Thirst'. It's pretty hot and dry out there - good territory for cold beer.

Botswana's Kgalagadi Breweries Ltd, a subsidiary of the monstrous SABMiller conglomerate, produces the country's only indigenous beer, the oddly-named St Louis Lager. Low in alcohol, pale and fizzy with a meagre head, it ranks as one of the world's worst beers but, boy, do they love it in Botswana.

Determined to despise this unholy brew I found myself contemplating a cold one at the end of a long day's drive into the enormous Central Kalahari Game Reserve (the size of Belgium and a lot more interesting).

My nerves had been deep fried after endless hours on thick, porridge-like sand tracks and my knuckles were grazed and aching from a one-sided fight with a stubborn flat tyre. The can hissed open and the frigid liquid burned its way down my throat, making my teeth sing.

With it seeped a mild amnesia: the tedium and frustrations of the day ebbed away, and on came a slow understanding of why St Louis, despite all its chemical unattractiveness, is indeed Botswana's favourite beer.

The Essential Safari Companion

- Leigh Kemp

The heat was intense, the waters of the Uwaso Nyiro River moved slowly, an elephant rested in the shade of the doum palms on the opposite bank and the afternoon drifted by as Tuskers appeared at regular intervals on the table next to me. This was my idea of a safari.

Tusker is Kenya's largest selling beer and the beer most likely to be served on an African safari. Named in memory of its founder who was killed by an elephant, Tusker sports a distinctive elephant logo and has won many international awards.

Crisp and refreshing, Tusker is the most popular African beer outside the continent too (spot Hemingway and Ruark's mentions of it in their works), with many countries importing the brand.

I was tempted to bring some Tuskers home as my East African souvenir but thought better of it when I realised that I hadn't bought anything for my wife ... and Tuskers are not for sharing when in short supply.

Lions on the Zambezi

- Sandy Mallinson

It had been quite a day - getting soaked by Vic Falls, throwing myself off a cliff, and now floating down the Zambezi. Our guide reached into the cooler box and handed me a chilled bottle of Lion.

Not being much of a connoisseur, I can't spout forth on colour quality or hop presence - although I do remember taking that first sip and thinking 'Mmmm ... life doesn't get much better'. Later, with a soft pop, the top came off a second bottle, I sank lower into the canoe, sun drenched and pleasantly tired, as a slight beer buzz took hold.

Lion was once a common sight at student bars, neighbourhood braais and local shebeens throughout South Africa. Then in 2000 SA Breweries tried to revitalise the brand by launching it as 'New Lion'.

The rebranding was a monumental flop. Not only did it fail to attract the country's 'hip and happening young adults', it also caused the once-loyal to have a crisis of faith. In 2003, after 114 successful years, Lion Lager spluttered and died

So it may be comforting for afficionados to know that the original Lion is still being successfully brewed in Zimbabwe.

Earning a Kilimanjaro

- Landy Kent-Millar, Lucinda Read and Janine Krook

Arriving in Arusha, we sat in a bar and quietly contemplated the challenge ahead. Our spirits were high but nervous: we were here to conquer Kilimanjaro.

Yellow labels dotted the tables around us. A couple of travellers were getting stuck into Tanzania's pride and joy - Kilimanjaro Beer.

'What will't be?'

We hesitated ... and made a pact: no Kili until we'd climbed Kili.

'Pole, pole' (slowly, slowly). The phrase is uttered a thousand times a day on the slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro. And pole, pole it was, stumbling, crying and almost giving up. We kept on climbing. Pole, pole all the way to the top.

Six days of extreme altitude sickness, gruelling hiking, no bathing and 5 895m later, we descended from the top of Africa's highest mountain. Leaving camp we endured a one hour transfer to Moshi, then headed for the nearest table at the Springlands Hotel.

'What will't be?'

'Four Kilis ... and keep them coming.'

Staring at the golden-red label, a picture of a snow-capped Kilimanjaro stared back at me. We raised our glasses, pole, pole - just the right way to savour a Kilimanjaro.

The Great Libation

- Leigh Kemp

Serengeti is one of Africa's iconic images with its vast plains, big skies and the Great Wildebeest Migration. But during the dry season, the plains are a different place, when the horizon and sky melt together in a greyed entity and the dust blowing off the plains parches the throat.

Gazelles dance in the mirages, mocking your discomfort, and you wonder why you chose this time of the year to visit this dust bowl. The answer is in a brown bottle.

Serengeti is also the name of one of Tanzania's favourite beers, a beer inspired by the open plains - and the dust. A beer that replenishes hope and eases discomfort.

The most popular independent beer in Tanzania, Serengeti doesn't fall under control of SAB Miller, unlike other Tanzanian Breweries beers.

With a rich and off-sweet taste, an iconic name and the romance to match, Serengeti Lager is one of my top five beers. It's versatile too - equally at home on the dusty plains or gracing a fine meal.

Article © Copyright 2007 Go2Africa.

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