“TAILS” FROM AFRICA

(Part two)

Washed and changed I enter the dinning-room.  Several of the French-speaking ladies approach me; they wish me to tell them about our “successful safari”.  They all say they are sorry they did not get up in time for the very early departure.  I polite answer their questions the best I can.  They, the majority, speak and understand English very well after all.  Oh, well…c’est la vie.

I take my place on the table reserved for my friends the Americans and alongside Marcie and Paul.  We are exchanging past experiences and this morning’s happenings when as magic and out nowhere a little monkey has planted itself by Paul’s side and quick as flash takes his bread-roll and jumps off carrying-eating the bread.  We are left with out mouths wide open in disbelieve.  We have not recuperated from the incident when our table seems to be taken over by little jumping monkeys all over the place with absolute disregard for  our presence.  We don’t give credit to our eyes, we all laugh in disbelief when out of the blue another monkey appears by my side and takes my still untouched cream-caramel.  The sweet slides through the little monkey fingers and hand until the creature is left with an empty, sticky hand to show for his troubles.  The little monkey is not amused; there it sits, still as a centrepiece on the table facing me and the others, it gives us a very reproachful look, as if to say: you have cheated me; this is not bread! We laugh at his cheeky courage.  I look to see if I can get some morsel to give it although its companions had polished the table of food and anything they can carry, however someone from our table ‘steal’ some bread from next table and the little fellow jumps off happy as Larry with his food.  Of course, all those monkeys  has created a commotion in our table. Our screaming and laughing, while we hold on to our cameras and bags.  Soon all the waiters and staff come to rescue us, to scare the little primates away.  But we don’t let them.  People sitting close-by look at our table with envy; only our table has the inquisitive fearless invaders.

As the monkeys leave so do the people in the lunchroom.  Some go to walk off lunch, others to a relaxing siesta.

I return to my bungalow by the riverbank.  The willows and bougainvillea  outside cast a welcome shade on my veranda.  Outside by my cabin there is a sign: “Animals only beyond this point.” I think I will just sit-back and admire the picturesque setting from my balcony; watch the wildlife and write a line or two… if I feel like it.

What bliss!  Few  impala drink on the far side of the riverbank, the only sound; hippos yawning, birds cheerful chirps, chimps squabbles… Most animals, including humans are taking shelter from the scorching sun.  So relaxing.  So peaceful… well, almost.  Here on my balcony, keeping me company are four cute – lovely- face little monkeys; three, quite large birds, with beautiful and exotic plumage.  Primates on one end of balustrade; birds on the other extreme.  Seven pairs of eyes follow my every move as I write.  If I stop and look at them our eyes meet.  Intelligent looks; ready to bolt should I do a brusque movement.  The birds get bored and now and again do fly up to the verdant branches, moments later they are back.  They seem to think I am their property, will not let smaller birds come close.

Well, I will be damned!  Blinking monkeys! Shameless thieves!   I have been forced to remove every single item from the small wicker table I use to rest pencils and rubbers, clips etc.; all paraphernalia for writing.  These little monkeys are quick as a flash to steal anything that catches their eyes: one second the seem to be relaxed on the balustrade… next moment… I might as well hold on tight to my writing pencil less it gets taken away from my hand as I write!

The river looks so tranquil, brown-green water, home to hundreds of hippopotamus and crocodiles  -as long as none decides to come up here for a walk…!

At sunset we go to a river safari.  Hippos put on a magnificent show.  As on cue they open their cavernous mouth.  I don’t feel a bit safe when I look straight into their eyes; I don’t like what I see: we are trespassing into their territory and they are very dangerous animals. More humans get killed by hippos than by lions each year –so we are told.  In fact, of the “big five”, hippos are responsible for more humans deaths than the other species of wild animal! (?)

After dinner we go a nocturnal safari.  The cold is Antarctic.  Is this Africa?, sure it is not Siberia? Mat likes to look after me.  I think I am well wrapped up, he thinks otherwise and makes me put on a fur lined parka and wool beret that comes down to my eyes.  Not good me asking how come he had all these gear ready and waiting for me, or protesting that I don’t want to wear his latest “Christian Dior” design.  Mat is adamant: either I wear it or no safari for me!  Latter on in the night I have to thank him for his gesture: his coat and hat no doubt saved me from freezing to death.  We do see lots of nightlife animals, although they shy away when the light focus on them.

New morning.  As usual we take off at daybreak in search of the “big five” namely; lion, elephant, rhino, hippo and bison.

This morning the French speaking party has wives as well.  I am glad our group arrangement has not changed.  “Our” jeep carries the same occupants.  Well, not quite.  Mat is not with us.  Lions are getting too close to the bungalows and main building, Mat has decided the lions should be “encourage” to move away.  How Mat and helpers are going to do it… heavens knows!

Today Piri is our “boss”.  We see antelope, giraffe.  Here and there a solitary elephant, tusks so long they almost touch the ground.

We are driving along a swampy track, soon the jeep gets bogged.  Piri speak quickly to

Mambo.  Poor Mambo; the more he tries the deeper the wheels dig into the mud.  The track is very narrow.  Grass one metre high line both sides, here and there small clearance.   The jeeps behind have noticed our mishap and stop at a safe distance.  Drivers and guides come to help.  Piri, Paul and Mambo get out to assess, and exchange ideas on what to do to get us out and on the move again.

Without giving my action a second thought, I too jump off the jeep.  Marcie shouts at me:

“Don’t be silly, the place could be full of hungry lions and heavens knows what else…”

I look around me; she is right, but I am already down, highly stubborn – and – foolish, so I shrug my shoulders and shout back.  “Oh, well, we Spaniards are not cowards, besides…what it has to be will be; is it not?”

“Oh yeah?  Well, if you are brave so I am too! Besides, my husband might need me!”  Marcie laughs as she too jumps off the safety of the vehicle.

The men leave  to look for something which they can use to take us out.  Piri orders Marcie and me back into the jeep as he handles me a rifle.  “Eh…? hold on …!  my turn  again…? Why me?”  “Who are you people taking me for…? John Wayne!?”  But Piri does not listen to my protests, he runs into the bush-land with the others.

Marcie and I share a nervous smile; the rifle intimidates us more than the prospect of wild animals.  From the other jeeps no one has dare to get off.

It seems an eternity, but in fact only few minutes have elapsed, and the men return with branches and bushes to get us off the mud.  Piri gets behind the wheel and soon the vehicle is out.  We continue in convoy.

One can see the plains for miles on end, the grass no taller than waist-high.  The vehicles come to standstill while drivers and guides discuss something or other.  It is getting hot here in the midst of vast solitude.  We remove and discards our woollies, we offer our bare arms to the god-sun, -if only for short moments.  Far away in the distant horizon, where the sky seems to join the Earth, a“cloud” moves steadily on what from our distance appears to be straight line going from right to left.  Piri looks through his binoculars:  stealthy smile sets on his face.  Mambo looks bored behind the driver’s seat.  My companions comment on the many treasures hidden by our untrained -and-from-our eyes.  I am more intrigued by Piri and his smile.

Eventually Piri orders “all back to the jeeps”.  As usually, I take my place at the front

Seat.  Piri quickly speaks to Mambo who slides next to me.  Piri sits behind the wheel as he says:  “See that ‘cloud’ in the horizon? –bison!, hundreds of them… in stampede!  Hold on tight, you all are going to see something not many tourist ever see… this morning you are very lucky; you shall get your monies worth!”.  Not sooner said than he puts his foot on the accelerator; pedal flat on the floor.

The jeep responds instantly.  It takes obstacles at breakneck speed! Bushes, rocks, boulders… all disappear under the wheels or are, skilful and miraculously, skipped.  I look at Piri, his hands firm on the steering-wheel. His smile replaced by concentration frown.  I follow his line of vision.  We are in diagonal run across the plain; an imaginary spot marks the place we must meet with the ‘cloud’: that’s if the ‘cloud’ continues its straight line or… if we make it at all! Because the jeep is almost flying over the impediments on its path!

The adrenaline rushes inside us at the speed of the jeep.  That we can at any instant rollover, be killed… no, it does not cross our minds, nor stops the excitement.  This is the wild Africa we all have read about it! this is the Africa we have come to see!

I think Piri has gone mad.  We are going to crash against that mass of beasts, be pulverised by their fleeing hooves!  Just then, with skilful flick of his wrist to the left, Piri brings the jeep to run parallel-and-ahead  to stop the jeep short distance from the first run-away animal.

What superb driver! Exquisite as guide; magnificent skills!  The applause from everyone is spontaneous.  Soon the ‘cloud’ is upon us: the dust so think we cannot see each other.  The earth beneath the jeep shakes as if an earthquake is taking place, the road of the panic-stricken beasts deafening thunder!  We are so close to them…only now my heart beats fast, very fast, as in unison with the running bison.  Red dust and black beast mingled together for what seems for ever but actually a short few minutes.  The dust begins to settle, the ground rumbles no more.  We can hear our voices and only the very old, injured, or very young bison at the end of the tail pass-by still running on a straight line towards the infinite.