Another Shitty Day in Africa
The Kruger Park, South Africa (part 2)
It is a world within a country. Wide open spaces; animals that roam free; African sunsets; blue skies; changing landscapes and hues; star-filled nights; the roar of lions; the chirrup of crickets; the screeching of vultures; the smell of thorn trees, rhino dung and camp fires; the feeling of freedom; peace and life.
We set off for the day in our trusty, comfy Subaru. The dawn is about to break, giving an eerie light to shadows. The dew is clinging to the grass and to the spider’s webs, making them shimmer like bushveld chandeliers. The gravel makes a crunching noise under the tyres. The air that flows in the open windows smells of wood smoke and earth. It is cold enough to make our eyes water and our noses run.
“Another shitty day in Africa!” we joke, as we clink a toast with our travel mugs filled with hot coffee and our eyes marvel at the pinks, oranges and blues of the dawn. The mist hangs low and the trees are spindly ghosts.
A sudden halt, as a hyena skulks out of the long grass and crosses the road in front of us. He is on his way home after a night of scavenging and howling. He stops for just a second, to look straight at us, before he is gone — swallowed up into the never-ending bush. A chance encounter that leaves us exhilarated and wanting more.
We continue, the bush on each side of the road is now thick and it is hard to see anything. If there was an animal there, we wouldn’t know. So we crawl along the dirt road with the sun rapidly making its presence felt. Jackets are cast off, the frost disappears and the mist dissipates.
We still cannot see through the thick bush; until unexpectedly, it comes to an end and out thunders a rhino. A fully grown, white male rhinoceros is so close to our car that we can see the whites of his eyes. The rhino gets a fright. My husband gets a fright. Instinctively, they both swerve away and stop. No one breathes — well that’s the humans anyway. I can’t vouch for the massive grey mountain in front of us. He turns and my husband mutters “Oh shit!” as he puts the car into reverse. All three of us know who will come off second best in a contest.
The rhino ignores us completely and carries on with his intended journey across the road and soon disappears into the thick bush on the other side.
We pause a while to let our hearts stop hammering and for breathing to return to something resembling normal and to relive the experience.
A little way on we stop for a bite to eat. We sit by a dam, in our car with the engine turned off, munching away on our picnic brunch. We watch as nature gets on with its day; oblivious to the human intruders. Buffalo come, a whole herd, they bath and moo like cattle and in the blink of an eye are gone. Buck hesitantly drink, all the while watchful and alert to any sound. Monkeys chatter and play. A giraffe, slowly, cautiously bends to drink, vulnerable and clumsily elegant. The resident hippos grunt and cavort and ponder out of the water to collapse on the sand and sleep. The crocodiles, bask in the sun, mouths wide open, deceivingly still.
As we once again, join the road, a herd of zebras cross the road in front of us, one behind the other. “Now, this is what you call a Zebra Crossing!” I joke!
We are almost at our camp, when my husband brakes. “What?” I ask. I’ve been scouring the horizon and haven’t seen any movement. He reverses a little and there in front of us, crossing the road is a small chameleon. “Nearly didn’t see the little chap” says my husband. Chameleons are fascinating creatures; like miniature dragons I always think. They are on a fast track to being on the endangered list, as their habitat decreases, so are their numbers. As a child, I remember chameleons being a common thing to see. Now, I can count on my hand, the number of chameleons I’ve seen as an adult.
My husband appoints himself as the guardian of chameleon road crossers. His car forms the barrier of protection for the little feisty chameleon who has done his best to camouflage himself. All well and good, but if you’ve ever seen a chameleon cross a road, you will know that it’s a torturous process! They rock back and forth with one foot in the air until said foot is hesitantly put down, then the procedure starts again with the other foot. For every step forward, there are two steps back. Another car comes along the road in the opposite direction. My husband waves madly. They stop and the children inside become entranced with the chameleon road crosser. They give a thumbs up to us and settle down to watch the journey. A car races up behind us; the tell-tale dust cloud rising from behind his car, is testament to the fact that the driver has been speeding. Our two cars block his path and he is forced to stop. The driver gesticulates, goes red, winds down his window and shouts “Get the f@@k out of the way”. My husband calmly points to the chameleon and ignores the man. The man revs the engine, tail gates our car, starts going purple in the face and I am afraid he may have a heart attack. My husband aka the knight of chameleon crossings, is simply not going to budge until his charge is safely across the road, and eventually the man lights up a cigarette and surrenders to his fate. The chameleon gets to safety, we cheer, the children in the other car cheer. The asshole swears again, races past us, showering us in clouds of red dust. We don’t care. We have saved a chameleon! Life’s about the small things, after all. We high five each other and make our way to our camp for the night.
The sun is low on the horizon as we drive through the gates. It is as if the sky is on fire with brilliant hues of orange and pink; the thorn trees are silhouetted and the air is beginning to cool once more.
We sit around the wood fire, and sip our wine. The first stars are twinkling and the night sounds are beginning. We clink our glasses in another toast “To the road crossers in The Kruger, big and small!”
Our hearts are full, our souls are at peace and as we wearily put our heads on our pillows to sleep the sleep of the contented; we hear the ‘hair-standing-on-end’ roar of a lion. Just another shitty day in Africa.
If you enjoyed this story, you may like to read part one —Under tyre pressure-An African Adventure.
