BUSH DINNER
Winking fireflies in the distance beckon, becoming shimmering lanterns strung on naked branches, laying on the dusty bush or sitting atop red-checked tablecloths. We are being delivered to a bush dinner, where the immense night of Kruger Park has a bronze, shimmering oasis. We clamber from the open benches of our safari vehicle, staring at the scene in gaping-mouthed wonder. We are handed delicate ostrich kebabs, and turn to smell the fragrant sausage on the grill. A large glass of buttery red wine is poured, and we gaze at the twinkling path and whisper in awed, hushed voices, still unsure how we so undeservingly belong. The chirping insects are interrupted by a low tenor roaring in the distance, and the lion's call reminds us once again that we are, indeed, in Africa. A pit viper could wind around our ankle, a leopard could pounce from a tree, or an elephant could run through our party and trample us all. But we sit, in delirious anticipation of our bush dinner, chattering like bushbabies. We know that this night is so special, we will cherish it like the twinkling jewel of our lantern-lit laughter.
SAFARI GUIDE
The two small giraffes are all spindly, awkward legs. They barely strain their thin necks to reach the new leaves in the low brush. One mother approaches in the distance, swaying elegantly like a dancer on spotted stilts. The other is across the dirt track, so we are parked just behind her path. She quickly prances up to her babe, who barely reaches the height of her swishing tail. She bends, and they touch delicate noses. they youngster ducks, and we can see his umbilical cord dangling from his belly, like a tiny twig.
The bushy, scarred face of the male lion opens into a gaping yawn, showing fractured teeth from a past battle. He lunges onto his feet and flicks his tail. The lioness is lounging on her side, wide paws stretched out, and her pristine face tilted to the glaring sun. She graciously stands, then raises a heavy paw to coquettishly swipe at her mate. He approaches from behind as she dips, in acquiescence. About ten pumps from his meaty haunches, and this round is over, and he growls and nibbles at her neck with teeth like daggers. He leaps off, and she rolls in the long grass, the same wheaty color as her soft coat. They will do this every twenty minutes for three days, ensuring delivery of three lion cubs next winter.
The hippo gang bobs in turns out of the watering hole. As they surface, a bleat escapes and the water bubbles. Small round ears are visible, like fleshy periscopes soon sinking into the deep. Out of the winter thicket emerges the first of the buffalo herd, horns low in anticipation of a cool drink. Soon, dozens more are lining the edge of the water, even wading in to gulp the refreshingly murky pool. Now the buffalo gang far outnumbers the hippos, as the herd continues to pour out of the bushes, eager to reach the pond before the sun sets. Just now, it hovers like pink fire on the horizon. The largest hippo slowly opens his mouth until it's impossibly wide, but the buffalo are unfazed at the display, or at the wee turtles nipping at their ankles. There are now hundreds of the black beasts, ready to satisfy the days' thirst before dusk fades the scene to black.
Chasing rhinos is harder than one would expect. Their dark grey tough skin mimics the massive termite mounds, and they prefer to graze on long grass that hides their lumbering path. We've been hoping to spot them for days now, to crown our Big Five search. Jimmy, our tracker, holds up his wise hand, and gestures into the stark field. Behind a spindly tree, leaveless before the summer rains have fallen, is a shadow. Andrew, our guide of only one month experience but with instincts of a much wiser ranger, turns the wheel slowly. We mow down thorny bushes, thick grass, creaking trees. Everyone's heart beats in unison and we are grinning like idiots. After a few minutes of careful navigating the trees that refuse to fall under our wheels, we see the curved horn and skittish pair. We do not intend to make mom nervous, but the rhino babe struggles to hide her massive rump behind a couple of tall trees. We watch them watch us, the lumber off again, the truck is the least graceful animal in this protected area.
LIGHTNING STORM
Lightning in South Africa is a show-stopper. It dances in huge sheets between clouds in the night sky, leaving the distant mountains and closer branches in spooky silhouette. The flashes are almost constant, but never leave the same imprint on our wondrous eyes. Next, the sky on the other side of the truck competes with jagged bolts, like shiny branches of a nerve fiber. Only a few dewy drops have actually landed on our upturned faces, but we wish for all the thirsty beasts and creatures for a massive downpour. It does not come until we are safely back at Ngala Lodge, popping and shuddering on the roof while we dry off in the downy comforter or standing in the stone shower, letting the dust melt away. We all hope for mucky morning puddles.
MOTHER AND CHILD REUNION
Hard to believe, but the best animal story of our safari happened in the dining area of the stately Ngala Lodge. Over lunch, we hear a mild commotion, and two tall blonds are bent over the floor, exclaiming in shrill concern. A tiny baby squirrel has fallen from the rafter, and knocked himself unconsious on impact. As he slowly blinks, his recovery is uncertain as he limps and wiggles his way across the slate. His mother peers from the rafters, as he wobbles into the fireplace and chirps in breathless alarm. She rushes down the roof, down two trees, and over to her son. We watch, as she grasps the infants nape gently while he winds around her neck, and she carries him home.
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