8 - Dangers of Sitting in the Back of a Land Cruiser

18 May 2010

Time here passes slowly and quickly. I cannot believe that we have been here a little over a month. It seems like we were arriving in the Joburg airport just a week ago. But when I think of all the things that have happened and all the fun we’ve had, it seems too much to fit into just a month.

Nothing too huge has happened in the past week, but a few small incidents are worth mentioning. The first happened when we were out with Mr Galka on a game drive. I was sitting on the back bench of the Cruiser with the trackers. When we go for game drives the bench and chairs in the bed of the Cruiser are elevated so that the passengers’ heads are well above the roof of the cab so as to have an unobstructed view of the surrounding bush. It is wonderful to sit there on the back, the wind whipping my hair, the sun on my face and 360 degree views of the life around me.

There are some dangers involved in this kind of seating, though. The bench seats are particularly dangerous, as there is not a whole lot to grab onto to keep oneself upright, especially when the driver overlooks one of the many deep aardvark holes in the road. While sitting on the back bench one must also be constantly wary of low-hanging plant life, often resorting to last-minute duck-and-cover maneuvers to avoid one’s face being scratched off. More than once I have been sitting on the back, totally absorbed by the beauty surrounding me, and been caught unawares by a malicious low-hanging thorn branch. The result is a decidedly ungraceful lurch of my body, arms and legs flailing as my head is wrenched backwards by my hair, a large chunk of which is usually left behind on the offending piece of greenery, waving in the breeze like a spoil of war.

On this particular game drive one of the trackers spotted an impala and called for Tokkie to stop and reverse a short way for Mr Galka to have a better view of it. I had thus far succeeded in avoiding any undesirable encounters of the botanical kind, but this was not to last for long. I was straining my eyes in the direction the tracker was pointing as Tokkie began to reverse slowly. So totally preoccupied was I that I had forgotten about the small branch of curved thorns which I had previously avoided when we were driving forward. I was rudely reminded of it as I felt the claw-like thorns dig into my left ear just as the Cruiser rolled to a stop. My head followed the branch as Tokkie put the Cruiser into first gear, the impala gone. My reaction was to grab the branch with my hand to try to keep it from pulling me completely out of the vehicle, which got me nothing except more pain, this time in the palm of my hand, and if it were not for the quick action of Lazarus the tracker I would probably be less an ear today. He snapped the twig off above my ear just as the Cruiser began to gain some real speed. I was then at my leisure to disengage the thorns from my tender earlobe, feeling somewhat less enchanted with the beauty of the surrounding bush. I am healing well from this little mishap and am glad to report that none of the thorns succeeded in making it all the way through my ear.

Other than that, there has been reports of another problem elephant and three problem buffalo roaming around. It’s difficult to know what to believe when things like this crop up because all the meat from problem animals is up for grabs to whoever happens to hear the gunshot and come running. Free meat is definitely something to lie for, and it puts Threeways in a somewhat awkward position. On the one hand, it is Tokkie’s contractual responsibility to go after any real problem animals to protect the people who live on the concession. If he does not do something about a reported problem animal and someone gets hurt or killed, he could be in a position to lose the hunting rights he has already paid for, no refund. On the other hand, if he goes after every “problem” animal that is reported, not only is he out the money and time and fuel spent to track it down, but he also is potentially taking out an animal which could have been made into money on a hunt. Like everything around here it is a line which must be walked with caution.

Anyway, Tokkie decided that the rumored problem elephant warranted at least an investigation, so the past 2 days have been spent on the concession chasing 2-day old spoor and wild stories. It has made for some wonderful bush walks, but seemed to me to be a massive waste of resources. Although, I suppose in the long run it was better to at least show up and move around in order to avoid conflict and accusations later on. Yesterday we walked through a section of the concession which none of us had ever been to, and was radically different from the other areas we’d rambled on. The trees were tall and green, the land was scattered with small hills, some pure rock, others sandy, still others covered in fertile soil. We followed a small flow of water to its source, a small bubbling spring coming straight up from the sand.

At one point when it had been some time since we’d seen human life we stumbled onto a small shantily-built encampment. There were a few hovels squatting forlornly on the swept dirt, a worm-ridden yellow dog growled lethargically at us, and a little black-and-white cat kept a wary distance. A woman of indeterminate age emerged to talk with the trackers. She wore a knit cap, a filthy t-shirt fashioned into a tank top, and an old bath towel wrapped around her waist. Her face was wrinkled and twisted into a permanent grimace of such character that I could not help taking numerous pictures. She had maybe never seen a camera in her entire life and I found myself wondering if she thought I was as interesting as I found her to be.

When we had moved on, Tokkie confided in me his convictions that this woman and her husband were poaching out there. We had seen more game spoor way out there than we had in other areas of the concession, and the woman and her husband did not seem to be lacking for food.

Dirkie and I have been taking walks together in the evenings, which has been really fun and relaxing. I’ve decided that my volatile first impressions of her must have been clouded by stress or moodiness or something because she is a very sweet girl and I’m finding myself becoming better friends with her every day. She and David and I spent 2 days cutting, spicing, and hanging meat for biltong and jerky. Can’t wait until it’s finished drying, although the changing weather may delay the process a bit. The temperature has dropped significantly from shorts and t-shirt weather to jeans and sweater weather. The drive home from the concession yesterday evening nearly froze my face off.

I’ve spent some time working on Tokkie’s cattle records and now have a better idea of the enormity of the mess and state of disorganization they are in. I anticipate that it’s going to be an ongoing project for the entire remaining 5 months, but I dearly hope it doesn’t take that long. I might lose my mind.

Today Mr Galka is sitting in a blind with Mrs Galka. Their son may or may not be walking around looking for wildebeest. I am not totally sure if he went out or decided to hover around camp for the day. He is very ready to head back home, and that’s putting it lightly. They leave the day after tomorrow, and I honestly think all three of them are very eager for this vacation to be over. For some families 14 days in the bush is just too much.

Otherwise, things are just peachy. David and Tokkie have been scheming up various business plans for us to start over here, everything from cattle and chicken farming to small loans and private schools. And according to David’s mom our India stuff is selling for plenty enough to make it worth our while, so who really knows what we’ll end up doing. We bought a GRE study book and are also thinking of going back to school. Who really knows where we’ll end up. . .

7 - Just Another Day

11 May 2010

Since the elephant hunt, there has not been a whole lot of excitement going on here, with one notable exception: my Quiksilver visor which has been with me through thick and thin for the past 5 years, ever since I found it abandoned on Hukilau beach, has disappeared without a trace. I had it in the morning when I hopped into the Land Cruiser to go out hunting, but when we got to where we were going it was nowhere to be found. I have even offered a reward for whoever finds and brings it back to me, but to no avail. And if that doesn’t work, then probably nothing will. I think I most likely dropped it on the ground somewhere and someone picked it up thinking it had been discarded, as it admittedly looked like a piece of trash. However, it was my favorite hat and there will never be another like it. RIP, old friend.

Other than that, every day has been fairly normal. We begin at around 5:15 am with a good breakfast, and then go our separate ways for the day. Our hunting client enjoys sitting in blinds at water holes, which doesn’t exactly make for great filming, so I often stay at the house and do stuff on the computer during those times. His son, however, enjoys walking and so whenever he goes out with the guys I follow. So far he’s only shot a zebra, but I did get some decent footage out of it. David sometimes goes with me, and sometimes not. Quinn has only partially recovered from being sick and so he has been staying with the vehicle during the day. I have no doubt he’ll be up and walking around very soon, though.

We all reconvene at the camp for lunch, which is often a heavy, greasy affair that generally suits my taste buds just fine but does mean things to my digestive tract. Usually after that we spend a couple of hours lounging and loafing around while the sun passes its zenith and the heat starts to drop off a bit. However, Mr Galke the hunting client is not accustomed to this midday time wasting and is often fidgeting and itching to get back out into the bush again by the time it’s over. He cannot be much less than 70 years of age but the man has an endless wellspring of energy. His talks constantly about anything and everything and never seems tired or worn out. It is an amazing phenomenon and I can only hope that when I’m old I have half the energy this man has.

After our afternoon siesta we go out again, walking or sitting in the blinds. So far the death toll has been 3 impala (although one was never found), 1 warthog, 1 wildebeest, 1 zebra, and 8 francolin (a small partridge/quail-type bird). Today Mr Galke is sitting by a waterhole, and his son is out walking around in search of wildebeest number two. I decided to sleep in today and update my journal, do some more work on Tokkie’s cattle program, and generally loaf around until a productive project comes to mind. I still have to find the perfect spot to hang up our hammock, fix the velcro on some second hand boot covers we’ve been given (it is an awful nuisance walking through the bush with all the pokies and grass seeds getting stuck on your socks and falling into your shoes), study for the GRE and research what kind of graduate school program I’d like to go into (any and all suggestions welcome), edit the latest footage so the Galkes can have a DVD to go home with, the list goes on and on and on. But what’s most likely to happen is that I will sigh, look around me, think that all those things can wait for another day, and go for a nice long walk in the bush.

6 - Excitement

5 May 2010

Well there’s been quite some excitement in the last couple of days. Our last day alone on the ranch Albert, one of the black workers here, came in and announced that he needed some diesel for the land rover to go and pick up a dead bull. The bull, apparently, had been caught in a snare, but the story was beginning to sound a little sketchy so I told David he must go with the guys in the Land Rover and document the scene for Tokkie to see when he came home.

A couple of hours later he came back with a sad story and footage of one of Tokkie’s commercial-grade bulls caught by the back leg in a wire snare. Obviously it had to have been lost and caught in the snare for some 4 or 5 days before it finally expired from dehydration, and it was apparently dead for 2 days before the guys even found it. It was not one of Tokkie’s breeding bulls, but was still a big loss, as even a lower-grade bull can fetch a good amount of money just for the meat.

Just as we got that whole mess sorted out, Roy (in charge of the game scouts and sundry other things. . . . really Tokkie’s right-hand man) came back from a short trip to the concession to check on his scouts. He brought with him some rotten news. A man had been killed by an elephant and the Council wanted us to go and find and kill it. The problem was that by the time the news reached us through Roy, and through us to Tokkie, it had already been 5 days since the incident, and there was no guarantee of us finding the beast even if we went and searched for it for another week. The real problem at hand, though, was that the Council was threatening to cancel their contract with Tokkie on the grounds that he wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain to take care of any problem animals. In addition to that, Tokkie had come back from South Africa with the new hunting clients (the Galke’s) who were excited to go and blow away all the plains game they could find, but were not really prepared to be schlepping through the bush after a problem elephant. This would not have been a problem, as either Tokkie or Quinn could have stayed at the ranch with the clients, and the other one go to the concession after the elephant, but Quinn happened to come back from South Africa feeling very sick, so he was confined to his bed for the next few days.

It seemed that there was really nothing we could do about it, and plans were made for Tokkie to take the clients out plains-game hunting the next day. However, when I came up to the house the next morning to collect my cameras to be ready for the action, Tokkie informed me that he had had an unexpected visitor show up at about 4am with more bad tidings. Two more people had been killed by the elephant the previous evening. The guy had apparently traveled all night to reach Tokkie and let him know right away. So plans were changed and we packed into the Cruiser with 6 black guys, David, myself, Tokkie, the client and his son, leaving his wife behind. For anyone who’s wondering, yes I did have some reservations about plunging into thick bush with intentions of getting as close as possible to an animal many times my size with a track record of goring people, with nothing but a camera in my hand. However, my reservations were not enough to keep me from actually going. I think everyone has an internal scale inside them. On one side of the scale rests our fears, reservations, worries, etc. On the other is our curiosity and desire for the thrill of a new experience, and I think some people are just born with their scales not perfectly balanced to begin with.

We drove for something like 4 hours, stopping many times for the guys to get out and hack with machetes at the thorn brush crowding in on the dirt road. We made it to our destination, the scene of the most recent killings, and heard the sad story. A woman and her two children had been out in their donkey cart at dusk. They had spotted the elephant and the woman sent her oldest child running to find help. The elephant, for whatever reason, became aggressive and went after the woman. She had the other child on her back and did not have much of a chance. She ran a short distance and then the elephant grabbed and mangled her and the child. The villagers had left the bodies where they lay for us to come and inspect, as though they were expecting us to call them liars. I felt somewhat disrespectful going in there with my video camera, but permission had been asked and nobody seemed too bothered by it. Mostly they were just interested in getting a closer look at my camera.

The scene was brutal and graphic. The woman lay on her back with one ruined arm thrown across her chest. The tusk had gone through her rib cage and left a gaping hole. The young child, maybe 5 or 6 years old, lay 15 feet away from her, also on his back. His face was a mask of dust, and a large piece of his skull was missing, the brain drying on the ground beside him. A group of women was waiting there in the bushes with blankets to cover and remove the bodies. They had evidently been waiting there for hours and seemed understandably anxious to have done with their work. Although it stirred feelings of sadness and compassion within me, there was no revulsion or fear or anything like that when I looked upon the bodies, and it was actually fascinating to see the damage caused by this animal.

We spent a couple of hours resting and eating lunch and then we followed the elephant tracks in the Cruiser until they veered off into the bush. Then we walked. There was an air of tension and apprehensiveness about the trackers which I’ve not sensed on other hunts. Their movements were cautious and furtive as we followed the spoor, each footprint the size of a large round serving platter. The edges of the tracks were not sharply defined, the centers of the pads leaving crackle-marks in the soft ground, and leaving no marks at all on rocky ground, except for broken branches, stripped bark and shining piles of fresh dung.

We followed the killer bull for about 2 hours as he meandered in and out of a small herd of females until we came to a particularly thick area of bush. The trackers motioned for us to stand still and for a few moments all I could hear was my own heart beating. And then, there was a the snapping crash of a branch being ripped off a tree, and I could see the bush moving in front of me. I could hear the huge jaws grinding the leaves and bark, and the deep rumbling of a massive stomach digesting leaves and bark. As everyone was quietly stalking away I caught a glimpse of the huge, grey body through the trees and was breathless.

It was nearly 5:30 and the light was getting bad for shooting. I knew if we did not find and kill the elephant within the next 15 minutes or so we were done for the day. We circled around the group, and then one of the trackers began pointing toward something in the bush. The three men with the guns (David, Tokkie, and Mr Galke) bunched together in a line, aiming through the trees. I immediately dropped into a crouch where I was, and did my best not to shake the camera. I thought briefly about shifting my position to get a better view, but then the beast broke the whole top off a nearby tree and I had a brief flashback of the broken bodies lying on the ground and decided it wasn’t worth alerting the animal to my presence.

The elephant was something like 35 yards away and I could just make out his massive head, trunk reaching up to get the tender leaves, ears flapping around, when David let off his first shot. It startled me, but my ears were protected and there was minimal camera shake. The elephant collapsed heavily to the ground and began weakly thrashing around, trying to regain his feet. The three guys quickly closed the distance and David shot him again, this time between the eyebrows, and the elephant’s attempts to stand up turned into purposeless twitching. The client got off a shot in the elephant’s throat, and then came up and shot him once more in the head. We closed in and it was obvious the elephant was dead. The trackers climbed up on top of his huge body for the pictures. The blood was still spraying up out of the head wound in a small fountain, and a river of it was flowing from the lifeless trunk.

The trackers began inspecting the feet of the elephant, his tusks and trunk, and they were all certain that this was the murderer. An atmosphere of celebration and relief descended on us all as the sun began to set. As we drove out, the guys on the back of the Cruiser shouted the good news to everyone we passed, and even Tokkie was in a jovial mood. He told us he usually doesn’t like elephant hunting, but that this time was exciting and fun. He may have had a drastically different attitude towards the whole thing had it not gone as well and smoothly as it did. To be honest, the whole affair took much less time and was much easier than I expected. To be sure, not all elephant hunts go as well, even without the added risk of the elephant having the track record this one did. I said many thankful prayers on the way out and held David’s hand the whole way home.

Well, except for when we nearly ran over an 8-foot long rock python. Tokkie turned the vehicle around and David caught the feisty guy and made sure he was not damaged. He was obviously not damaged, but was certainly not thrilled with being held by the tail in the headlights. David let him go, and we made the long journey back to Threeways. We had the customary toast to the hunt, a nice dinner, and I slept like a rock, a very clingy rock.

Today I stayed at the ranch to look after things at the house, as Quinn is still sick and Dirkie was feeling peaky. David has been out all day with our hunting client and Tokkie went back to skin and butcher the elephant. It has been a somewhat boring day, but I took Tokkie’s not-so-subtle hint and had a good long look at his new cattle computer program. This new version of it seems much easier to figure out than the version he had back in 2007, and to make matters even better there is actually an instruction manual. Sorting out the cattle and getting his herd all set up on the program is the next big project in the works. Assuming, that is, that another killer elephant doesn’t crop up in the meantime.

Tokkie just walked in the door as I’m writing this, finished with a hard day’s work of skinning the elephant. Apparently when they had a closer look inside the animal’s head there was an infected, abscessed tooth which was probably causing him considerable pain. Tokkie told me this is often what they find with problem elephants: underlying, painful conditions that are not usually visible from the outside. This apparently makes them overly aggressive and angry, often driving them to the point of becoming man-killers.

5 - Back on the Ranch

2 May 2010

Well the long and short of it ended up being that the buffalo hunt went without us seeing a single buffalo, and precious little else while we were on the concession, aside from people and their cattle, dogs and chickens. So after 7 days of heat, cold, boredom and constant bug biting, Johnny called it a day and we packed up and headed back to Threeways. I can’t honestly say I was upset by this change in plans, as the weather which had been sweltering and humid to begin with had chilled down to the level where all I wanted to do was snuggle in my tent. I had not brought the proper clothing and was cold all the time. Also my whole body was covered in tiny itchy bumps from all the insect life.

Back at Threeways I gave myself a thorough going-over for ticks and thorns and other things, at least in all the places I could see. I had David check the rest. There was a particularly bothersome little bite just next to my armpit which looked like it was forming a whitehead. I had David “fix” it and was horrified as over the next few days it bloomed into a full-on infection spreading out from 3 small necrotic epicenters. Upon Googling the description I came to the conclusion that I was either the victim of a cytotoxic spider bite or had somehow come in contact with an antibiotic-resistant form of staphylococcus bacteria. Either way I decided to begin a Cipro course to try to clear it up. Coincidence or not, the wound has settled down considerably, although other small things have been going wrong with my body in the meantime.

Anyway, David was kind enough to give me a priesthood blessing and the comfort and assurance that I would heal gave me strength and confidence to move ahead and not worry too much about these things. Johnny finished his hunt with 2 days at Threeways, in which he downed a Blue Wildebeest and a beautifully robust stallion Zebra, neither of which he really wanted but at least he was able to shoot something. I got both the shots on film, and spent a day editing Johnny’s whole trip into a 20-minute film which actually came out quite nicely. Quinn, who actually worked with a professional filming company on hunts gave me a few pointers but said that it was actually very good work and that people pay anywhere from 1 to 5 thousand dollars for a really nice video of their hunt. I don’t honestly ever expect to be making that much without professional equipment, but the day may not be as far off as we had thought when we will be able to charge a modest fee for our time. Maybe just wishful thinking, but then again maybe not. Only time will tell. Seems patience may be something I’m supposed to work on while I’m here.

Anyway, after Johnny left we spent a couple of relaxing/boring days here with Quinn and Dirkie. We watched a low-budget baptist film called Fireproof about a married couple on the brink of divorce and how God brought them back together. It wasn’t the greatest production ever, but it did have some good principles in it, and it provided a conversation-starter later on about religion and God and what we believe. Dirkie has a deep belief in God and wants to start a Sunday meeting on the ranch like we do. Hopefully we can work together and figure something out.

Anyway, after a couple of uneventful days Dirkie and Quinn also left us to go do some shopping and planning for their upcoming wedding. If it was boring before they left, it has been unbearably so afterwards as it’s necessary for at least one of us to be up at the house at all times during the day and, well, if one of us is here then we’re both likely to be here. We’ve watched more TV in the last couple of days than we have in the last few months, and have been on the computer far longer than is healthy (hence the birth of this blog). The weather has been rainy, sunny, warm and cool and generally seems to be in a state of change. It is Autumn here technically and I can feel the winter coming on.

Dirkie and Quinn will be back tomorrow and hopefully we can relinquish our posts of duty here and at least take some long walks. Or hang up the hammock somewhere and find a good book. Or really anything that doesn’t involve being stationed at the house for hours at a time. Dirkie has been saying since our first night here how excited she is that we’re here so she can leave me in charge every once in a while and take care of planning her wedding. Well of course there’s nothing wrong with helping out, that’s why we’re here. But I’m going to have to make some serious game plans for not shooting myself out of boredom during those hopefully brief interludes. At least when there are hunters here I can be filming and editing so I have an excuse for not being around the house all day.

Today David went off in the little white truck to take some of the workers to the bus stop and to buy sorghum for the baby guinea fowl which have been stolen from their parents. Of course within minutes after he was gone there was a visitor here: Terry’s eldest son. He was here apparently to slaughter a couple of bulls. He did not ask permission, he just told me that’s what he was doing so I assumed it was alright. Terry is largely involved in Tokkie’s continued existence here at Threeways so I did not question. However, while the boys were doing their work the guy insisted on hanging out at the house with me talking in circles and taking on what seemed to me to be a pigheaded and pretentious attitude about nearly everything. It was hard for me to keep from being sarcastic or from pointing it out when he contradicted himself with fancy catch-phrases and metaphors. At least he spoke English very well and wasn’t super rude to me personally.

David came back not 15 minutes after Terry’s son left. All the sorghum went to the workers’ compound, which means that nearly none of it will go to the baby guinea fowl, all out of our pocket. But he did score two nice-looking watermelons and he’s happier for having had a little adventure on his own.

Today is breezy, cool but not cold. I am sitting on the front porch of the house, but with my chair turned so I can see into the house as some of the laundry girls have a pernicious habit of taking things from the desk when they think I’m not looking. The world is green, tinged with the faintest yellow, a promise of the dry desolation to come. The sky is cloudy but not totally grey, and it really is nice to be alive. It may be boring and unexciting here being the temporary office girl, but hey, I could be in an office cubicle somewhere in a smoggy city. Or tiling a shower. Or any number of worse things. Only three main things are wrong with this place, and only one is permanently irreconcilable. 1. There is no church 2. There is no family 3. There is no ocean.

4 - The Concession

26 Apr 2010

The next day was Sunday and it was the day we were to drive with Tokkie down to the concession to meet up with Johnny and Quinn. We woke up early and went for a shortish walk before breakfast. I then spent some time packing up our hut, as Tokkie suggested it might be better to move our stuff up to the house while we were away. So everything went back into the suitcases except for a few clothes and other necessities we’d need while on the concession filming the buffalo hunt. We loaded up a bunch of stuff Quinn did not have room to bring in his vehicle, including some camp mattresses, rechargeable lanterns, tents, petrol, asbestos roofing for Malakia’s house, and a dude and a lady with a baby hitching a ride.

David and I squashed onto the front seat of the Land Cruiser, and I had a kink in one side of my back for the next few hours from straining to one side to avoid being in the way of the gear shifter. The drive was nice, and Tokkie is always pleasant company. The entire journey was on bumpy rural dirt roads past little villages and cattle pastures and maize fields.

We stopped at Malakia’s house, which consisted of a couple rondavels and a roofless brick building. Amidst his wives and children we unloaded the sheets of asbestos roofing so the brick building could again be used by the family. While pulling away from the place Tokkie accidentally ran over some fruits spread out on a piece of tarp to dry in the sun. He cursed and apologized, but the smiles that were put on Malakia’s wives’ faces by the roofing material abruptly soured into looks of annoyance and repressed insults.

As we neared the camp we began noticing more and more of the remains of some white-made buildings every here and there. Square concrete buildings with porches and proper door and window frames, mainly without roofs from years of disuse, they were easy to pick out amongst the mud-and-thatch rondavels. There was also the broken-up remains of a multi-million dollar trench-irrigation system which was begun but never completed due to the bush war and “liberation”. The pump, still apparently in perfect condition, lay silent and unused in its cement shelter. This did not surprise us too much, but the fact that we expect things like this never does dull the sense of waste and uselessness, especially under the consideration of the drought-prone area in which we were. What did surprise me about it was that the pump had not been dismantled and turned into axes and cooking utensils.

Tokkie made one more stop in the middle of what seemed to be a community gathering place. He made small talk with the few men with enough moxy to come up to the Cruiser’s window laughing and carrying on, and then extending an open palm for a handout. Tokkie asked for the Chief’s son, who came forward eventually. He was a short man with a profoundly uneducated look about him. There was nothing about him to distinguish him as being a leader, or son of a leader, and I was doubtful about who exactly he was. Tokkie spoke to him about a request that had been made by the village for a bull to be brought for meat. He explained that he gives four bulls per year to the Campfire Council to distribute to the villages as they see fit, and that he had been assured one of those bulls would end up in this particular village. Tokkie handed out all his spare change and we continued on our way.

Three or four hours after departing Threeways, we finally arrived at the concession camp right on the bank of the Limpopo River, on the other side of which lies world-famous Kruger Park. Johnny and Quinn had just lay down for their afternoon siesta when we rumbled in, but were up and busy within minutes of our arrival. Johnny had not yet killed a buffalo, which suited us just fine as we were anxious to be there to film the action when it happened. His tent was a grand, canvas affair with room inside for about ten men. It was affectionately nicknamed the Taj. Quinn had been sleeping in a less glorious version of the canvas monster which apparently was too hot for him. So he dismantled it and set up one of the new polyester ones we brought in Tokkies Cruiser. He then set up our tent as well, and we chucked our bags in. David and I meanwhile set to work assembling a shelving unit for the cement-block kitchen.

When all was unloaded, settled and put away we sat around the dining table under the canopy and ate some canned peaches and chatted. The sunset was lovely over the muddy, flowing Limpopo and I was happy to be there. The plan for that evening was to wait until dark and then go walking in a nearby maize field where there had been fresh buffalo sign, and where Quinn had been assured by the locals that the animals frequented nightly. David and I tagged along with the cameras, hoping to catch some action. The night was noisy with insect, bird, amphibian and other life, and the thumbnail moon set behind us about halfway through our walk. It was somewhat difficult to keep my mind off snakes while I blundered after Johnny in the dark through the maize and grass but I did manage.

We came to a small clearing at the foot of a mound with a small lookout shelter on top, and Quinn told us to stay there and wait while he and Johnny went a small way further into the grassy field beyond. I was fine sitting there until the mosquitos found me and then I was anxious for something, anything to happen so that we could head back to the relatively bug-free zone of our tents. Eventually Johnny and Quinn returned without having seen or heard any buffalo, and we made good time back to the vehicle. Dinner was short and delicious, thanks to the miracle-working of Malakia, and it was off to bed.

The next day we got an early start and drove out on the main dirt road. We stopped to consult an old mdala on the side of the road. He directed us to where he said he was chased down by a buffalo the previous night and we headed that way. We walked for a few hours in the muggy heat without seeing any fresh sign. For David and I it was a lovely walk, and the heat and humidity hardly bothered us at all. Johnny however was totally tuckered out by the time we were at the end of the jaunt, and thoroughly soaked in his own sweat. He is an elk hunter in Montana for a living, and generally does all his hunting in weather below 40 or 50 degrees. This was a new thing for him and his body was obviously rebelling. Lunch back at camp was nice, as was the customary siesta that followed.

We took a short drive back out to the maize field we’d been in the previous night to have a look around and to plan our next move. There were again fresh sign and the trackers thought that the buffalo had been there the night before, probably some time after we had gone walking in there. Quinn decided we would get to the field shortly after dark and wait there until the buffalo came. We followed the plan that night, again walking through the darkness, and then David, myself, and the trackers hunkered down for the wait while Johnny and Quinn sat watch on the mound. The beauty of a distant thunderstorm kept me entertained for a time, but the mosquitos again found me, despite application of copious amounts of DEET.

I eventually dozed off to the whining of the deplorable creatures, and was absolutely astonished when I opened my eyes and Johnny and Quinn were standing in front of me. I had not heard them approach and was surprised that I could have fallen asleep so soundly. We had been waiting for only two hours, but the mozzies had gotten the best of Johnny and he was calling it a night. I can’t say I was ungrateful, but I was a bit sad that there would be no buffalo that night.

During the course of the rest of that night the distant thunderstorm grew closer and closer until it was right smack on top of our little riverside camp. A sudden gale of wind nearly tore our tent from its stakes, and the rain lashed so hard against it that it was driven through the zippers and collected in pools on the floor. At one point I was scared enough that a tree branch was going to crush us that I convinced David to run with me into the kitchen building, which had a sheet-metal roof and was a somewhat safer place to wait out the worst of the storm. We found Quinn there when we got there pulling things away from the windows and watching the canopy over the dining table flailing around in the wind.

Eventually things calmed down enough that I felt safe enough to return to our tent and we slept to the booming of the thunder and the torrent of rain.

3 - Threeways

17 Apr 2010

Tokkie was just the way I remembered him, especially his voice. When he speaks images of red dusty roads and mopane trees and brahman cattle come to my mind. I remember vividly the first time I met him on the road to Threeways. Anna from Bubi Village was driving us to Threeways and we ran into him about halfway to the ranch. We hopped into his Nissan and he turned around to say hello to us. He greeted me by name, even pronouncing it correctly even though he had only seen it in an email, and I was nearly dumbstruck by the brightness and clarity of his sky-blue eyes.

He had aged a bit and had a slight limp, but other than that was the same Tokkie I remembered from three years previously. He led us out in his loping stride to his new Toyota Land Cruiser, and we piled in and headed for Pretoria. David and I sat in the uncovered back of the Cruiser in the chilly night air. We dropped Johnny off at his hotel and went to Dreyer’s house for the night. Dreyer and Tokkie are brothers in every sense of the word. They look and sound alike, are kind and pleasant to each other in the presence of company, and bicker and argue with each other when they’re not. It’s plain to see they love each other and want the best for each other. It’s also plain to see they grew up each with each other as most brothers do, brawling and competing and finding their separate ways.

It was a pleasant evening and we slept well until somewhere around 3 in the morning, when we awoke and could not find our way back to sleep again, though we did try until the birds began to wake up outside our window. David and Tokkie spent an hour or so loading up the trailer in Dreyer’s driveway, while I played with the dogs in the completely fenced-in, security armed yard that every sane and safe resident of Pretoria has. We finished our preparations, ate a quick breakfast and said a quick goodbye to Dreyer, and headed towards Johnny’s hotel. We arrived there a bit later than we’d agreed upon the night before, and so David and I were expecting it to be a quick pickup. However, when Tokkie did not return for a half hour or so we began to wonder what had become of him and Johnny. When they finally came out through the gate Johnny told us that Tokkie had woken him from a dead sleep and that he had not even eaten breakfast yet.

As I’m sitting here writing this backlog of the last few days, there are some interesting things going on outside of my hut. We are situated directly next to the kitchen and, in addition to the constant chatter of the kitchen staff and other strange unnatural noises, there is often the smell of the night guard’s cigarette smoke wafting in through my small window. It is around 6:30 at night right now and dinner is being prepared. From the strangled squawk of a chicken being dispatched it will probably be another hour or so before we actually get to eat anything.

Anyway, the four of us made it safely, and with a few pit stops along the way, to the border. David and I again rode in the exposed back of the Cruiser and, despite my best efforts to stay awake and enjoy the landscape changing around me, I fell fast asleep beneath the relentless sun and the constant battering of the air rushing by the truck. David also succumbed and we had more than made up for our short night’s sleep by the time we made it to the South Africa/Zimbabwe border. It was somewhere around 4:30pm when we got there, and we figured we’d be through in an hour or so and to the ranch by 7-ish.

The South Africa side went quite smoothly, aside from a somewhat long-ish queue to get to the exit-stamping window. We loaded back up and found ourselves in a complete melee of chaos on the Zim side of the border. There were so many more people trying to get into Zimbabwe than had ever been when we were there three years ago. It seems the switch of the nation’s economy from the laughable Zimbabwe dollar to the US dollar has had a positive effect on the country, and in a complete reversal of circumstances there were more people trying to enter Zimbabwe than trying to escape from it.

David and I felt calm and at ease going through the process of acquiring visas, but Johnny was skittish and spooked by the crowds of people pushing around us. Compared with India, I felt we had sufficient personal space around us and was not bothered at all, although had it not been for the desensitization to crowds which is a necessary part of survival in a place like India, I probably would have felt less at ease.

Somewhere around 9:00 that night we actually made it through all the hoops and inspections and pointlessness and emerged into a crystal clear Zimbabwe night. David and I lay down in the bed of the Cruiser watching shooting stars and breathing in the familiar smells of mopane campfire, sweet grasses, and the particular hazy scent of a dirt road exhaling the heat of the day into the still, cool night. We arrived at the ranch about an hour later and proceeded to greet Quinn, who we were already acquainted with from our previous trip, and Dirkie, his soon-to-be fiance. We then hurried up to the dinner table.

Dirkie is a slender blonde girl who somehow manages to fix her hair nicely and do her makeup every day even out here in the indifferent bush. She’s had experience managing two hunting ranches, and is now in charge of overseeing everything except the actual hunting of Threeways. Over dinner I somehow got the distinct impression that Dirkie despised me and wanted me to drop off the face of the planet. If she could not have that, then she would dominate over me like a malevolent helicopter and leave me with no doubt as to who belonged on the ranch and who did not. Being shown to my room and introduced to the kitchen staff only served to reinforce this conclusion I had somehow jumped to, and my joy and satisfaction at being back at Threeways, as well as my determination to be useful and hard-working during our stay here began do evaporate. I cried that night in our hut next to the kitchen to the sounds of the dishes being washed. It is the worst hut on the entire ranch, and I felt certain that we had been assigned to it to intentionally make life as uncomfortable for me as humanly possible.

The next day we woke early and went for a long walk in the bush. Since Tokkie acquired hunting rights to a concession on the Limpopo a year and a half ago, the ranch has not seen many hunters, and the animals we stirred up were much tamer than I remembered them being. The impala stood silently, rock-still in a position of astute wariness until we got too close for comfort and they bounded off lightly with the soft thud of small hooves in the dirt. They are some of the most common animals in Zimbabwe and are therefore not usually very highly prized, even being dubbed “goats of the bush.” For me, however, there is nothing goat-like or common about them. Their slender, muscular haunches taper down into delicate ankles ending in hooves that leave tiny heart-shaped prints in the sandy earth. The beautiful light tan of their hide is shaded slightly darker around the head and rump, and blends flawlessly into a bright white belly. The tell-tale M shape on their backside formed in darker hair serves to break up their appearance, and is mesmerizing as they bound and leap through the air with a lightness and effortlessness that is difficult to believe, lyre-shaped. I always feel sad when one of these is shot. Even though it affords me a fascinating opportunity to examine up close the beauty (and anatomy) of these animals, there is an essential grace and spirit that disappears in death, and the ungainly tangle of their limbs heaped in the back of the truck to be taken for skinning has always brought a slight shade of disappointment and sorrow to my heart.

When we returned to camp from our walk, we ate breakfast and chatted with the ever-jocular Quinn until Johnny was once again roused from his deep sleep and appeared at the table. We talked with him for an hour or so while he ate, and then he was whisked away to the concession where he is to hunt for buffalo. Directly afterward, we were informed by Tokkie that we were to sit in a blind for the rest of the day to hopefully plug a wildebeest. The Zimbabwe Independence Day was near, and the Campfire Council (a fancy name for a bunch of rural crooks who make bank off of leasing out hunting rights on communal lands) had ordered one for their celebration, the way one orders a pizza for a party.

Well we sat at that blind the entire rest of the day without seeing hide nor hair of a wildebeest, and very little other wildlife beside. There is a lot of standing water in various places on the property right now due to the sufficience of the rains this past season, and so the animals are not required by necessity to go to any one specific place to find a drink. So Tokkie came and picked us up around dusk and we headed out to see some of his cows. He wants me to “sort out” the mess that is his cattle records, and I really have no idea where to even begin. But it was nice to see the cows all milling around and chewing peacefully on their cud. Except for the heifer who was locked into the chute for artificial insemination. The process of inseminating the cow was actually quite streamlined in contrast to my memories of the way it was conducted three years’ previously, and it went quite smoothly and professionally as far as I could tell, although the heifer might have a different opinion if you asked her.

That night there was a large group staying in the overnight camp and so David, myself, Tokkie and Dirkie sat at a separate table from the rest of the group. I was expecting a sort of taciturn perfunctority from Dirkie, and was thrown completely off my guard when she began chatting amiably with me. When David and Tokkie stood up from the table to go fill their plates, she confided in me that Quinn had already bought her engagement ring and that she was expecting a formal proposal any day now. She explained that once she was engaged she would need to make frequent trips to South Africa to get everything planned and settled for the wedding, and that she would be in need of my help at the ranch while she was away. I was astonished and, I admit, somewhat skeptical as to the pure motives of her mild manner but slowly the hope of a friendship began to form.

Today David and I were again in a blind by a water hole for what seemed a very long time this morning, without seeing any sign of life at all, much less the sought-after wildebeest which supposedly are roaming the ranch in large numbers. Our two black game scouts retrieved us from our blind and we drove around for another two hours seeking our target without luck. Back at the ranch we ate a lunch of leftovers at the camp and then trundled up to the house to see what was going on up there. To our consternment, the man sent to collect the wildebeest for the celebrations was sitting there in the living room watching rugby with Tokkie and Dirkie. I could not hide my disappointment that we had not been able to procure the animal, as such incidents like this can very possibly have unforeseen negative impacts on Tokkie’s well-being and way of life here in Zimbabwe. Tokkie immediately made a decision about the situation and we hopped into his Cruiser to go after two impala instead of one wildebeest. He and the Council man sat in the front, while David, myself, and the two game scouts stood in the back. David pulled off two very accurate shots through the thick bush and two of the lovely animals were piled into the Cruiser. A third try was made and David and the game scouts were left to search the bush for the animal which was supposedly wounded, as it had not dropped dead where it had stood as the other two had.

Tokkie dropped me off at the house and went to take care of the impala and the Council man. I was left alone in the office with Dirkie, which caused some small amount of adrenaline to enter my system, and my wariness to re-exert itself. I was soon, however, charmed into chattiness (no small feat with someone as conversationally handicapped as I) and we were discussing our life plans and dreams as though we’d known each other for quite a bit longer than the 36 or so hours that we had. I’m really looking forward to being friends with her and I do hope that this trend in our relationship can continue.

David and I later on poked around in the much-expanded garden and made plans for our own seeds which we brought from good old WalMart in the states. After that we went with Tokkie to have a look at his bulls which he loves like children. They are gentle creatures and are generally more likely to trot straight away from me when I approach them than anything. But they are so enormous that whenever one of them does happen to make a move in my direction I have a hard time disobeying my instincts to retreat quickly to the other side of the fence. Whether intentionally or by mistake, if one of those animals happened to make rough contact with my small frame, I am convinced it would end badly for me. It may be a while before I move with confidence among them. It may never happen.

I am now sitting in my same undesirable hut next to the kitchen listening to David and Tokkie chat in the lounge area while the recently expired chicken finishes in the pot. I am happy, although not completely because my suitcases are as yet unpacked and things are somewhat in a state of disarray around me. But I’ve remembered what I’ve known all along: home is where my David is and I can be happy there, no matter how undesirable the hut.

2 - Getting Here

16 Apr 2010

Well it’s been an amazing journey, as usual. We left my parents’ house in New Jersey on Wednesday at 5:30 am and got on a short flight from Newark to Atlanta. Every time I leave my parents it gets harder. Of course, I’m always excited to go wherever we’re going, especially when it’s Zimbabwe, but it is very hard to think that I won’t be seeing my family for another little while, and it’s always harder when I’ve spent more than just a few days with them, as I had this time. This feeling generally fades the further I get from home and mellows from sadness into a more endurable missing-ness.

We arrived in Atlanta around 11 am and had quite a while to wait before our 7:45 pm direct flight to Johannesburg, so we performed the ritual we usually do on the day we’re leaving the country. We called all our family and friends and chatted and whiled the time away while catching up and letting everyone know our plans (there are generally less people in my family who actually know of any plans of ours than who don’t, and this usually helps them avoid any big surprises later on). We rechecked our bags after a few hours and again underwent the security check to get into the terminals. We found a nice seat by the windows, and in close proximity to the gate counter so we could hear when (and if) our names were called to get on the plane.

It’s become fairly easy for me to pick out which passengers waiting in the gate area are flying stand-by. They all generally congregate near the gate counter, and busy themselves reading or playing sudoku or something to keep their minds from being too worried about whether or not they’re actually going to get on their desired flight. As the time draws nearer, the papers and games are set aside and a look of dread and agitation appears on many of their faces. I know this look because I can often feel it on my own face while I am waiting to hear those words of fate spoken by the gate agent: “Paddock, Jennette.” I can also usually imagine that I feel small ulcers forming, and I do my best not to run to the counter and beg for mercy. Many people in the world think it’s so wonderful to be able to fly stand-by. The ability is no doubt wonderful, and in fact my life would probably be a great deal less eventful and exciting if it weren’t for my having this privilege. The actual experience, however, often leaves me wondering if it really is worth all the suffering and stress. When I don’t get on the plane, the answer to that wondering is usually no. But when I do get on, my thrill usually serves to dissipate every trace of trepidation and leave me feeling elated and kindly disposed towards all mankind.

We spent our waiting hours chatting with some brand-new missionaries and eating what was left of our Easter candy. I got up to take a walk and look at all the displays of illegal contraband that had been confiscated by the airport in order to take my mind away from the upcoming ordeal. The 12-foot rock python skin was especially impressive to me, and it was nearly an hour before I returned. When I did I found David in conversation with a middle-aged man with a kind face and moderately heavy southern accent, who actually turned out to be Johnny, the hunting client we were to be sharing the road to Zimbabwe with. We chatted with him for a while, and then it was nearly time to begin boarding.

However, the boarding did not begin at the usual half-hour before takeoff mark, as the plane had not made its way over from the hangar yet. Well, it took another hour and a half for the plane to be found and brought to the correct gate, and then it was go-time. David and I sat anxiously by the counter listening to the dread words that came from the agent’s lips: “Folks, we have a full flight here today and I’ll do my best to clear what standbys I can, but we need to make sure we don’t go over our weight limit.” David and I began to be prematurely crushed, and we sat silently waiting for the boarding of paying passengers to be complete. We decided that if I got a seat and David did not that I would go anyway and he would make it when he could. This was almost worse than not going at all in my mind, but I resigned myself to it. My name was called and the usual sense of elation was tempered with the knowledge that my David might not make it on the flight with me. However, it was given a little boost when I boarded the plane and found that my seat was in the business elite class, which had vastly improved since my last experience with it. I got to work right away figuring out how to make my seat lay all the way flat into a bed. However, I was not so carried away with my wonderful seat that I did not notice, with great relief, that David had also boarded the plane. He said only that he was in coach, but did not tell me which seat number, which excused me from going back there to find him during the flight.

The ride from Atlanta to Johannesburg was somewhere in the vicinity of 15 hours long, and would normally have seemed like an eternity. However, after I was served my 4-course dinner, I had but to lay my seat down, curl up in my nice warm blanket on my down pillow, and fall fast asleep. The next thing I knew the flight attendant was asking me if I’d like lunch. I sat up and there were only 2 hours remaining in the flight. Amazing. Apparently poor David was stuck in the middle of a zealously religious man going to Africa to save peoples’ souls, and a completely drunk philanderer. Needless to say this made for interesting conversation for David, but relatively little sleep. Hopefully we both get business elite class on the way home. And who knows, maybe by then there will be even more innovative improvements in comfort and luxury?

We landed in Joburg, retrieved our checked luggage and reattached ourselves to our hunting client. We walked out of the sliding doors and into the waiting arms of Tokkie.

1 - First Post

Well I'm new to this blogging nonsense but have given in to pressure and persuasion that this is the best way to keep in touch and let everyone know what I'm up to. I'm not totally convinced, but will give it a try.

For anyone out there who doesn't know, David and I will be married for three years this July, and began traveling together close to two years before we were married. Our first trip out of the country together (and my first trip out of the country altogether) was to Venezuela, and it was a magical experience that confirmed my suspicions that I was a wanderer at heart. Since then I have been to Zimbabwe, South Africa, Guatemala, Mexico, New Zealand, India, Canada, and Alaska (which I realize is part of the States, but really deserves to be in its own category).

We normally live in Hawaii, which is as close to perfect as I've yet found, although paradise and perfection do tend to get a bit boring after a while. We've learned that the trick is to leave it every once in a while in order to keep our love and appreciation for it new and alive.

Today we are in Zimbabwe (again). We came here for a three month long "honeymoon" shortly after we were married, and have returned, this time for six months, to get a feel for what long-term life here would be like. And because we really don't have any other plan for right now. We have been here for a couple of weeks already and I've been terribly lax about keeping friends and family up to date. Normally when we do trips I send out mass emails every so often, and I will be back-logging emails of past trips for anyone who might care. But starting now, I will be using this blog for more extensive updates of this particular trip. The next few posts will be backlog of the past couple of weeks, and hopefully after that I will be good about updating regularly. Enjoy!