Unbelievable

Unbelievable

It was a privilege to grow up in Africa. Or at least I was in a privileged position growing up in Africa. I got to spend a lot of time in the African bush. In the Lowveld of Zimbabwe, to be more precise. I would visit my grandparents most holidays enjoying my grandparents and the surrounding wilderness. It is an upbringing that I am sad I am unable to share with my children. An upbringing I am sad I took for granted, but as these things go in life, you never are aware of what you have or that you are wasting it while it is happening. Call it the Zen riddle of life.

Let me tell you the story, though: the one I have kept with me, the one no one would believe, so I have not shared it. I wanted to go camping by myself. To be honest, I am surprised that my grandparents and my parents allowed this. I was eighteen, so maybe there is not much they could do about it, but my son would not be allowed to do it. Though that may be because he is a born-and-raised city dweller. I digress.

It was the rainy season, and everything was lush and green, or as green as anything gets in the lowveld. I packed my tent and a few supplies. Mellies to eat, a flashlight, and because I was old enough, a six-pack of beers. Now I would like to say my assembled guardians knew about the beers, but well, I was eighteen, and that rebellious streak was not quite at its end yet. The last thing I took was the rifle; it was not anything special, just a small 22 calibre. Ok, for hunting small game like rock rabbits, it would not be much good against a lion. It would make a loud enough bang to chase anything dangerous away, or at least that was the hope.

Then, with my back pack on, I headed out the gate in the midday sun. It was a long walk; I knew which part of the ranch I was heading to, and it would take me two, maybe three, hours. At my feet were Vlekkies, Brakenjan, and Poppy, the three Jack russells. There is nothing quite like walking through the African bush; it is an experience, and I would encourage everyone who has the opportunity to do. The wildlife is less scared of you, so just watch as you amble on by. As I started out, along the dusty tan coloured sandy road, with lush green growing on the side, I was reminded of a painful life lesson the farm had taught me the first time I had gone for a walk barefoot. The sand was roughly the temperature of the sun, and my feet were starting to smell like cooked pork. I thought I could just walk along the lush greenery on the side of the road, which would be a nice, relieving walk. Hidden under that lush green, however, was a world of pain. Devil thorns punctured my bare feet, and I immediately regretted my decision. The lesson? Not everything that looks shiny is necessarily good for you, and sometimes the suffering you are facing now is better than the seemingly easy solution. Or maybe it should just have been: when walking through the African bush, wear shoes.

I giggled to myself and enjoyed the bush around me. As I came around a long bend, I caught a glimpse of movement to my right. There, idly watching me pass, was a herd of impalas. The dogs were walking by my feet and did not seem to notice the antelope lazing around in the heat of the day. After a few moments, I continued on my way. The dogs did not stray from me and were happy, just plodding along. The African bush always sounds alive, its like living life with a soundtrack. The sound is cacophonous with insects and birds. If you are aware enough and know what to listen for it can warn you when danger is near. 

It didn't take long to come across one of Africa's smallest antelopes. A duiker was wearily feeding while constantly searching for danger. As I watched the duiker cautiously move through the bushes, I couldn't help but admire its survival instincts. It was a reminder of the constant vigilance required to thrive in the African bush. I think maybe it is the hubris of humans that we blunder through life with very little awareness. Add to that the immortality of youth, and it is a wonder that Africa didn't kill me. After what I thought was an interminably short time, it bolted. If I were to guess, the wind carried our scent to its nostrils.

So far, this was turning into every bit the adventure I had hoped for. Again, I would point you to my youth and mankind's general hubris. Eland are one of the largest of all the antelope, majestic in their movements, almost like they are in slow motion. Not dissimilar to giraffes, although slightly less exaggerated. I mean, they are large, but they are not giraffes. We were about an hour in when a whole herd crossed the road not far in front of us. To their credit, the dogs just watched placidly. It is a fascinating thing to watch animals of that size move. Every movement seems deliberate and thought-out. A large male stopped in the middle of the road watching us, maybe deciding if we were a threat, before loping off with the rest.

"Huh," I said to the dogs. "I wonder what the rush was?"

The dogs, of course, just looked up at me with their adoring eyes. I could imagine them thinking, "Eland sometimes run."

The thought made me laugh out loud. Vlekkies looked quizzically with her head tilted to one side in that oh-so-cute way dogs do.

I took a moment to give the dogs some water which they took happily. With that, our trek continued. The sun was getting low in the sky, this does not cool the air much, not in the lowveld. Most of the way, we had the benefit of shade from trees as we walked. The rest of the journey was uneventful, save for the screech of the black eagles that lived nearby. I looked up, shielding my eyes from the sun, to see them. Bringing back memories of the time I camped on their mountain, and had the amazing honour of watching them soaring, whilst stood above them. That, however, was a different adventure. 

We arrived at my chosen camp site sometime later. There was enough daylight left to set up the tent and start the fire, and do a bit of exploring. My chosen campsite had two very large granite outcroppings. One being much taller than the other. The shorter had a decent ramp up one side, which is where I was planning on camping. It was easy for the dogs to follow. The tall one required some climbing, and the dogs could not follow. There was just no way I was not going to experience that view. This is where I learned just how brave my chosen travelling companions were. The lowveld, as you may know or have guessed by the name, is largely low, with outcroppings of granite koppies (mountains). From this vantage point, I could see for miles. As I stood atop the tall granite koppie, taking in the picturesque panoramic view of the lowveld, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and exhilaration. The dogs, on the other hand, seemed to be expressing their concern, whining, as if scolding me for embarking on such a daring adventure alone. Nonetheless, I couldn't resist the temptation to soak in the beauty and vastness of the landscape before me. After a short while, the dogs fell silent, and I was watching the sun sinking ever lower. As much as a sunset from here would have been amazing, climbing down and setting up camp in the dark did not have the same appeal.

Down I climbed incident-free, thankfully. The dogs, however, were nowhere to be seen. I was calling their names, and they were just not there. I was walking around looking for them, and I started to get worried. If I had been paying more attention the sudden bubble of silence I was walking in may have given me a clue. It was then that I heard the bark, at head height. Not a dog bark. Suddenly, within touching distance, the bush burst to life, and the biggest Nyala bull I had ever seen took off, thankfully, away from me. If my legs had not turned to jelly and my heart had not decided that it was going to try and relocate outside of my body, I may have appreciated its beauty. A whole herd of Nyala then appeared from around me running off after what I assume was the lead bull, vanishing into the brush just as quickly as they appeared. I stuck may hand out to a tree and steadied myself trying to bring my faculties back under control. Once the nyala had vanished my dogs all appeared bounding up to me as if nothing had happened. My wonderful, brave doggo's, ha!

No that is not the unbelievable part of my story. 

I took a deep breath and started to try and stride off to the second granite outcropping. What actually happened was that I shakily wobbled off in vaguely the right direction. I gathered some sticks and a few choice fallen Mopani branches to start a fire with. By the time I had my little camp set up, the sun was starting to touch the horizon, creating a fire across the sky. Putting my Mellies on the fire, I sat with my doggies all around me and opened one of my beers. I was lost in my reverie when the dogs bolted for the tent, my nice, brave doggos. I looked around to see what had spooked them. Striding up towards my little camp, appearing to grow with each stride towards me...

Well, now that it comes to it, my nerves are failing me. No, it must be said.

He stood ten feet or more tall. He came to a stop just next to me and inquired, "Got another of those?" in the richest baritone voice I had ever heard. I looked up in astonishment, my heart pounding in my chest. Towering before me was Bigfoot. With trembling hands, I patted around for the other five beers without taking a single eye off what I was looking at. Finally, my hand closed around a can, and I lifted it up to him shaking like a rattle in the hands of a toddler. He took it and sat down around my fire, looking at the same sunset as me. I wanted to look away, but it was hard. It was bigfoot! The American conspiracy theorists friend, sitting next to me! In the deepest, darkest Africa. I couldn't help but feel a mix of awe and disbelief, and not a small dose of abject fear. In the great question of what would you do "Fight or flight", my answer is stare like a statue. Slowly I began to believe that I was not in any danger. Here we were, two unlikely companions, sharing a moment of tranquillity in the heart of Africa. Enjoying the sun dipping below the horizon, casting vibrant red and orange hues across the sky. Drinking Castle Lager. Finally, a question rose unbidden in my mouth:

"Mellie?"

He tore his eyes away from the sunset and looked at me. I pointed to the five mellies scorching on the fire.

"Sure," he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I handed him one, burning my fingers. He put his beer down and threw it from hand to hand in an effort to cool it down. An action totally at odds with his demeanour. We ate together in silence, enjoying the cold Castle Lager. As the sun vanished behind the horizon, he started singing! His voice carried through the night, filling the air with a haunting melody that seemed to echo in my soul. I couldn't help but be captivated by the raw emotion in his voice, as if every word held a story untold.  His rich baritone seemed to make his orange hair vibrate all over his body. Then I noticed I had Goosebumps and I had been holding my breath. With the same suddenness that the song started, it ended. Leaving a hole in my life that I knew instinctively would never be filled again. With the largest infectious smile I had ever seen on a face that wasn't human, he looked down at me again and said,

"No one is ever going to believe you."

He gave me a wink and loped off into the darkness. Magically making the brave doggos reappear. 

"Well, fuck Vlekkies, he is not wrong!"

That night brought no sleep; my thoughts wrestled with each other. I was searching for the one person who would believe me. No one came to mind. I still have the hole in my life where that song belonged. Now I have told you, I have reached the point in my life where I no longer care if I am believed. My hope is that you do believe me, but that is a vain hope. My secret is finally out for the world to judge. However, I find comfort in finally letting go of the weight that has been on me for so long, even if no one believes me. I hope that by disclosing my secret, I will be able to get past this void the whole experience left in my life.