The Kruger National Park

My African Conference Of The Birds

A Memoir

In safety we laughed.

“This was the only safari people were happy not to encounter a lion!” I joked as we climbed into the truck, K, Edwin and I, high-fiving that we made it back to the camp alive. It was, of course, the hysterical laughter of denial. Shock only settled in later, when we were back in our tent at the Great Letaba River, struggling for a wink of sleep against the storm rattling the mosquito nets and the thunder of the buffalo herd roaring endlessly in my head.

“Relax, damnit, you’ll be safe!” K had said the same morning, rolling her eyes, as we packed our bags and loaded the brand-new Toyota Fortuner, our rental car for Limpopo and the Kruger National Park. K was in flip-flops and shorts. I looked like a Peshmerga fighter: combat boots, safari pants and a long sleeved shirt with anti-mosquito bracelets like devotional charms, and on top of everything a head scarf. I was scared of Malaria. After a week of traveling the bush, I counted four mosquito bites on my belly already.

From Phalaborwa we headed further north to a bush camp in a reserve unfenced from the Kruger National Park, far off in the wide wilderness. We followed roads untraveled, un-tarred, corrugated and bumpy. I had discovered the camp on a website for sustainable, ethical, eco-friendly tourism.
“Tourist-unfriendly tourism,” K said. But we enjoyed the shaky ride: We tuned in on African Pop radio and bounced to the music. At the reserve’s main gate, where a couple of cabins roasted in the sun, I had a first moment of doubt.

A sleepy ranger in a threadbare uniform rose from behind a humming fan and had us fill out the registration book. Apparently, we were the only tourists to stay at the River Camp. All the other names signed in the list, dated and partly bleached out, were those of workers (reason of stay: work), and there were not many of them either.
“Are you sure we have to sign in?” K asked.
“Because we definitely won’t work here,” I added. “We’re tourists.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Just sign.”

The ranger didn’t look at our names when we handed him back the book. He opened the gate, let us pass, and closed it again. I was not sure whether we were entering or leaving. Were we in or out now? We were in the wild for sure. The Toyota howled as we crawled up the narrow dirt road. Thick branches grazed the windows, as it plumped into holes and struggled out again. It was a ride in silence. We had long lost radio reception.

When we got out of the forest we caught sight of a winding, sandy river and a handful of walk-in mosquito nets sitting at its bank. The River Camp. Exactly like the picture on the website. Even the Hippopotamus were dozing in the water.

As we approached, a figure appeared from a wood cabin next to the tents, strangely blurred by the glimmering hot air. It was a Venda woman in safari gear. We jumped out of our AC-ed Toyota. I felt like smashing against a brick wall, so thick and viscous was the air.

“I’m Judith,” the woman introduced herself and led us into the cabin. It was the field kitchen. Copper mugs and pots hung suspended from nails, and solar-powered refrigerators buzzed with the flies. The fireplace was outdoors, at the river.

“Isn’t this dangerous?” I asked Judith, ogling at the hippos. They lay snug in the slow stream, the sandy water rippling around them. I could have taken them for massive stones if it weren’t for the ox-peckers, red-eyed and yellow-beaked, feasting on their backs. “Aren’t we too close to the hippos?”
“Not now,” Judith said with a clipped, African accent. “They are hot and sleepy now. But be sure to be in your tent at night. That’s when they come out of the river to graze around the tents.”
“Ah. At what time?” I asked, but Judith took it for a joke. She laughed.

“Now sit down, please!” She motioned towards a big table on the cabin’s shaded patio. “We do the official welcome.” As we slumped on the wooden chairs, I was exhausted from the heat already, we were joined by a khaki-clad man. He shook our hands with little bows of his bald head.
“This is Edwin, your responsible guide,” Judith said.

Edwin had the serious attitude of a dignitary, but when he smiled, it was a honest, warmhearted smile. There were so many gaps between his white teeth his mouth looked like a piano keyboard.

“Venturing into the bush on one’s own is too dangerous and therefore forbidden,” Edwin lectured us in the same clipped accent, but, he went on, included in the 900,- South African Rand we paid for accommodation, was a game drive.”
“Cool,” I said.
“Let’s do it tomorrow,” K said. She always wanted to chill first. Chilling with chilled wine, to be precise. Bird-watching and documentation thereof was the real reason for our travels, not wine-drinking, though why not drink wine while watching birds was our motto.
“Very well,” Edwin said, “tomorrow then,” only to surprise us twenty minutes later, when K and I had already settled into our little tent, and sat on its patio, long stemmed glasses of chilled Stellenbosch Rosé between our fingers.
“We must do the drive now,” he said.
“Why?” K was not pleased. “I’m planning a braai now.”
“There is a cyclone moving in from Mozambique.” Edwin had just checked the weather forecast. “It will bring rain tomorrow, floods maybe.”
“Very well,” K sighed, “let’s go now.” We put down our long stemmed glasses and shouldered our camera equipment, giant zoom lenses and hefty cameras on monopods. There was no other preparation for our excursion into the bush.

We told Judith in the field kitchen to get a fire going for 7pm, so we could have our braai when we returned. Then Edwin brought his jeep. Cream colored, with an open canvas roof, it looked historic, an anachronism next to our Toyota.
“Wait, I forgot something…” He rushed into kitchen in long-legged strides and re-appeared holding a meter long rifle in his hand. It looked historic, too.
“I hope you won’t use it,” I said as K and I heaved ourselves and our cameras up the ladder into the old jeep.
“No, no… But it’s the law…” He climbed into the driver’s seat and off we sailed into the evening sun, a motley crew: toothless Edwin at the steering wheel, I in head-scarf and K still in shorts and flip-flops, a Stuyvesant clutched between her lips.
“So you are here for the birds?” Edwin asked, nodding towards our gigantesque zoom-lenses. “I am a birder. I recognized 220 different species so far.”
“Oh wow…” I shouted over the slipstream and the roaring motor. “I’m just a beginner. My interest started only recently, when I read the conference of the birds. You know, the old Persian tale of the hoopoe that leads the birds to find their king? They have to undergo all kinds of tests of endurance and bravery, of hunger and fear, until those who made it find out that there is no king other than themselves…?”
“Aha…” Edwin said politely.
“That’s why the hoopoe is my favorite bird.” I went on.
“If we are lucky, we will see hoopoes. They live in the trees here.” He raised his arm from the steering wheel to point towards little groups of trees growing miraculously out of the sandy soil. “But hoopoes are shy… very shy.”
“Look! Buffaloes!” K shouted. We turned to see the droopy-eyed giants trotting through the savannah, their horns curved upwards like little girls’ pigtails. The sand whirled up with each stomp of their mighty hooves, each step just a breeze, but a foreboder of the storm to come, once their powers were unleashed.

We drove on in silence through the infinite plain as the wind drew pastel clouds across the denim sky. The trees were shaped like umbrellas, casting dark circles of shade, or were utterly leaf-less, dead wood refusing to vanish in the heat, like fingers pointing upwards, from their graves into eternity. Thorn-bushes were spotted with rollers like paint boxes. There were elephants at the muddy water-holes blowing water-fountains into the hot air, giraffes strutting regally in the evening sun, their long, twisted necks swaying. Zebras stared us down, ruminating, and bokkies, a sheer uncountable number of Impalas, jumping, sprinting and turning in circles, frolicking in the sunset. The savanna was breathtaking.

“This is big five country!” Edwin said proudly, the jeep bucking as he shifted gears. ”Elephants, buffaloes, rhinos, leopards and lions.”
“I wish I’d see a lion, finally!” I said. Sure, birds were our mission, but it would still be a thrill to get to see the top of the food chain. Edwin smiled mysteriously, revealing pink gums, as he steered the jeep through the sand, somewhat erratically, it seemed to me. But there were no roads, no pre-designed paths. We went where the wind led us. Or rather where Edwin drove us.

The old jeep crawled up a dune-like hill and came to a halt on top, only for a second, long enough for me to catch a good glimpse of the tiny, narrow valley below, carved out by a river run dry, and to wonder whether Edwin was attempting to cross the riverbed, and if the truck would make it through the groove. Then Edwin let the truck roll downhill, gathering speed with every meter. With a dull thump we stopped short, whiplashing our heads.

Of course, the truck did not make it through the groove. The wheels stuck in the loose ground, burying themselves deeper and deeper into the sand with each of Edwin’s futile attempts to wriggle free. The motor howled. Sand shot up like a sand geyser.

“You need to put in the four wheel drive!” I shouted over the noise, expertly.

“It does not work!” Edwin said, manipulating the two long gear shifts with his left hand, wiping off the sweat from his forehead with his right. Finally he gave up and jumped out of his seat to walk around the truck. He studied the back wheels in what seemed sheer amazement.

“Great,” K sighed and leapt off the truck. “We need to dig out the wheel and place stones underneath so it gets some grip. Do you have a shovel or something?”

Edwin opened the boot and rummaged, lifting various things and throwing them back with a metal bang, before he turned back and shook his head helplessly.
“Ok, Edwin, then you have to call for help.” I said. He slouched his shoulders. He hung his head. I dreaded his answer.
“Unfortunately. I did not bring a phone.” He looked up beaming. “Did you?”
“No.”
My heart was beating in my throat. No, I had not brought a phone. I am the fucking tourist and you’re the fucking guide! I screamed voicelessly. I swallowed. Here we were, stuck in Big Five country….
“Let’s dig with our hands then.” K was already on her knees shoveling barehanded.
There was hope. K getting into commander mode always filled me with faith, and bravery. I jumped off the truck myself and joined her, digging with both hands, hastily, like a meerkat searching for worms.
“No, not you. Edwin will help with the digging. You climb back up and look out for animals.” K commanded. “There is a waterhole over there, see? I figure animals will show up soon.” She pointed towards some shrubbery and I could make out the water hole behind. So that’s why Edwin had driven us down here, in the hope of seeing lions! I rushed back up to my high seat and scanned the field around, turning like a radar. I cursed myself for having mentioned the lions. I didn’t even like cats. I liked birds.

K and Edwin were panting as they dug and collected stones to pave the soil underneath the sinking wheels. They started the car again and again, and cursed when the stones and sand got catapulted into the air. They dug some more, collected more stones, and cursed some more.
A secretary bird took off from behind the scrubs, extending its long legs like Barishnikov, flapping and clapping its wings. Gracefully it disappeared into the darkening sky leaving us. Abandoning us. Night was falling.

“It does not work. We have to give up.” K said. Her hair was wet from sweat.
“So what are we doing now?” I said, my voice shaking from fighting tears of desperation.

“We have to walk home.” Edwin said.
He was our guide after all. He shouldered his gun, K and I shouldered our monopods and cameras. We left the truck sitting lopsided in its trap, and set out to walk back to the camp. Through Big Five country.
Which was forbidden, of course.

It was not only forbidden. It was crazy. Insane. Suicidal. But what else was there to do.
“Fuck!” I said and let my head drop. That’s how I saw the footprints in the sand, the two half-circles of the Impalas, and the four smaller circles around a bigger one, a big cat’s footprint, a leopard’s, a cheetah’s, a l…. don’t even think about it! Fuck, fuck, fuck. I thought instead.

“Hey, stay with us!” K shouted. I had accelerated my pace without even noticing. A flight reflex. “You have no idea where you’re going and there might be animals behind the bushes.”
Thanks for reminding, I thought. Wordlessly joined the single file. Edwin spearheading with the gun, then me with K covering my back.

We walked on in silence. A flock of birds stirred up from a bush. I could not identify them. They were only black silhouettes against a dark grey background. Whatever they were, I did not care anymore. How ironic, I thought. It was only for the birds I ended up here in the bush.
“Won’t Judith worry? Won’t she call someone to come fetch us?” K asked.
“But how would they know where we are?” I said.
“They will know. Absolutely someone will come and get us.” Edwin said.
We did not reply.
“Absolutely, they will come.” Edwin said again.
We stomped on, the sand giving in under us, burying our feet ankle-high.
“Let’s hope!” he said, cheerfully.

Next to me the bushes rattled and shook. I jumped up, holding my breath, staring into the undecipherable greyness in front of me. I had always thought that predators were the only danger in the bush. But that is not the case. A lion, strong and confident, might ignore you after dinner, while a buffalo, an elephant, a beautiful long-necked giraffe, nervous and anxious, will kill you with the shuffle of a hoof or the wink of a horn, just for startling them, or walking unannounced through their territory.
“Don’t worry! It’s nothing,” Edwin said. ”It’s only the cyclone moving in.”
Right. The cyclone. How comforting.

We stomped on. Stumbling over elephant dung, sliding in loose sand, panting, sweating. I kept my eyes down and my thoughts at a short leash. Just count the steps. Left, right, left, right. Nothing but the steps. Left, right. Left, right.

The sun vanished, and with it the last sliver of light. The savannah was reduced to a nightmarish sea of darkness, drifting by in impossibly black shapes. How many times had I told, puffed-up and chuffed, my dare-devil bush-camp-plans to envious listeners? What were they going to think in their armchairs stroking their house cats, when I did not return, what were they going to say, chatting on their phones? That I had it coming? That it must have been worth it? Was it worth it? We reached a dirt road, or so Edwin said.
“We turn left now. We are almost home!”
“But, Edwin, we drove here for over an hour! We must be far from the camp still,” K said.
“Yes,” Edwin said, “Almost home.”
No use arguing. We trotted on. The dull thumps of our steps, out of sync and erratic, and our panting and heaving were the only sounds. My shoulders hurt from the camera. I clutched the metal leg of the monopod in wet hands. Under my headscarf, sweat tickled my temples, salted my lips. In my neck my wet hair stuck to the skin. Little creeks of sweat were running down my back, my belly and I remembered my mosquito bites. How trivial they seemed now. Was I even going to live till Malaria?

“Shhh! Still.” Edwin grabbed my shoulder. “Don’t move!”
He tip-toed forward. There was commotion in the black bushes that lined the dirt road, a rattling, a snorting, a puffing. My body whirled, my feet started moving. Away!
Someone grabbed my arm.
“Don’t run! They will follow. You have to stand still,” K hissed.
My feet lifted off the ground. I was levitating. My weight was suspended from my shoulders completely, my thorax a balloon, rising. K cradled my hand in hers.
“We will be fine, don’t worry,” she said.
Edwin shouldered his gun and I recognized from countless movies the clicking sound as he released the safety catch.
Boom.
A yellow flame shot through the night. Immediately tinnitus rang in my right ear. Edwin’s long, lanky body was thrust into us. A roaring thunder. Like a violent surf clashing against cliffs, like an avalanche. The earth shaking. Literally shaking.
“What is this? What is this!”
“It’s buffaloes. They are taking off.” Edwin said.
The thunder was all around us, the roaring enveloping us, constricting my lungs. Where were the buffaloes?
We stood still, clutching each other’s arms until, finally, the roaring faded, then died off. In the complete silence that followed, Edwin bent down to pick up the empty shell.
“It’s safe now,” he said. “They have left. We can continue,” he said.
We moved on. Wordlessly. Stumbling, sliding. Think of the steps. Left, right.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Out of nothing I thought of the white shirt I had bought in Paris half a year ago, so luxurious and smooth. I had never worn it, for fear of stains, of spoiling it. The shirt would still lie in my dresser at home, clean, neatly folded and white, whether I returned or not. I don’t want to die. I stomped on.
“How many bullets do you have in your gun?” K asked.
“Five. Four left,” Edwin said.
I could faint. I could just faint here. Then K and Edwin would have to deal with the situation, and I’d be off the hook. At least I would not witness my own death. I would just collapse and drift off into the night, better than being trampled or stabbed. Lacerated while the white shirt was still spotless and clean. If I ever get the chance, I will wear it right away. And eat spaghetti, peel a pomegranate, brush my teeth in it. The white shirt will not survive me.

Edwin was panting. He was limping. How old was he? Fifty, sixty?
“Are you alright, Edwin?”
“Yes, yes… Just have to walk slow a bit.”
“No, Edwin, we cannot walk slow. We need to get home. Come on, you can lean on me!”
“No, thank you. I can walk. It’s good exercise!”

We dragged on. I scanned the blackness in vain. In the complete absence of light my eyes started fantasizing, the desire for light, for color like a phantom pain. Shapes appeared and danced like ghosts, floated, morphed, melted together and disintegrated again. Tiny lights were bouncing in front of me. Was it fire flies? Lightning bugs? Was it the car coming to get us? I could not get them in focus. There were lights somewhere, but I could not look at them. They kept vanishing. Was it cat eyes glowing in the dark? I scrunched my eyes shut and opened again. The dark shapes were still whirling around. I lifted my head, dared to look up. I saw the sky. The stars were blinking, sparkling like diamonds, trillions, zillions of them. What an infinite abundance of lights… Don’t look up, don’t waste a second. Keep looking ahead. Just look ahead. Left, right, left, right.

“Wait!” K had fallen back. “My feet are cramping, I cannot walk anymore.”
K and her stupid flip-flops.
“I can carry you,” I stumbled back to her.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I can. I am strong.” It was true. I was strong. I was a runner. If there was something I could do well, it was running, walking. “I’m not joking. I can carry you.”
Her and the cameras, I could do it.
“No… just let me rest a bit.” She stemmed her arm against her thigh, wheezing as she inhaled the sandy air. I turned and looked for Edwin. He was waiting for us a couple of meters ahead, panting as well. The silhouette of his ribcage rose and fell, the shouldered rifle with it, like a ship’s mast swaying.
Her and the cameras, and push Edwin along. I could do it.
I waited. The dark shapes around me kept moving and the stars kept blinking from their safe vantage point. I chewed the sand in my dry mouth. No one had brought water.
“Come on, both of you, we can do it!” I screamed, turned and stomped ahead.

“Shhh! Stop!”
Not again. Rattling, Shaking, snorting in the bushes.
“Shoot the gun again, Edwin.”
“No.”
“Shoot the gun, Edwin, now!” I commanded.
He released the safety clutch and fired. The yellow flash, the boom, Edwin falling backwards and the trampling fading away in the distance.
Three bullets left.
“Let’s move on.” I pulled off my headscarf. The night air felt cool and pleasant against my wet hair. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

We set off again, following the dirt road into an even blacker patch.
“Boom!” Edwin shouted.
We looked at him, alert again. But there was only silence.
“It’s better if we make some noise.” He walked on. “To help the animals recognize us.”
“Like singing?”
“Or shouting. Boom!”
“Boom!” I shouted. It felt good. “Boom! BOOM!”
I laughed, throwing back my head.
“Boom!” K shouted.
So we marched on, screaming in the wind. “Boom! Boom!”
Sometimes K fell back, sometimes Edwin. I shuttled back and forth, pushing them from behind, or dragging them by their hands. Trying to instill strength into them, energy. My determination to get out of this blackness grew with every word I yelled at them: You’re doing good. Just keep focused. Left, right, left, right.

“Look there is the camp! I can see the light of the camp!” Edwin exclaimed.
“Where?” We stopped, staring into the blackness.
“There!” he pointed into the night. I could not see a thing. No light. Just blackness, more blackness and up in heaven the mocking stars.
“Right there!” he said, pointing still.
I moved in to scrutinize his face, the white of his eyes. The white of his rare teeth. He was smiling. A shy, wane smile. He was embarrassed. The thought suddenly hit me. What if Edwin really had no idea where we were going? What if he were as lost as I was, and made it all up not to admit his failure as a guide? What if we had been walking in the wrong direction all this time, heading deeper and deeper into the Kruger?
“Edwin. There is no light.” K said.
“Yes, yes, I can see it!” he said.
I scrunched my eyes shut and reopened. There was no light. But what did it matter. Edwin was my only hope. I had to believe in Edwin.
“Boom! Boom! Boom!” I shouted, leaning into the wind, marching on. “Let’s go to the light!”
“Boom! Boom! Boom!”
And then, there was a light! A light! Boom! Boom!
We walked on, boom!, the light growing bigger and closer, Boom! Boom! I thought I could discern the cabin.
Boom Boom.
The light grew bigger, reluctantly drawing trees and shrubs into the dark.
“Come out, people! We are here!” I screamed.
Then light beams glared up with the roaring of a strong motor. A truck pulled up, towards us.

The next morning we packed our Toyota. Edwin had been right. Torrential rains were pouring down, the camp was likely to be flooded.
“Better you leave.” he said. “It might be dangerous here.”
“But what about you, Edwin, what will you do?” K asked. Logically, we should have been mad at Edwin for getting us into danger. But I was not. The happiness of having made it, and having made it on my own, was so much bigger, was a feeling so good, it overpowered everything else.
“We will see. Let’s hope the river won’t overflow.” He smiled his toothless smile and waved at us, as the Toyota found its way along the flooded dirt road leading away from the river camp.

In the end, I never caught Malaria. I never saw a lion. I never saw a hoopoe, either. When we much later, at home in the city, put the pieces together, we found out that it had taken us three hours to get back to the camp. Three hours of such intensity, of life reduced to its pure essence, that left us with nothing but ourselves.

Never had I felt more alive.