by Linda Tucker
And she is deadly serious. Having verified the authenticity of my project, her subsequent declaration on arrival that she is my “long-lost godmother”—mother sent from God—didn’t surprise me, either. In reality, Mireille is nothing less.
But what made her do it? At sixty-something, this matriarch tells me she was adopted as a baby by a stern aristocratic couple who were unable to have children of their own. They spirited her out to Africa as a two-year-old baby for a period of time before finally returning to Europe, and for the rest of her life, Mireille longed for Africa, for the African animals she loved, and for the African people who raised her. Now, finally, through an instant lionhearted decision made over a cup of coffee and a morning newspaper, this amazing matriarchal lady has come to my rescue, and the rescue of Africa’s most sacred animal. The executioner’s axe is suspended, and the exiled queen has been spared. Mireille Vince has saved the day.
CHAPTER 11
Under the Camel Thorn
JUNE 7, 2004. I WILL REMEMBER THIS DAY for the rest of my life. Six months after my delivery of the secret parcel to Marah, I’ve finally managed to secure my lioness’s freedom!
I’m standing outside the zoo’s caged dungeons once again. The difference is we are about to relocate Marah and the cubs to a temporary retreat in the Karoo mountain lands—all the difference in the world! It’s a triumph beyond my darkest hours and wildest imaginings.
I made sure I arrived at the zoo this morning more than an hour before the prearranged time, only to find myself accosted by Cloete’s officials. The zoo gave me their express agreement that I could be present in person to oversee the tranquilizing of my cats. It’s a highly sensitive procedure, using Schedule 7 drugs, and I’ve been independently advised that an overdose or miscalculation could prove fatal.
Finally, after an argument lasting almost an hour, Cloete’s officials have let me through. I hasten to the scene, where I find Marah and her precious little ones lying outside, comatose on the cold concrete slab. All four lions are laid out in front of me, totally knocked out by anesthesia, their tongues lolling out. I want to retch. What a kick in the gut. Cloete is nowhere in sight, but I’ve managed to extract information from my friendly official, who informs me Cloete darted the family more than forty-five minutes prior. My mind’s spinning, and I think back to the last time I saw Marah—the only other zoo access I was granted after signing the mandate.
On that occasion, I introduced my godmother, Mireille, to Marah. We could see Marah somehow knew she was about to be freed. As my godmother and I approached, Marah had risen up to greet us. Her eyes were wide and burning brightly behind the bars, like an angel. Then one of the male cubs—Letaba—hurled his little body forward, snarling in a baby voice in an effort to protect his mother—so deeply touching. But Marah brushed him aside gently, using her sweeping paw, like a cloak or downy wing. She was giving my godmother her undivided attention, conveying a message of gratitude and love—as if she somehow knew that Mireille was her benefactor, and benefactor of her cubs. She looked at me with the dignity and majesty of a high queen, about to take up her true title. Awe-inspiring.
What a contrast to this body on the cold, stone slab.
It feels like the stuffing’s been knocked out of me, and I’m faint with nausea. Will Marah survive the journey? Through a haze of biliousness, I hear a voice that brings hope back to my heart. Jason Turner. He arranged to meet me here at 7:00 a.m. this morning. I glance at my watch—it’s exactly 7:00 a.m. Jason’s walking toward me, with his friend Tindall, a dedicated vet, clean-cut, with impeccable professionalism and a deep love for animals. Help at last.
Jason gives me a hug, and I just manage to stop myself bursting into tears.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take over,” Jason says.
He steps forward to test Marah’s pupils and covers her face with toweling, explaining this will protect her unblinking eyes from the dry atmosphere. I watch Tindall fit a syringe into a vein on Marah’s soft furry foreleg and set up a drip for hydration. He’ll do the same for all four lions.
There’s a scuffling sound as the officials make way, and that armored tank Cloete comes thundering in, officious and shouting orders. Jason stands up and says, “Step aside. Your jurisdiction is officially terminated.”
I watch Cloete grind to a halt, then retreat, grim-faced. “That’s not the last you’ll hear of me!”—his final salvo.
We had planned so carefully, but everything feels like a whirl of events. Jason helps me wrap the lions in blankets so that their body temperatures don’t plunge. We lift the cubs, one by one, onto stretchers. Only nine months old, yet so heavy. And moving Marah requires the lion keeper and two burly assistants to help Jason, Tindall, and me. The six of us carry her out to the paneled van, a large black vehicle we’ve hired for the day, with all the windows blacked out and a sliding door. Jason and Tindall clamber into its interior, dragging the two front rods of the stretcher along with them, while the four of us help to hold Marah’s body stable. We heave her up gently and settle her on the van floor beside her sleeping cubs. Inside, I tuck the blankets around them.
We start moving the van slowly, finally exiting the zoo premises. I scrutinize the police escort ahead of us and catch a flash of silver hair. Mireille is sitting in a stately fashion at the rear of the police vehicle. In a slow-motion convoy, we travel through the streets of Johannesburg. The police car siren sounds, and ahead of us vehicles in the crowded streets pull aside for the cavalcade, no doubt imagining it’s transporting another group of self-important politicians in black suits. I can see out, but the crowds can’t see in. If only they knew what precious cargo is actually being transported to freedom!
I see the road sign indicating the private airport. We are still driving very slowly. Finally, we cross the tarmac and come to a halt. Jason swings the sliding door open, and a cloud of hot air and jet fumes fill the interior. The airport staff must have been tipped off because people on foot are crowding in now—as if for royalty. We finally come to a halt—and all around us the crowd is closing in.
With Jason and Tindall’s help, I carry the cubs one by one, forcing our way through a heated phalanx of people and on toward the hull of the aircraft. Having settled them, we return to lift Marah, while everyone wants to help carry or just hold onto the stretcher.
“Make way! Make way!” I hear Mireille’s voice on the bullhorn. But they can’t help crowding in—pilots, flight attendants, airport staff, cleaning staff—all wanting to touch the beautiful pink paws of these great kitties, sleeping like angels … and I really can’t blame them.
What a relief to be in the back of the jet at last. The doors have closed. Speeding down the runway and taking off, what a top-of-the-clouds feeling. I’m dizzy with exhaustion and relief. It will be another nine hours before we reach our destination.
We’ve arranged a convoy of Land Rovers to be ready when we touch down on the runway. Timing is critical. We don’t want to keep the cats tranquilized any longer than absolutely necessary. So far, so good; I’m praying next steps go according to plan.
DAWN, IN A SPARTAN KAROO LANDSCAPE. JUNE 8, 2004. It’s been a long night: first the seemingly endless plane flight, then the slow drive in the Land Rovers along endless dusty roads, then the careful settling of the lions lying covered with blankets under a camel thorn tree on the dry earth at sunset, where they’ve been lying all night, drugged and unmoving. It’s been a tense, worrisome night.
Mireille and I stand in the open back of the Land Rover outside the pride’s enclosure; Jason and Tindall are in the cabin interior, holding up binoculars. It’s a subzero desert morning.
This isn’t paradise. Marah’s new home is a two-hectare electrified camp, no bigger than a football field. And it’s not her natural habitat but a harsh semidesert with rocky outcrops, occasional scrub brush, dust eddies, and no significant dense-leaved tree in sight, apart from one camel thorn tree, around which we specifically built the lions’ camp. Nevertheless, until
I can safely secure the next step to Timbavati, this dry land is a merciful safe haven. It’s all we have.
All night long there’s been no movement from Marah and her cubs. I’m deeply worried. But as the sun begins to rise, finally the lions start to rouse. First the cubs. The little female is just strong enough to balance on her unsteady legs, and she staggers over to her sleeping mother, looking visibly anxious and confused because Marah is still totally knocked out.
Breathless, I’m watching the scene unfold in the morning light. At last, Marah opens her eyes—the first time since she left the zoo. Thank heavens she’s emerging from her drugged sleep, although drowsy and confused. Seeing her daughter, she’s regaining her strength fast. She gathers her little ones around her, the boys still teetering on unsteady paws. Ah! I breathe easily for the first time in more than twenty-four hours.
All four are in a tight huddle, staring out into the dawn—through the mesh of their new enclosure. It’s the very first time the cubs have seen the sun. They’re huddled tightly together in a tableau of grace and beauty. For me, watching them, it’s the most beautiful sight in the world—Madonna and cubs! They’re staring back at us; and then at the open, rolling plains; then at the mountains; and then at the rising red disc of the sun beyond.
Even though they are not free to roam yet, horizon after horizon is opening up for them. And my heart feels like singing. Mireille and I are both so emotional; we’re clinging onto each other, weak at the knees. If I didn’t have my godmother for moral support at this moment, I’d be sobbing.
It’s not only the first time the cubs have seen the sun, it’s also the first time they’ve felt the earth beneath their pads. Confined to a concrete floor until this moment, because the zoo didn’t want them on public display due to the sensitive negotiations taking place behind the scenes, the cubs have known nothing else. I watch the tots cautiously testing the sand with their little paws. For such bravehearts, they seem a little frightened. Absolutely everything is new: the grass, the birdsong—one cub tilts his head this way and that, trying to identify where the bird’s voice is coming from. A twig cracks under the weight of his little sister, Zihra, and she’s so startled she darts to her mother. Tucked under Marah for protection, they stare into the sunlight that should have been their birthright. Such vivid images of the lions, etched into my heart forever. Such a triumphant day!
“This changes everything,” I murmur to Mireille.
On this crisp winter’s morning, she has sensibly brought with her a flask of hot chocolate, which she pours out into two mugs.
“A cuppa, gentlemen?”
Behind the wheel of our vehicle, Jason and Tindall take mugs for themselves, grateful for the warmth.
“What a long wait through the night for them to wake up,” Mireille chirps. “And, hey presto, here they are!”
She’s gazing appreciatively into the fenced enclosure, and Marah and cubs gaze back.
“A little disoriented, true, but bright as buttons!” she announces, proudly. “Joy of joys!”
I stare back at Marah and her young ones, radiant in the golden morning light. The miracle of their first day of sunshine, far away from the horns and sirens and madding crowds of the city! Here the only sign of traffic is a distant dust eddy, which I’ve been watching for the past fifteen minutes, approaching from behind a series of hillocks. The semidesert is so sparse that we picked it out in the far distance, some ten kilometers away. After noticing Marah pricking up her ears and staring in that direction, Jason first pointed it out to us. The dust eddy is coming closer now, and Marah turns her head to stare—then all three cubs adopt the same posture in unison.
As it approaches from a distance, Marah springs up and ushers her cubs to cover under the nearby tree. Disoriented, they follow her. They’ve never seen a tree before, and Marah had only known the dry logs and constructed stone dens of the zoo. Prior to that, in the canned-hunting camp, there was one spiny cactus and a concrete floor in her cage. In this dry semidesert landscape, the camel thorn under which the lions are lying is one of the few trees in sight. They peep out from behind its leaves, peering at the vehicle approaching now some five hundred meters away.
“Wildlife manager JJ,” Jason comments, “Scheduled to drive us back to camp.”
“Your opportunity to get some good rest at last, Mireille!” I prompt.
“Come to think of it, we’ve been in transit since predawn yesterday!” Mireille replies, “And we were in prep for the transit the night before! Nearly thirty-six hours without sleep. Better recharge batteries, everyone!”
The vehicle finally joins us, ushering in a cloud of Karoo dust. JJ behind the wheel, arm out the window. Mireille sensibly opts to return to the nearest camp with him.
“I’ll join you too,” Tindall says. “They’ve all safely recovered from the drugs. Need to get back home by day’s end.”
But Jason and I are going nowhere.
“Sure you don’t want to get back?” JJ prompts me. “It’ll be a long day in the desert heat—and Jason can handle it on his own.”
“Absolutely sure,” I respond.
“Nothing will separate Linda from her lions now!” retorts Mireille.
“Well, here’re your sandwiches, packed in the cooler, with cartons of fruit juice—just as your godmother instructed,” JJ comments, passing the crate over to me.
I watch Jason and Tindall exchange careful instructions. For safety reasons, Jason makes sure he’ll be in radio contact with Tindall over the next few hours, should there be any unexpected cause for concern.
JJ’s vehicle departs, with a last view of Mireille sitting regally at the back, waving enthusiastically. She must be one of the proudest grandmamas on earth!
Raising my binoculars to my eyes, I watch the 4×4 disappear over the nearby hills, then shift focus to the nearby camel thorn, where, from its deep shade, I can just discern four sets of cats’ eyes peering anxiously. What a brave new world it is for my precious ones. Jason climbs out of the driver’s seat and joins me in the back of the monitoring vehicle, watching closely. The dust eddy behind JJ’s vehicle passes over the next crest of hills now, and the heat slowly starts to break through the morning chill. Looking back to the camel thorn, I see Marah emerge. She tentatively puts her head out of the fringe of leaves and steps into clear view, steady on all fours as the drug has worn off, and instructs the cubs to follow. They are wide awake and looking around them as they pad into the rising sun.
Is it possible Marah knows the importance of her new environment? All those messages I’ve been sending her in my daily prayers over these many months—is it possible they’ve reached her? Maria’s training primed me for this very moment. I know how Marah is feeling, and she can read my thoughts. Marah and I are as one.
As if confirming this, she turns her gaze to me—my heart feels like bursting! Her eyes so direct, yet so loving and all-knowing. The cubs are cuddled up together in full sunlight, sleepy lids closed. I imagine she’s about to drop off to sleep, together with them. But she stands up and heads over to test the electric fence. It’s a terrible moment. I know Jason checked the charge earlier, but I can tell from a sharp intake of breath that he’s also concerned.
“Should I worry she might get out?” I ask him. “Try to escape?”
“Don’t think so. Reckon she’s assessing her boundaries,” Jason observes, “gauging the dangers of the electrics for her offspring.”
I feel totally helpless as Marah steps forward and puts out her soft, velvety paw. Oh no! I try to warn her by conveying a telepathic message, but she’s too quick. She’s touching the charged trip wire. Now springing back from the electrical charge, recoiling in shock. I watch her tail flicking, serpentine with irritation. She shoots me a fiery glance—and I feel utterly wretched with guilt. I try to apologize, but she turns her head away with an angry expression. She pads back to her agitated youngsters, gathering them around her protectively again. I notice lots of affectionate cheek-rubbing between th
e four cats. Watching her closely, I decide this must be a deliberate effort to get a warning message to them. Finally, Marah glances up at me again—and I’m so relieved to see her eyes warm and maternal again. All is forgiven, but hopefully the lesson is not forgotten.
“I deliberately kept the electric charge low,” Jason explains, “in anticipation that that might happen.”
The cubs are up and off again, adventuring and exploring their new environment, toddling through the dust and the dry grass. Jason and I notice them heading straight toward the electric fence—just as Marah did moments before.
“Oh, no! Here we go again!” Jason mutters.
We are bracing ourselves a second time. Another heart-stopping moment.
The thought of the cubs shocking their little bodies on the fence is totally mortifying! Or worse, their damp little noses. I expect Marah to intervene—to bound forward and use a mother’s paw to cuff them out of harm’s way. But instead, she stands intensely gazing after them, as if she knows what she’s doing. At the very same moment, all three juveniles turn to look at their mother, as if she’s called them—without making a sound.
“Could it be she’s communicating the dangers of the electrified boundaries to them?” Jason asks under his breath.
“Telepathically? Yes! That’s exactly what she’s doing,” I watch with pride. Marah must have conveyed her unpleasant experience of being shocked to them. Having turned to look back at their mother, as if acknowledging her concerns, the tots change direction, all three avoiding the fence completely. They return and settle down comfortably with their mother, one big cuddly heap.
“Well done!” Jason says turning to me with a warm hug of congratulations. “Great job getting them to freedom!”