by You Jin
I looked and a chill came over me. His legs were scarred, and all of the hard muscles looked like they had been scraped, pounded and smashed. When the bones had healed, they had not set properly, making the flesh stick out here and cave in there. It was an appalling sight.
Bintu shrugged and said calmly, “I lived, which is a good bit of luck in the midst of my misfortune.”
Bintu was twenty-five, and had been five different times with friends going on their lion-killing expedition. Usually after the lion had been killed, they carried it together back to the village and there was a big celebration. When the celebration was over, they would take the lion’s skin, claws and teeth to create a decorative souvenir. The Masai and other Kenyan tribes do not eat lion meat. This is partly because it is tough and smelly, making it difficult to eat, and partly because many Africans hold the superstitious belief that lions carry bad luck, so should not be eaten.
Bintu suddenly asked, “I have several lion claws. Would you like to buy some?”
Seeing my eyes light up, he quickly sated my thirst to see them. He went into a tent and brought out several lion claws and handed them to me. They were curved and sharp, hard as stone and lethal as knives. One of them even had a bit of lion fur firmly attached to it. Each claw cost three hundred shillings (about seven and a half Singapore dollars). Thinking of how he had risked his life to bring it back, I felt this was a very low price to ask. But on the other hand, compared to the average monthly wage of the working class in Kenya of two thousand shillings (about fifty Singapore dollars), it would take a worker four days to earn the price of this claw.
By this time, everyone was finished with dinner and had begun to make their way to the tents, where we sat around the fire chatting. Everyone shared thrilling tales from their travels so far. When the storyteller got to the exciting parts, we all squealed, and when they got to the funny parts, we all laughed without restraint. On discovering that some of us had similar experiences in one country or another, we would talk excitedly all at the same time. We spent the whole night in animated, amicable conversation.
When the wind began to blow all around us, I looked at my watch and found it was getting late. We all said good night and went to our tents to rest. The guards put out the fire, and the whole land was plunged into darkness. The darkness was so thick it felt oppressive. We slowly stumbled about, one tiny step at a time, to the tents and crawled inside.
To be honest, it was a night I cannot bear looking back on. The cotton-padded mattress in the tent was filthy and thin. The worst part was that I had not brought a sleeping bag, so I could only lie atop the mattress to sleep. The wet, muddy ground beneath the mattress was very cold, and both my hands and feet felt icy all night long.
Throughout this torturous night, all sorts of animal calls, roars, howls, cries—sharp, shrill, and violent—came from the jungle to where we slept. Hearing it, I was afraid, frozen in terror. But what worried me most was that there was no one talking in the night. What if the guards had got tired and fallen asleep? It was more than I could bear when the wind occasionally rustled the tent, or a shadow slithered through the grass. I could not sleep all night. To be honest, I had not experienced this sort of situation in all my years of travel because, no matter what, I had always fallen asleep without any trouble.
Many Animals, Powerful and Dynamic
The next morning at seven, sleepy-eyed, I ate breakfast then boarded the Kenya Safari Park van to set out. Compared to the open-sided jeeps in South Africa, this sort of open-topped bus felt much safer, and the vehicle could drive right up next to the animals, or it could move to a distance and allow us to watch them roam and move more naturally, without fear of agitating their wilder natures. So, in Kenya, tourists need not carry guns or any other kind of weapon.
The Kenya Safari Park is flat and spacious, offering an unlimited view of a vast area, so one need not try to find higher ground. The animals appear in herds, and in huge numbers. They are powerful and dynamic, a real sight to behold.
For instance, when the water buffaloes appeared on the plain, it was not just two or three animals, but hundreds, a black cloud swarming over the land. It was quite alarming. They had curved horns on their heads, looking dangerous. They drifted about like a dark incantation.
My favourite was the impala, its golden body streaked with black; its thin legs and nimble form were really beautiful. They moved in herds of one male with many mates, usually one male to dozens of females, and each time the male bellowed, the females capitulated.
I asked the guide about this, wondering how, if they came across a fierce beast as they wandered the vast jungle, a single male could protect such a large herd.
The guide harrumphed and smiled, saying, “What do you mean ‘protect’? He himself will be fleeing, and you still ask about protecting? Anyway, the impalas are very virile. If a few of the females are killed, there will be new ones to take their place soon enough.”
I thought of the old saying, Some birds make their home together, but in times of trouble, they each fly their own separate ways. These impalas were even more feeble than those birds!
Whilst everyone was observing the scene with great pleasure, the guide suddenly pointed to several shadows on the ground and exclaimed, “Look! Lions!”
The driver looked and, without a word, turned the vehicle and accelerated, rushing toward the lions. Because it had rained the previous day, the road was muddy and wet, playing tricks on the driver. The whole vehicle seemed almost out of control, rushing madly through the jungle. Just as everyone started to relax, thinking the vehicle had righted itself, tragedy struck. The rear wheel of the bus got stuck in the mud. It spun for a while, then finally stopped.
At first I thought it was a small problem. I had not imagined that no matter how many times the driver would try, the van would not move. To make matters worse, the vehicle did not have the equipment to call for help. We were in a remote place where cries to heaven and hell were equally useless. The driver, covered in sweat and with an anxious expression, asked us to get off the bus.
Get off? Get off in this wilderness where any wild beast could spring out of the jungle at any time?
We looked at each other, but what else could we do? Left without a choice, we all reluctantly got off the bus.
A Mundane Rescue
All around, it was silent, with only the slight rustle of the breeze audible. Remembering that we could become a lion’s meal at any time, a chill enveloped me. Unexpectedly, Risheng said, “This place is barren. There are no trees to climb and no hills to hide in. It’s dangerous. If you hear the grass rustling, you better run into the bus right away.”
So I stood in the mud near the bus, waiting.
It was not an easy task. The front end of the bus shuddered, but the back end was too deeply stuck into the mud. Although the engine screeched, the vehicle did not budge. Then the people who huddled there with me, all from different countries, volunteered their services, helping to push the bus. They put their hearts into it, pushing as hard as they could, and finally, the vehicle shot forward like a waking lion. Feeling that a great burden had been lifted, everyone sighed in relief. But before it had gone far, it ran into an even bigger mud hole. This time, no matter how hard the driver tried, the bus that had already endured such a shock just could not be moved.
Whilst we all stood waiting to see what we could do next, another vehicle appeared, all of the tourists aboard stretching their heads out of the window, enjoying the scenery and the breeze. At this welcome sight, we called and waved desperately but, perhaps because they were too far away, they did not see or hear us. The vehicle turned away and disappeared into the distance. The sense of foreboding came over us again. There really was a sense of impending doom. Looking at my watch, I saw that we had already been there for two hours! Unbelievably, there was no back-up plan for our rescue. Everyone’s spirits began to sag.
At that moment, Jenny, one of the American women in our group, cried loudly, “
Look! Look!”
We gazed in the direction she was pointing. Oh! There it was! There was a herd of hundreds of wildebeest wandering silently in the same direction. They walked in an orderly queue, as if they were well-disciplined soldiers. Tall and short, big and small, quiet and beautiful.
The guide explained, “Every year in December, the Kenyan grasslands become the feeding ground for herds of wildebeest, who come here for better food. There are always huge numbers migrating from the neighbouring country, Tanzania. Each year in June, they come back to Kenya.”
After this, when another half hour or so had passed, we saw another tour bus. Several of the men, determined not to miss the opportunity, took off their shirts and waved them like flags. Finally, someone in the other vehicle noticed us and they stopped to help. Upon seeing us stuck in the mud, the other driver wisely decided not to drive over to where we were, which might end up putting him in the same predicament. They walked over and the guide said they would go back and call for the emergency corps. As a result, the “emergency corps” showed up another two hours later, and lived up to its name. Inside the vehicle were ten stout men, each as sturdy as a bear. They walked off the road, full of vim and vigour. It was like something from a fantasy story. These ten men were the last recourse for settling this problem. Using all their might, they pulled the whole bus out of the mud, dragging it all the way to dry, solid ground where they set it down.
For no apparent reason, as the sun was going down, the fear I’d felt for the past five hours dissipated. I was fed up and exhausted. I sat in the back of the bus, all of my enthusiasm waning.
Scared Out of its Wits
The next morning, we set out again. The land was silent, the hills rolling gently. In the distance, there was a lovely golden shape. When the driver saw it, his response was to turn and rush quickly towards it. Oh! It was an incomparably huge lion—a breathtakingly beautiful male. The bus followed behind it, driving very slowly. It was so close that you could practically touch it. Everyone was enthralled. The lion roared as it walked, and its roar was terrifying, reverberating to the sky. It seemed indignant. Its huge mouth twisted back and forth.
The guide said, “This is a hungry lion. It is very dangerous. Any animal that comes near will be gone for good.”
The driver and guide were men of experience. They knew that the lion’s “headquarters” were not far from where we were. The bus wound its way along, and finally stopped behind a low bluff. We saw a pride of twenty lions, sitting or lying on the ground. There was a dead animal nearby, with several jackals hovering around it, waiting to scavenge the bones and remnants of meat. Some of the lions closed their eyes, whilst others looked around at the sky, the ground, or the jackals. The gentle morning sunlight fell on them in a diffuse glow. The whole scene seemed safe, quiet and serene, so the frightening, murderous intentions were rendered intangible and suppressed.
At midday, we went into the forest and had lunch near a river. The guide handed us all a packed lunch. Inside was a sandwich, an egg, and some fruit. In the river, all sorts of dark, rock-like forms could be seen. The guide told us they were hippos. They liked to sleep all day, not moving at all, as if they were petrified. At night, they would come out and look for food. But, he said, we should not be deceived by how still and lifeless the hippos seemed. When stirred to life, they could be deadly, scaring you half to death. What was most frightening was to be attacked by a hippo. In nearly every instance of a hippo attack, escape was impossible because its mouth was huge and its teeth sharp. When it opened its mouth to bite, its prey had no chance. Its body would be bitten in half.
After we had finished our lunch, the guide and driver decided to take us to see the border between Kenya and Tanzania. There, we saw a stone marker denoting the border. We were all in high spirits, and we asked the driver to stop and let us take pictures.
The guide muttered to himself, then was finally persuaded to let us take turns to get off the bus. But he warned us sternly, “This is a haunt for beasts of prey. It is not safe. You can go down to take a picture by the border marker, then come straight back onto the bus.”
When I’d taken my picture, it was Jenny’s turn. She combed her hair, straightened her blouse, and then went and stood next to the marker. We heard the guide call urgently, “Hey! You two! Hurry up and get back on the bus! Hurry!”
We rushed straight to the bus and, as soon as the vehicle’s door closed behind us, the driver set off quickly. We looked anxiously out of the window, and only then did we see a hippo coming after us at an alarming speed, powerful and intimidating. It ran madly after us. The bus raced along and the hippo gave chase, its fat, round body turning into a black streak. We all stared it at, speechless.
The guide said, “That was really dangerous. I was worried that lions and rhinos might suddenly appear, but I did not expect to see a hippo! In normal circumstances, hippos rarely leave the river during the day. Maybe it can’t tell day from night, so it came running out at the wrong time.”
Jenny joked, “I think it’s gone crazy after being jilted.”
Everyone laughed, and we continued on our journey.
In Kenya, every inch of ground and every animal had its own story to tell, filling us in turn with surprise, wonder, sorrow and joy. We listened to each tale one by one, and never grew tired of hearing.
The Law of the Jungle
AT DUSK, A fiery red sun sank over South Africa’s Kruger National Park, bathing the boundless land in an almost unreal splendour. Our vehicle bounced along a confusing, muddy road, the tires leaving long scars on the land behind us. Occasionally, a breeze blew, stirring up the dust around us and covering our tracks again, like one depressing transient dream following another.
Turning here and there, we watched the setting sun dying inch by inch, the sky turning darker bit by bit. We were searching for a private animal reserve—Khoka Moya—but we had still not caught sight of it, which made us a little worried. Risheng had stopped the vehicle several times and looked carefully at the map, but in the park, the names of the roads were not indicated. There were just road signs, so it was not easy to find. If we did not find the place before night fell, we would have to spend the pitch-black night in the car. And it was dangerous here; I imagined wild elephants trampling over us, flattening us and our vehicle into the mud.
Just as we were getting really anxious, we saw what looked like an army jeep in the distance, with one young fellow sitting in it. Risheng stuck his head out of the window, waved, and asked the way. The other guy heard our question and responded, “I work at the Khoka Moya Animal Reserve. You can follow me.”
Very pleased, we set out behind him.
Kruger National Park is the biggest wild animal reserve in all of South Africa, and it has the most wild animals of any place on the African continent. Elephants, rhinos, water buffaloes, lions, leopards and many other species, big and small, roam freely there. In order to watch the wild animals, we had faxed the Khoka Moya Animal Reserve from Singapore and arranged with the manager, Susan, for a three-day stay.
When we reached the campground, the gorgeous Susan came over to greet us warmly. She served us coffee, and we sat in the openair hut for a chat.
Susan had been born in Johannesburg, the largest city in South Africa. Both of her parents had been nature lovers, so when she was small, they often went to stay in the jungle, and she gained a deep regard for the natural world. After she married Paul, a man who shared her interests and ideals, she signed a contract with Kruger National Park, renting an area of fifty thousand hectares to operate an animal reserve and tourist spot.
She said proudly, “There are big cities like Johannesburg all over Africa, but jungles where wild animals can roam freely are rare. When I first built the wood cabins for tourists here, some people advised me to construct high fences for safety. But fences would destroy the harmony of the jungle. Moreover, if the animals roam freely through the jungle, and we in turn surround ourselves with fences, won’t we becom
e ridiculous caged beasts in the eyes of the animals?”
We laughed. By not setting up fences, life was more interesting, but also more dangerous.
Once, Susan was sitting in an open-air hut, enjoying her morning tea, when two lions approached, one big and one small, settling themselves lazily in a place only inches away from her. They sat there the whole morning. Afraid she would become their target, she did not dare to move. For several hours, she sat as still as a stone. From that time on, she always carried a small pistol, just to be safe.
“One evening when I was cooking dinner, I suddenly heard an extremely sad, shrill cry. That sort of bone-chilling scream and wild cry of fear can stress you out so much that you might go berserk. Later, I found out that some lions had caught and killed a water buffalo not far from here, and torn its flesh to bits whilst it was still alive. I dreamt of its death cries for several nights in a row after that.”
When she said this, she pointed to where a “decorative” piece had been hung above us and continued, “The next morning, I saw the fresh, bloody buffalo head near the camp. I brought it back, cleaned it up, painted it black and white, and put it here as a specimen.”
The buffalo was pathetic. Its big mouth had been chewed by the lions, leaving it in an irregular jigsaw shape; its eye sockets were empty holes, staring blankly at the vast sky and earth, as if it was making a silent protest against the cruel reality of the weak providing food for the strong.
Susan had had another unforgettable experience. One time, she had just arrived home when she saw a wild elephant close to the cabin, staring maliciously at her. She had little time to react before it started charging towards her. The elephant pursued her ferociously across open ground, whilst she ran for her life in a state of confusion. Finally, she was able to climb an old tree, barely managing to evade the creature.