Scarred Lions (4 page)

I unpacked my bags. The clothes I stashed away in the cupboard, the few books I’d brought along I stacked on the desk, alongside a pack of CDs and DVDs. On the bare brick wall I stuck a poster of Amir Khan, the famous boxer. I stared up at him for a while, sighed softly and then continued getting the room comfortable.

The silence still lingered. All I heard was my own footsteps on the tile floor, the gentle rustle of my clothes as I moved about the room. I had never heard my clothes move. It felt strange.

Deep, deep silence.

I sat down on my bed, cross-legged. I tilted my head to the side. No, there were other sounds. They were coming from outside. Muffled. I glanced at the window on my left.

Should I open it for a short while? But what if something came leaping through it all of a sudden? Or swinging through it – the baboon Lwazi was talking about.

Oh, don’t be so damn scared, I reprimanded myself.

I placed my hand on the window latch, turned it ever so carefully.

Click!

Slowly I opened the window. The sounds of the night came flooding into my room. There were crickets chirping. Birds calling. At least, I thought it was birds. I listened. Three or four different kinds of birds. I didn’t know their names. Their shrill calls echoed through the night. On and on.

Ke-koik, ke koik!

Fu-eek, fu-eek, fu-eek!

Ke-teh-teh-teh-teh-teh!

A bug suddenly whirred through the window. I fell backwards on the bed, startled for a moment. The black-winged beetle flew up to the light. I had to smile. It had almost given me the fright of my life but it seemed innocent enough.

I sat upright at the window again, listening to the birds. Trying to recognize the strange smells wafting through the air. It had to be leaves, dry grass, dust.

It was pitch-dark outside. So dark that it seemed as if a black velvet curtain had been hung right on the other side of the window. Drowning out all light, but not the sounds or the smells.

Something scratched out there in the bush. I could hear the rustle of grass, the crackling of dry leaves and twigs.

It sounded like something heavy.

An animal?

My mind raced, trying to find an explanation. Should I close the window now? Perhaps it wasn’t even near the chalet. I couldn’t really judge its distance, my mind not being accustomed to something like this.

I listened again. It seemed quite near.

There were no animal sounds, just the continuous scratching and rustling. I probably would have swallowed my tongue if that animal were to suddenly call out. Or worse, jump up at the window!

Enough bravery for one night.

I closed the window, making doubly sure the latch was properly secured. I fell back on my bed, staring out into the dark. Wondering what Mum was up to now.

Themba still hadn’t come home.

I must have fallen asleep there on the bed, still wearing the clothes I’d had on when I arrived. The bang of a door woke me up. Hasty footsteps. I lay there frozen, breathless. Something moved outside my door.

‘Dammit!’ It was a man’s voice.

I heard him ruffling through a cupboard. The sound of metal. A safe opening? A clinking sound. The safe closing.

Again hurried footsteps moving away, stopping near the front door, returning. Approaching my room. A shadow fell across the doorway.

‘Buyi, are you awake?’ It was Themba.

‘Yes …’

‘I have to go out again. Ensure all the doors and windows are shut properly.’ His voice was anguished. He looked tired, but he was obviously in a hurry.

‘What’s wrong?’ Only now did I see the rifle in his hand. Shining ammunition in the other.

‘There has been an accident. The night safari …’

‘The one Lwazi went on?’

He nodded, his brow furrowing even more. ‘They met with a lion.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘We don’t know. The radio signal was too weak. I’m off to find them. Stay here.’

I nodded. The blood drained from my body, leaving me weak. As soon as I heard the front door slam, I ran through the chalet making sure every door that could be locked was locked. Every window latched.

Fear had set in. And I didn’t like it at all.

I couldn’t sleep anymore. I waited and waited for Themba to come home. Dreading every minute of it.

Hours later, I heard the scratching at the front door.

A lion, my mind cried.

No, I heard a key turning in the lock. The door swung open. Themba entered. His clothes were all covered in blood.

‘What happened?’ I asked fearfully.

Themba sighed, shook his head wearily and went to his room to lock the rifle away in the safe.

‘I’m going to take a shower,’ he said. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I couldn’t –’

‘Get to your room!’

‘You’re all covered in blood! Are you okay?’

‘Yes, now go!’

I wanted to scream with frustration. Who’s blood was that? Did he kill the lion? Or had the lion … No, I didn’t even want to think about that.

I heard the shower being turned on. Water rushing.

My dreams were restless, haunted with worry.

It started to rain sometime during the night. But by the time Themba got up it had cleared again. Five o’ clock. What is he doing up that early, I wondered sleepily. I stayed in bed and listened to him moving about the house. He left without saying a word.

I must have dozed off again.

When I finally got up, I helped myself to an apple for breakfast. I found a hi-fi tucked
away in a cabinet in a corner and put a CD on. Bloc Party. I got into the shower and jumped around under the water, dancing to one of the tracks.
Where is home?
always got me in a good mood.

As I got dressed I heard the excited voice of André outside the house. I went to open up the front door.

‘Have you heard?’ he said as he came bustling in. ‘Simoshile’s dad was bitten by a lion last night! Lwazi, you know?’

‘Is Lwazi Simoshile’s dad?’ I asked, but then it struck me: that’s not what caused André’s excitement. ‘Bitten by a lion?’

‘Yeah, how cool is that!’ André’s bright blue eyes shone.

‘Not cool at all … Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine. They took him to the hospital last night. He’ll be back again later today. Knowing him, he’d rather have them cut off his arm than stay in hospital.’

‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘I know Lwazi and your dad took some tourists on a night safari. And that they met with a lion. Themba went to help.’

‘Their Land Rover got stuck in mud. My dad was still busy trying to get it out when Lwazi spotted this lone male lion wandering around the bush. He had the searchlight pinned on him. The people took photos and that’s when it happened …’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know anything further. I overheard Dad telling Mum all of this when he came back. He closed their bedroom door just as the story got exciting.’

‘André!’

‘Sorry, I also want to know what happened.’

‘So the blood on Themba’s clothes … it was Lwazi’s?’

‘Yeah, probably. I’m sure he bled a lot.’

At least I know something now, I thought.

‘So, what are we doing today?’ asked André.

‘I’m staying right here,’ I said. ‘I’m not going out if there is a man-eating lion running about.’

‘Jeez, you’re weird,’ grinned Andre. ‘This game reserve is so big, what’s the chance of you meeting up with him? Anyway, lions are most dangerous at night. By day they mostly laze about in the shadows of the candle-pod acacias. That’s why they call it the House of the Lion.’

‘I don’t know …’ I said hesitantly.

‘I can’t believe you’re so scared.’

Still I hesitated.

‘Come on, Buyi! Trust me, it’s okay!’

‘All right then.’

‘We’ll get something to eat first, in Mama’s kitchen. Then off we’ll go.’

Stepping outside the house I got a whiff of last night’s rain. It mixed with the other spicy scents the bush conjured up. Walking back to the main building of the resort, André explained to me how the game reserve was divided up into three camps: Izolo, Namhlanje and Kusasa. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. The Big Five roamed about in two of them: Izolo and Namhlanje.

‘That’s the biggest African animals, right?’ I tried to sound informed.

‘Actually no,’ said André. ‘The Big Five is an old hunting term for the most dangerous animals to hunt: lions, leopards, elephants, buffalo and black rhinos.’

So much for my superior knowledge!

‘And you have them all here?’

‘Yip!’

‘The other camp’s animals are less dangerous. But you still have to be careful. Respect them, and they will respect you, that’s what my dad always says.’ André strode on fast. ‘Oh, and you never know when you might come across an elephant in the Kusasa camp. There isn’t much that would stop an elephant once he gets it into his head to wander across to the other side of the fence …’

My eyes must have widened, because André suddenly burst out laughing.

I couldn’t tell if he was only teasing me, or not.

‘My boys!’ cried Mama Unahti, taking us in her arms in one great sweep. Hugging us.

André seemed to enjoy this. He was probably used to this by now. I still felt a bit uneasy. He grinned, sensing my discomfort.

‘Have you had any breakfast yet?’ she asked, her eyes fixed on us, expectantly. She had on a large, colourful dress again, this time decorated with geometric shapes.

‘I had some at home,’ smiled André, ‘but I won’t say no to a plate of your maize porridge. You know I’m always hungry.’

‘Oh, you are growing up my boy, that’s why!’ Mama Unahti waved her hands through the air. ‘And you, Buyi? Did your dad prepare you some breakfast this morning?’

‘Uh … no, Mama.’

‘What?’

‘He went out very early. I … I had an apple, though.’

‘An apple?’ she cried, slamming her hands together. ‘That is not enough! I’ll have to talk to that man. He should know that he’s got a responsibility now.’ She seemed quite annoyed. ‘Ungakhathazeki. Never mind.’ She indicated for us to follow her. ‘I’ve got some steamy porridge on the stove.’

Kitchen workers scattered about as Mama Unahti entered the kitchen. Some of them, I think, merely tried to look busy. Were they scared of this loving woman?

Yes!

‘Why is this counter top so filthy?’ she cried in a high voice. ‘Clean up! Clean up! Put away that milk. It will turn sour in minutes in this heat.’

She moved through the kitchen, her eyes noticing every little thing. ‘There are dirty dishes in the wash basin. Where’s the dish washer? Is he having a smoke break again? I’ll break something very precious of his if I see another dirty cup in my kitchen!
Hurry up! Phuthuma!’

Mama Unahti reached for two clean plates and spoons. There was a big silver pot on the stove. She opened the lid and clouds of steam billowed to the roof. Taking a large ladle, she scooped out two heaps of white stuff.

My eyes widened. ‘What is that?’

‘Ngiyabonga, Mama!’ said André as he took the plate, his eyes gleaming.

‘Gi-ya-bo-a’ I tried. The sound was strange on my tongue, sounding quite stupid.

‘Ah, the boy is starting to speak isiZulu!’ cried Mama. All the kitchen helpers looked at me and cheered. Now I felt even more stupid.

‘Ngi-ya-bon-ga!’ said Mama, leaning over towards me and saying the word slowly.

‘Ngi-ya-bon-ga!’ I repeated.

‘That’s better! Thokoleza ukudla! That means
enjoy your meal
.’

‘Tho-ko-leza u-kud-la …’ I practised, as I followed André to the dining room.

I was still wondering how on earth I was going to eat this stuff Mama called porridge. André didn’t seem to have that problem. He dropped a pat of butter on top of the porridge, then some sugar. As he watched it melt down into the warm porridge, I did the same. Later we added some fresh milk and mixed it all up.

My first bite … It was sweet and creamy. Almost sticky, but not quite. Full of flavour. Very strange, but good. I was surprised. Before I knew it my plate was empty. André had finished his too. We took the plates back to the kitchen.

‘Ngiyabonga, Mama!’ I said, seeing the satisfied look in her eyes.