elephant

Part II

In the early morning, the dew crept into the mosquito nets, seeping through microscopic mesh holes, into sleeping bags and woke us up damp and sore muscled from the activities of the day before. The lion was silent, now its turn to sleep the day away until twilight. It left us a present like cats do with captured mice or birds - another antelope, half-eaten laying on its side by the river bank, ever so slowly sliding into the river as the one from the day before. We were up before the sun peaked through the foggy mist and rooted around the makeshift bush kitchen, devoid of biltong but littered with dozens and dozens of eggs to be cooked for breakfast. They, the grownups, barked orders, and we, tame little animals, performed for the limpy gimpy headmaster of the mosquitonet-ringed circus. We took turns stirring porridge, flipping eggs, and making trips down the river bank for another awed look at a half eaten animal. Fresh and not swollen. Newly dead, and not rotting. Not rotting and not smelling of death like the elephant from the day before.

After breakfast we gathered round for a talk. There were activities to be done. Girls were broken up into groups. Those who didn't cook breakfast would cook lunch. Those who didn't go on the hike yesterday would go hiking today. Those who wanted to go climbing would be dropped off at the foot the small mountain south of camp. The climbers would climb without supervision and they would be met at the top of the mountain by the lorry in three or four hours and brought back to camp. So we climbed. I climbed. Four or even six girls climbed. Up loose crumbling rock, sharp edged boulders, scrappy thorny underbrush, soft mossy stones and slowly darkening, thundering, angering skies. We scrambled up in our Bata shoes, no longer white from the last whitewash session, but clay red instead, from sliding against sucking mud, thick with water trapped within. The skies threatened to douse us. We were lost. There was no leader, no consensus, no direction in which to go but up, up, up. Push forward we all said. That was the thing to do. The skies broke, lightning scattered across the cobalt blue in spindly threads, the rain slipped down sweaty arms, furrowed brows and muddy legs. We were cleansed with each movement, as we climbed, higher and higher still in search for a path, a road, any trace of passage where human or beast would have travelled to reach some other point on the mountain. We had had enough of cutting rocks, scratching branches and sucking mud, and so with only a 5 meter warning, we had reached the top of our small world. The ground below ran to the horizon and stretched away from us on all sides. It was mottled dark from the cutting and now relentless rain. Our heads steamed as our sweating bodies stood still to meet the cool air sweeping off the peak. And there was not a road in sight. Dumbfounded girls left alone on a mountain are hardly lucent decision makers. We must have missed our mark by a few kilometers. It had been at least four-and-a-half hours since we were dropped off. We were either: a) completely lost or b) left behind by an impatient lorry driver who would have thought, sod it, I'm not waiting for anyone in this bloody rain because then, I'll be stuck here as the rain gets worse then we'd be all stuck, so better them than me.

We split in half. First group left. Second group right. Look for a road. Any kind of road. Tire tracks would be good. Perhaps we could follow it down instead of haphazardly scrambling down the mountain like drunken goats. So. Then. After an hour. We scrambled haphazardly down the mountain like drunken goats. A few hours later, the lorry was at the foot of the mountain. Waiting. With limpy gimpy. He said: you girls jolly well took your time didn't you?! Met with silence, he was. Silent rage, each girl with a dark cloud hanging over her head, silent rumbling inside, small flashes of blinding electric light across the face, the smell of death creeping in behind her hot eyes, envisioning something dead in the middle of the savanna, creeping full of white foam.

7:28 PM | |