Midway through our morning game drive, the truck began making a grating noise. It threw Gabriel into an immediate sour mood. He’s short-tempered and was cursing in Italian at his truck. It has given him nothing but problems from the day he bought it. I was just quietly hoping that we breakdown in a place where someone might find us. We were in a remote area in the off-season so we were only seeing about 3 other vehicles per day. This is the inherent risk you assume when traveling on your own in the Delta. The idyllic trip can turn in an instant to a nightmare with serious consequences. There is no food, gasoline, nor water in any direction for over 100 dirt track miles. You must bring everything in with you, all supplies, with water and petrol being the most critical. Not only was our truck wounded again, but we came to realize that we were running low on food. Worse yet, because of the horrible road conditions, the truck was drinking fuel like an Irishman at last call. We had to be in 4 wheel drive the entire time, usually in 2nd gear, and often we needed to switch to 4-Low to get us out of deep puddles and mud rutted tracks. We decided that we would need to cut short the trip and forego the last two campsites since we would be seriously risking running out of fuel. Meanwhile, we saw no game on this drive. The aggravation & frustration was building. My primary concern was that we were getting dangerously low on whiskey & chocolate. A man can live without food and petrol. But take away his flask and his sweet stash and you’ve choked his will to live.
We limped into our next campsite at Kwhai, moody as all hell. Once again, we had to rely on the GPS to find it. We set camp and again struggled to make a fire with only wet wood to work with. Our glass lantern had broke on the first day of the trip from being bounced around in the bed of the truck. (Good thing I borrowed that lantern from the Mokolodi park manager!). We took a quick walk around camp to check out the surroundings. When we returned, Vervet monkeys were rifling thru the truck and before we could get to them, they were 40 feet up a tree eating our cookies. This really set Gabriel off and he started throwing stones at them. One bounced off a branch and came hurling back to hit his car. They gazed down at us antagonistically, finished off the batch of cookies, and dropped the empty packaging right over us as we helplessly watched it drift down onto the truck.
The block of ice in our cooler had melted so this would be our last evening to enjoy a grilled piece of meat. We boiled potatoes and ate like hungry pigs. Gabriel has a bit of Neanderthal in him and is philosophically opposed to utensils. Whiskey O’clock came early tonite. After a few slugs from the sauce, we lightened up and our sense of humor returned. Midway through his stories of Swiss army rations, we heard a grunt not far from our smoky fire. I switched on the flashlight and was startled to see a hyena just 15 yards from our tent. Normally, that would be a cause of concern. But being a bit sauced, it was just another reason to giggle. For hyena theft prevention, we hung our bbq grill, folding chairs, and shoes from a branch high in a tree. Hyenas will come during the night and take anything that even remotely smells like food.
Tonite, the orchestra was in full instrumentation. A symphony of croaking frogs were accented by the drum beat of belching hippo’s. Occasionally, this chorus was underscored by the strains of a pride of lions. Our sense of safety sitting by the fire, whether real or perceived, was extinguished once the flames died out. Lions don’t like light and will usually stay away. But once the darkness of night creeps in, lions are out on the prowl. Males patrol the territory and all uninvited guests are rudely dispatched. We ducked into the tent and Gabriel laid down next to his trusty hand axe.
“Do you honestly think that thing is gonna save us if a lion attacks!?”, I asked.
“No, but it gives me enough of a psychological edge to be able to fall asleep.”
“Goodnight, you Swiss sissy.”
“Goodnight, you American bastard.”
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