Another 5:30am wakeup call. Not a phone call. A guy came to the tent and gave us a shout. The african alarmclock. Today, we went on a walking safari. But the poison in my bloodstream was getting worse. I couldn’t put any weight on that leg and it was stinging like a mothertrucker. So we drove onto the plains, got off the vehicle, and started walking single file at arm’s distance from one another. Our guide was in the lead and a ranger was bringing up the caboose, clutching a .458 rifle. We were told to keep tightly bunched up since predators look for opportunities to single out a stray or weak member of the herd. This was not comforting news to me, limping noticeably. If there’s ever an attack, it’s always the slowest sucker in the group to get mauled. Today, that would be me.
After 45 minutes of the trek, we descended on some hot porn. A sub-adult male lion with a young mane was mating with a female. His recycle time was impressive but his stamina could use some work. Like clockwork, every 10 to 15 minutes there would be a penetration lasting less than a minute. Upon withdrawal, the female would always roar in apparent anger and swat the male away. According to our guide, there is a hooked ridge at the tip of a lion penis which causes pain when withdrawing from the female. Although I’m not an expert in lion reproductive physiology, I’ve never heard this before. Perhaps he was just workin’ the crowd for tips (the guide, not the lion!).
He couldn’t of cared less about the limping human nearby. When given the choice between raw meat or a sexually receptive female, its always sex over food. Atta boy, slugger (although I’m told this equation in humans gets reversed with age). We must have spent nearly an hour watching their afternoon delight. Peeping Tom Tourism. While mating, lions can typically spend 2-3 glorious days in the same spot, until her estrus subsides. When the male tires, the female seeks another male to continue mating with. (Nature is rife with sluts). Due to this abundance of opportunity, there is no inter-pride sexual rivalry among males.
We moved on and came upon a herd of elephant which we side-stepped, giving them extra-wide berth. One of them was limping badly with a terribly swollen hind leg. I imagine she had a broken tibia bone and it had gone septic. It was horrible to witness. She could barely keep up with the moving herd. But they would mercifully stop for her every 100 yards or so to let her catch her breath. I wished an imaginary vet would pop out from the trees to heal her. But this was a wound she would not recover from. Her death certificate was signed and just waiting to be delivered any day. I wanted to ask our guide to use his rifle to put her down. But against my emotional instinct, rational judgement takes over and denies intervention. Unless the conflict was caused by mankind (ie poachers snare, landmine, drainpipe, etc), let nature be. And since I didn’t see how this injury occurred, there is no basis to justify assisting it.
I wondered if, when she would inevitably fall without rising again, she would be eaten while still conscious by lions. This morbid thought continues to haunt me. I’d prefer to imagine her herd mates standing vigilant guard over her to protect her against predators until she passed peacefully. In reality, a predator attack might be more merciful, a quicker death than waiting on the ground, immobile, in slow starvation. Nature provides unbearable gifts. At times, unbearably beautiful, at others, unbearably brutal.
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