I missing my fat puddytat, Jezzibelle, so I decided to befriend the local camp cat, who seems friendly enough. It’s a wildcat who manages to survive a harsh life in the African bush. I often see him taking naps amid foraging warthogs, marauding jackals, and grazing buffalo. He usually keeps close to the safety of campsite (although animals wander freely throughout at night) but occasionally he takes a cheeky slice and wanders into the bush to join the other wildlife, perhaps wanting to taste the lifestyle of his bigger cousins. I haven’t seen him stalking an antelope yet but he tries to impress me with his bushrat hunting skills.
Last week, while loafing on Bovu Island on the Zambezi river, the staff laid out meatballs on the bar in the evening to attract local feline residents. Within ten minutes, a family of Large Spotted Genets appeared to dine. They are nocturnal cats (actually they are in the mongoose family) which are notoriously shy and difficult to see in the wild. I couldn’t resist the tacky tourist temptation of lighting them up with the flash of my camera. Unbelievably, they didn’t flinch, but rather gave me a look of “do that again and you’ll get a claw to your jaw”.
Among local Africans, the general consensus is that the three best national parks for wildlife viewing are Etosha (Namibia), Serengetti (Tanzania), and South Luongwa (Zambia). Kruger Park in South Africa is also mentioned but it’s geared to the five star crowd with paved roads and flash resorts. (Ive been told that rangers at Kruger often kill the occasional antelope and drag it next to a road to give high-paying tourists a vivid carnivore photo-op for that natural safari experience, not to mention using culling as a wildlife management technique). So going on my first evening game drive here at South Luongwa, a low-profile park thankfully absent from the itinerary of most tourists, I couldn’t help feeling expectant of big spooky game to astound me. Which is the other big advantage this park offers, one of the only ones left in Africa that offer night drives for nocturnal critters.
Our Landrover crawled thru the park past herds of zebra, buffalo, impala, giraffe, baboons, hippo, and elephant. All of which are astonishing to see. But a curious psychological phenomena happens when, after going on several safaris throughout the continent, you find yourself disappointed when you don’t see the large predators. Ordinarily, seeing any of these magnificent beasts would be worthy of lengthy journal entries but one tends to get spoiled, especially if you secretly pin your hopes on seeing the elusive leopard.
Night had fallen and we were nearing the end of our 3 hour game drive. Our guide had been flooding the bush with a high intensity spotlight which illuminated several sets of eyes peering from thickets and hiding in trees. Every time a fresh pair shined at us, I would yell “kitty”??!! The only response I ever got was five pairs of human eyeballs rolling at me. We were on our way out of the park and hadn’t seen any cats. Sunk low in my seat with the weight of disappointment burying me, I asked the driver to make one last turnoff before exiting the gates. In a clearing of trees, we saw a lone spotlight fixed on something, motionless. We rolled up behind the other safari vehicle which had arrived first. There is an etiquette normally observed while on safari in Africa. Vehicles which arrive after the initial discovery of animals must wait patiently in the background until the first group is done gawking and snapping. All of that polite nonsense gets thrown out the window when a rare sighting occurs. I will never forget the first moments of hearing someone murmur “leopard”! We arrived to see one on a fresh antelope kill (too far gone to identify the victim). I was at the back of the vehicle with an obstructed view and within a split second I was bounding to the front, elbowing Swedish grannies and bowling over Canadians teenagers to get to the prime viewing angle. The cat momentarily looked up from the disembowelled carcass with a blood soaked face. My lower jaw was gaping down to my belly, too awestruck even to think of taking a photo. She was distracted, not by us, but by the presence of a male leopard lurking nearby. Twenty feet from our right front tire, the male was sniffing the air to determine what was for dinner and who was dining. In an unrehearsed but seemingly choreographed dance, the male circled around to approach while the female instinctively moved off the kill. It was breathtaking to watch (a term I cringe to use but is necessary here). The movements were measured, silky, fluid, with languid intent. They never engaged each other, unlike lions, which are much more confrontational.
I have never been so moved by an animal, human or otherwise.
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