Early Memories
Where does one start if they are to write about what they see and experience in the African Wilderness?
It can be difficult to create the relevent mental picture of all the experiences -this is because the life of a Safari guide in Africa has may facets.We could be looking at the same object or situation and not see the same reality-this is because we all see from different perspectives .
This blog is my way of sharing my perspective of many things that have affected my life as a Safari Guide ,Amatuer Investor and budding entreprenuer. I hope you will draw inspiration from this persective.
My story begins in the village of Mhondoro (translated Spirit Medium in Shona-a Zimbabwe dialect). I cannot recall the circumstances of my birth (nearly all of us can't ) but the earliest memories of my childhood are of walking under giant Msasa trees that dominated the landscape where my grandmother had a field and a two huts.
One served as a kitchen and the other ,as a bedroom. A long rectangular field served as the only buffer from a forest which bordered Ngezi Recreational Park. I recall a certain incident when a warthog strollled into the field after finding its way through the thorn-tree boma which served as a fence, whose chief function was to protect valuable crop from crop raiding livestock and wild animals.
My grandmother, being close to 70 years at that time could only master a slow trot to our nearest neighbour to seek help ,while uttering a heart rending scream of repeated phrases which I can only translate as" my crop ,my hard work ,my food oh ,ohhh " .This was my first encounter with the never ending conflict between humans and wildlife.
Our neighbour immediately summoned the community's expert on wildlife ,who I understand ,was a well known poacher in the near by game park.Allow me the liberty to call him Old toothless.He came about as the local expert because everyone held wildlife in so much fear which I came to see as partly fuelled by superstition . The other factor that drove people to fear and to respect wildlife was because its protection was afforded so much support from the Game department and anyone who found themselves on the wrong side of the local Game warden was considered among the walking dead by all villagers - his name and family would dominate the village grapevine for quite a while .Those stories which centred on the negative side of village grapevine would gain the status of village precedent, thereby being used as reference cases to those who repeated similar crimes .The village always seemed to predict what would become of a rule breaker well before the law descended.
However, Old toothless had survived the Game departments long arm of the law and remained as the village sole authority when it came to Problem Animal duties .Problem animals such as this worthog always found their way into the village pot thereby enriching the dietry variety of the malnourished crop growers. It was seldom an entirely negative occurance if a worhog found itself feasting on your young mealie crop -it was a blessing in good disguise.
Old Toothless and Guiding
Old toothless was the equivalent of any moden day hunting guide . His decades old knowledge of wildlife and their habits made him a respectable but loathed member of Mapako village . You see, Mapako village was basically a cluster of African rondavals commonly seen in Zimbabwe today . The huts stood in a linear fashion alongside Bururu river .
Villagers farmed as far from the river banks as possible ,while vegetable gardens were cultivated nearest to the water source .Old toothless heard about the warthog that had been spotted in my grandmothers plot and quickly set about to read the tracks .
Reading the story of an animals movements is something African village folk pride themselves in . It was an electric moment when Old toothless' bent frame stooped low to observe the movement of warthogs by reading the tracks . Old toothless squinted his eyes and stared hard on the ground with intense concentration. While making sounds to himself -sounds only he knew . We watched him with respect and fear .The same way the villagers tried to make sense of the local rainmaker and his mysterious ways -was clearly the same way the villagers kept a distance from Old toohless as he went about the only skill he knew.
Without delay, he began to narrate the movement of these hogs ,how many they were which track was the mother's and, the father's and their two ;little ones who had decided to feast on grandmothers inches long maize crop. The excited young men of the village quickly joined us as the news of game quickly spread. Some had brought an assortment of weapons -spears , knobkerries and all kinds of knives .
The excitement harboured on the edge of mob madness . However ,for villagers who dine on fruit,herbs and grain foods ,the news of meat ,game meat - for that matter, is treated as a rarity and often drives the depraved into a kind of slightly crazed frenzy. The young men could be heard muttering about nyama -meat . The word interspaced nearly every sentence .In conlclusion , the situation had transcended the need to protect crop and had elevated to a need to obtain a delicacy for the pot.
The group rapidly disintergrated .The young men making mock spearing actions as the group followed Old toothless who continued to decode the mystery of nature -providing updates on which path the warthogs had trotted along . The validity of his interpretation was comfirmed by the presence of fresh and moist warthog waste . This added to the excitement of the hunting group, now reduced to a small numbers of young man and I was sneeking from behind in order to prevent being sent back home with the women who had been commanded to return for safety's sake .The village dogs or mongrels as you may call them where also part of the action, salivating continuously and adding their barking noises on to the mutterings and murmers of "nyama" .
I can not clearly say how the moment changed in a second from excitement ,to urgency ,then to panic . From out of nowhere, the dogs crashed throught the undergrowth making sounds that were the complete opposite of aggression. Their barking was now reduced to something akin to wimpering . The young man scattered and raced for the nearest tree ,at the same time discarding of their trusted weaponry . Old toothless bellowed, encouraging everone to get on the nearest tree. I clamberd on a young Mopane tree(Colophespermum mopane) and hung on tightly . The situation turned comical as the young men competed for the one tree which was the only one devoid of thorns . The rest of the trees were the Acacias.As the the tussle to clamber on the only tree in sight worth climbing continued I caught a glimpse of the tusked pig emerge in a blaze from the undergrowth which the dogs had fled through . The young men had all found refuge in a very young Rubber tree ( Diplorhyncus condylacarpon) ,I think they numbered five . The tree could no longer sustain the weight and the stem slowly began to bend forcing the young men to pile up at the top . This accelerated the bending and quickly lowered the five to near ground level . The warthog upon seeing his hunters ,turned abruptly and charged,one of its sharp tusk reaping through a certain victim's rear end . Farikai let out a yelp ,released his grip and sprinted for the nearest thorn tree to secure a safer haven from the now furious warthog.
The tree happened to be right next to Old toothless who now had picked up a discarded spear and immediately aimed for the neck as the warthog tried to located Farikai in the thorn tree. The spear struck and a snort-like growl emerged from the speared warthog as it collapsed in a heap ,thanks to Old toothless many years of spear-throwing practice . The young man soon clambered down the trees and out of hiding places nodding in approval and shaking the hand of Old toothless for the "nyama" . The emergence of Farikai from the thorn trees was greeted with loud howls of laughter . He looked worse than the village vagabond . His clothing was now been tattered beyond respect and his limp caused by a laceration on his behind by the warthog tusk fueled more laughter as his hand tried to cover whatever was left of his dignity.
I believe the story is still narrated even today at any convenient fireplace or village gathering .
