I’ve discovered the new flavor of Africa. It’s a cold pineapple yogurt drizzled atop Multi Grain Cheerios. It’s cool and delicious as I sit at the table in my screened porch on a very hot, still afternoon. There’s little sound except for the cooing of an African Mourning Dove and the quiet rumble of my refrigerator. Even during the middle of the day, the camp is usually bustling with noisy, laughing workers cleaning the grounds or doing various maintenance projects, but it must be hot enough that they’re all sitting in the shade somewhere.
Dawn broke clear, without a cloud in the sky, portending the present heat. The light was beautiful and I just needed something to shoot. But therein lies the hell of this place. I drove off the paved road, toward where I’d seen the leopard yesterday, knowing there’d be little traffic. But very few animals too. Watched some languid baboons, lazing about and grooming each other. Saw a young hyena, curious about the baboons who were telling him (or her – they both have phalluses. There are differences in small detail and females are larger and more aggressive but I haven’t mastered it) to get lost. The quiet emergence of a huge bull kudu who also quietly melted back into the bush. Mother and child hippos playing in the water at long distance. A nice morning really, but nothing much to shoot.
About 9, I came in and had a double espresso and some toast. Talked to my server, Matimbo. She is a journalism student, and she spoke excitedly of her hopes for her young country. You’d never hear someone talk like that in the US. There was talk of, and I think real grasping for, hope in 2008, but it’s well and truly gone now. Now it’s the same old mean cancerous cynicism, drowning us all in mediocrity. Best not to think about it.
Went back out for an hour but it was clear that every animal was, a) in the water somewhere, or b) sitting in the shade of one of the few large trees. Was able to come close only to a group of impala resting in the shade but they weren’t that comfortable with me there and when they showed signs of actually having to walk over to the next tree (complete with eye rolling and huffy breaths), I drove off. And returned to camp.
A short, restless attempt under the ceiling fan to take a nap, inhabiting that zone between sleep and waking where random thoughts and images tumble into your head – the Smothers Brothers, Mary - who broke my heart in 1978 (let’s hope she’s fat now), the glimpse of my life clock which indicated that, crap, it’s later than I thought.
Then, hungry, and yogurt and cereal and a bottle of cold water.
Last night I fixed dinner. The restaurant is good here, but I was sick of eating out and alone every night so I threw something together. Let’s just say that many years of survival as a college student and then bachelor means that I can make something edible out of macaroni, sliced process cheese and instant soup mix. Edible, but something that would feel almost exactly how I imagine eating rocks would feel.
But two glasses of cheap South African red wine and the lions roared nearby last night and there was some sort of elephant squabble right outside the fence. You can’t get that in Bend.
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