The Elephant in the Road
So you’re on your way to Tesco, you turn the corner and there’s an elephant in the road, staring straight at you, wondering if it wants to charge you. You would have a fright, right? Well, we were sort of expecting it as we were in elephant country, Mahango Game Park, to be precise. Not that I want to play down the danger of our predicament and the courage and fortitude we displayed in facing up to it. The elephant, after all was wild (well, a little cross, at least). He was a handsome young male (and he knew it) who had spent the morning polishing his tusks, grooming his hair and was now nonchalantly walking down the strip looking for some smart chick to pick up. He chewed on the branch of a tree trying to look cool.
“Hey you,” he said (he was a talking elephant). “Wotcha doin’ here? This is my spot for pickin’ up chicks.”
“OK, man, we’re not going to cramp your style.”
We edged the car forward.
He stared at us for a bit wondering if he should give us a bit of action. No doubt he had a flick knife hidden about his person.
“Don’t go any nearer,” warned John, our Namibian gardener and whose ancestors had been mighty warriors.
“These animals are dangerous. They could flick this car over easily.”
Maybe his forebears had had trouble with elephants flicking over cars?
“Don’t be such a wimp, John, “ said Linda, (or words to that effect). “We’re miles away.” Nevertheless, all our senses were on full alert looking for the slightest sign that this cool dude was beginning to heat up. He flapped his magnificent ears and lifted one leg. Was this the first sign of a charge or was he waving goodbye? Apparently it was the latter because he turned and sloped off into the undergrowth without even a high five.
Linda, Georgina and I had driven the 2 hours to Mahango with John, his brother, Andreas and 3 children from their extended family. Although they were native Namibians they had little experience of the local wildlife. As we drove through the park there seemed to be elephant droppings everywhere. This was evidently an elephant toilet.
On first arriving at the park, the childrens’ entertainer in Linda had come out.
“What animal will we see first? A prize for whoever gets it right.”
“A lion,” said one. “Elephant,” said another. “Giraffe, buffalo.”
I plumped for “kangaroo” as the others seemed a little obvious. They, unanimously, and I might add, rather unkindly, pooh poohed my suggestion. Given the number of droppings in the park, there seemed to be a lot of pooh poohing going on that day. I scoured the scrub for a kangaroo in vain. Were those kangaroo droppings? If you threw them would they bounce?
Springbok and impala were everywhere all wanting their photo taken. The latter have the markings of a Macdonald’s “M” on their rumps which is apt as they are a favourite “take away” for lions. Zebras crossed the road, buffalo hid in the bushes, wart hogs did “piggy” things and monkeys sneered at us from the tree tops. If we are descended from apes surely I would be better at climbing trees? A herd of 22 elephants cavorted in a swamp trying to keep cool.
A huge boabob tree stood in the centre of the park. It looked as though it had been there for thousands of years. It had that “established” look.
“From the time of Jesus,” suggested Linda. John nodded in agreement and, as he was the only one with a book on boabob trees at home (just how many books on boabob trees are there?) we deferred to his greater authority.
Mahango is one of the few game reserves where you can get out of your vehicle. No doubt there is a disclaimer against being eaten by lions or trampled by buffalo. For some reason John didn’t want to be mauled by lions and only left the car with great reluctance. Attracted by the evocative sounds of singing hippos we pushed our way through the bushes behind the boabob tree to be confronted by a vast plain stretching out before us. The river with singing hippos and flying white egrets was a fair distance away, and beyond that lay a range of mountains from which many palls of dusky smoke drifted lazily into the sky.
I had made a carrot cake especially for the trip. After slicing off its burnt bottom and disguising it with a soft cheese and icing sugar topping it looked almost edible. Unfortunately, the heat of the car melted the top, and most now was creeping across the boot of Linda’s car leaving the cake looking as though it had a pepperoni pizza topping. Strangely enough, the monkeys at the picnic site made no attempt to steal our food. The cake was unexpectedly delicious. I may try putting real pepperoni on the top next time.