distress

When I was a kid, there was an old man in our area who was deaf (though he used a hearing aid), worn out, and almost immobile, around ninety years old. One day, he was slowly crossing a street in his wheelchair when he suddenly saw a car speeding toward him. He realized the car was about to hit him, and that’s when he shot out of the chair like an arrow from a bow and sprinted out from under the car.

That’s how I once saw a man do something that, under normal circumstances, would’ve been practically impossible. Like those guys who walk barefoot on glowing coals without getting burned (though I’m a bit skeptical about that one)…

Anyway, that year we went hunting in the Tuli again, and as usual, we dragged big thorn branches and log bomas with the oxen to keep out the lions, who were quite fond of a fat ox or horse. The bomas were set up in a row—first the one where we lived and slept, then the one for the horses, and finally the one for the oxen, with a gap between them that we closed at night with a branch. Our own boma (the first one) naturally had an opening to the outside, which we sealed at night with a big branch, because who wants a lion or leopard as a bedmate?

That year, it had rained heavily inland, and the game was slowly trickling down to the river. So, we had to work hard for something to shoot, and so did the predators. The team of fat oxen in the boma became increasingly attractive to the lions… There were quite a few of them in the immediate area, and our nights were spent making fires and calming the oxen and horses. We’d been there about a week when a few guys from Johannesburg showed up, armed to the teeth with the latest and most expensive shooting gear you could imagine.

“How many lions have you shot?” was one of their first questions. When they heard we weren’t specifically hunting lions that year and were just focused on shooting game for biltong, we weren’t exactly important in their eyes. According to them, all predators needed to be exterminated (and quickly, too), and they were just the men to do it. We just had to point them to the lions!

My brother gave me a sideways glance, as if to say, “Boy, here comes trouble.” The first evening, as we sat around the fire and the first groan of a male lion rolled across the veld in the dark, a deathly silence fell over the guys, and they started nervously eyeing the branch walls of the bomas. When another old lion answered the first one’s groan from a different direction, I could see they were getting seriously uneasy. If you haven’t lived with nature for many years, the groan of a lion in the night makes a tremendous impression. Even after many years, it’s still one of the most wonderful sounds on earth, and you’re incredibly grateful for the privilege of hearing it and feeling that sensation. Especially when a maned lion puts its head to the ground and roars. I mean ROARS—so that the blood almost freezes in your veins and the whole bush shakes.

You could see the guys were worried. “Isn’t there any danger?” they asked. “Shouldn’t we fire a few shots, just to let the lions know we’re armed?” My brother and I tried to calm them down as best we could. “Guys, don’t worry, and for God’s sake, don’t start shooting blindly—especially not if the oxen and horses bolt and huddle together.” (That usually happened at night when the big male lion passed upwind after positioning his females downwind in an ambush.) “We’ll shoot if we need to calm the livestock. You guys sleep easy; you can go shoot tomorrow.”

Needless to say, they didn’t sleep much that night and only left camp late the next morning. We, however, were out in the veld fairly early, so by around noon, we were back, sitting in the boma, eating, and drinking coffee. None of the others were in sight… But a frantic “Help! Help!” from the bushes made us drop everything and rush out of it, grabbing weapons as we passed by. The cries were so urgent that we instantly knew there was big trouble.

The bush was fairly sparse around the campsite, and the trees were nicely clear underneath (proper savanna veld), so you could see quite far. But the sight that greeted us nearly froze the blood in our veins. A short distance away, one of the guys came flying over the ground. In one hand, he held one of those fancy hunting rifles, and in the other, he had a lion cub by the collar. A few steps behind him came a highly enraged and seriously pissed-off lioness, charging. Luckily for him, he realized the rifle was slowing him down and preventing him from picking up more speed, so he threw the weapon down to accelerate. The lioness stopped at the rifle and tore it to pieces. Meanwhile, my brother and I ran to get a better angle to shoot—not to kill the lioness (she was just protecting her cub), but to fire into the ground in front of her to force her to turn back and leave the guy alone. Between shots, our shouts echoed across the veld: “Drop the cub!” “Throw it down!” “Are you crazy?” “Are you out of your mind?” “Let go of the lion!” and so on. Just then, the lioness left the rifle and charged the hunter (by now completely bewildered and panic-stricken) from behind. As she went for him, his big Australian Outback hat fell off his head, and she stopped again to rip that headgear to shreds until it looked like a kangaroo that had been through a sawmill. She went for him a third time, but by then, our desperate pleas for him to let go of the cub must have penetrated his frantic mind, because he threw the cub down, and the lioness stopped dead in her tracks by her cub. But the hunter stops? Not a chance! By that point, he could’ve given a jackrabbit a masterclass in running! He wasn’t exactly lined up with the boma’s opening, but at that point in time, it didn’t bother him in the slightest. Open-mouthed in amazement, we watched the scene unfold. Without hesitation, he ran up one side of the thorn-branch boma and down the other. We, with a decent knowledge of lions, arrived at the boma almost alongside him. Just in a more conventional way—through the opening—because we knew the mother lion wasn’t exactly drawn to hunters at that moment.

It took a whole supply of ointment, Elastoplast, and bandages to patch up the Johannesburg guy’s thorn wounds, and after a week, he hobbled off with his pals without ever venturing out of the boma again! He said he’d found the little bundle in the bush and thought it would be too cute to take such a sweet keepsake back for his kids in the big city. They’d have so much fun playing with the little guy…

Mamma Mia!

nood

Kleintyd was daar in ons kontrei ‘n dowe (hy het darem ‘n gehoorbuis gebruik), afgeleefde en omtrent onbeweeglike oubasie van so om en by die negentig.  Op ‘n dag het hy stadig in sy rolstoel oor ‘n straat beweeg, toe hy skielik ‘n motorkar in dolle vaart sien aankom.  Hy het besef die kar gaan hom enige oomblik tref, en dis toe dat hy uit die stoel skiet soos ‘n pyl uit ‘n boog en loshande onder die kar uithardloop.

Só het ek eendag ‘n man ‘n ding sien regkry wat onder normale omstandighede so te sê onmoontlik sou gewees het.  Soos die ouens wat kaalvoet op gloeiende kole loop sonder om te verbrand (daardie lou glo ek maar swaar aan) ...

In alle geval, ons het dié jaar weer gaan jag in die Tuli, en soos ouder gewoonte groot doringtakke en stomp bomas met osse gesleep om die leeus, wat tog so ‘n vet os of perd gefancy het, uit te hou.  In ‘n ry het al die skerms gestaan – eers die skerm waarin ons gebly en geslaap het, dan dié van die perde en laaste die een vir die osse – met ‘n opening tussen-in wat ons snags met ‘n tak toegetrek het.  Ons eie skerm of boma (die eerste een) het natuurlik ook ‘n opening na buite gehad wat saans met ‘n groot tak toegemaak was, want wie wil dan nou ‘n leeu of ‘n luiperd vir ‘n bedmaat hê?

Dit het daardie jaar sterk in die binneland gereën en die wild het maar eina-eina afgetrek rivier toe.  Dus moes ons maar hard werk vir ‘n skietdingetjie, en so ook die ongediertes.  Die span vet osse in die boma het derhalwe al hoe aantrekliker vir die leeus geraak ...  Daar was ‘n hele aantal van hulle in die onmiddellike omgewing en ons nagte het verbygegaan met vuurmaak en osse en perde kalmeer.  Ons was so ‘n week al daar toe ‘n paar manne van Johannesburg (tot die tande toe gewapen met die nuutste en duurste skietgoed wat jy jou kon indink) daar aankom.

‘Hoeveel leeus het julle al geskiet?’, was een van die eerste vrae.  Toe hulle hoor dat ons nie juis spesiaal daardie jaar leeus jag nie en ons maar net toelê om wild te skiet vir biltong, was ons in hulle oë ook maar nie juis belangrik nie.  Volgens hulle moes alle ongediertes uitgeroei word (en sommer gou-gou ook) en hulle was net die manne om dit te doen.  Ons moes net die leeus wys!!

My boet het my so ‘n sywaartse kyk gegee of hy vinnig wil sê:  ‘Jong, hier kom troubles.’  (Hy het nie die woord troubles gebruik nie).  Die eerste aand toe ons om die vuur sit en die eerste steun van ‘n leeumannetjie oor die veld in die donker aangerol kom, kom daar skielik so ‘n doodse stilte by die manne op en hulle begin onrustig na die takmure van die bomas kyk.  Toe nog ‘n ouman vanuit ‘n ander rigting die eerste leeu se steun beantwoord, sien ek die manne raak nou erg onrustig.  As mens nie al baie jare saam met die natuur gelewe het nie, maak die gesteun van ‘n leeu so in die donker nag ‘n geweldige indruk op ‘n mens.  Selfs na baie jare is dit nog een van die wonderlikste geluide op aarde en ‘n mens is ontsettend dankbaar dat jy die voorreg gehad het om dit te kon hoor en daardie gevoel te kon ondervind.  Laat staan nog as so ‘n kraagmannetjie of bontpootmannetjie sy kop teen die grond sit en brul.  Ek meen regtig BRUL – so dat die bloed amper in jou are stol en die hele bos skud.

Mens kon sien die manne is bekommerd.  ‘Is daar nie gevaar nie?’ vra hulle.  ‘Sal ons nie maar ‘n paar skote afvuur, net om darem vir die leeus te laat weet ons is gewapen?’  Boet en ek keer so al wat ons kan.  ‘Manne, moenie bekommerd wees nie, en moet om godesnaam nie blindelings begin skiet nie – veral nie as die osse en perde hier opspring en in ‘n bondel saamdring nie.  (Dit het gewoonlik snags gebeur as die ou groot mannetjie bo die wind verbyloop nadat hy al sy wyfies onder die wind in ‘n hinderlaag opgestel het).  ‘Ons sal skiet as dit nodig is om die vee te kalmeer.  Slaap julle maar rustig, julle kan môre gaan skiet.’

Nodeloos om te sê, hulle het daardie nag maar min geslaap en is die volgende oggend eers laat uit die kamp uit.  Ons, egter, was redelik vroeg die veld in, met die gevolg dat ons so om en by twaalf-uur terug was en in die boma gesit en eet en koffie drink het.  Nie een van die ander was in sig nie ...  Maar ‘n uiters paniekbevange ‘Help, help!’ uit die bosse het ons alles laat los en uitstorm uit die boma – in die verbygaan het elkeen ‘n wapen gegryp.  Die noodkrete was só dringend dat ons onmiddellik besef het dat daar groot moeilikheid was.

Die bos was redelik yl in die omgewing van die kamp en die bome mooi oop onderlangs (regte savanna-veld), sodat mens taamlik ver kon sien.  Maar die gesig wat ons toe begroet het, het amper die bloed in ons are laat stol.  So ‘n ent weg kom een van die manne aangesweef oor die aarde.  In die een hand het hy een van daardie pragtige jaggewere en in die ander het hy ‘n leeuwelpie aan die kraag beet.  So ‘n paar treë agter hom kom ‘n uiters verontwaardige en hoogs die m**r in leeuwyfie aangehardloop.  Gelukkig vir hom kom hy toe agter dat die geweer hom verhinder om nog spoed op te tel en hy smyt die wapen neer om nog te kan accelerate.  Die wyfie het by die geweer gestop en dit eers verrinneweer.  Intussen hardloop Boet en ek om vanuit ‘n beter hoek te kan skiet - nie om die wyfie te dood nie (sy beskerm maar net haar kind), maar om voor haar op die grond te skiet en haar sodoende te dwing om om te draai en die man te los.  Tussendeur rol ons krete oor die aarde:  ‘Smyt weg die kleintjie!’  ‘Gooi die ding neer!’  ‘Is jy bed*nnerd?’  ‘Is jy bebliks*m?’  ‘Los die leeu!’, ens, ens.  Net daar los die wyfie die geweer en hardloop die jagter (teen hierdie tyd totaal verbouereerd en paniekbevange) van agter af in.  Toe sy hom wil vat, val sy groot Australiaanse Outback-hoed van sy kop af en sy stop weer om daardie hooftooisel te verskeur dat dit soos ‘n kangaroe, wat deur ‘n saagmeule was, lyk.  Sy probeer hom die derde keer vat, maar toe moes ons pleidooi-krete aan hom om van die welpie ontslae te raak seker tot sy paniekbevange bewussyn deurgedring het, want hy smyt die kleintjie neer en die wyfie steek in haar spore by haar welpie vas.  Maar van stop by die jagter was daar geen sprake nie!  Teen daardie tyd kon hy ‘n kolhaas ‘n demonstrasie gee van hoe ‘n man moet hardloop!  Hy was nie mooi in lyn met die opening in die boma nie, maar dit het hom op daardie tydstip (of soos ons deesdae sê at that point in time) nie in die minste bekommer nie.  Oopmond van verbasing het ons die toneel aanskou.  Hy hardloop, sonder om te aarsel,  die een kant van die doringtak-boma op en dan weer die ander kant af.  Ons, wat ‘n redelike kennis van leeus gehad het, het so amper saam met hom in die boma aangekom.  Net op ‘n meer konvensionele manier - by die opening in - want ons het geweet dat moeder leeu op daardie oomblik nou nie juis aangetrokke tot jagters gevoel het nie.

Dit het ons ‘n hele voorraad salf, Elastoplast en verbande geneem om die Johannesburger se doringletsels te dokter en ná ‘n week is hy eina-eina saam met sy pêlle weg sonder om dit ooit weer uit die boma te waag!  Hy sê hy het die ou bondeltjie daar in die bos gekry en gedink dit sou tog te skattig wees om vir sy kindertjies in die groot stad so ‘n mooi aandenkinkie te neem.  Hulle sou dan tog so lekker met die outjie kon speel ...

Mamma Mia!

written by Malcolm Moodie Snr., essentially edited by one of his Brats. translated to Engels by Grok3.