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We walk in the silent heat. At 5:30 am it was nice and cool but already by 10:00 am it is hot and by 11 it is scorching. The tsetse flies are active, attracted by the blue colour of my backpack, by the smell of my sweaty skin, and the prospect of yet another fresh meal of blood. They drive me crazy!
Our guides Mike and Bernard see things I do not until they are pointed out to me: the age, size, type and direction of footprints in the sand, the freshness and composition of animal droppings, traces of broken branches, trampled leaves, discarded bones and lost feathers. They can read the bush like a book, while I am still learning the alphabet.
We see tracks, trees, seeds, pods, plants, dung, bones and birds. I pick up feathers, seeds and porcupine quills for my collection. We spot dwarf mongoose, warthogs, a large herd of impala, and vultures circling in the air.
One morning we follow fresh lion prints – large indentations in the sandy soil. We are awarded. A young male, with a Mohican hairdo and his girlfriend are enjoying some quality time with each other. We hope to see them mate but all of us are disturbed by a couple of other groups of walkers approaching the harmonious couple from two different directions. I can understand why the lions would feel a bit shy in the midst of all this attention. The male lion gets up and walks towards one of the groups. From behind the trees we hear him growl at them.
That night we hear the lions roar and the hyenas laugh. Next morning I am wide awake within seconds.
“Do you want to chase lions?”
Mike scratches on my tent, asking this provocative question at 5:30 am. Of course I want to chase lions! In the dark I make a mad dash to get into my clothes and hurriedly join the others, ready for an exciting start to the day. We see from footprints in the sand that the lions strolled very close to our camp during the night.
We follow the prints until we get close to the big cats. It is the same couple as yesterday. Bernard moves closer to them at an angle to see if we can all get closer without being seen. Meanwhile, the rest of us stay put with Mike. Suddenly, the lions spot a movement in our group.
The male stands up, tail flicking angrily, all of his impressive muscles tensed, shaggy Mohican mane making him look very manly and threatening. He struts a couple of steps towards our little group, his fierce yellow eyes making eye contact with us.
His mighty, reverberating roar sends us scurrying behind Mike who gets his rifle at the ready in a wink. Bernard quickly sneaks back to us, prepared to help Mike. We start to walk slowly back to our camp, but the lions cut off our route and the male roars again – a deep, booming, large sound that fills out all the space and makes my heart flutter and my knees weak. We must choose another route.
Phew! What a morning!
River life and death
Several times during our stay at Chitake we take a walk down to the river. Well, it would be more apt to call it a dried out riverbed because at this time of year there is not much water. There are, however, puddles here and there and lovely pink rock formations. We huddle behind branches and trees, waiting to see wildlife coming for a drink.
We spot mostly baboons, pigeons and guinea fowl. In the riverbed we also see and smell death, which is an integral part of bush life. A buffalo skeleton lies rotting with its white-toothed grin.
We have spotted a couple of things that are new for me – a Sharpe’s grysbok, which is a small antelope weighing about 7,5 kg, and some pottery shards, which attest to the fact that this area has previously been inhabited.
