Irish Olive and I had been bosom buddies for a while. Being an immigrant, she had found it difficult to make friends in our predominantly Afrikaans speaking community. I, on the other hand, was just ‘picky’ with the friends I chose. Olive and I ‘clicked’ immediately when we met. Her four boys and my three girls (all between the ages of four and ten) played amicably together – it was a friendship ‘made in heaven’. Olive had taught me to drive the beat up VW Beatle that my husband had bought me, so occasionally we went on jaunts together.
One weekend, while our respective husbands were working, we decided to take the kids to our local game reserve. For this special occasion, I had borrowed my hubby’s Chevy Commando Station Wagon. To cram seven children into the back of the VW would have been a bit of a squeeze; besides, the Chevy had more windows – all the better for viewing.
As we entered the Krugersdorp Game Reserve, almost immediately we saw a lone Kudu grazing on the grassy hill to our right. Our meandering dusty road led us past many more herbivores of various kinds, the kids bouncing in the back, excitedly pointing them out and naming most of them – zebra and an assortment of smaller antelope. We passed a few ostriches, which lifted their heads to follow our progress with just a hint of curiosity, their long ‘come hither’ lashes fluttering provocatively at us as we cruised past.
We stopped off at the Rhino enclosure to contemplate these large, near-sighted creatures as they placidly enjoyed their lush long green grass. Their encampment was very obviously planted with special grass, as it was a brilliant green in contrast to the surrounding veldt. These lumbering mountains of flesh seemed to deliberately ignore our stares and hushed chatter. They were so close, and SO large, but it was almost difficult to remember that these were, in fact, dangerous animals. It seemed as if we could stretch out our hands and pat them – luckily, nobody was stupid enough to attempt that.
The lion camp came next. An African guard who cautioned us to stay in our vehicle at all times whilst inside this enclosure opened the high, extremely secure gates. He also gave a stern warning to the kids, “No dangling body parts from the windows!” The kids were suitably subdued by this warning from a stranger, to sit quietly and just gaze as we surveyed the “King of the Beasts “. We were fortunate enough to have timed our visit to coincide with feeding time. As we watched from the confines of our car, a medium sized truck drove up bearing dinner for the small pride. Haunches of donkey were pushed off the back of the truck, which was immediately fallen upon by the lionesses. The meat was dragged into the shade of the acacias, where a lot of growls were heard as the feeding frenzy erupted. The kids watched, awed by this spectacle, as none of them, including Olive, had ever seen anything of this sort before.
After watching the lions gorge, the kids all decided that they were starving too. We left the lion enclosure and headed, post haste, for the cafeteria. Imagine a chant at the top of seven little voices going, “We are hungry, we are hungry!” We simply had to stem the urgent cries from the back seat and to stretch our legs. The cafeteria was mysteriously deserted as we entered - not a person, nor vehicle, in sight. The kids wondered, “Did the lions eat all the people?” Of course, Olive and I assured them that was surely not the case. After stomping around in the cafeteria for some minutes, opening and shutting ice-cream fridges and much rustling of potato crisp packets, a sleepy African maid sluggishly emerged from the rear of the establishment – she had obviously been taking a siesta and wasn’t too pleased to be disturbed.
We took ourselves out to the playground within the cordoned off area of the cafeteria grounds, where the children played while Olive and I sipped our chilled fruit juice in the shade of the veranda. After being told that we were to see the monkeys next, the little ones cavorted on the “Jungle Gym” pretending to be primates, much to the amusement of us adults.
We arrived at the large open area where the troop (or is it parliament?) of baboons was kept during the day. In the middle stood a huge dead tree, probably a eucalypt stripped of bark by the passage of time, and thousands of scurrying paws. An ancient, wizened African man, who minded these rambunctious animals, shambled over to the car to ask us please to keep the car windows shut. Olive and I heard the rolling up of the back windows, so never bothered to check. Oh boy! Was that a mistake! Soon our station wagon was crawling with these curious, impudent creatures. They thudded onto the roof, jumped up and down on the bonnet and tried to drink water from the window-washer outlets. I squirted water for them and was horrified as a couple tried to wrench the windscreen wipers from their mountings. We were beginning to feel like specimens in a zoo as their beady, intelligent eyes peered at us through the windshield.
Suddenly there was a panicked scream from the back seat of the car. Olive and I whipped around to find the source of so much terror. There sat a petrified four-year-old (one of Olive’s twins), with a capricious small baboon clinging onto his chest, its face an inch or so away from his. I can’t remember who made the most noise: the baby baboon shrieking, the other children taking fright, or us moms in the front seat. The cacophony of sound in that enclosed space must have been horrendous, almost enough to shatter the windows!
Possibly the noise made by us humans was enough to frighten the crap out of this little monkey, because that is exactly what happened – It defecated all over the front of the terrified little boy. In its ‘flight to freedom’ the baby baboon grabbed a small red ball, which one of the kids had previously been toying with, and a half eaten packet of crisps, before escaping through the four inch gap that had been left open in the window.
After a quick check that her son had not been seriously scratched, we decided to beat a hasty retreat, baboons jumping off the car willy-nilly as we careered away. We drove the whole way home with the windows full open – the stench of the faeces giving weight to my foot on the petrol.
At home, it was established that the only damages incurred were a small graze on the twin’s face, and an outfit that Olive refused to wash. I had some serious cleaning to do in the back seat, before returning the station wagon to hubby.
Fergie, your story put me in mind of one my mother often told. Way back (late 40's) Chicago often hosted the Circus, whose animals were often in wagons between shows. These wagons were really more like cages on wheels, and there was usually a 'rube' around to make sure no one got too close. Anyway, my mother was standing near the lion's cage with the girls (twins) , when the lion peed all over one of the girls! Talk about rank! But, seriously what is it with twins getting soiled by wild animals??? lol
