Imba

The bellow of the owls blended into the backdrop no longer: their screeching filled the spaces between the trees and the forest now ached from the low-pitched vibrations.

Bushbuck (Imbabala) Mummy sheltered with her Baby Imba in a grove between old and new growth, waiting for the owls to finish their prowl. The rainy season’s horizontal dampness kept their fur wet all night, a marvel for the grasses and leaves but a hazard for the little buck who clung to his mother’s teats seeking constant reassurance and succour.

The owls had been lurking all night and Imba was trembling from exhaustion as much as from the cold. There was no instinctive measuring scale for Mother to use to decide whether Imba was too big for the owl’s sharp beak or just small enough to be injured or even carried away under her vast wingspan. She could only wait for daybreak.

After a long night, the day was finally starting with promise. Rays of light shone through the foliage and Mummy knew that Imba would soon warm up and want to play.

The light brought deep heat to the soil early. With the quieting of night came forgetfulness. Mummy’s energy could only focus on the here and now because two lives depended on her being alert in every moment. The night’s fears would therefore be tucked away in the undergrowth until they needed to be called upon again.

As the sunlight struck Imba’s tiny hooves, Mother’s tongue licked his ears encouragingly. This startled him and he suddenly bounced out of the grove and around the patch of trees nearby. After gambolling freely, he slowed down and crept up on Mummy only to pounce at her rear. It was time to show him who was boss. She leapt in the air well above his head and ran around the trees and caught up with him from the back. Although her reflexes were quicker, his appetite for playfulness was relentless, and they tired in equal measure after dancing round and around the grove in the sunlit shadows.

When Imba got tired he got distracted. He pranced off eastwards away from the grove and into the thicker forest, only to find himself head to head with a large male bushbuck. There were a few metres between them, but this gap was reducing as the male marched slowly towards him, head down and horns pointed upwards.

Mummy jumped in front of Imba just in time to avoid a standoff. She barked loudly and stared down the aggressive ram. He was either bored or troubled, otherwise he would have no need to intimidate her calf this way.

He was overstepping. Imba may have moved beyond their own territory, but theirs was not a proprietary ownership anyway. All bushbucks had usufruct of the land, a sense of the landscape lending itself to them, in common sense coordination with other dwellers. If the ram were looking for trouble, it meant he was also in trouble. As she stared him down, she saw something in his eyes which was different from fear, it was a feeling of deep-rooted panic that seemed stuck there.

Whilst her and Imba’s survival were interlocked, the ram’s survival was random, lonely and independent of the other bucks. He could persist or he could go down, no other being was watching out for him. And she could tell his days were numbered. He did not have the mettle to survive.

He suddenly seemed pitiful and she had no more time for him. She had nutrient reserves to refill. She grunted loudly, turned around, and nudged Imba away forcefully. The ram looked at them until he could see no further sign of their deep brown fur in the distance.

It was time for Mummy to graze while Imba rested. She needed to grow back her fat and muscle and he was a liability during the day. The worst moment was leaving him under the bushes, not knowing if he could be tracked in her absence. Everyone was jittery at the moment. The altercation with the ram was just one of many off-putting events of the past days. She had heard the leopards in their midst too. If she lost Imba, she would have to start all over again. She barely had enough reserves to keep her milk strong for him, she was not ready to bear a new calf.

She pushed him deep into the undergrowth, well hidden from snooping eyes; she ate the drops of dung he had left outside to ensure there would be no scent.

And then she cantered off. Jumping at her own height and pace freed her of concern and allowed her limbs to stretch and move freely again. Everything was different in these moments. She munched on soursop fruit and broad leaves, and chewed on some moss and mushroom nodules she tore off the ground. She needed it all.

Ears alert, she eventually had to tear herself away from this private feast to go and check on Imba. She took a different route back to his hiding place and edged around the divide between old and new growth, on the other side of where they had spent the night.

And there she saw it. Nothingness. Half the forest had disappeared. Gone. Evaporated into thin air. The soil was dark and looked ashen but she could not smell ashes or fire. Her instincts were especially sharp at the moment, she would know. With the dampness of the night, fire seemed even more unlikely.

What could have happened? Where did the forest go? She roamed around with her nose in the earth but she was on edge, she did not know what or whom to be afraid of. Forces beyond her understanding were encroaching.

As she stood in the empty forest where trees were no longer, the ram’s panicked gaze floated in front of her eyes and the echoes of the owls shuddered through her. No wonder the owls were protesting, they must be able to see and hear it all, they would have a view of the vastness.

She had no friends here, she could not tarry. She leapt away with her heart beating wildly and galloped as fast as she could back to the hiding spot.

Imba crawled out when he sniffed her but quickly realised she was not in a playful mood. She nudged him away from the bushes and deeper into the old growth forest, past the spot where they met the ram and further into the darkness.

The light fell less gleefully here. The sounds were unfamiliar, some of the bushes different, the soil damper and richer. No matter. She could not return to that place. The emptiness haunted her. She looked at her calf and licked his dark snout. She stared deep into his baby eyes. It was just the two of them. And one day, when he finished weaning, she would be alone again.