Chocolate Bar in the Sun

Chocolate Bar in the Sun

Pat Spencer

My father, Ubaba, worked as a guide at the Ilanga Safari Lodge in South Africa. He left before my sisters and I awakened, but never before tiptoeing in and kissing our foreheads. I would wrap my arms around his neck and wait for the warmth of his love to seep from my head to my toes as he whispered in our native tongue, “Jongani iintombi zam. Watch over my girls.” The times I failed to awaken, I worried how my day might go.

That morning, Umama’s voice broke through my dreams. “Get up, my daughters. You are going on an adventure.”

I jumped from the top bunk and tugged my younger sister Onele from the lower bed. “Where are we going?”

“Wherever it is, I’m not going,” growled my older sister, Asanda.

“Two guests canceled for this morning’s safari.” Umama ran her fingers through Onele’s tangled hair. “Your father has permission to take you in their place. You must hurry.”

I pulled on the lion cub screen-printed tee-shirt Ubaba bought from the souvenir shop for my birthday. “Umama, we’ll miss school.”

“This opportunity may never come again, Eshile. Your father and I want you to go.”

My older sister grumbled as if descending her bunkbed ladder into a cave of snakes instead of our bedroom. “I’m not going. I’m meeting Leo.”

I muttered, “Can’t you survive one day without seeing your stupid boyfriend?”

My mother shot us her squinty-eyed look. “Leo and Dr. Vorster are tending a herd of buffalo with bleeding sores, so you may come across them.”

As we rushed out, Umama warned, “Mind your father.”

At the lodge, Ubaba pointed to the bench seat not taken by the two waiting couples. “You’re small enough to fit.” The engine sputtered when he turned the key. “We have an hour’s drive to Kruger National Park,” announced my father in his official voice. “The sun comes up about the time we arrive. Enjoy a nap if you can. You’ll need your energy for the day that awaits.”

I must have fallen asleep because only seconds seemed to pass before we stopped beside an enormous sign.

Welcome to the

PHALABORWA GATE

It’s mine it’s yours ● Xa mina I Xa wena

After the guard waved us in, my father said, “Prepare to witness things you have never seen in your own countries.”

“Lions?” asked the man in the front passenger seat.

“My ancestors visited my dreams. They favor us today.” When the guests applauded, Ubaba smiled so widely I saw all his teeth.  

The sun shone deep gold but still hovered only inches above the horizon. Onele shivered as the jeep moved forward. I wrapped my arm around her to share my body’s warmth.

The dirt roads inside Kruger were well cared for, yet we hit dips and ruts. We yelled, “Hang on!” and laughed with each bounce. Ubaba slowed the jeep when a giraffe stepped from behind an acacia tree. Leaves fluttered at the sides of his mouth as he chewed. Cameras clicked while he gazed down at us with big, soft eyes.

Ubaba stated, “The male, the tallest animal on the planet, grows to five meters and the females over four. The males weigh 1,200 kilograms while the dainty ladies, 800 to 900. Like humans, giraffes are social. They bond in groups. After you have enough photos, we will seek out this one’s family and friends.”

At the curve in the path, the woman with hair as sleek and glossy as an ebony stone pointed into the trees.

“Two more!” whispered Onele as though the giraffes might hear her and run away. “His fur looks smooth. I wish I could pet him.”

“Giraffes eat over thirty kilograms a day, mostly Acacia leaves. This particular acacia earned the name of giraffe thorn tree because the unique shape of the giraffe’s tongue enables it to avoid the thorns. These graceful creatures also graze on grasses. Imagine how difficult it is to bend that long, arching neck to the ground.” Ubaba paused to lift the squawking walkie-talkie from his belt.

“That’s Leo’s father,” announced Asanda. But when an unknown voice cut through the static, she slumped with disappointment.

“My friend, where you be?” After Ubaba gave our location, the fellow replied, “Ahead of you, half kilometer to the north, a pride rests. I don’t think they are leaving. Go now and you have time.”

Ubaba turned toward his passengers. “I’ll drive quickly, but when I raise my hand, please be quiet. It is not good to frighten the King of Beasts.”

The jeep jolted forward, throwing us back against our seats. My heart rose in my throat. The only lions I’d ever seen were in schoolbooks. Excited guests jabbered, raising their voices to hear each other over the wind and engine noise. But when Ubaba raised his hand and halted twenty meters from a male and three female lions lounging in the shade of mopane trees, we fell silent. The male yawned and crossed one paw over the other, the way women sit. His golden mane, tipped with black, rippled when he shook his massive head.

My father spoke softly. “He’s old and wise. I know this because his mane is longer and darker than the others.”

A parade of elephants emerged from behind a thick outcropping of shrubs and trees. The enormous lead male flapped his ears like palm fronds in a breeze and angled his five-foot ivory tusks toward the jeep.

Guests raised their cameras. Click… Click… Click.

My jaw hung open. Onele’s eyes bugged. She grabbed my arm and pointed across the road. A second, smaller bull trumpeted his battle cry. The older, larger bull curled his trunk and proclaimed acceptance of the challenge. The jeep shimmied from the force of his rumbling call.

Onele wedged her small body behind my arm and peeked around my shoulder. I patted her leg as if I didn’t share her fear.

“Don’t move or talk,” cautioned Ubaba as the distance closed between the raging elephants. “We must not bring attention to ourselves.”

The bulls met in the center of the roadway. “He’s too little,” whispered Asanda. “Hasn’t got a chance.”

The females gathered their calves to watch the bulls rage and stomp their feet. Dust flew. The younger tried to gore the powerful bull. But the bull rammed his forehead against the smaller elephant and pushed him closer to our jeep.

The redheaded woman behind me screamed, “We’re going to die!”

I couldn’t stop staring at her distorted, fire-red lips.

The man beside Ubaba snarled, “What’s wrong with you? Our driver warned us to be quiet.”

The redhead yelled, “Get me out of here,” while throwing a leg over the rail. “They’ll kill us.”

The man in the front seat gritted his teeth. “It’s your fault if they do.”

The redhead’s husband grabbed her shirt and pulled her back inside. “Damn it. Shut your mouth.” They continued to bombard each other with heated words while Ubaba backed the jeep away.

The lions watched from between the straggly mopane tree trunks, apparently too comfortable to move out of the shade made by the large butterfly leaves. I felt the glare of the male’s golden eyes as if they had pierced my chest. Asanda squirmed in her seat. When the lion raised his brow, I wondered if he was entertained or irritated by the commotion in our jeep. I sent a quick prayer. Please make him stay where he is.

The bull elephant turned toward us. Ubaba jerked the gear into reverse and floored the gas pedal. “Sorry to throw you about.” Nobody protested. Like the smaller elephant, we were in full retreat.

Ubaba’s walkie-talkie buzzed again. “Say, my friend, did you find the lions?”

“Them and much more. Tell you of it later. I’m taking our group for a coffee break, but it’s me who needs the break.”

Ubaba drove the short distance to where a camouflage truck was parked in the patchy shade of an umbrella tree. A smiling man poured steaming brown liquid into paper cups and set them on a long folding table. I didn’t care for the taste of coffee, but the roasted nut aroma made me wonder if I should try it again. A young woman, beaded braids piled high on her head, filled other cups from a large metal thermos. My sisters and I helped ourselves to the sweet mango juice.

“What’s next?” asked the man who sat up front with Ubaba.

“I want to go back, now!” demanded the screaming woman who nearly got us killed.

Ubaba responded with sincerity, “Miesie, I’d love to return you to the lodge, if only I could.”

My father passed among his passengers while they nibbled fresh sliced seeded bread and American-style muffins. “Kruger is one of the largest game reserves in Africa. Covers an area greater than 19,000 kilometers. That’s the size of Israel or the state of Massachusetts. The Big Five are sometimes elusive, so we’d better be on our way.”

Twittering birds filled the trees with morning songs. Glossy starlings, foraging for insects, took flight from their feeding spot. Screaming Woman crumbled her muffin and tossed it into the air. These blue, beady-eyed birds swooped in and pecked at others of their flock to keep them from snatching the tasty morsels.

“I guess she forgot Ubaba said not to feed the animals,” mumbled Asanda.

The jeep rolled past meandering woodlands of mopane, acacia, and clumpy red bush willow trees. The sun warmed my shoulders, and my head bounced with the rhythm of the road. My mind was fuzzy when Ubaba stopped.

I opened my eyes and whispered to my sisters, “Now, that’s a bird.”

“Ahead is a flock of black-necked ostrich. These birds, the largest in the world, cannot fly, but they are fast runners.” My father let the jeep roll closer. “Males are black. When they spread their white-tipped wings, the contrast is spectacular. Females, less flashy, are brown and white. You may have seen their decorated eggs in the gift shop. The most popular are those painted with the Big Five.”

For the first time, I wondered what happened to the baby ostriches that had been growing inside the eggs.

As we left the wooded area, Ubaba told the tourists, “The African savanna is vast. This rolling grassland we now enter is found throughout the southeastern section of our continent. The arid landscape, between the tropical and desert areas of Africa, features both sweet and sour grasses, shrubs, and isolated trees.”

I had never seen my father in this light. At home, our mother seemed to be the authority on everything. Here, Ubaba was the expert. People listened to him. My chest swelled with pride, and my lungs filled with the sweet scent of wheat as we moved deeper into the savanna.

“These mopane trees and bushy thickets are favorites of the elephant. Fifty percent of its population lives in the Mopaneveld region. Many here argue that the elephant should hold the title King of Beasts.” Ubaba swept his hand in a sweeping arc. “We also identify this region by its granite koppies, hills sprinkled with boulders and bushes.”

Ubaba spun the steering wheel. The jeep swayed. “Sable Waterhole is ahead. Its name comes from the spotted sable antelope. These shy animals prefer the safety of denser thickets, so they may be difficult to spot. Yet they come out in the open to visit this watering hole.”

“Won’t we scare them away?” asked the man sitting beside Ubaba.

“No, I’ll approach slowly.” Ubaba glared into Screaming Woman’s eyes. “But sudden noises will cause the antelope to flee before you snap your photographs.”

A herd had clustered a few meters from the watering hole. On the ground, feet tucked up to their bodies, they perked their nervous ears our way. White fur lined their long-pointed ears and slim faces, a dramatic contrast against their dark coats. They were more incredible than I realized from the photo my teacher had pinned to the bulletin board. Several sable antelope waded knee deep to fill their bellies with cool water. They glanced at us, stretched their thick necks, throwing their semi-circular horns over their shoulders, then returned to drinking.

The walkie-talkie vibrated against Ubaba’s hip.

“That’s Leo’s father.” Asanda smiled smugly, then frowned at the familiar voice inside the black plastic case. “My friend, what distance are you from the Olifants River?”

“Six kilometers. What have you got?”

“Buffalo and hippo. Come quick.”

My father hooked the walkie-talkie back on his belt. “We usually take another break at this time—meat pies, cold juice, and mango slices.”

“Forget the food!” urged the man next to Ubaba.

“Go! Go!” The screeching, redheaded woman who had feared the elephants would kill her now frightened the sable antelopes into a dead run.

The jeep roared up a gently sloped hill. The air scorched my skin and lips. My eyes watered. I imagined the guests were just as uncomfortable, until we stopped.

Amid “Oohs” and “Awes”, cameras clicked. Six hippos cooled themselves in the Olifants. The largest sank and disappeared. When his grayish-brown mass rose, he twitched his miniature ears and sprayed muddy water out his nose.

“Crocodile at three o’clock, sliding off the bank,” said my father.  

“Will he attack the hippos?” asked Screaming Woman.

“No, he’s smarter than that. Might go after a calf, but this herd is adults.”

Ubaba rolled the jeep closer to the riverbank, face to face with a submerged hippo. All we saw were bulging eyeballs, tiny twitching ears, and large, wet nostrils. When the hippo stood, water poured off his rounded back.

Ubaba gripped the gearshift as if to jam it into reverse.

But the hippo didn’t move toward us. He raised himself until his body was half below and half above the waterline and released a giant spray of hippo shit.

Onele squealed. The petite woman with gleaming black hair covered her nose and mouth with her delicate hand.

The man beside Ubaba chuckled. “You have to admire a male who can do that.”

When Screaming Woman said, “That explains why the water is so brown,” even grumpy Asanda laughed. 

Water buffalo sauntered through long, slender grasses on the far side of the river. The lead buffalo was larger than our jeep. He acted as though he hadn’t noticed us—perhaps he didn’t care. The breeze blew in our direction, so he may not have detected our scent. But I smelled him—the same odor as a filthy oriental rug Ubaba brought home, but Umama made him take it back to the dump. 

“Water buffalo are also known as Cape buffalo. His heavy horns form a continuous bone shield called a boss. Some argue for these buffalo to be recognized as the King of Beasts because he gores and kills over 200 people every year, many more than our lions.”

Screaming Woman’s husband shook his head. “Only the lion deserves to be king.”

“Most agree, but consider this. Mosquitos kill more humans than the mighty lion.”

“Who is this buffalo’s enemy?” This was the first time the exotic woman with long black hair spoke. I imagined myself being born with glossy hair like hers that laid straight and flat against my scalp. I tossed my head as if it were true.

“Man is his greatest enemy,” answered my father. “Buffalos are clever and protective. They counterattack when hunted. Earlier this year, we watched a lioness take down a calf. The largest buffalo charged the lioness and threw her aside, then the herd chased her up a tree.”

“Was the baby hurt?” asked Screaming Woman.

“Stunned and bleeding but appeared okay. Four males stood guard until their herd and the wounded calf were out of sight.”

“I’d like to have seen that,” said Screaming Woman’s husband.

“I’d like to see a leopard,” said the man up front.

“Tomorrow, you leave for the Lower Sabie Rest Camp. Take a night safari and you should find leopards. Now, we return to the lodge. An opportunity to clean up before the farewell feast the staff has planned for you.”

I made a sad face at my little sister because I knew she didn’t want this safari to end any more than I did. Asanda tapped Ubaba’s shoulder. “Where are Leo and Dr. Vorster?”

“North. We can’t go there.”

My red-faced older sister was winding up to throw a fit, so I leaned close. “Tourists aren’t allowed near sick animals.”

As Ubaba drove back to the Ilanga Safari Lodge, Onele stretched out, head in my lap, feet in Asanda’s. Screaming Woman rested against her husband’s shoulder and fell asleep. I smiled. Today had been harder on her than anyone.

That December summer was as hot as an oven and drier than normal for South Africa. Dust clung to our sweaty skin, and we stank like one giant armpit. Even Onele was eager to shower when we returned home. Then, while I warmed leftover meat pies, she curled up on our red and white flowered sofa and told her furry toy named Monkey about every animal she saw. My heart melted like a chocolate bar left in the sun as she added a few untruths to her description of our lion encounter as if she must exaggerate to hold the attention of that ratty, one-eyed stuffed monkey.

“Shouldn’t have gone,” muttered Asanda. “Leo will worry because he didn’t see me.”

I considered reminding her Leo was tracking infected buffalo and so busy working to stop the spread of hoof-and-mouth that he probably hadn’t given her a thought. Fortunately, I was bright enough to keep my mouth shut.

Just when Onele finished telling Monkey every detail of our adventure, the front door opened. She leapt off the sofa and ran to our mother. “Thank goodness, you are home. I have much to tell you. What a day we’ve had!”