There were bamboo sheets to beat the heat and canopy curtains to ward off mosquitoes, so you’d think there’d be a coffee maker. I pulled on a long-sleeved shirt, and announced I was heading to the main lodge to get a cup of coffee. It’s freshly brewed and to die for.
“You shouldn’t walk by yourself,” Frankie shouted from the shower. “It’s a jungle out there.” Frankie loved saying that, even though we weren’t in the jungle per se, we were in the bush. I didn’t need to be guilted thinking it was dangerous to walk alone.
“I’ll meet you over there,” I said. “I need caffeine.”
“Do you not remember the conversation at dinner last night, Margie?”
I find the “do you not” syntax super annoying. Of course, I remembered. It was the talk of our table as we scarfed down local delicacies and selected South Africa wines.
Four female lions and two males had been reported prowling near the main entrance last night. Because of this “risk,” guides had to escort us to our rooms. Honestly, I think it was just a way to make us all feel like we’re on a realsafari. We were warned to remain in our quarters and to use the bullhorn provided if we needed assistance. We’d never stayed in a place that offered guests a bullhorn instead of a phone. It is kind of cool. I posted photos.
Off I step into the early morning light. There’s a softness to the air, and sweet smells like those bath products in our room. That doesn’t make sense though, unless the smells clung to me when Frankie steamed out of the shower. More likely it’s coming from one of those trees we took photos of yesterday. The yellow ones. I see one up ahead. So pretty. They probably wouldn’t survive in the states though. Lots of chirping and tweeting in the brush. It’s impossible to remember all the birds. I only remember the one called the go-away bird. That’s just what it sounds like it’s screeching: go away. Wouldn’t it be great to have one of those as a pet?
There’s something on the ground in front of me, so I’ll poke my walking pole at it, in case it’s a snake. Someone almost stepped on an adder last night. Our guide pointed out the tracks in the sand. You wouldn’t have even noticed them. Frankie mansplained: “They’re adders and they’re venomous.” Yesterday morning, Joseph passed around a book showing different animals’ tracks. I’d gone to the gift shop, so I missed the lesson. I bought a basket woven from palm leaves. The girls in the kitchen make them. If the gift shop is still open after dinner tonight, I may buy another one. My suitcase is pretty crammed with tchotchkes already though.
There are grunts coming from the bushes to my right. Reminds me of the sound that people, mostly men I’d say, make in the gym when hoisting a bar over their heads. I have a personal trainer now, which is very popular. Twice a week. On Tuesdays. But I may change to Thursdays because of … I hear a crunching sound. Like when you chew ice chips. Reminds me of that sound. Takes the enamel right off your teeth, Frankie says. But it’s satisfying. I wish I had some ice chips right now. I’m getting really warm. I should have brought my water bottle. I need to get coffee before we head out on safari. We’re driving to a watering hole this morning. Every kind of wildlife is practically guaranteed to be there. Elephants, wildebeests, zebras, and those little guys that look like toy deer. I love the elephants. Everyone does.
I didn’t think the main building was this far. I need to sit down for a minute. There aren’t any benches though. These are brand new crops, so I don’t want to sit in the dirt. I’ll just keep walking. My right sandal is pinching my big toe. I packed two pairs, but these are more stylish. Teal straps. I love teal. Most of my clothes for this trip are shades of teal or turquoise. Our guidelines stressed earth tones—khaki, brown. So dull. Maybe it’s my left toe. I really need caffeine. I don’t see any housekeepers pushing laundry carts, any guides fussing with the jeeps, any buildings. The path is much narrower than when I started out.
I didn’t think the main building was this far. I’ve walked almost a mile according to my watch. I should have put sunscreen on before I left our room. And grabbed a hat. That sound is maybe a baboon. One leaped down from a roof and grabbed someone’s backpack yesterday. Only a mother could love those creatures. Really unattractive. Well, the babies are sort of cute. I wouldn’t let them on the grounds, if I were management. Everything is wide open though. We’re in the National Park. Baboons bark. Warthogs snort. They’re wandering all over the place too. Lions roar, obviously. Guinea hens…I forget. I jotted it all down in my journal. Which I hadn’t thought necessary to bring with me just to get coffee. Everything takes so much effort. Joseph plays lessons on tape cassettes. How quaint is that? Joseph’s our leader for the trip. He’s awesome. Keeps stressing that we’re a family. We look out for each other. He handwrites his lectures on sheets of oversized paper and tapes them to the wall. Conservation efforts, history of Botswana etc. Too much information.
That was definitely a roar. But it seems far off. Probably one of the lions hunkered down by the entrance. That’s way on the other side of campus.
I hear steps behind me and slowly turn to see Joseph, Frankie a few yards behind him, running toward me. Both of them are gesturing like those people who direct planes on the ground. Is there a name for them? There must be.
“Did you not see that you turned right instead of left?” Frankie panted as they reached me.
“To do what?”
“To get to the main building. You can see it from our room.”
“You left after me,” I said. “How did you get there first?”
“Because it’s only a stone’s throw away. I was having coffee and scones when that woman with the big hair asked me where you were. When I said I didn’t know, that you’d headed over way before me, Joseph sprung up from his chair and cheetahed himself out the door.”
“Jessica. Her name is Jessica. She’s been traveling with us for a week. Do you not still know her name?”
“This also happened on a different trip,” Joseph said, wiping the sweat off his face with his sleeve. “A man walked into the bush and kept walking. His wife didn’t report it until too late.”
He tried to embellish the story of the tourist who never returned. Frankie and I didn’t engage, so we continued in silence. I could tell I was still dehydrated, even after drinking the bottled water Frankie urged me to get down. I was shaking all over. If Frankie hadn’t had a hold on me, I think I would have folded in two. The only human sounds were our shoes scraping along the path. A dozen or so people, mostly travel mates, some staff, were standing on the patio by the breakfast bar when we finally reached the main building. Lots of frowns and murmurs. Lynda ran up to me first, practically levitating with faux concern. “We were so worried,” she gushed. “It could happen to anyone, heading the wrong way.”
“Don’t think so,” Frankie muttered.
Go away. Go away.
On my next trip, I’m traveling solo to someplace civilized. Or maybe with just Frankie. He did rush to my rescue, did he not?
We were the last ones to hoist ourselves onto a jeep for the morning trek, already delayed because of my wanderings. Frankie squeezed in next to me, the bulging pocket of his cargo shorts pressing against my thigh. Lately we’ve taken seats in different rows, so we could each get a window seat and better photos. At least that’s what we told each other. As promised, there were all kinds of animals at the watering hole. Birds too. But my eyes were glued on five lions lazing in the narrow shade of our vehicle, so close we could have almost reached out and touched them. I shuddered, and Frankie rubbed my shoulder.
When we got back to our room, there was a survey to fill out on our night table. “Did you hear that couple ask our guide about reports of a lion loose on the property this morning?” Frankie said, unscrewing his souvenir water bottle. ‘Just a rumor, no worries,’ he said. Hardly reassuring.” He grabbed a pen and wrote in the Comments section “Better security, that’s what we would recommend. And better signage.”
“Coffee makers in the rooms, that’s my number one suggestion,” I scribbled in large letters, leaving no space for further remarks.
Mary Campbell Wild is the author of numerous short stories, most recently “Peeping Man, in Minerva Rising. She holds a B.A. in English Literature from Chestnut Hill College, Philadelphia, and an M.A. in International Communication from The American University, Washington, D.C.