Dictator

6

The southeastern quadrant of Africa, from the equator to the Cape of Good Hope, contains some of the world’s most spectacular landscapes. But between those highlights lie countless miles of open savannah, which is a technical way of saying ‘an awful lot of dry grass, interrupted by the odd bush or tree’ – a harsh but not entirely unjustified description for much of the land on the Stratten Reserve. The glory of it lay in its animal inhabitants. And on days when the Big Five animals – lion, leopard, rhino, elephant and Cape buffalo – declined to make themselves visible, prosperous middle-aged tourists soon became hot, sweaty and disgruntled.

That was the situation facing a guide called Jannie Smuts as he drove his tourist-filled truck on a so-far fruitless safari. His customers had seen warthogs by the score, a few unimpressive varieties of deer and one listless giraffe. But that hardly amounted to value for the very large sums of money they’d paid for their African holiday. Smuts himself was endlessly fascinated by the marvels of the African sky: so dazzling with stars at night; so lurid at sunrise and sunset; so capricious in its ability to switch from limitlessly clear blue to massed ranks of mountainous thunderclouds, seemingly in an instant. He could see, however, that ‘Why don’t you folks look at the sky?’ wouldn’t go down too well, particularly since the truck’s canvas sunshade prevented them from actually seeing it.

He could feel the disappointment starting to mount behind him on the passenger seats. But as he pulled to a halt half a kilometre shy of the acacia grove and stood up and turned to face his customers, he felt confident he could turn things round.

‘I’ve got something pretty special for you now, folks,’ he said, his voice lowered, almost whispering, to create an air of tension and expectancy. ‘Just round the corner there’s a special spot where rhino like to gather to feed and drink. With any luck they’ll be there right now, and let me tell you, this is a sight worth seeing. And about time too, eh guys?’

There was a ripple of relieved laughter. Smuts grinned back, then sat back down in the driver’s seat and got the truck underway again.

They were still a couple of hundred metres from the grove when Smuts caught sight of jackals feasting on a giant grey carcass. He cursed under his breath and prayed that none of his customers had spotted what was going on. He braked again, hopped down to the ground and grabbed his rifle.

‘Just a minute, folks. I just want to see if any of our rhino buddies are in the area. Just don’t leave the truck, hey? Don’t want anyone getting lost.’

The laughter was a little more nervous this time, the tourists sensing there was something not quite right here.

Smuts was gone barely a minute. When he returned to the vehicle his face had lost all its good humour. He did not say a word to his passengers. Instead he picked up his radio and spoke in Afrikaans, not wanting anyone else in the truck to understand as he reported the presence of poachers.

Then he started up the engine again, pulled the truck into a three-point turn and headed back the way they had come.

‘Sorry about that, folks!’ Smuts shouted as he drove away. ‘Looks like our rhino buddies aren’t available. But don’t worry, this is a big reserve. And sooner or later we’ll find where its animals are hiding!’