A Place of Sanctuary

The small carcass of a bushbuck lay defencelessly in an open glade. Some twenty metres away, blended into dry bush, a leopard groomed her cub. A shadow descending the branch of a magic guarri bush (euclea divinorum) morphed into a second cub honing its climbing skills.

When she was ready, the leopard stood up and went to the corpse stiffening in the early morning breeze. Before laying claim to it, she looked around, every muscle synchronised to potential danger, then, with fluid grace, dipped her head, took hold of the buck and began dragging it between her legs towards the fence surrounding the safari camp.

She bowed between strands of the fence and secreted the carcass near the last in the line of luxury Safari tents at Dulini Moya in the Sabi Sands Game Reserve. One cub watched, thought for a moment before following in her footsteps. The second was more cautious, needing more moments in the undergrowth to trust his mother did have his interest at heart. He took a longer route to the eating spot, keeping deeper in the protection of the end of winter scrub.

Once the trio was out of sight we continued our early morning drive.

Our route lay across a dry riverbed and as we descended into it our tracker pointed out a drag mark across the road. It was over my car tracks, which meant it was recent. His reading was a hyena had possibly stolen a kill and was dragging it to safety. We turned into the riverbed and a short distance away found an impala carcass with a large bite out of its side on the bank under a shrub. The tracker did not believe it was the same leopard as the one we had left at the camp.

We continued down the sandy riverbed, saw a sleeping rhino, numerous birds of interest and then the call came on the radio: a male leopard was resting nearby. On our way to him we came across a trio of buffalo males, called dugga boys in this part of the world. Dugga means mud in Shona, and these old chaps love wallowing in mud. It also protects their balding hides from the sun. They are the most dangerous of all the animals in the African bush, although they look bovinely docile. They often came to drink at the waterhole close to where we were staying.

A little bush whacking and we found Ravenscourt, as he is called, still breathing heavily, resting in the shade of riverine bush. Cats of the wild are beautiful, but once you have admired their spots, rosettes, or manes, the size of their paws, heads, the thickness of their shoulders, if they are sleeping, they are boring, so we left him to his dreams.

Rhino, sadly impaired without their horns, waterbuck, giraffe, wildebeest, appeared as we headed for a dam and a welcome coffee. We enjoyed telling our overseas co-sojourners how the South African government is known as GNU – Government of National Unity. The Ranger told of the belief that the Wildebeest, known by that same moniker, was the last animal God made using the bits He had left over: a face like a locust; spindly stripes on its side; sloping shoulders like a hyena. In other words, a mishmash of parts, rather like our new government.

The pod of hippos chilling in the dam was disinterested in our arrival, as were the two crocs lying on the opposite bank. The peace was undisturbed as coffee was served and we found out about each other. I love that in the middle of nowhere connections are made with people from the other side of the world and we find common interest. Africa does that.

When we returned to camp, the mother leopard had disappeared, leaving her cubs playing happily, one stretched out below a lounger, the other in the shadow under the deck of Unit 6. What made this feared hunter believe this was a safe place to leave her young?

The hostess who met us at the entrance apologised to our companions that their tent had not yet been refreshed but would be as soon as the cubs could be enticed to another play place.

We left the camp feeling well fed with all we had seen and returned to the home where our job was to take care of three Golden Retrievers while their ‘parents’ were away on business.

The oldest, Maggie, is a genteel old lady, sadly blind. Watching her negotiating her way around the house and surrounds fills me with anxious admiration. Charlie is a boisterous ten-month-old who has had to learn some hard lessons in this environment, such as not only not chasing the antelope, or elephants or giraffes, whatever happens to wander by and drink at the nearby waterhole, but also not to bark at them. He is most adult about being restrained most of the time.

Way down the pecking order is Milla, a strange teenager at six months. She is her own person, a dreamer, a sniffer, a gentle soul who constantly downloads the Bushveld news with her nose. She is mostly surprised that the calling she hears is directed at her and that when she responds there is often a reward.

They are vulnerable in this environment – an intrepid young leopard tried to catch one of them in the lounge one night – so we were very conscious of our responsibility.

Our next game drive was in the afternoon. We seemed to head out with purpose, stopping only briefly when spotting giraffe and inyala and others, until we turned left, and I saw a number of vehicles up ahead and knew there had to be an unusual sighting. A motley carpet of bodies adorned the edge of the road – wild dog, or painted dog as they are known. Rare and always exciting to see. This was a big pack, and nestled in the shade were the pups. There had been ten, but now nine.

Soon they woke up and like most youngsters came to wake their parents up. We were fascinated by the interplay, the boundaries set by the adults – a couple of scary disciplinary moments ensured order was maintained. After a while, the adults began sneezing, a sign they were ready to move, to begin the evening hunt. Within a few minutes they were running easily through the grassland, and we were able to keep up with them for about ten minutes before we let them go.

The sun was dipping fast by then, but our driver and guide had promised they would take us to the site of a lion kill. The pride had brought down a buffalo the previous day and should still be feeding from the carcase. The spotlight outlined the head of lioness in the grass. Once our eyes adjusted, we could make out two lionesses and two well grown cubs. A dark shadow morphed into the buffalo, his legs pointing stiffly heavenward. The two younger cats decided to have a rough and tumble close to our vehicle, giving alarm to our American companions. They were a little too close, their growls too loud for their comfort, especially in the dark!

The next day, as I sat on the deck, buffalo wandered out of the bush, for their daily drink. Two of them. Number three was the guy feeding the lions. Sad, but that is the way of the wild.

My batteries are charged in this environment. I find I am able to anchor myself in the magnificence of this earth that is our home, and the heavens that watch over us. The stars in this space, removed from city lights, are enormous with little to no pollution, the moon when it’s full almost as bright as the sun.

Seeing the order of this world, everything in its place, the ecosystems so apparent and amazingly perfect in their workings, the planets, and stars in their pre-ordained positions, spinning and turning as I imagine God intended when He created Eden, is humbling and comforting. It reaffirms that in the greatness of my Creator all is well with my universe, my soul.

And then knowing that I, too, am designed by Him to play a part in this great cosmos, an important cog in His wheel, just blows me away!