Bloodlust

5 06 2008

WarthogLion

What’s that lion’ in the bushes? – Chobe, Botswana

Humans are rarely satisfied. No sooner has our dinner arrived at a posh restaurant, than we’re busy ogling the food at the next table. We’re happy with our first 28” colour television only until we’ve seen the 44” flat screen that’s on sale down the road. And one week spent on a palm-fringed sun-soaked white sand beach with colourful little drinks is absolutely perfect…until we’ve met the couple who are there for two weeks.

 

Safaris in Africa are much the same – unless you’re only doing it to one-up your annoying next-door neighbour who spent a week braving the perils of Disney’s Animal Kingdom (not that there’s anything wrong with that!).

 

You finally see your first elephant. The thrill is almost as massive as the beast itself. You’re bowled-over by it’s immense size, the roughness of its hide, and the silence and grace with which it moves despite its enormous weight. You are drawn in by its huge soulful eyes and captivated by the deft manipulation of its trunk. You are mesmerised by its low gurgles and breaths, could spend the entire day watching it and regard the experience as one of the greatest of your entire life.

 

But moments later you want more.

 

You want a young calf. You want a gigantic bull elephant with huge tusks. You want a family. You want hundreds in a loose herd, traipsing across the savannah or bathing in a river. In other words, your life-fulfilling event of just moments earlier has suddenly failed to satisfy and you simply want…more!

 

I must somewhat ashamedly confess to a similar experience with lions. I still vividly remember seeing my first lion…two, actually:  a young brother and sister in Samburu National Reserve in Kenya, lounging away the midday heat in the park’s semi-desert by reclining in the shade. It was incredibly exciting. My first pride of lions was in the Masai Mara, and my first gigantic male lion with a classic black mane was in Tanzania’s Ngorongoro Crater. All were incredible. In fact, every lion sighting I have ever had has left me completely satisfied…so why did I want to see one savour a poor little semi-defenceless warthog in Chobe, Botswana?

 

An eagle-eye among us had spied the lion hidden deep in a bush. She was sprawled in a lifeless stupor, her face barely visible. We watched her for a moment until someone mentioned that a warthog was coming. We all turned to look. The little Pumba was merrily trotting along, tail ramrod straight like the pole in a bumper-car, seemingly not a care in the world. He was also heading directly for the lion.

 

Our initial reaction was one of fear for the poor little thing…but a darkness soon descended over our group and replaced concern with a vicious and brutal bloodlust that consumed us all…even the rampant vegetarians who had spent the previous week avoiding stepping on the grass! We watched with undisguised and unabashed hunger. The warthog continued along, an accident just waiting to happen. The lion raised its head and watched intently. The distance between the two shortened. Our breath quickened, we were willing carnage just lusting for the warthog to become a platter of sausages, ham and bacon. Soon the gap had disappeared…and the warthog was past the trouble. The lion sank back down. Although as easy as opening the door to a pizza delivery boy, it was clearly too much effort for the lion.

 

The little warthog had no idea how close it had come to being a light afternoon snack. In a nutshell, that little encounter had been life in Africa.

 

We settled back down and our game drive continued. The wanton savagery that had united us minutes earlier had suddenly divided us like an iron curtain. We avoided eye contact and remained silent, each held deep in our shame. We had seen each other in our true light and it wasn’t pretty.

 

The uncomfortable silence continued until we saw a kettle of vultures circling near the river.

 

“Cool,” someone shouted. “Perhaps there’s a kill!” and we were all back on our feet enthusiastically cheering our driver onwards in the hope of some real blood-strewn horror.

 

 

Photo and post by:  Simon Vaughan © 2008

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