We drove back over several rises and down onto a winding floodplain track that turned from Terminalia open woodland to dense acacia forest. It was only noon, so I was glad of Jon’s offer of a drive so as not to spend the rest of the day in my barracks.
As I looked out at the landscape, I couldn’t help thinking that it was a great day for a flight. I would have loved to have offered to take Jon up in the air, but Craig had asked me not to fly again until he got further international clearance for me to fly into Zambia at night. It turned out that Craig’s concerns were legitimate; my night flight had caused some political waves with the Zambian authorities, since my clearance was for daytime only. And not having expected me to see as much as I did in Angola on my first flight, we had to be strategic. If I was seen in the air too much, Geldenhuis might start to keep an eye on my movements, which was exactly what we didn’t want to happen. I planned to keep a low profile and not fly again until we did the census.
We passed some broken-down military installations within the trees. I looked out at the concrete rubble. “What happened here?”
“It was one of those last-minute things, just after the South African Defense Force left the area. They didn’t want to give Namibia anything, after promising to leave their entire infrastructure in place. Things went sour, and they came up and demolished it all.”
“What a waste.”
“A bloody stuff-up is what it was.”
We drove on, the terrain alternating between forest and open floodplain, until we reached a hippo-filled lagoon where the acacia trees had been heavily eaten by elephants. Jon slowed to a stop.
I looked out at a forest chewed to the ground. He was right. This place was worse than the last. “I’ve never seen anything this bad.”
“It’s particularly heavy near the river. The elephants were never this concentrated. After the eighties, with no more funding by your Hollywood cowboy president and our guys in South Africa, UNITA took to wildlife for their army’s sustenance. There was nothing left to eat but the pachyderms back then. But after Savimbi died, it got even worse. Their elephants have taken permanent refuge here in the Caprivi.”
Suddenly, a hippo hooted, snorted, and then hollered in the background. “Come on. It’s getting late, and the night belongs to elephants.” He looked at his watch. “There’s still time for a quick visit to Horseshoe. I’ve got a little tree platform I want to show you. The view is to die for.”
We rounded a corner and arrived at the expansive oxbow lake I had seen from the air, the river bending around in a perfect horseshoe, hence the name of the place. A herd of about two hundred buffalo finished their drink and returned to the bush. A baboon troop descended from a sausage tree and ran off bickering and screeching. Several species of lapwing scattered from the water’s edge, the metallic, punctuated call of the blacksmith lapwing filling the air.
“Nice spot for a braai, hmm? Next time I’ll bring along a bit of flam wors, maybe a lamb rib?”
“It’s spectacular.” I took in the scene as Jon slowly drove around the lake through the deep sand. He stopped in front of a huge leadwood tree.
Jon pointed to a tiny platform about fifteen meters up the tree. “There she is. My solace in the bush.”
I craned my neck to see the platform. “Wow, that’s some serious elevation. How did you get it so high?”
“Hell, the view is stunning.” Jon got out and started to climb up a series of bent rebar rungs that had been hammered into the trunk.
I grabbed my backpack and followed him up. “Did you put in this rebar yourself?” My foot slipped on a few of the rungs and my stomach lurched.
“Lots of downtime between month’s end and poacher’s delight.”
To avoid looking down, I stared out at the floodplain. A lazy hot breeze fed a distant fire, fueling the haze in the late afternoon air. Fires like this marked the end of the wet season when farmers burned their fields after harvest. This fire had spread to a tree island, where one after another the trees were engulfed in flame. But they didn’t explode as they had near the border in Angola. This fire wasn’t nearly as hot. And the forest wasn’t as dense and dry; it was wetter along the river than it was inland along the Angolan border.
I slowly made my way from one rung to the next, having to stretch my legs awkwardly between each rung until I got to the top. The view from the tiny half-split-log platform was breathtaking.
Looking down from the leafy height, I could see two hippos dozing at the base of the oxbow, puffing an occasional blast of air. Another munched loudly on the vegetation next to the river, wearing a long clump of wet grass on its back.
In the distance, the river snaked down the several-kilometer-wide floodplain, taking a twist here and a turn there as it flowed past scars of old sandy paths marking a time long gone. Downstream, a fisherman poled through the reeds in his mokoro. To the south there was a sudden burst of elephant screams and bellows as a large herd broke cover and ran to the water.
I grabbed Jon’s arm, and he shook his head, indicating that all was well. “It’s okay. This time it’s a reunion.”
“That’s even crazier than what I’ve heard at Susuwe.”
“Usually gets that way leading up to a full moon. Loopy as bloody wolves.”
In a few minutes a large family group of elephants emerged from the tree line and approached the water’s edge to the south. Having just heard the roaring and bellowing of an elephant being killed, it was a little hard to remember just how vocal the elephants in the Caprivi were in general, and that this noise did not necessarily mean something bad. There were a number of nights at Susuwe when I heard such a commotion from large family groups, and it took me a little while to habituate to the fact that reunions were very noisy affairs.
Carefully, I sat down and got out my binoculars.
“Charismatic megafauna. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It’s amazing. One, two, three, four. There’re four babies in this group. Is that unusual?”
“We had a great wet season two years back. Elephant babies are the evidence.” Jon looked around, then sat down next to me. “Hell, this is the thing that keeps me going in this bloody heart of darkness. Elephants walking around, remembering the good old days.”
Two young calves were trying to learn how to control their limp trunks, which looked like noodles dangling in front of their faces. One moved its head from side to side, setting its trunk spinning in limp circles while flapping its tiny ears. The other bounced its head up and down, making its trunk move like a useless yo-yo. An older calf came over to stir up trouble with the youngsters, pulling at one of their trunks in play, prompting the victim to bellow loudly. What looked like an older sister jumped in and stopped the bullying, pushing the older calf away.
Two young bulls began a jousting session, while some youngsters tackled each other in the shallows, creating a muddy bath where others were trying to drink. Mothers looked on and kept a close watch on the youngest ones, tucking a stray under a belly as needed.
“Guess you don’t get to see much elephant behavior here,” Jon said. “They turn tail and run at the sight of us. What exactly did you study in Kruger, anyway?”
“Had collars on old tuskers. Looked at home ranges. Followed one guy who must not have had any teeth left. He had a little friend that helped feed him. Amazing how bonded some of them were. Also studied their habitat use and demography.”
“Why did you stop all that?”
I put my binoculars down and looked at him. “Didn’t take long to feel like studying them was something I was doing more for me than for them. I wanted to do something for them. Protect them somehow.”
“A noble cause.” I could see the expression on Jon’s face change as he looked at my hand. “That along with the peace of mind you were looking for?” He reached out and touched my engagement ring. “Or an old ghost?”
Jon’s touch shot through me, and I instinctively pulled my hand away.
Jon held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Just hadn’t noticed a ring before.”
“I didn’t mean to be so skittish.” I brought my hand back next to his. “I guess my ghost wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“It was a buffalo, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, mortified that the story must have gone around. “You heard?”
He shrugged. “Not much.” He looked away. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
I shook my head. “I hesitated.” I tightened my lips and looked across the floodplain. “Have you ever felt responsible for someone else’s death?”
Jon paused. “Unfortunately, more than once.”
I looked at him intently. “How?”
Jon pushed his hair back, his face revealing a hidden horror. “It was before independence. I was with the South African Defense Force when they occupied the region.” He smiled distantly. “Hell, I had a coupla great blokes in my brigade.” Then he hardened. “I had to make a quick decision. Thought it was the right one.” He turned so I couldn’t look him in the face. “Coupla guys later made it clear that it was the wrong one. The place was littered with land mines. I was lucky to get out. Just one other guy and me. That was it.”
“God, that’s terrible.”
Jon shrugged. “There’s no burying some things.”
I looked out at the smoky floodplain. “Life seems so random sometimes.”
The sun now hung like a giant blood orange over the floodplain as the fire worked its way through the rest of the tree island in the distance. We sat up and watched the blazing orb sink toward the fiery river.
I took in a breath. “Nothing like an African sunset.”
“One day I’ll have to see what it’s like somewhere else. Less of a bloodbath, I should imagine.”
I dug around in my backpack and took out the two plastic cups I had packed and held up a tonic. “G and T?”
“How about just the T?” Jon yawned. “Extra dose of quinine never hurts in mosquito country.” Jon propped himself up the trunk of the tree and stared out into the distance.
I cracked the tab on a tonic water and poured Jon a glass and then made myself a stiff drink. I handed him his glass and took a sip of mine.
There was another burst from the hippos. Whatever had startled them caused a huge bellowing commotion far below, sending the elephants running silently off. I looked through my binoculars and saw a group of four people walking in the waist-high water.
I shook Jon’s shoulder. “Hey Jon, look at this. There are tourists in the river!”
“Bloody hell!” Jon sat up, looked down at the people in the river, and made a quick descent. He yelled from halfway down, “Hey, get out of the water!”
I dumped my drink, grabbed my bag, and climbed down awkwardly behind him—the rebar stabbing at my palms and slipping underfoot as I tried to maintain my grip.
The group heard Jon’s voice and came running toward us, desperate hands waving over their heads. “Help! An elephant attacked our vehicle! It is following us!”
I could hear from their accent that they were German. They all looked completely panic-stricken. I couldn’t imagine what had happened.
Jon started the truck and I jumped in the back as he raced down the sandy track. He stopped at the river’s edge, got out, and ran into the muddy water to usher them out. They were caked in grease, and one had a deep gash in his forehead.
“We were overturned by a mad elephant!” The German had wild eyes behind tiny mud-splattered glasses. His gray goatee was dripping with engine oil.
“Are you all right?” I went to check behind Jon’s seat for a medical kit.
The man nodded nervously. “She kept smashing the vehicle with her tusks. Then she turned us over.”
A round woman wiped her khakis with a zebra-patterned scarf. “We were afraid to get out.”
Jon nodded. “Smart.” He offered them some water, which they gratefully accepted. “But why in the river?”
“The elephant was crazy. We waited for a long time to get out. All the crank case oil leaked out.” The third German held out his oil-soaked khaki shirt. “We thought the river was safer.”
Jon shook his head in amazement. “Jislaaik! You’re lucky the crocs didn’t get you.”
I found Betadine and cotton balls and approached the man with the gash. “Here, let’s clean this off.”
The wounded man accepted the stinging yellow cotton. “Ouch!”
“Where are you staying?” I hoped it wasn’t too far.
“Liadura Lodge. Far from here, no?”
Jon looked at his watch. “Come, we’ll take you there.” He opened the tailgate and helped the Germans into the back. “Hold on to the roll bar. We’re going to have to pass through some thick elephant country. And it’s their witching hour.”
After driving about fifteen minutes we reached a mutilated white Land Rover. It was upside down and badly dented with puncture wounds from angry tusks. I was in awe of an elephant’s rage. “What was she thinking?”
Jon teased me. “They are the enemy. I told you.”
“There had to be a motive.”
“There you are, playing your detective routine again. Come on, Catherine. They’re wild animals. They don’t need a motive. They’ve been shot at so many times, I don’t expect them to act civilized.” Jon continued to drive in and out of tree islands and across the open floodplain. No sign of elephants yet.
Just before entering the last tree island we heard the wailing of elephants as they headed toward the river. Jon revved the engine and leaned his head out the window to warn the others. “I’m afraid we’ve got company. I’m going to have to blast through this next forest, so hold on tight.”
I held on to the door handle and looked at the terrified tourists through the rearview mirror. I put my seat belt on and gripped the dash as we raced through the forest with elephants roaring their objections on all sides. “Elephants don’t like you to drive fast.”
“Next time, I’ll let you drive.” Jon swerved to avoid a large fallen tree in the road.
I looked both ways and saw a large cow charging from behind a tree to the left. She stampeded into the road. “Go right! Go right, now!” I cringed as a tusk approached the passenger side.
Jon dodged the matriarch, bounced off the track and over a stump, and then back onto the track again. A large herd ran across the road in front of us, another matriarch stopping to loom over us. She cracked her ears as she shook her head at us and ran on.
The wailing of elephants subsided as we got safely out of the tree island and back onto the open floodplain. We had about a half an hour of light left and no more tree islands before the main road.
We crossed the bridge to Kongola and turned south down the road that led to Liadura Lodge. It was the same dusty track I had been on with Nigel on the way to visit with the induna.
The place had a different feel at dusk, the reed and thatch villages taking on a softer pinkish tone, much less harsh than it had seemed in the morning. Smoky fires twisted next to cornfields as old women roasted mealies under small thatched roofs. There was the ubiquitous beating of drums in the distance and the air was thick with smoke—all to keep the elephants at bay now that the corn was ripe.
After about ten minutes of silence, Jon turned in at the sign for Liadura Lodge. A long, winding track lay ahead. The sun had just set and the horizon was blazing red through the black mopane trees, looking like a forest fire as we wound through an open woodland. Tall golden grass fields were dotted with silvery-leaved Terminalia trees covered with papery red pods. A steenbok leapt from the side of the road and a small bachelor herd of kudu ran for cover, a large male in the lead, his white stripes and fluffy tail gleaming in the sunset—a rack of two and a half twists rocking overhead.
Both Jon and I looked up at the sudden noise of an airplane flying low overhead—a Cessna 182 rapidly gaining altitude. “Who the hell is that at this hour?”
“Did you see the Red Cross symbol?”
“Something tells me this isn’t a humanitarian operation.”
As we approached the airstrip, we spotted a beat-up old sedan heading off down a track that went deeper into the park through thick bush. Jon stuck his head out and called to the German passengers in the back, “Hold on, folks.”
Jon raced after the car as the bush darkened and the road got narrower and windier. He gained on them, but they kept disappearing around the sandy bends, skidding and bouncing as they went.
We were entering a mopane forest, and the hard clay soil was full of deep ruts from the wet season. Fortunately we had more clearance than the sedan did and we were gaining on them.
As we rounded a sharp corner, we saw the car pulled over. Their front right tire was wrapped around a mopane stump, and three men were running into the dark woodland.
“Damn it!” Jon grabbed the radio from his cab. “Susuwe twenty-five. Susuwe twenty-five. Come in!”
I listened to the static with blips of voice in the distance but no answer.
Jon checked his watch. “Jesus. No one will answer at this hour. They’re all bloody stirring their mieliepap and searching for relish to put on it. A nightly quest.”
We got out and inspected the car. Jon took his tire iron to the trunk and popped it, revealing a stash of freshly hacked-out tusks.
“Oh, no!” I eyed the thin tusks, counting about twenty. “They’re so small!” My mind returned to the stash that Dr. Geldenhuis had loaded the other night on the airstrip in Zambia. I felt like I had come full circle. And having seen the poachers’ camp in Angola from the air and the aftermath of poaching on the ground just south of the border, I was more determined than ever to do something to stop the killing.
Jon returned to his truck, reached for the medical kit, and put on rubber gloves. “Probably gunned down an entire herd. That plane most probably came in from Zambia. Or Angola. It’s a bloody free-for-all up there.”
The tourists shook their heads. One of them leaned over to make a closer inspection. “Explains why they are so angry.”
Jon walked back over and looked at the tusks. “Shame. Guy on the ground gets five bloody rand per tusk probably.” He started loading the tusks into the back and looked up at me. “You okay getting back to Susuwe late?”
I nodded, wanting nothing more than a relaxing drink with him next to the river to try to forget the day’s events. But the contents of the trunk made that impossible.
“I’ll get the Liadura rangers to track these bastards,” said Jon, seeming to read my mind. “We could have a drink at Liadura while I wait to see if we can find out anything useful.” He finished loading, got in, turned the vehicle around, and headed toward the lodge.
After driving in silence for some time, Jon banged his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn it! It didn’t used to be like this.”
“Someone should be monitoring the international airports and shipping routes.”
“We can barely keep up with our own jurisdiction, much less be thinking about another continent.”
“But what about here, before it leaves the continent?”
“The guys at MCD are busy setting something up in Windhoek. Let’s hope the court date gets set for next month. That will move things along here.”
“Next month only?”
“That’s bloody expedient, trust me. But nailing him will be another matter.”
“What more can we do while we wait?”
“It’s complicated to pursue the witch doctor right now. Eli is being blamed for Ernest’s death.”
I changed the subject. “But you had to have known that Geldenhuis was up to something?”
“We were building a case and it’s not smart to go at these things directly.”
“I can’t say I’ve noticed the indirect method being all that successful.”
Jon snapped, “You’re just a transient player here. Here on what? A permit to fly our broken airplane? We’re the ones that have to see this through. It takes time to build a case that will stick.”
I knew I had blown it. “I’m sorry. It must be annoying to have outsiders suggesting things that are so off base.”
“They’re not off base.” He softened. “Just not possible here.”
I didn’t push the issue further. I was starting to see how important it was to follow protocol, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating when things didn’t seem to be moving fast enough. I was relieved when we arrived at the lodge, thinking a drink would clear the air.
The staff was just finishing lighting the path with oil lamps as we pulled up. The lush vegetation lining the warmly lit wooden path leading to the silvery river’s edge gave the lodge the feel of an oasis. The manager arrived to greet the tourists, and listened to their tale with suitable horror. They were promised they’d have a warm shower and dinner in about an hour. I said my good-byes to the very grateful Germans and turned back to Jon, who had just gotten off the radio again.
“Catherine, I’ll see you just now.”
I nodded as Jon rushed off to contend with his unexpected haul.
I was quickly ushered into a charming thatched rondavel along the river and was really looking forward to a hot shower and a flush toilet. I was glad I had packed a change of clothes and a sweater.
After a long, hot shower, I toweled off my hair at the bathroom mirror illuminated by an oil lamp. I hated to admit it, but despite the events of the day, I still found myself looking forward to spending time with Jon in a completely different context. But just when I thought that things were going smoothly, he got all prickly again.
There was a knock at the door and I assumed it was Jon.
“Catherine, you there?”
“Hold on a second.” I threw on my jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt and stepped out of the bathroom.
“Come in.”
I finished toweling off my hair as Jon walked in. “Sorry. I was just getting dressed.”
Jon gave me a quick look and then looked away, as if my wet hair needed a moment of discretion. “I’ve got to follow up on these tusks. Looks like we’ll be setting up at the Piggery again tonight. The underbelly craves a slaughterhouse.”
My heart sank.
“Nigel is here. You okay staying the night? I’ve asked if he’d take you back to Susuwe in the morning.”
I turned shyly and nodded. “That’s fine.” I tried not to sound as disappointed as I was at not spending the evening together.
Jon put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was really looking forward to a drink with you.” He then pulled back, perhaps afraid of being too forward.
“So was I.” I blushed, embarrassed that I wanted more than anything to take his hand and put it back where it was. To have his arms surround me, to hold me tight and tell me that everything was going to be okay. I couldn’t help wondering what Sean would have thought if he were a fly on the wall at this very moment. I knew he’d have wished for me to have found a way to move on sooner.
We stood staring at each other for a moment, both trying to think of something to say, but neither succeeding. “You’ll come round Monday night, right?” With a glint in his eye, he couldn’t resist a giggle. “It’ll be quite the gastronomic experience, I must be honest.”
I smiled and nodded, flustered like a schoolgirl.
He looked at me admiringly. “If Sean was worth his salt, he’d have told you a thousand times just how stunning your eyes are.” He touched my face with the back of his hand. “He did tell you that, didn’t he?”
I tried not to seem surprised at this advance and smiled. “He did.”
He took my hand and kissed it. “Cheers.”
I watched as he turned and left.
I had lost my appetite for being social and decided to tell the staff that I wouldn’t be coming to dinner. I had packed a can of chili sardines for just such an occasion. And I hated to admit it, but I also wanted to bask in the glow of Jon’s touch for a little longer.