Everyone needs Hope

Photo of the week.

Highlight of the week: Our Stroke programme is warmly received by lodges deep in the park. The staff happily join our programme.

Lowlight of the week: One green bottle accidentally fell. Sauvignon Blanc rinses the doc house floor.

Maximum temperature: 30 degrees Celsius

Rainfall: Llareggub¹

Comfort. Alert. Critical. More than a mantra. A code. Ignore the code at your peril.

Hope. A name to conjure with. Symbolic. Hope is the new poster boy of our stroke prevention programme. A young, fit, active Department of National Parks and Wildlife scout. He is a role model. He is Hope.

We meet Hope this week. Deep in the park. Our feet are firmly on the ground. We have abandoned our protection. We have stepped out of the car. Away from safety. Into the territory of carnivores. Their comfort zone. Not ours. Hope is our backup plan.

Pius, our guide, is giving us a briefing. He tells us what to do. What not to do. We listen intently. We are about to embark on a walk. A walk in the park.

South Luangwa is famous for its walks in the park. There are few places in the world where you can do a walking safari. The guides here are specially trained for walking in the park. There are 3 levels of guide training.

Level 1: Transfer guide – a driver with skills to recognise some animals and birds. More importantly they are skilled in the behaviour of animals. They need to read the behaviour of animals. It’s good to avoid being chased by, or charged by, an elephant. They are charged with moving clients safely around the park – as well as providing entertainment.

Level 2: Guide – A very skilled guide. Years of studying. Three exams. They can identify every bird, discern their gender and age even when skittish or in flight. Their patter is spellbinding. Knowledgeable about creatures and their behaviour. Knowledgeable about vegetation and its importance. They even speak Latin. Guides are what makes a safari here special.

Level 3: Walking guide – the top, most qualified. They can do all of the above. But also have the skills and experience to keep their clients safe outside of the metal box. Away from the vehicles that protect and disguise us.

Pius is a level 3 guide. We have been offered the chance of a walk. Distraction and brief respite from our stroke screening program. We jump at the chance. Pius tells us that there are 3 states of readiness whilst on foot in the park.

Comfort. Apparently, we are safe. There are no animals around to threaten us. Quiet. We can wander along happily. No chat. No stress. No worry. We enjoy the fauna. The small things. In comfort.

Alert. An animal has been spotted. The sort that has the potential to ruin your whole day. But it’s in the distance. Not an immediate threat. We can take avoidance measures. Change direction. Hide behind a tree. Stand very still.

Critical. The said animal has spotted us. It is unsettled. Coming our way. Quickly. Without timely action, our lives might be under threat. We need to listen closely to Pius. Not run away. Perhaps it’s an elephant. Or a hippo. Unpredictable. Big.

You will be relieved to know that we have one more level of protection. Another essential element to keep us safe. Our scout. A man with a gun. Live bullets. Training. Fitness. I have already decided who I am standing behind if things gets critical. Today our scout is called Hope. He is 42 years old. Experienced. I know his picture makes him look like he is 18. But he has years of bush time. Hundreds of walks under his belt. He spends time on patrol looking for poachers. He runs for fun. Weird, eh? He is our main man.

And so, we set forth. Hope in the lead. Choosing our route. Gun in hand. Always watchful. Looking around. Eyes in the back of his head. Ears pricked. Next comes Pius. Safety comes first. Pius is alert. Looking for signs. The bush talks to him. He interprets and shares his insights. Lastly is our motley crew: Keith and myself. And our walking companions, Christina and Jean. We walk in silence. In single file. In Comfort

We stop by a pile of animal droppings. Pius prods it with his stick. Seeds and undigested grasses. Evidence of small vertebrates. What animal has been here? I look puzzled. Keith smiles. He shifts from side to side. I am reminded of that keen person at school. Teacher’s pet or teacher’s pain? They start to wriggle and can’t sit still. Choose me they say. Keith stifles the urge to raise his hand. Nobody pipes up with an answer. Pius finally makes eye contact with Keith and nods. Keith blurts out his answer. A civet. Pius looks impressed and nods. We all feel a bit sheepish, for not knowing. Keith looks smug.

This all reminds me of a Dutch book that our friend Marijke gave us.  A children’s book. The mole with a poo on his head. Only in Holland. We even have a stuffed toy mole. With a big brown jobbie on his head. The story follows the mole around. He has come up from the ground. And emerges into a big poo. Which sticks on his head. He is upset. He wanders around the garden. Interrogating animals and studying their poo. He wants to know whose poo is on his head. Finally, he comes across the culprit. A dog in that case.

And so, our walk continues. From pile of poo to pile of poo. Giraffe poo. Impala poo. Hippo poo. Can you believe you can tell a female and a male hippo apart by their poo? The female poops neatly in a small pile. The male spreads his around with his tail – spraying all the nearby terrain. What a surprise. Hyena poo is the worst. It smells appalling. Their breath does too. We smelt something dreadful last week whilst driving in the park. We suspected a rotten carcass. Putrefying remains? But all we found were hyenas. Their smelly breath betrayed them.

But I digress. Thankfully, Pius now shifts the focus from one brown mound to another. We stand by a huge pile of brown earth. Too big to step over, or to scrape off our shoes. The lowly termite is responsible for this colossal dwelling. Several metres high. Termites. 7 different varieties. A tasty snack for locals when they flee their mounds and take flight. Tasty grubs for aardvarks. Termites are both destructive. And constructive. They build big mounds. Digest dead wood. All good unless that wood happens to be holding up your veranda. Our essential support posts were deconstructed just before we arrived. And the veranda came tumbling down. Luckily Karen and Alan know a little man who does. And the man who does built a new veranda lickety-split. Fixed, for now. Waiting to become a termite dessert. Termite trails invade our home. Emerge from cracks. And grow. Castles in the air. Brown wobbly towers. A blend of digested material and soil. Termite mounds house complex colonies. Pius tells tales of Queens and Kings, Queens and Kings in waiting. Workers. Harvesters. Builders. A whole society made up of grubs, barely 5mm in size. A pecking order. Fascinating.

We end our walk by a glorious baobab tree. For those of you who have been to Kwetu, our Yorkshire home, our love of baobabs is evident. Images on glass. A metal gate courtyard gate is fashioned, baobab inspired. Massive upside-down trees which sit on plains. Withstanding the heat of the summer months. Damaged, but not felled by elephants. Centuries, often millennia, old. Way markers. The big baobab. The twin baobabs. No coordinates are required. Our guides don’t use what3words to find lions. Word of mouth suffices. These 3 words point the way.

Seen from the ground, looking up, baobabs are monsters. Not scary. Comforting. They deliver a sense of permanence. If only trees could talk. The stories they would tell.

As our walk comes to a close. We remain at comfort. Never critical. Alert crossed our minds once. It proved a false alarm. A male puku staking his claim and his breeding rights. A territorial call, easily confused with an alarm call. Hope’s gun never pointed in anger. No bullets fired. We covered 5km. Examined the poo of several beasts. Learnt about flora and fauna. Luckily for us, Pius does not make us sit an exam. He is not even a critical teacher. No tests. Just rewards.

Our reward: a nice cup of tea. A delightfully set table. Away from familiar context. Cloth and napkins. A slice of cake. Pius and Hope are a formidable team. Ying and Yang. Wisdom and a backup plan. Everyone needs Hope. But Pius never lets it get that far. Even in the company of lions or elephants Hope has never let flint strike gunpowder.

1 Under Milk Wood

Pius showing me some hyena poo. Fortunately it is very old so it did not smell

Hope. The man with the gun

Hope consulting with Dr Keith

A very rare sighting. A civet out during the day