CONLUSION OF CHEWORE SAFARI JOURNAL

 An End & A Beginning

Concluding Chapter

Chewore Safari Journal

by John Bascom

Excerpted from Beneath a Hunter's Sky

After lunch back at camp, Nickie and I relaxed, read a little, and socialized with camp manager Sharon.  Our hunting was through, and Wil busied himself with the paperwork. 

It was mid-afternoon when the skinners brought the fleshed and boiled skulls of our trophies with horns attached and arranged them in a display on the lawn against the back­drop of the Chenje.  The men stood proudly at parade rest be­hind the array, feet spread and hands clasped low behind their backs.  The skulls were brilliant white as if they had been bak­ing under the sun of some desert for years, and the horns were dark black and cleaned of the dirt from the bush.  The skin­ners—rugged, scruffy appearing men compared with our starched and pressed waiters—wore wrinkled shorts and stained T-shirts.  Still it was an impressive sight and a state­ment on the tough, strong people of the Zambezi Valley.  We snapped some photos, then Nickie and I posed with the tro­phies while Sharon took a few more.

We had an early dinner, a fine and fitting feast for our last night in camp.  We were to leave early the next morning to meet our pilot, Ahmad, at the Chenje airstrip and board the Centurion for our flight to Victoria Falls.  Nickie and I went to our tent immediately following our meal to finish packing.

Nickie was efficiently fitting our belongings into our duffel bags as only she can.  I had finished cleaning my rifle and was stowing it and the supplies in a hard, secure travel case.

“It's still unbelievable how well we did,” I said.  “The entire thing was just outstanding.”

“It was a fine safari.  I'm so glad it was successful for you.”

“Did you really have a great time?  You seem sort of lukewarm.”

“Everything we saw and experienced was wonderful.  It's just that it was a little hard on me physically.”

“Seeing that lion hunched on the riverbank only yards away was a highpoint,” I said.  “I'm sorry it was rugged at times.  I know it's not the Ritz.  Thanks for putting up.”

“The heat was oppressive, and the walking before I was banished.  The worst was being crushed in the middle of that truck bench seat between you and Wil.  It wasn't built for three.  And when I sat in the open, up in the back, I was always getting swatted by low-hanging brush.  The pounding for hours on those excuses for roads may have actually been the worst.  My back is still sore.”

“I know.  I'm still nursing my blisters and missing toe­nail.”

“And Wil was insufferable.  He talks to himself, you know.  I could see his lips moving and hear the whispers as we were driving around.”

I hadn't noticed, but still had to laugh.

“And he was so rude out in the bush.  Charming and talkative back at camp, but a different man when we were hunting.  I didn't like the way he treated us at all.  I hope you're not going to give him a tip.”

“It got better near the end,” I said.  “Sort of.  And I can't believe his knowledge and work ethic.  He's the most focused and goal-oriented soul I've ever met.  The results were incredible.  What a safari!”

“Still … I think he was unprofessional.  We were paying him, not the other way around.  I don't think he should get anything more from us.”

“Honestly, Wil was part of the challenge and excite­ment.  For me, it made everything all the more satisfying.  His peculiarities were beyond interesting and added to the uniqueness of the entire experience.  And with his back­ground—the heir apparent to a profitable farm, the boss man even as a teen—I'm sure I couldn't help being a little bitter my­self if all that was taken through no fault of mine.  His behavior in the field is simply all he knows.”

“Well … just so you know, this is my last hunting trip,” Nickie said.  “It was wonderful and all.  But like we talked about when I agreed to come with you, next time we'll go to an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean for our vacation.”

“We had talked about an Alaska bear hunt instead of coming here.  There's always that still out there.”

“Pleeeeeze…”

“I'm just saying.”

“It was either-or, never both.”

I recalled what Sharon had said a few days ago at din­ner.  Our clients come to take an elephant, a leopard, or a lion only once.  But they come back for buffalo.  There was that to think about, too.  Maybe … just maybe …

Nickie continued packing, and I made up the envelopes for the gratuities.  I expressed my appreciation by giving no less than the already generous amounts recommended by our booking agent.  There was Levitt, the middle-aged and getting-thick-in-the-waist tracker, tireless and skilled, the man who could not do enough for me.  “Gun, Boss …” holding out his hand to relieve me of my burden during a particularly long and hard trek.  I placed something extra in his envelope.  And, of course, the game ranger, Gibson.  Then there were Sharon and Jerry, the camp managers who had made our stay wonderful in every way, who had become genuine friends.  The kitchen staff—waiters, cooks, clean-up—the outstanding meals, they all received something extra.  And Wil?  I placed the full recommended amount in his envelope, but no more in his case.  His talents had resulted in a remarkable take of game, but his poor com­munications skills, rudely critical behavior, and absence of coaching cost him what would otherwise have been an addi­tional several hundred dollars, not a small sum in the austere Zimbabwean economy.

As Nickie was going through her nightly ritual of pre­paring for bed, I had a chance to reflect on the entire safari ex­perience.  I'd heard it said Africa could be life changing for a Westerner.  I hadn't truly understood the import of those words, but I did then.  It's a simple concept that everything has a beginning and an end.  And the end of a thing, especially if it was good, marks a beginning for something else.  It's the most basic of ideas, but one that is fully grasped only by humans, and it is the basis of all religions, for man's unique capacity to plan and design, for our dominion over the world's animals, and for civilization itself.  And I saw in that moment, at the end of our safari, I was a changed man.  The African bush and its animals had transfigured and resurrected me.  I knew, go­ing forward, the end of this safari would mark the beginning of a new and better chapter in my life—in our lives.  And I under­stood that Africa had awarded me another chance at whole­ness, however brief or enduring it may prove to be.

Nickie had completed her preparations, performing a few final tasks before getting into bed.  She was cheerfully humming a familiar popular tune, one I recognized well.  I could tell she was feeling happy and carefree, too.

“Are you going to be coming to bed?” she asked.  “They'll be shutting off the generator anytime.”

I liked to act silly with her when we were both feeling lighthearted.  I liked to make her smile.  I stood in front of her and placed my hands on her shoulders.

“Today, while the blossom still clings to the vine …”   It was what she had been humming.  “I'll taste your strawber­ries, I'll drink your sweet wine.”  I sang in my awful mono­tone, exaggerating it to be comical.

“You didn't give Wil a tip, did you?”

“What I did is invited him to come visit over Thanks­giving,” I said.  I liked to rattle her chain a bit.

“You're not the least bit amusing.”

“He'll only stay through New Year's.  Or Easter at the latest.”

“You think you're funny, but you're not.”

“I'll be a dandy and I'll be a rover,” I droned.  “I'll feast at your table…I'll sleep in your clover…”  I could never hit a note or carry a melody. 

“Aren't you the flirty one, though.”  She got in bed and put out the side-table light.  The overhead controlled only by the generator was still lit.  I crawled in beside her.

“It's really been a fine experience.”  She changed the subject.  “I truly mean that.  I'm glad we did this.”

I continued my little song, singing the refrain once more, teasing her, lying close beside her, turning on one side to face her.  “Today while the blossom still clings to the vine … I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine.”

“Don't you be getting any big ideas, Buster.  The staff is still going about their business just outside.”

“For the love of God, don't be ridiculous.  I'm seventy and still not over my last surgery.  Come on!”  I didn't mention the end of our safari heralded yet a new beginning.  I'd tell her about that later.

The generator spun down and died with a rough cough.  The faint illumination from the hanging light faded away with it.  I turned on my elbow, my face above hers only inches away.  It was dark inside the tent, with not even the light from a moon just beginning its rise or perhaps only forming the slightest crescent yet visible.

“I can't be contented with yesterday's glory.”  I barely whispered it, not even trying to sing.  “Today is my moment and now is my story.”  I hadn't realized I remembered so much of the lyrics.

“I can't wait to see Victoria Falls,”  she said, ignoring my shenanigans. 

“It'll be great.  And, maybe when we're home, we can at least talk about the Alaska thing again.”  I knew I was pushing it, but her mood was fine.

“PUH-leeeeze!”

She was lying on her back, the sheet pulled to her chin.  I knew her eyes were open, but in the dark of our tent I couldn't make out any colors at all.  Yet I remembered from long experience their dazzling, unique hazel with little flecks of green, bronze, and brilliant gold.  Even in the dark, I could see their colors in my mind's eye.  And I could sense the warmth radiating from her face and the moistness of her mouth, as any man does when very near a woman to whom he is deeply drawn.

“A million tomorrows shall all pass away …”  I was singing softly once again.  Barely audibly.  Nickie was still.

“… 'ere we forget …”  I moved close to see that she was still awake, then kissed her on the lips.  Once again, only fleetingly, I considered our safari, our shared experience, and the new beginning I was sure it portended. 

“… all the joys … that are ours ….. today …..”

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Read Chewore Safari Journal and eighteen other stories in John Bascom's book, Beneath a Hunter's Sky, available of Amazon