Dreaming of Safari

I believe there is an in-between state of consciousness - when the mind is torn between two realities.  This has been borne home to me time and again, and never more so than this past week.

I've been home from safari for six days now and yet each night my dreams take me back to the sun bleached terrain of South Africa.  My mind is continually filled with her colors:  from her lilac sunrises, the bright yellows, peaches and golds of her mid-day sun and of course, to the indigo and oranges of her brilliant sunsets.

Safari, for me, IS a state of mind.   Each day dawns with the promise of adventure and excitement.  Even a safari where not much is seen, is, in itself, a seeing.   A time to look deeply and to notice the beauty and stillness of the land, to fully appreciate the vastness of the sky and marvel at the far flung vistas before me.

In my daydreams, there is a song Africa sings. A song redolent of bird song and summer breeze.  Of crunching grass under the antelope's hooves.    In reality, this song was like a lullaby, and often while there I would curl up under her brilliant sky and drift asleep to her accompaniment.

On one such afternoon, as I lay drowsing, I became aware I was not alone.  A small herd of nyala were browsing nearby, taking shelter under the very porch where I slept, mere inches under my legs. We were companions, then, enjoying each other's quiet company, each content to let the other find their bliss.

On this particular day, upon my awakening, I sat and watched comers to the watering hole at the base of our lodge:  giraffe, warthog, impala, the occasional cape buffalo, maybe even zebra.  It never fails to astonish me that I am in the presence of these amazing creatures, that we co-exist on the same plane, if even for a short time, together.

It is Thursday morning in Virginia as I write this, a world away from my last Thursday morning, on safari, in which I was awakened (although I really wasn't quite asleep)  by a rolling, grumbling roar, seemingly right outside my open window.  For a brief moment, my mind flashed back to the nyala of the day before.  Could this be them?

Before I had much time to process what I was hearing, the sounds came again, filling the air, filling the very room.   "Sue, Sue", my friend and guide called to me from without.  "It's the lions." 

In a flash, my roommate and I leapt from our beds and rushed to the porch, and as the rest of the lodge also awakened and gathered together, we scrambled to the overlook to better witness two majestic male lions at the water hole, chuffing and rumbling, lording their power and majesty over the veld. 

They were calling to their brother, who was some distance from them, and who, calmly and placidly, sauntered along the roadway to join them, where, once together, they strode, shoulder to shoulder, nuzzling fondly, into the grasses to sleep away the day,

There are few experiences in life, in my opinion, more extraordinary, than watching lion in the wild.  They are sleek, powerful, sinewy and stunningly beautiful animals.  They move with languor and control, taut muscles rippling under coats the color of molten copper, manes flowing.  They possess such easy grace, their eyes glimmer like galaxies and indeed, seem to hold the secrets of the universe. 

Lion are no friend to man yet we seem to revere them above all other beings,   On the safari vehicle, they regard us not at all.  Step off the vehicle and watch that easy grace turn into the stuff of nightmares, no doubt.  I love them and am always moved by the sight of them.  Perhaps I love them so much because, beyond their physical beauty, to me they embody all that is wonderful in the animal kingdom.   That God could build something so magnificent, so glorious, so powerful, with a voice that plumbs down into the very core of your being, is proof that some greater, all knowing, force is always at work in this world. 

Africa is filled with moments of revelation, of reverence.  She is not easy to leave and she is impossible to forget.  Africa, for me, was a balm to my troubled spirit and I thank her for her continued healing touch.  She continues to be a friend, a mother, to whom I can return for sustenance and comfort. 

At the end of a long, hot, summer afternoon, when the grasses begin to stir with the movement of  a thousand unseen creatures, when the moon shines bright on the backs of a dazzle of zebra, when the nightjar sings and the fever trees gleam, Africa is perfection.

As old as time, slowly she dances before me, in all her ancient rhythms.   And I am dancing with her.

 

 

“If I have ever seen magic, it has been in Africa.” - John Hemmingway

Life moves in its own rhythm in Africa, and in quiet, solitary moments, I cannot help but wonder what song she is playing.   

 

Big Cat Lullaby

"A lion sang me to sleep last night."   That was the first line I wrote in my travel diary, midway through my recent safari vacation, and it was the perfect sentence to finally loosen my writer's block and unleash a torrent of bottled-up emotions at being, once again, in one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Fast forward three weeks later:   I lay wide awake in the wee hours of the night, this time in my cool, comfortable North American bedroom.   As I tossed and turned in my familiar home hemisphere, I found myself remembering another such sleepless night - this time I was in a thatch-roofed room in the NorthWest Province of South Africa, my mind over-stimulated by the pure joy of once again being on a safari adventure. My mind had been a whirlwind and I had been struggling to grasp the fact that I was indeed leading this privileged lifestyle.

Let's be honest, not many people get to safari to far flung places on the globe, and perhaps even fewer get to repeat the adventure over and over again.   This being my fourth safari, I was still in awe. I never take these trips for granted, and as I lay there, desperate for sleep, I was ever mindful of my blessings.  In the midst of these grateful reveries, I heard him.

It was a gentle growl, a soft chuffing, not unlike a purr, but oh so different.  Hard to adequately describe.  I had become aware of a rooster crowing, at first, in the dark of the night.  Crowing over and over again, as if in alarm.  (As I write this, I realize it was most likely a much more exotic bird, but at the time, "rooster" came to my mind.)  As the sound of the bird faded, and in the stark silence that followed, the long hoped-for rumble came, a slow, rolling sound that filled the space vacated by the bird, and as if by magic, an immense feeling of peace and comfort came over me, the too still air cooled and the seductive dark dreaminess of sleep finally overtook me.

I was in Africa, and I was again with the lions.  And while we were separated by the walls of my rooms, and (no doubt) many sturdy fences, in the loneliness of the night we were one.