Don't Look Behind You!: A Safari Guide's Encounters with Ravenous Lions, Stampeding Elephants, and Lovesick Rhinos by Peter Allison

Author:Peter Allison
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: GlobePequotPress
Published: 2011-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

It was in this condition that I finally met Trevor, in our company’s office in Maun. The soldiers, to my surprise, had agreed to us stopping for me to get advice before I was charged. Trevor was the general manager of the safari company I worked for, making him one of the many people who outranked me. Since I’d been flung straight into the bush on my arrival, and he had sensibly been taking a holiday over Christmas when I arrived, this was the first time we’d met. It was not how I would have liked to make a positive impression with the man who arranged my pay.

“Any advice?” I asked Trevor.

“Keep your head low, mouth shut, and hope they let you off. Then get out of the country.”

Great, I thought, and got back into the pickup, and drove to the army base. One of the soldiers accepted the bottle of water I offered him, while the other went to fetch his boss.

I was just weighing up whether I should be firm with this man, in a military fashion so he would respect me, or humble and obliging to show respect to his authority, when all thoughts were driven from my mind as he entered the room and sat opposite me.

He was a slightly built man, as most Motswana are, with close-cropped hair. His shirt was neatly pressed, even though his body language gave him every appearance of just having been roused from a nap. This seemed to have made him cranky. He stared at me, and I stared back, trying desperately not to focus on his most conspicuous feature.

He had the most mesmerizingly large nostrils I have ever seen. Massive, dark holes that flared outwards, and drew my gaze like a galactic vortex. On a normal-sized head they would have been deserving of a second look, but on his delicate skull they were no less attention-getting than if he’d had testicles for ears. I soon realized why they were stretched to such extremes as he began picking one of them with a vigor and enthusiasm so off-putting I had to shut my eyes.

“Rra,” came a voice, and I opened them. The commander was addressing me by the Setswana word for “Mister.” “You cannot guide in Botswana without a license.” He smacked his lips grotesquely at the end of the sentence, as if delivering it had been delicious. “But,” he continued, “these gentlemen are not officers of the Wildlife Department, and they should not have arrested you for this offense.”

Suddenly I loved Captain Booger, and went to shake his hand before remembering where it had been. Instead I spoke, “So I can go?”

He laughed, a deep throaty chuckle for such a small man, “No,” he said, “we will deliver you to the appropriate authorities, and they can deal with you.” Suddenly he started shouting at the two soldiers, and I knew without understanding Setswana that they were getting a thorough dressing-down for waking him, a worse one for overstepping their

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