A Very Close Encounter

A VERY

CLOSE ENCOUNTER

One warm, calm African evening, before the sun had set, I almost wished that time would pause until I was ready to restart it. I was standing at the border at Chirundu, in the middle of the bridge spanning the mighty Zambezi, one foot in Zambia and the other in Zimbabwe, quietly reflecting on how lucky I was to be at the start of another safari to Mana Pools.

Mana for me was already special: it was the setting of a former crazy, amazing wildlife encounter...But that’s another story, and little did I think on this late August day in 1993 that Mana Pools would once more provide me with an experience on which I would dine out many times.

I was travelling with four friends: three Zimbabweans and an Australian. As the only Pommie (Australian slang for someone from the UK), I came in for much good-natured ribbing, but we were a very jolly party. As we had driven down the escarpment into the beautiful Zambezi Valley, the blue mountains of Zambia shimmering in the distant heat haze across the river, I was already gripped in a frisson of excitement—that familiar quickening of the pulse and a heightened anticipation and awareness of raw nature in all its glorious unpredictability.

We reached Mana about midday and immediately set up camp. I chose what I thought was a good spot in the shade of a big acacia tree and up went our borrowed tent. The Zimbabweans elected to camp nearer to the ‘facilities’ block. All around the campsite there was much evidence of a considerable elephant presence, and this was verified later in the day when two big bulls came into the camp. We watched as they very gently picked up the fallen acacia pods with their trunks and then carefully transferred them into their mouths. Elephants are very fond of acacia pods, and when the trees are shedding their pods there is usually a concentration of these animals in the region.

We camped at Nyamepi for three nights. The first two were comparatively incident-free, apart from honey badgers around the rubbish, always a welcome sighting as they are nocturnal. However, it was our third night that I will remember until my dying day—the pun is intentional. We had all enjoyed a wonderful evening game drive to Long Pool, followed by a few drinks and dinner. After a nightcap, my Australian companion and I headed for our exceptionally flimsy tent under the Faidherbia albida. In the infant hours of the morning I was forced to leave the tent to answer an urgent call of nature. I had no intention of using ‘the facilities’ as it would have meant a walk and I did not want to ‘wake up’ more than necessary. As usual, though, I had a good look around. To my horror, and clearly identifiable in the moonlight, I saw three dark shapes looming large from the direction of the river and approaching our tent with ponderous but purposeful tread... buffalo!

Any thought of further sleep immediately evaporated and I shot back into the tent with the speed of a cheetah to wake my happily sleeping companion, who groggily mumbled that he too needed to pop outside. ‘No way,’ I ordered, telling him to move to the centre of the tent and to keep very still. I too moved away from the sides of the tent and froze. We remained thus for what seemed an eternity—motionless, rooted to the spot. I knew why the buffalo had targeted our tent. Inadvertently, I had chosen the worst location possible in which to pitch it, as not only elephants enjoy acacia pods...buffalo do, too.

By now we had both realised the gravity of the situation. The buffalo were inches away from us, only the thin fabric of the tent separating us from a trio of one of the most dangerous animals in Africa. We could sense them moving slowly outside, hoovering up the acacia pods, chewing, munching, snorting, grunting...We heard their heavy breathing, and could even smell their exhalations rippling the sides of the tent. I tried not to think of those huge horns six inches from my back, or what might happen if they became entangled in the guy ropes.

There was no time to close the tent flaps and once inside neither of us dared to move. Eventually, after hours of silent tension and to our great relief, through the open flaps we saw one buffalo ambling off towards the river. As it became lighter we could clearly make out the remaining two, and finally they too had filled their big bellies and moved off in the same direction as their companion.

Our horrendous ordeal was over. A few minutes later my brave companion, an erstwhile crocodile hunter, could be seen heading for the Gents at a fast pace, clutching a roll of loo paper. Needless to say, we suffered much teasing as the Zimbabweans had witnessed the latter part of the event from the safety of their sensibly chosen site.

My advice to any would-be camper: never pitch your tent under a Faidherbia albida, or under any tree that might attract animals to enjoy a midnight feast around you. However, should you for some reason find yourselves in a similar situation to ours, for God’s sake close your tent, keep still and shut up!