CQ Magazine February (Special Feature Extra)

International

PART 2 - Special feature extra Edition 2 issue 3

Creative quarterly - February 2016

CQ

Due to overwhelming demand this months CQ Magazine is divided into two parts.

This is Part 2.

The ‘Special Feature Extra’ Please read Part 1 The Main Magazine If you have read this first!

Thank you.

CQ Special feature

ANGIE RAAB & Boots on the Ground At the moment I am working with an amazing team of passionate journalists, photographers, filmmakers and conservationists on a documentary about the plight of the rhino. We have been entering a world full of amazing people. People, who put their lives on the line every day, as the last barrier between the poacher and the animal they love and protect, people who have been healing hurt souls, people who will try anything to save a species. But there is also a very dark side. Greed. Power. Money.

Please support Africa's Anti Poaching Units in their fight for African Wildlife! They are the last barrier between the animals they protect and the poacher!

https://www.facebook.com/thebootsontheground

A Special feature by "You have not been in

Africa until you heard a hyena..."

These were Clive's first words when we arrived in Wildlife College for a day of filming and scouting.

The college, situated between Hoedspruit and the Kruger Orpen Gate, trains a new kind of rangers.

Rangers, who will have the ability to fight in the war for wildlife.

"Never ever underestimate the role of a field ranger. He is the one person in conservation that literally puts his life on the line for it." says Ruben de Kock, who heads up the training program. “They are now soldiers."

Angie Raab

Poaching increased drastically over the past 8 years, with not only animals but also rangers getting killed.

A ranger worked in the bush for the love of the bush, while looking at water condition, sickness and mortality of animals as well as their health and communicate all he has been seeing to the reserve manager.

A ranger used to be just an educator as to why conserving the wildlife is so important to the land and its people.

Today these rangers have become frontline.

A lot changed since then. You ll see them wearing chest webbing, a semi automatic combat rifle, combat boots and camouflage uniforms.

In some parks throughout Africa you Over 1200 rhino were poached last will find dedicated Anti poaching year. Their horn is used primarily as a units, in others you will find field status symbol in different Asian rangers who applied for the job, countries, spearheaded by Vietnam. because of their passion for the But it is also fabled to be a cure for outdoors, wanting to hear a hyena’s cancer, a cold or even a hangover. call or a lion’s roar.

The sun was burning in the sky, while the hot wind swirled dust twisters around us. Heat rising from the sandy ground had us dripping with sweat in no time. We literally experienced what these rangers were dealing with every day during their training in the midst of an African summer.

criminals who are becoming more and more aggressive.

I was amazed as how these rangers would march circles and circles with a never before seen discipline not getting distracted by us running in and out of their rows with our cameras in their faces.

They wanted their story to be told But now these men and women are and showed us what they were finding themselves fighting serious capable off.

Early morning training in the smouldering heat of an African summer.

Photo Angie Raab

Boots on the ground, the bulletproof vest of the rhino and other wildlife.

Range training in 45 degrees Celsius heat. No complaints and lots of water.

This is what these passionate people will do for their wildlife.

Angie Raab

The “Boots” Team in action….

braam malherbe

Loving life and dancing while on noon break. A very special moment for us as we were allowed to be part of it.

braam malherbe

Preparation for late night deployment….

Photographs Angie Raab

The art of camouflage…

After a harrowing exercise, crawling through grass without detection, trainee and trainer joined us. We were the lookout.

One can only imagine how aggravating it must have been to

On our second day in the area we headed to the Hoedspruit Endangered Species Center. It focuses on conservation of rare, vulnerable and endangered species.

listen to ice cubes clinking in a glass full of refreshing liquid.

This is part of the training.

Dealing with situations and uncomfortable moments.

raised so far, doing really well and remaining healthy while in the company of each other.

“From the start we are making sure that the little ones do not stress Unfortunately it now also became an much. For us it is sad to know that orphanage for the little rhino victims they lost their mother because of a since the poaching crises began. myth.

Four rhino calves have been hand

It is heartbreaking for us that they are all safe.� alone, especially at night when they are Balu is a 7 week old orphan. A lot of these calling for his or her mother. babies are traumatized, not understanding But there are always happy moments what has happened. when they are released to a bigger His friend Stompie lost his tail to a hyena enclosure, where they can roam, search as he was stumbling through the veld, for grass, play, or follow their caretaker alone, for two days, after his mother was around, knowing that they will be kept killed.

Photos Angie Raab

Go pro photos by arno smit

Go pro photos by arno smit

We had an unbelievable time filming and sharing unforgettable moments with these passionate conservationists and people of HESC and Wildlife College.

next to the road.

We stopped with a sinking feeling in our stomachs. If we could find these magnificent creatures, poachers will as well.

On our way back to Johannesburg we de- You literally just want to stay with them to cided to head through Kruger National Park protect them. for a few wildlife shots and found rhino

Kruger has a lot to offer, but we cannot forget that this park is a poaching hot zone.

eyes to the beauty of the iconic species that are forever edged in my memories.

I would like to share some of the This concerns all of us as a global photos I took while cruising community. We are all Africa. through, hoping that I can open

Photos Angie Raab

I'm Olubodun Gbajabiamila. A polymath; political scientist, poet, blogger, writer, youths empowerment advocate, social media influencer, PR and Community Development Strategist. I'm also a member of the Nigerian Institute of Management (Chartered), Lagos, Nigeria.

I love creative writing. I work as a social media editor at Herald Media (Nigeria) Limited, Lagos, Nigeria.

I'm an adept observer of nature and various elements that keep it real and natural. I write about things in both physical and human nature.

I write on whatever muses my inspiration. My dictions though simple yet ambiguous.

I operates two blogs: www.greatmindpoetry.wordpress.com and WWW.bodungbajabiamila.blogspot.com Twitter : @BodunGbaja Instagram: @BodunGbaja Facebook: Bodun Gbajabiamila

A SONG FOR A POETESS Bukola, Cultured daughter of future, Creature betrothed to nature.

Blessed is the day you were born With fortune greater than the Sun, Dawn peacefully nurtured to noon And grace milder than the Moon.

Nature ignites hope on your dimple That’s why your life is so simple.

My mind crippled My face pimpled Densely peopled Friends dismissed Those days missed I set me naked, I was berated; Still so spirited Her voices emerged Flashed my sight Eyeing my Height So I arise to write The lines she ignites The poet she sights.

HERE I AM

A tale told by a jobless native here Breed with bid to be greedily stingy!

Downtown in the tropical West

Here I am.

In quest to offer my limited best Amidst impatient fleet of sand-flies Where rocks halt opposing hills

On the streets of empty castled crescents

Cracking edifice and walls wail in siAnd mountains beckon on quiet vallence leys...

Leaving the destitute homeless Here I am. downtown Strangers meet strangers in this In the salvation and inhumanity of aged town sand-flies; Extending strange respect heads Where empty mansions dense the down streets‌ Where humility smiles at simplicity, Here I am.

In a contest between the wise and fools Left in the sunshine against a sudAnd in a strange meet downtown den rain here‌ That my vegetations may grow not Here I am. weeds; So worried the flood may threaten Where railway was condemned long my grain ago, And goats becoming insects on my Industries surrendered for civil life, farm, And cocoa for cowries in their In this settlement of dying plantaplights; tion

Will I stand here thrice the age of Nile Till he comes with scythe to shovel it all?

Everyday a trial awaits endless trials, Truth is called to book with crook look; Where we are the judges of our urges.

Here I am.

Are common hearts patriotic to be broken And state never remorse to the natives?

O yee youths, Now You Should Corporate!

This crook culture must be disculturate; Where my hearts mourn the commons‌ There I am.

By Bodun Gbajabiamila, 2013

A LETTER THROUGH MY SON My son is your son from Adam and Eve

Ask him about the Moon and the Sun Though tonight Moon looks like the Sun. Hope you know why I sent this to set you on

Just how my back may be when I’m I hope in this you hold so much belief gone Lead him to know this indeed.

How great you’ll be marked when Lead him to the meaning of greed;

you’re done.

How it starts unknown, how evil it is, He’s a simple jester if you maneuver How it spoils the mind, how menace him it is, How to shun it, how dishonest it is;

But never a wayward with lack of dream.

How to be kind, how to live in peace.

If he goes too far away Reasons let him have it say.

He likes going extra mile Guide him with your smile.

Your eyes let at him gaze Study how he spends his days Leave his sunset for me to gaze.

Be curious who he really is Question how creative he is.

He’s friendly to foes and curious to friends He tries to know all things behind many ends; Treat him like a common man with common sense, Take him to the field to learn selfdefence; Teach him the beauty of wisdom and its essence Fly him high ahead of Will but humble to trouble.

Master, these are the best of all

Lead him to use the pen best

And cultured lead him bound.

Tell him how birds build their nest.

Give him enough wonders to ponder I only urge you keep future free Right when his ego unrest and tender.

Of doubts and fear of deadly sea

Help him so much to help others

Rather a note of pleads from me.

Please guide him to avoid buglers.

For the future of every kid

Please not an order, nor decree

And ways I care they ought to lead Show him the tools on which to live I sent this through my kid. on May God help you as I plead.

To hustle hard even in daylight sun, BY: Bodun Gbajabiamila, 2015

Lead him to weed his fields before rain Guide him to the care of little grain Feed him to know hunger’s pain, And share with the poor his sugarcane.

Teach him to love to be loved Cuddle him as your beloved Take him around to know God And to praise Him with his gourd.

Do not help him to sing his song Leave him to that and his gong.

Just listen to guide the sound

Subrata Du Iriqa

Illutrations & Grap

utta

phics I was born and brought up in India. My father was a Banker. I started learning drawing when I was 3, my mother guided and taught the basics. My father's banking job was transferable so I studied in many cities in India, Lucknow, Kolkata, Guwahati. I got admission at art school when I was 14 years old.

I was lucky that I got the chance to learn from the finest teachers of the city, they taught me all kind of artwork. I started developing skills and I got my first commercial project at 16; it was little money but still it was a memorable moment for me. I got a job in an ad agency after completing my graduation, I learnt commercial art there. I stayed there

@ IRIQA GRAPHICS

IRIQA G

GRAPHICS

They're Just a couple of ordinary joes from London, Canada who dreamed of being comic book artists. Now they've got the editor-in-chief tied up in their basement. If they pull off a successful launch, their dreams are back on track. If they get caught, they go to jail. Nothing like a little motivation.

Featuring comics, a kidnapping, insurance (not very much, we promise), a love story (that’s what we call narcissism these days, right?), and a thrilling watershed moment in Canadian-American relations.

Paperback – http://www.amazon.com/Launch-MarkVictor-Young/dp/0993855873 Ebook – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B017TCABOQ

TEA W

Nichole felt the cool breeze on her skin, so she pulled the light bed sheet over her exposed flesh. Normally sleeping with one leg out was the most comfortable, but tonight she felt a coldness creeping over her.

Lifting her head and glancing with one, half open sleepy eye, she looked at the window.

Satisfied that it was closed and the wind was not blowing in Nichol laid back down.

Perhaps it was just an already forgotten dream that woke her.

Nichole buried her head deep into the soft down of her pillow, tucked the loose sheet tightly about her and closed her eyes.

That is when the sound came.

A rasping, or maybe heavy fabric being dragged over the floorboards, or footsteps, lazy feet sliding along, scuffing the ground.

WITH THE REAPER A short story by

PAUL WHITE

Nichole sat bolt upright. Her own breathing, heavy with anxiety smothering any other noise. Holding her breath, trying to be a still and as silent as possible, Nicole strained to listen, seeking the sound again.

Nothing.

All was quiet. The house was still.

Nichole’s lungs were to the point of bursting before she exhaled with an almighty sigh. Falling back onto her bed in relief, she noticed how her breath hung in the air, a wispy cloud slowly evaporating.

Surly it was not that cold in the house.

It was never that cold, not inside, not indoors. Unless the heating was off, broken. Maybe the boiler was out? Maybe that was what woke her, the coldness, not a breeze, not the wind blowing over her naked skin.

Maybe.

But that noise.

She heard that after she woke didn’t she? Did she? Nichole was uncertain.

Laying her head down Nichole let it sink into the downy comfort of the feather pillow, pulled the sheet up to her neck and, as she closed her eyes, decided that she would check the boiler in the morning. For now all she wanted to do was get back to sleep.

But sleep did not come. Each time Nichole began to drift off she would jump awake, almost startling herself with the suddenness, until she had woken one too many times to snuggle back down. Annoyed with her own restlessness Nichole got out of bed and padded across the bedroom floor, grabbing her nightgown on the way to the door.

She was half way down the stairs, still dragging her gown behind her, when she heard a noise coming from the kitchen. Nichole froze and listened. There was a muffled sound, someone was in her kitchen creeping about, trying to be quiet.

Nichole wrapped her robe around her and tied the belt tightly before cautiously continuing towards the kitchen. Poking her head around the doorway Nichole looked in. She could see no one.

Three steps and she was at the table.

This was weird. She was certain that she had heard someone moving around. The kettle began to gurgle as it came to the boil. Nichole stared at it in disbelief. How could that be?

The voice came from behind her “Sit down Nichole, join me in a cup of tea”.

Spinning around she saw a tall dark figure looming over her and felt the icy chill that woke her earlier return. In shock Nichole stepped backwards, coming to an abrupt halt as she met the table’s edge.

“Sit, sit” said the dark figure gesturing for Nichole to take a chair. “We can have a cosy chat together”.

Nichole walked backwards around the table feeling her way to the chair, not daring to take her eyes off the figure. She felt her mouth drying and her heart pumping against her ribs as realisation dawned on her of who he was.

“One sugar or two” he asked, glancing over his shoulder towards Nichole.

“Um...I…um”, Nicole could not form a single coherent word.

The dark figure placed the cups on the table and the sugar bowl in the centre. “Maybe you just help yourself, ehh?”

Nichole sensed the figure was smiling at her, but because of the cowl covering his head his face was in deep shadow.

“Are you…are you…him?” Nichole asked.

“Him? Him who?”

“Um…Death. Have you come for me?”

To Nichole’s surprise the dark figure laughed. It was a deep throaty chuckle, not the evil echoing howl that Nichole would have expected.

“Drink” he said, lifting his own cup from the table.

Nichole took a sip from her cup. It really was a good brew. “I asked if you were…were Death?”

The figure looked over the rim of his cup. “Some call me that, others ‘Old Father time’ or ‘The Reaper’ even the ‘Grim reaper’, although I object to that. I am not grim at all”. He let another chuckle tumble from the shadows of his hood.

“So am I to die today, are you hear to take me?” Nichole asked.

“You see, that is what people don’t understand” he said, gesturing by waving both arms in the air, “I don’t take a person’s life. I don’t kill people”.

“Then why are people frightened of you?”

“Books, the movies, ignorance, conjecture, propaganda, who knows?”

Nichol sipped her tea. “If you don’t take people’s lives what do you do?”

“I take their souls. More tea?”

Nichole nodded. She was stunned by the ambiguity of it all. Here she was, sitting at her kitchen table, chatting to the Reaper while drinking tea, not knowing if this was the last thing she would do before she died. Although she had certain apprehensions, as anyone would, she felt no fear, she did not feel threatened as one would imagine.

Perhaps that was how things worked? He lulled his victims into a sense of false security and then….whack. Maybe, maybe not.

“But surely people must die, I mean people must be dead before you take their souls?”

Nichole asked.

“Yes, well sort of…at least for the most part. I gather their souls as soon as they die. I collect them and take them to the boatman for the crossing. At least that would be the way it worked in an ideal world”.

“And this is not an ideal world?” As macabre as it was Nichole found herself enjoying the conversation.

“Far from it. Have you any biscuits, digestive or a custard creams? ”Nichole brought the biscuit tin to the table. Sliding it towards the Reaper she said, “Help yourself”.

“Thank you my dear. Now where were we? Oh yes…No this is far from an ideal world.

There are far too many people now. It’s making my job extremely difficult”.

“How is that?”

“I have to be everywhere at once, I have to stop time to rest, like now”. The reaper pointed to the clock.

It was still three thirty four, precisely the time that Nichole entered the kitchen, when the reaper was boiling the kettle. He had frozen time.

“Surely if you can stop time, then you have enough time to do whatever you need to do?” Nichole asked.

“Ha, ha. Oh I wish it was that simple. Time stops for them, the people like you, not for me. That’s why I am exhausted, shattered. I have not had a good night’s sleep for many a year”.

“But now, I am talking with you, time hasn’t stopped for me”.

“No, but only because I want it that way” the reaper said.

“Why?” Nichole was curious.

“Oh I was bored. I felt like some company. I don’t get much these days you know” again the Reaper laughed.

Despite the situation Nichole could not help but laugh with him. “I’ll make a fresh pot of tea” she said “unless you have to get back to work?”

“No, another cup will be fine, thank you”. The Reaper lifted his head. Once again Nichole felt a smile, although she still could not see his face.

Nichole filled the kettle. “So why are you here, in my house tonight?” She was uncertain she wanted an answer, but then again it was probably better to know the truth than not.

“I have come to collect a soul”. The reapers voice was factual. All joviality gone.

“I thought so. Tell me, how am I to die. Will it be painful?”

“I have no idea, no idea at all” the Reaper answered.

“But if you have to take my soul surely I must die and, as you are here, you must know”.

“Not necessarily. Things have changed over the years. It’s all about efficiency now. It is not like the old days, then things were far more relaxed”. The reaper took the tea pot from Nichole and set it in the centre of the table. “Give it a minute or two to brew, I find it is best if it sits a while” he said.

Nichol sat back down, facing the Reaper. In a strange way she felt herself warming to this strange and somewhat unnerving character.

“So what’s changed?” she asked.

“What hasn’t” he snorted, continuing, “I have been told to be pro-active. To collect souls ‘in advance’. Have you ever heard anything so bloody ridiculous? It will save time in the long run, blah, blah, blah” The Reaper grunted in distain.

“I mean, if I do that, say if I collected your soul tonight then what would be left for you?

You would have to live a soulless life. That’s not my job. It is not my job to make people’s lives a misery” “I wouldn’t like that” Nichol said. “I want to live a long and happy life”.

“Exactly, that is why I refuse. I am not like that devil Lucifer. I would never lower myself to his level. Did you know that he is just an uppity fallen angel? Now pour the tea.

Do you want a digestive or a custard cream?”

Nichole chose a digestive, which she dunked into her tea. “If you are not after my soul, then I have to ask why you are here. I live alone, there is no one else in this house”.

The reaper placed his cup down carefully on the saucer. “That’s where you are wrong Nichole. I have a choice of souls here”.

Nichole could not help but look around the room. There was no one else here. There was no one else in the house. Unless the Reaper had brought someone with him.

The reaper stood and walked around the table. A slender bony hand gripped Nichole’s elbow encouraging her to stand. ‘Well if this is it’ Nichole thought to herself, there was no use fighting inevitability.

Nichole stood, but did not expect the Reaper to slide his hand under her robe. She shivered as the coldness of his palm pressed against her stomach.

“There is the first soul. Five days old. I bet you didn’t know, did you?” the Reaper asked.

Nichole gasped. Pregnant. Five days. Oh my god, that was Tommy. She and Tommy had… well, they had… “Please, no. Not my baby. Don’t take my baby” Nichole was crying with the thought.

“Did you know that everybody’s soul is the same size, right from the first moment of life, from the point of conception?”

“No. I have never thought about it before. Please, not my child’s. Take mine if you must, but not my baby’s”.

“What chance would your child have if I took your soul Nichole? Imagine a child growing up with a soulless, self-centred, heartless mother. A bitch, a drug taking abusive whore of a mother. That’s no life for any child is it?”

“No, no I suppose not”. Nichole was crying, confused and angry. She tore the Reapers hand from her stomach and pushed him away. Re-fastening her gown she shouted “Get out, get the fuck away from me”.

The Reaper laughed again. “I have not come for you or your infant’s soul. Now sit, finish you tea before it gets cold”.

Nichole was still shaking. Part fear, part anger, but mostly frustration. “What do you want here” her voice was harsher now, demanding.

“I am sorry if I upset you” the Reaper spoke softly. “I guess I have lost my social skills over the years, it is so very rare for me to talk to anybody nowadays”

Despite herself Nichole could not help but snigger. “I guess you have”.

“Well, it is time I got back to work” the Reaper announced.

“Wait” said Nichole loudly, “you haven’t told me why you are here, in my home. Whose soul you are to collect?”

“Oh yes, maybe I should have made that clear earlier. Only you surprised me when you walked in the kitchen. I wasn’t expecting you”.

“You were not expecting me. I was not expecting you. You frightened the life from me… although that is probably not the best phrase to use under this circumstance”. Nichole giggled at her own joke.

“I should have said I am here to collect the soul of the previous tenant. They called him Mr Abrahams. The poor man died over a year ago and has been wandering about ever since, in limbo…that’s the technical term. You might say spirit or ghost, or something like that”.

“The truth is I am catching up on a backlog. Do you know that if they stay uncollected for too long peoples souls can become a little pesky, a bit troublesome? That is when they start banging about and chucking things around, when they get called poltergeist, manifestations and apparitions”.

“So those noises I have been hearing, that wasn’t you?”

“No, that was Mr Abrahams getting bored. So, if you will excuse me I have work to do, or I’ll get even further behind. Charon gets a bit cranky if he doesn’t have a full boatload each trip”. The Reaper held out his bony hand with those elongated cold fingers. ”Thank you for the tea and the chat, I have quite enjoyed myself. Goodbye Nichole”.

Nichole grasped the Reapers knarled hand “In a strange way I am glad to have met you. If you ever want to drop in for tea again and have another chat…..”

“I might just do that. Having Death as a friend isn’t all that bad you know!”

THE END © Paul White 2015

PAUL WHITE is a writer and author who lives in Yorkshire, England.

He enjoys writing to entertain other people.

You can find out more about Paul, his works and what he is currently working on by visiting his website at

http://paulznewpostbox.wix.com/paul-white

The Abduction of Rupert DeVille is a thrilling suspense story and a love story all in one. Written with a touch of wit and humour that will keep you turning page after page.

Paul White has that rare ability of bringing characters to life, making them real people, with feelings, worries and inner doubts, just like you and I. Paul White has masterly crafted The Abduction of Rupert DeVille into a work that leads the reader astray, down the dark alleyways of the past, before bringing them back into the glaring light of the present.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Abduction-RupertDeVille-Paul-White/dp/1500374148

Thank you for reading this

CQ Special feature extra Don’t forget to read The

main CQ magazine Which is full of amazing works from Outstanding Writers and artists ———————Look out for more Special features And

CQ Supplements In the future