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Sam’s Story

I watched him as he made his way to the waiting vehicle. It was as if he was savouring every step, his eyes were bright as he looked beyond the lines of the horizon. He stopped and sniffed the air like a lion, trying to pick out the scents of early dusk. The sun was setting and a veil of golden dust particles played around his silhouetted frame, adding to his mysterious aura. I knew that his soul was dancing on the plain, his emotion spread in a tangible river all around us. The giant boulders became copper orbs - time and place no longer existed in the presence of memories. He lifted his arms to receive a blessing from the fiery red sun and sang quietly to the rhythm of approaching night. I could feel the vibrations of his deep African voice enter my being as lightly as air, yet as powerful as the rumbling of an elephant.

He touched my arm, and I took his old hand to help him into the vehicle, his slow gait betraying the greatness of the moment. Inside him, the blood of warriors flowed, the bravery of battling lions and the wisdom of a healer. He did not let go of my hand as we drove away from the Stevenson Hamilton Memorial in silence. “Thank you Nanna…” was the only words he spoke on our way to Skukuza - we traveled with the sounds of nightfall and the stillness of our hearts.

Sam came into my life at the age of five. In many respects, he was my protector, my wizened father and my mentor. His mother ascended from the Balobedu people and it was told that his great great father was an impi of the strong Zulu warrior Soshangane, which indicates Shangaan custom on his father’s side. What was important about his birth, was that his blood was a mixture of fierce tribes, but more noteworthy, his great mother was a medicine woman who fled her tribe of rain making queens. Sam grew up in the rural area bordering what is known as Hazyview today. As a small boy, it was custom to herd livestock, but soon, he became his grandmother’s helper, and he was taught the intricacies of African herbal medicines and practices. Having lived on the borders of Kruger, he became adept at the behaviour of animals and birds and this knowledge, combined with his grandmother’s teachings, soon saw him a respected young man in the community.

It was not long after his initiation into manhood, that his father was brought home on a makeshift stretcher, carried between two donkeys. Amongst all the wailing and hysterical screaming, Sam was summoned into his grandmother’s hut together with the men who set his father’s bloodied body down in the semi-darkness. “Morwaka – my son – she said, “we must work fast to prepare your father for his journey, as it is too late to save him from death…” Sam worked with feverish hands, , swearing to himself that he would save his father’s life. The wounds were deep and sepsis had already set in during the two day journey to get his father home from an expedition deep within Kruger. After five days of vigilance, his father opened his eyes and expressed his horror in a barely legible delirium. “The lioness, the one with a white ear…” was all that Sam could understand. The once fierce man with skin like polished ebony was diminished to a crumpled, pathetic figure. By now, Sam’s condition was the worse for wear too, as he refused to sleep and barely ate. Eleven days after his father was attacked by the lioness, he woke during the night and with an almost super natural clarity recalled the whole encounter to Sam and his great mother. When the sun rose, Sam administered the last preparations for his father’s funeral.

We were walking down to the Skukuza library, past the pet cemetery, and a smile stole across the old man’s face. “There are brave ones here, with hearts like a strong impi” he said, referring to the dogs that formed part of the rangers history. Above us, in the canopy of Ficus trees, the African green pigeons were calling excitedly about the abundance of summer-ripe figs. Sam looked at them and I could sense his joy. “Nanna, (the name he used for me since I was a little girl) so much has changed and yet, so many things have stayed the same.” Sam’s journey to Kruger with me was in many ways, an exchange between the past and present, and our visit to the library would prove precious in my quest to conserve the small details of two generations of Kruger rangers.

Not long after Sam’s father died, he started working in Kruger, and it was the stories he had told me about his work that cultivated a deep respect for nature and love for Kruger in me. It was only during the latter years on a visit to his village, that I had the courage to ask him about the scars on his back and chest. He was very quiet for a long time and stared into the distance; “It was the lioness with one white ear…” he more stated than replied. His demeanor told me not to probe any further, but the reply shocked and fascinated me and left me with burning questions.

A few hours later, we emerged from the library. I had traveled into the windows of yellowed pictures, and experienced the faces with solemn expressions come alive at the recollections of Sam. Some stories wove their way to the prime of his adulthood and some were memories of his father. I ventured with him into dark African nights, unprotected by a fence, struggling with malaria in the blazing summer heat and felt the fear of being pursued on foot by an angry Buffalo in the thickets. Camaraderie and bravery became very real in the humble tones of his rich African tongue. The smell of thatch and the patina of yesteryear mingled into the reality that was created by the passage of remembrance.

The bright sunlight dappled through the branches of the large Ficus trees on the walkway next to the Sabie river. Sam was quiet once more. It was almost as if a river had burst its banks after a storm and continued to run its course peacefully once again. We sat down on a bench and watched as an elephant grazed across us in a clearing in the reeds. “Sam, should we drive a bit?” I asked the old man. He smiled, and with bright eyes like a child’s, he nodded. “Where shall I take you today?” He looked at the elephant for a moment and then said; “To your Sausage Tree on Salitje road…”

On our way there, Sam waved me down many times to tell me about the different trees and their medicinal uses. As it was summer time, the abundant veld flowers formed a glorious carpet of colour. Sam drank in the sight like a thirsty elephant. He pointed towards certain flowers and again told me excitedly about their medicinal qualities. We stopped underneath the sausage tree at the small clearing. The tree’s rich red flowers of spring made way for fruits the size of small salami’s. In front of us, the river a silvery blue mirror of the sky. Sam fiddled in his pocket and produced his tobacco bag and pipe. He stuffed the pipe, lit it and sighed contentedly as he inhaled the rich-smelling smoke. He looked across the river and pointed in the direction of an African fish eagle nest. Perched on a branch next to it, a juvenile was being fed by a parent. Before I could fully appreciate the sighting, he gestured to the rear, and a few seconds later, a shy Bushbuck ram made his appearance. I was amazed by how sharp Sam’s senses were for such an old being. As if he read my mind, he started to laugh softly and whispered to me, not wanting to scare away the grazing ram, “The bush becomes a part of you after a while. Firstly, you listen and look to survive, then you hear birds singing, and your heart calls you to sing with them. You look at the animals and they become your allies, when it rains after the dry winter, your heart calls you dance with them on the new grass shoots. When you see a lion hunt and hear the last cries of the prey before it dies, your heart does not mourn death but celebrates the eternal circle of life. When the stars come out in the darkness, you know that Mama Africa looks after you, as she guides you even in darkness.” I wanted him to continue, but his eyes started roaming again whilst he absent-mindedly puffed his pipe. A giraffe sauntered into sight and we were dwarfed by its height. “Nanna, you must promise me something today”, Sam looked at me with blazing eyes, “You must never forget about this place, you must never run away from what it asks of you, this place and the other places of Africa like this. These places are sacred, it is where the spirit of many beings dwell who served it, so remember it well and keep on reminding those who forget. Protect it by loving it with your whole being. You will find a way when you listen to the voice in your heart.” At that moment, a kudu bull with magnificent horns appeared and gazed intently at us. It was symbolic; this proud animal that only needed my humanity and nothing more to protect, or destroy it. The bull disappeared into the bush and for a moment it felt like a magical vision. I looked at Sam with a quizzical expression, only to be answered with one of his mysterious smiles.

Early the next morning, I found Sam dressed and ready to go, sitting in the semi-darkness on a bench below the bungalow. “What time did you get up Sam, or did you sleep in your clothes?” I asked tongue in cheek. I looked at his neatly ironed shirt and khaki pants, and marveled at how proud he still was about his appearance. I was also aware that many of the camp staff had known him and respected him as it was fitting for an elder and healer. The advantage was that the small things such as ironing was taken care of for him in an unseen manner.

We left Skukuza when the horizon started to turn a deep shade of orange-pink and drove up Mathekenyane to see the sun reveal its face to a new day. I stood with my arm hooked into Sam’s and wondered what the day would bring. “This makes me happy at my age Nanna, to feel the morning sun on my face and know that I am still alive to greet the day,” Sam said as he looked at the brilliant display in front of us. We turned to the western view and witnessed how the trees and grass were changed into shimmering objects in the path of rays. I handed Sam a coffee, sweetened with condensed milk – his favourite spoil. We sat on the cool rocks whilst Sam was calling birds with perfect replication. When a Swainson’s francolin came running towards him and froze midway to fully comprehend the size of the “bird” calling, we burst into laughter and sent the poor thing scurrying off to safer pastures. Sam scanned the area with his keen eyes and found a Klipspringer cleverly disguised by the leaves of a rock fig. For a while we sat wordlessly, waiting for the diminutive creature to come out of hiding.

Again, I sensed the strong synergy between nature and the old man sitting next to me. The lessons he had taught me about the bush came rushing back, especially when he taught me to walk like a big cat in the veld. Sheer determination and many tears of frustration kept me going until I could stalk Sam and pounce on him the way a predator would do. The Klipspringer moved out of the dense leaves with gracious leaps from one rock to another. It was so close to us that I could see the pink translucent shells of its ears. Inquisitively it stared at us for a while with large, liquid brown eyes and swiftly continued on its way. Sam stretched his legs and inhaled the fresh morning air scented with crushed grass and a hint of rain. I turned to him, “Can you remember you taught me to walk like a leopard when I was small?” He looked intently at a tree but I could see that a smile was stealing across his face. He cleared his throat but still did not look at me. “Come on Sam….?” A soft chuckle was my answer.

We arrived at Biyamiti by noon. The heat of high summer was thick enough to slice. By now, most animals took to the shade. Our journey here, marked by many elephants and rhinos standing unanimated underneath thick canopies of riverine trees. Their bodies covered in an insulating layer of wet mud. The elephants were flapping their large ears half-heartedly, some with their trunks looped over their tusks as if they were tired of carrying it.

I could sense that Sam was fatigued after he received a welcome of note by the staff when we arrived at the camp’s reception. After lunch, he took a chair from the veranda and promptly fell asleep underneath the shade of a Jackal-berry tree where he sat. The birds became quiet and a hush fell over the bush. A slow breeze played in the branches.

A while later, Sam strolled towards me where I was reading on the veranda. I could see that he was rested, but he had a faraway look in his eyes. “Sam, are you all right, can I get you something cool to drink…?” He looked at me with unseeing eyes and nodded his head. I went to the fridge, took out a can of cold Coke and handed it to him. The heat immediately condensed on the tin and he inattentively wiped off the droplets. “It was the dreams again Nanna”, he said in low voice. For a moment I was at a loss, not having wisdom about how I should react. I took his hand and held it. “We must go there, she is calling us…” he urged me. My heart lurched. I wish I never told him about what I had seen. At the time, it seemed as if it was the right thing to do, but now, the cost of his pain was too much to bear.

When we arrived at the camp gate, Sam told me not to drive in the direction I assumed. “It is not time yet Nanna, there is something else we must go see first.” We took the three kilometer road and turned into the Crocodile River road. When we neared the Biyamiti bridge, I noticed that Sam was scanning the veld carefully. He gestured for me to stop and pointed to a Magic Guarri bush thicket. Almost invisible at first glance, a large male leopard began to take form in the deep shadow. “How did you know Sam?” I whispered and got the same reaction as with the kudu on the previous day. The leopard was staring back at us and I could see its tail moving. Sam pointed across the road from where we were standing – a herd of Impala were making their way towards the river for their evening drink, right in line with where the leopard was waiting in the shadows. The unknowing animals slowly inched forward, nibbling on the soft grass shoots. My heart started to pound wildly, knowing that the unavoidable was about to happen. I glanced at the leopard whose gaze shifted from us where we sat motionless, suspended in time. Inside me, emotion became a turbulent gamut. I became the hunter but also the hunted, my muscles tensed, I was walking like a cat in the veld and Sam became my quarry. The leopard moved forward, but was still in the shady cover of the thicket. The muscles on its body contracted visibly and then everything happened all at once. The Impalas shot into every direction with wild snorts, a cloud of dust adding to the confusion in this battle of life and death. A second later, it was all over. The leopard sank his teeth with precision into the soft artery of the animal’s neck and locked his jaws whilst he growled deeply. The tawny body jerked and then relaxed when death brought comfort. A thin trickle of blood started to seep from the wound as soon as the leopard released his grip. The magnificent cat quickly scanned the area and started to drag the limp body across the veld to a nearby tree. A few seconds later, the Impala was draped over a branch, its horns dangling in the air. The leopard stood on the branch next to it, panting with bloodied mouth.

My whole body shook, I gasped for air. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Sam shifted to look at me. “Death is a mere continuum of life Nanna…it is in moments like this, when we witness life in its most primal form, that we are reminded of the wisdom that lies deep inside all of us…”

Night found us where we sat on a bench close to the perimeter fence. Frogs strummed their voices as the last colours of day tinted the western horizon and broke into full choir when darkness folded its blanket over the world. A Scops owl called from across the river and another replied from a tree behind us. Sam was puffing on his pipe and looked into the darkness. In the river, we heard how the herd of buffalo we were watching earlier, continued to graze in the reeds. “The lions will come tonight.” Sam made the casual statement as if this event was destined. I knew better not to ask questions that would be answered by his mysterious smile. He did however point out a limping cow with a large gash on her rump, which might explain his premonition. The darkness brought relief from the heat, and a cool breeze stole across the reeds, bringing with it, the scent of buffalos.

Somewhere after midnight, I woke from the reverberating roars of lions. It echoed down the riverbed and for a moment, still confused by sleep, it sounded as if they were outside my bedroom window. I ran to Sam’s bedroom and found his bed empty. Another roar, now closer, shook my body. I ran outside, into the pitch darkness, stumbling over the veranda steps. As I fell, I felt something gripping my arm and I immediately started to fight it off. “Tula Nanna!” I heard Sam’s loud whisper and my body started to shake. Sam held me as if I was the small frightened child of many years ago. “Come Nanna, sit down here with me, and listen to the voices of Africa…” I did not keep track of time, but Sam and I sat in the darkness until the roaring became faint calls somewhere in the unseen. I fell asleep almost immediately and was visited by dreams of lions. Lions that walked with me because I was their sister, a lioness with one white ear…

Sam woke me after which felt like an hour’s sleep. The sheets of my bed was damp with sweat as I tossed and turned through a dream that my subconscious mind could not comprehend. “It was the dreams for you too Nanna…?” Sam asked me with a frown. I sat up and stared at him. How could he know? “Sam, we must talk…” I started, but was hushed by him. “Get ready Nanna, she has come to call us, we must go as soon as we can.”

With the dream fresh in my mind, I hurriedly dressed and by the time the gate was unlocked, we were the first ones to leave the camp. We traveled in the same direction as we did the previous day, but turned into the S108 at the junction. The silence inside the car and outside became tangible. Day was a mere grey light on the eastern horizon. I felt the urgency rise inside me; I was drawn back to my dream. Why was I the lioness with the white ear, why did I direct my pride to wait for me as I approached Sam who was sitting on a big boulder next to the river? But mostly, why was Sam fearful of me when he could see I was not stalking him? Why was I the lioness with the white ear in my dream…?

I was brought out of my reverie by Sam’s voice. “Stop Nanna!” I could not see anything around us, but Sam’s eyes were roaming the area. “Go across the bridge and stop on the other side”, he urged me. I slowly drove as he requested and parked underneath a tree in a clearing on the river bank. Save for a croaky Grey Go-Away bird, warming its vocal cords, it was quiet around us. The cool morning air, tinged with dew drifted through the open windows. We watched the sky as it turned from soft grey into plum and reddish pink.

A twig snapped. Our alerted senses instantly directed us to movement in the grass. The unmistakable sound of a lion cub calling its mother broke the silence. The call was answered within touching distance of the car. My heart started to race and at the same time, an extremely deep sadness filled my being. Sam pointed, and the small body of a barely four month old lion cub became discernable in the grass. It called again. Another twig snapped.

The sun broke surface. I sensed it, rather than saw it. The little cub’s fur suddenly shone gold against the green grass. A husky reply from the lioness again and we both turned to see her walking past the vehicle’s rear in the direction of the cub. When she reached the cub, she bent her large head and rubbed its pelt with her nose. Overjoyed to see her, the cub started to play, biting her ears and running around her large paws. She lay down and the cub nestled against her stomach to find comfort in a teat that would provide for its urgent hunger. The lioness closed her eyes and fell into a slumber. The cub’s purring was now quite audible and we watched as it massaged the skin of its mother’s stomach with two front paws as it contentedly suckled away.

In a sudden movement, the lioness sat up and looked directly at us. The breeze changed direction and it was clear that she got our scent. She stretched herself and proceeded towards us – the cub in tow. As she neared the car, she stopped at arms length and lifted her head, unswervingly meeting Sam’s gaze. I saw how he tensed, yet the lioness did not move, nor did Sam. After the longest time, the lioness moved away. I turned to follow her, realizing that she had moved to my side. Her amber eyes locked into my being and from deep within her belly came a roar. Sam grabbed my hand, but I was somewhere beyond reality. The lioness’s roars became softer and softer, a gentle call reserved for siblings and cubs rose in the morning air. She looked at me one more time and started to walk down the river bank. The small cub with one white ear followed her…

The Grey Go-Away bird broke the spell with its harsh call. It was not until Sam spoke, that I realized we were both awake and not dreaming. I looked outside my window and tracks in the sand testified that it wasn’t some kind of imaginary vision conjured by my mind.

“Soon after my father died, I followed in his footsteps. My first job in Kruger was that of a tracker. My understanding and knowledge of the bush helped me to quickly become a trusted and sought-after worker. At night around the fire, the rangers told me stories about my father, and also about the fated night of his attack. In the process, he saved the lives of two men in exchange for his… I learned all I could about the whereabouts of the attack and when we were in the region, I instinctively started to look for the lioness. One morning I traveled with the senior ranger to help with a problematic elephant on the Crocodile River road. On our way back we stopped close to where we are now, to do assessments on the Bume River’s water level.

The night before, I had dreamt about the lioness. I knew intuitively that the time was close for me to meet her, and I had no good feelings about the day. The ranger and I walked on the sandy beach of the river towards a deep pool of water. I checked for tracks and scanned the area, listened for sounds that would warn me if there were predators approaching, but everything was peaceful, except for the sick feeling that remained with me since I woke from my dream. When we reached the water, I made sure of the tracks once more. As the ranger bent down, a yellow thing flew past me and landed on the ranger. I jumped forward whilst pulling my knife from its sheath.

The lioness had knocked the ranger unconscious and started to sink her teeth into his neck. She turned around, not releasing her grip, and her wild yellow eyes bore into me. Her one white ear twitched as she released a low growl to warn me. I ran towards her and flung my full weight into her belly whilst I drove my knife into her chest. I felt the searing pain as her nails tore into the flesh of my back. With each blow and bite, the pain became a blazing white flame that spread in my body, but I kept on stabbing through a red haze of blood, mine and the lioness’s. She fell on me and I could hear her laboured breathing, but I was pinned underneath her and by then too weak to fight anymore. Black numbness seeped into me and the comfort of death became inviting. During the short periods of consciousness, I felt movement and in my dazed state, realized that three cubs were walking over my chest whilst they mournfully called their mother, then blackness took over again. It was hours later that I woke from gunshots being fired all around me and felt how my legs were released from the crushing weight of the dead lioness.”

Throughout his narrative, Sam hardly stopped to take a breath. I watched his distressed face as he continued. “Nanna, I was no hero! The ranger died two hours after we were rescued. And I lived through the nightmares of my father’s death for many many years to come. You see, there was no victory in killing the lioness, as I never intended malice towards her. I felt hollow and empty and ashamed about the three cubs that would soon die without their mother.”

Sam had gone quiet. I could sense that the horror still continued to play on behind his sad eyes. I decided to tell him about my dreams, about the last one before we came here. He lifted his head and listened intently to me. “Nanna, you are the lioness, because you brought me back to face my nightmares, but also to find forgiveness in myself. The cubs must have survived and the distinctive defect was carried forward by generations throughout the years. When you saw the lioness a few months back, I was shocked, but knew that the spirits were calling for me to make this journey. I had thought many years ago that you were sent to me to take care of in place of the cubs, but now I understand why you carry the spirit of the lioness…” Sam became quiet once more and I too had to reflect on all the things that happened, some spanning lifetimes…

A while later, Sam started to fumble in his pocket and brought out his tobacco bag and pipe. Once finished with his small ritual, he lit the pipe and leaned back against the seat. I noticed a smile forming at the corners of his month. “And that Nanna, should answer your question of yesterday…you could never walk like a leopard, because you are a lioness…”

Note: This story is dedicated to the field personnel of the Parks who hold a very special place in my heart.