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by Joseph Simiyu Wegesa
Four men sat crouched at the bar of Hunter's Inn in Nairobi, Kenya. The time was two in the morning, Saturday, mid-January, 1955. The hum of the ceiling fan droned in monotone. The inn was a small establishment on the edge of town that was a favorite among hunters; they could step outside and meet wildlife right away. Two of the men at the bar were British, one was American. The other one, Ngaru, the African was the bartender and owner of the inn. Ngaru was one of the very few Africans, during that period, to own a British dominated business. But he had earned it having hunted with the best in the world. He was an excellent tracker who knew the African terrain like the back of his hand. Most hunters knew him. When he took over ownership of the famous inn from Briton James Walker, they flocked in.
Hunter's Inn catered mostly to hunters, mainly British who came in to boast of their big kills. Here, men made bets on who could kill the biggest lion, bring in a cape buffalo with the longest horns, or who could kill the elephant with the largest tusks. Pictures on the walls depicted such victories. Only the best hunters displayed their kills at Hunter's Inn. James Walker was one of the best and evidence of that still hung on the inn’s walls. Every once in a while, Americans visited the inn. It was rumoured that Ernest Hemingway and John Houston had spent some time there, though not together.
"I have single-handedly killed at least two beasts each from the Big Five group." Buckley, one of the Britons said between sips. He was a short, stocky man deeply tanned from constant exposure to the tropical sun.
"The big five?" Smith, the American asked. Smith was ghostly white compared to the Britons. He considered himself a seasoned hunter though he was only in his early thirties. This was his first trip to Africa.
"Oh, he's very new, isn't he?" Jenkins, the second Briton laughed. "He's bloody green to these parts." Jenkins was a tall, large man who claimed to fear nothing, man or beast.
"The Big Five consists of, elephant, lion, rhino, leopard and cape buffalo." Buckley took pride in educating the naive.
"Buffalo?!" Smith asked, astounded.
"These are not the docile American animals," Ngaru explained. "These are wild beasts."
"Big difference, my boy," Jenkins slapped Smith on the back making him spill some of his drink. "The cape buffalo is the most dangerous animal on the African continent."
"I would think it's the lion, or leopard. I mean, buffalo eat grass."
"Lions are dangerous all right. A good sized one will knock you out with its paw. The leopard is probably the strongest in the group considering its size." Buckley lectured.
"A leopard can--um-- what do you call it--scalp, yes, scalp you." Ngaru added. "It sinks its claws in the back of your head, pulls back removing the whole skin with hair and covers it over your face."
"Now that's what I call dangerous." Smith brightened.
"Sure," Jenkins broke in. "But do you know the main difference between these two and the buffalo? These two attack only when disturbed or threatened. The cape buffalo will attack as soon as it spots you. Visual contact with you means you're a threat to the animal. It will attack before you even spot it not waiting for you to take the first bloody shot."
"Still, these are herbivorous animals. They don't bite or claw. What will they do, chew you?" Smith asked.
"They gore and stomp." Buckley pit it simply. "A large male buffalo weighs up to a thousand pounds or more. If it runs into you, you will feel as though you were hit by a Land Rover."
"And if you climb a tree, they will bring you down with urine." Ngaru informed him. Smith laughed at that.
"Tomorrow, I'll go out there and bring you people the head of the buffalo with the longest horns in all of Africa." Smith spoke as he downed another drink. "If I don't, I'll pay you five thousand dollars. If I do, you pay. Is that a bet?"
"Sure, I'll take you on, boy." Buckley raised his glass. "No bloody reason to let the chance of free money pass me by." The other two raised theirs in agreement.
"Well, I guess I better go get some sleep. Wake me up at eight thirty." He told Ngaru who nodded. "I'll show you that buffaloes may better stick to grass." He left.
Hunter's Inn was managed by Ngaru’s family. His wife Wambui and seven children handled the cooking, cleaning and guiding the hunters through the wilds. When Smith woke up at eight thirty he smelled freshly brewed coffee, and eggs and bacon. He washed up then ate hastily, curiosity forcing him to rush out into the jungle to kill a buffalo.
He left at nine-thirty refusing to take the guide Ngaru offered him. This was a personal trip. By ten, he was out in the bushes hunting for his buffalo. The sun was still low though he could feel its warm rays getting hot. All the dew had disappeared from the grass and bushes.
There was abundant wildlife all over the place. Rabbits, bucks and small deer scrambled out of his way every other minute. Birds, hundreds of thousands it seemed, flew from branch to branch making the strangest of noises. Monkeys and baboons screamed and battled each other among the birds in the branches.
He saw a pride of lions but did not get close enough to arouse their attention. He scared off a herd of impala. There must have been hundreds of them. They sped off into the flatlands then slowed down since he did not pursue, and began their magnificent leaps. They would leap three to four feet straight into the air then come back down. With so many of them jumping at different intervals, it was a magnificent sight. He stared in awesome wonder.
The heat was beginning to get to him. He sat on a piece of rock by a small river and drank water from a flask in the knapsack into which Wambui had packed him lunch. As he was placing the flask back in the bag, he heard a rumble. A herd of buffalo was headed for the river to drink. Smith smiled broadly knowing he was in luck. He thought of how easy it would be.
Leaving the knapsack, he crawled behind a bush, gun ready and waited. Insects kept biting his bare legs, hands and neck. The heat made him itch. But all that did not bother him much. He was going to get his buffalo and return to the inn before lunch.
The herd huddled closely. He spotted four or five very big ones. He was wary though. What if he shot one and the whole herd descended upon him? The cape buffalo will attack as soon as it spots you, he recalled. He was still debating whether or not to shoot when a sound from his left made him turn around fast. A young buffalo was headed straight for him. He did not hesitate to shoot it. A clean shot through its right eye stopped it in its tracks.
Things happened fast. The shot buffalo let out a loud cry, leapt into the air then fell down dead. The sound of the gun shot reverberated in the bush. One of the bigger buffaloes, probably the biggest of them all, came after Smith as the others fled in a rampage.
Smith swiftly cocked the gun and aimed it back at the buffalo. One thing he had learned during his days as a hunter was to be able to re-load his weapon fast under pressure. He fired right between the eyes but with the buffalo moving so fast, the bullet hit its left horn, deflected and graced its right shoulder. Before he could do anything with the gun, the buffalo was upon him.
He dropped the gun and violently leapt out of the way. The beast missed him and came to a thunderous stop. By then Smith was headed for a tree not trying to outrun it. He climbed fast, not stopping until he was almost at the top. The beast came after him and ran into the tree, goring it with its tremendous horns. The tree shook but Smith held on. It was then that he realized he had left his gun on the ground. The buffalo gored the tree for a while, then stood still.
It waited for him to come down.
At noon, the sun was overhead, the heat unbearable. Smith removed his shirt and hung it on a branch. His throat dry, his stomach rumbling with hunger, he longed for Wambui’s packed lunch. From the tree, he could see his knapsack with the sandwiches and water. If only he could get to them. The buffalo flared its nostrils and huffed loudly. It dug its hooves into the ground throwing soil in the air. This beast had been down there for three hours yet showed no signs of leaving. It was an animal built for survival. It must have weighed way over a thousand pounds. A thousand pounds of lean meat and bones. To Smith, the buffalo was a thousand pound lean, mean, killing machine. The shoulder had stopped bleeding. Smith had hoped it would bleed to unconsciousness. This beast was alive and well.
Insects swarmed him. He had not known there existed so many different species of crawling and flying insects. Blisters covered his skin from insect bites. He hurt all over. His head felt light and he thought he would surely faint.
At last, after what seemed like eternity, the sun went down. On the ground, the beast kept its watch. Smith was starving, but at least he would be cool. He had tried yelling for help but it seemed he was the only one in the area. He hoped someone would come out looking for him. Even if they did, where would they search. He had been stupid enough not to tell them where he was going. And had been stupid enough to turn away a guide. What the hell was he thinking about? What was he going to do now?
Smith wanted to be back home in Denver. It was winter over there, ski season in the rockies. He wanted to be with his family, especially his fiancee, Jenny whom he would marry in a few months. Jenny hated hunting, just like Smith’s mother. He recalled the first time his father had taken him hunting when he had been so excited at shooting a fawn. His father had been very proud of him, but his mother scolded them both for their brutality.
He had been hooked on hunting ever since. It was a great feeling; waiting patiently, watching an animal knowing that its life was in his hands. Having power over its life. Squeezing the trigger and watching the animal shudder in a death spasm. Yes, it was a great feeling.
Somehow the tables were turned now. The buffalo under the tree was waiting, watching, knowing that he must come down from that tree. And when he does, it would kill him. He knew it. So he waited hoping that the beast would either walk away or fall asleep. It must be tired too.
He had a tough time keeping awake. It was pitch dark so he could not tell whether the beast was awake or asleep. But once in a while it would stomp or groan to remind him it was still there. Smith was tired and sick with hunger, thirst, and itching all over from insect bites. He was afraid he would catch the dreaded malaria. He did not want to die out here on his own.
The
shirt, which he had worn as the weather cooled down, was cold and sticky.
He heard cries in the night he never knew existed. Once he thought
he heard a leopard cry in the night. He shivered when he realized
that leopards do climb trees. In fact they live in trees most of
the time. What made him shiver most was what Ngaru had said about
scalping.
While
he was still thinking about that, the buffalo sat down human style with
its front legs up. In the moonlight, Smith did not know what it was
doing and thought he was hallucinating. It urinated what seemed like a
tank full. Smith tried to remember what Ngaru had said about urine
but could not fully recall. The buffalo waggled its tail in it then
stood up and swung it hard.
Smith felt a shower of the warm liquid splash, through the shirt, onto his insect-bitten back. Suddenly it itched like hell. He scratched with both hands, with the tree, anything. Another shower hit him and he thought he would surely fall out of the tree. He screamed as the liquid stung his skin. He grabbed onto a branch and held on for dear life as his skin felt like it was ripping away from flesh. Delirious from pain, he slid down the branch and almost fell were it not for another branch that held him. Smith almost gave up and climbed down the tree. He wanted to take his chances with the Buffalo thinking that maybe he could make it to his gun before it got to him but he decided against it. After a long time, the pain from the urine subsided.
The night lasted forever, but at last morning came. At sunrise, the beast began circling the tree. Smith was so exhausted, once or twice he almost slipped off the tree. His stomach groaned and growled in protest. He took a knife from his pocket and peeled off some birch. He chewed on it sucking the liquid which was bitter but refreshing. He cut off some more, sucking on it like a baby suckling on its mother’s breast. It might not have been much but at least it helped his empty stomach.
At sunrise when birds began chirping and flying to his tree, he was close to hallucination. The beast stared at him, and he thought he heard it saying,
"You don't think you can kill my child and injure me then get away with it, do you?"
"I didn't mean to kill your child," he moaned. "It was self-defense." The beast just stared, fire in its eyes. Smith could feel the deep hatred emanating from within it. This beast hated him. Not only for killing its offspring, but also for the hundreds of other animals and birds he had killed for sport all his life. They were all gathered in this buffalo ready to strike back. Now, delirious, he could almost see all the birds, deer and even the little fawn he had killed as a boy circling the tree and waiting for him to drop so they can trample and peck him to death. He laughed hysterically as he slowly lost control.
The buffalo walked around slowly, its muscles rippling, its head shaking. It was still as strong as ever. Smith was the weak one because he was only human. Men think they can rule over animals but they can only do so when armed. Unarmed like Smith, they are weaker than most animals. He was now certain that unless somebody came by, another hunter or some other beast like a lion or leopard, this buffalo was never going to give up.
He cut more birch and chewed on it. At least he knew it was not poisonous. Everything hurt from head to toe. Even though he had found a niche between branches where he rested without holding onto the tree, he knew he had to be on the alert lest he fell off.
Suddenly he heard a roar, deep and rumbling that was unmistakably that of a lion. The buffalo raised its head and perked its ears. Smith brightened, gaining strength and shaking sleep away. A lion would take care of the buffalo and Smith could climb down the tree and, armed with his gun, would go back to Hunter’s Inn.
A large lion appeared at the edge of the opening from the shrubs. Another one came out to its left just as big as the first one. The buffalo looked at them and snorted noisily, stomping on the ground but that did not deter the kings of the jungle. As they moved closer, the buffalo gave up and ran off. They rushed after him but stopped short probably after getting a whiff of Smith’s scent. They looked up the tree, spotted him then approached him. A new fear overcame Smith. He tried to remember whether or not lions could climb trees. Maybe the buffalo was gone but now he had two huge, fierce beasts down below who could tear him apart and feed on him for breakfast. One of them tried to climb the tree but it was too steep. The other one lay down in the grass and yawned, revealing its massive jaws and teeth.
It was almost ten in the morning yet nobody came by. Smith removed his shirt again and hung it on a branch. Vultures began to circle overhead lazily foating in the light wind. Every once in a while, Smith's mind would slip so he did not know whether he was in Denver or Kenya. He was hallucinating and the heat made him itch horribly. He had to scratch with one hand while he held on with the other lest he fell. This was hell.
At around noon, Smith must have dozed off for he woke up when he hit the ground. The lions were there ready for him. He scrambled to his hands and knees trying to rush to his gun which was only a few feet away, but one of the lions clamped its powerful jaws on his right leg while the other one tore at his neck. It did not take them long to tear him apart as lionesses joined them in the meal.
The
search party found Smith's knapsack. Nearby, they saw what looked
like pieces of bones, in a reddish patch of mud, all that was left of Smith.
He had become prey, the hunted.
In
the end he was only sport to the buffalo and lions, who won this round.
