An Elephant Bull Called Elizabeth and Other Short Stories from Africa

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Anyone who has done it can tell you that sleeping on the ground, without a tent, midwinter, in a Zimbabwean national park can be a mind numbingly cold experience.  If your only protection is a locally manufactured Rob Ray sleeping bag then you had better add a few layers of clothes should you hope to sleep at all and so it was that I found myself the subject of hilarity as I prepared to bed down for the night on the banks of Nyamuni in Matusadona National Park.

The spot chosen overlooked a deep section of the river though 'river' might be a misnomer.  Certainly during a storm the river would flow but, mid-winter, if you fell in and didn't break a bone you would certainly rise only to have to dust yourself off rather than dry out.  The spot below us was the only place that did hold water through the dry season and that was why we were here.  The only source of water for many miles short of the shores of Lake Kariba it attracted the local inhabitants amongst which were a handful of Black Rhino.  It was one of these elusive beasts that we hoped to see.  Certainly the signs of their presence were there.  Active middens dotted the surroundings and fresh tracks followed the twists and turns of the river bed on the approach to the water.

Andy was the one doing the laughing.  This was my first night out, far from any campsite, in a national park where the big five (elephant, lion, leopard, rhino and buffalo) were present and I was both excited and a little nervous.  Experienced at sleeping out in a national park I was not, not at that stage anyway, but sleeping out in a Zimbabwean winter was something I had learnt much about growing up as I did, camping on farms or just out in the garden in Harare with close friends desperate to conjure up dreams of wild places such as the one as was about to bed down in.  Given this considerable experience I had brought just about every stitch of clothing that I possessed to ensure I stayed warm.  Problem was that, with it all on, I could not wriggle into my sleeping bag, it was just too snug a fit.  Struggling for ages I eventually came up with the bright idea of standing up in the bottom of the sleeping bag and zipping it up around me.  This worked a treat and I found myself as snug as a bug in a rug.  Alas my troubles were not yet at an end.  Snug as I was it soon became apparent that bending my knees in order to lower myself gently to the ground was next to impossible.  Much trial and error followed before a solution was found, I toppled over like a felled tree landing with a thump.  Perhaps you understand now why Andy was chuckling away at the sight in front of him.

Once the laughter died there was little if any chatter, if we were to see anything then silence was key.  The night was moonlight and it was by this stark ghostly light, casting faint shadows across a monochromatic landscape, that we hoped to see one of the few remaining wild rhino in Zimbabwe coming down to slake its thirst.

The moon slide across the sky but nothing moved, at least not within our limited view of the world.  A hyena whooped and further away a elephant rumble drifted on the still air but, wait as we might, nothing seemed to come any closer.  Warm and cosy as I was I eventually lost the fight to stay awake and drifted off as did Andy.

When I awoke the moon had set and the night was dark.  I lay still.  Alert.  Something had woken me, the alarm bells were ringing but I was not yet sure what they were ringing for.  I listened.  Out in the dark a noise came to me.  It sounded like sandpaper being lightly drawn in one direction over a stone.  Not a continuous noise but a short scuffing sound, followed by silence, then another sound, repeated in a slow and steady rhythm.  It was unmistakeable, an elephant was near enough that I could hear it walking and I was lying, tightly wedged in a sleeping bag, with a huge drop off to my rear and open ground to my front.  With the moon and expectations of a rhino sighting up this predicament had not seemed to be a problem.  In the dark and with Andy fast asleep I was a shade nervous.

The footfall approached with only the occasional interruption as the animal stopped and stripped a few leaves off an almost bare tree.  Lying deathly still and, I hoped, quietly the debate raged in my head.  Do I wake Andy up given that he has the rifle?  Are we actually in danger in our little spot off the main path?  Would the noise involved in waking Andy be a problem?