We are worried about Bill. A buffalo was killed on the hill in front of Anna’s house, our guest house, last night. We can’t go down there to investigate because buffalo take several days for predators to consume. There are likely lions nearby sleeping off their meal in the tall grass under a tree, passing time until they return for second helpings.
Bill. If he is gone, we will miss him.
This is what we heard. At a little after 11, I was in bed and John just finishing his evening business in our outdoor lavatory. The yard and hillside glowed in the cool light of a nearly full moon. You didn’t need a flashlight, though around here it is always a good idea to use one. It was quiet; the complete, hollow stillness that remains after the insects stop clicking and buzzing. A loud snarl and sharp, guttural hissing growl broke the silence. It was pretty close. John, with his flashlight, had just rounded the corner of the bathroom. He hesitated, quickly swung his power beam around the yard and then sprinted back to the house. “That sounded an awful lot like a cat!”
We didn’t hear the struggle from our house but Diana, the BeadWORKS Development Manager who stays in our guest house 2 – 3 days a week, said what followed was some thrashing and then, for several minutes, the distinctive lowing moan of a dying buffalo. She’d heard it before when lion took down a buffalo right outside the tent camp she used to manage.
Around 3am we woke to a full choir of whooping hyena. Hyena don’t laugh, they whoop. It sounded as if they were everywhere, moving back and forth, some whooping in deep baritone, others harmonizing as tenors and altos. Several elephants moved through the valley providing the percussion section to this concert as they cracked branches and knocked over a tree or two. Then, as often happens during concerts we dozed off. At 5 am when we resurfaced the performance was winding down. Most of the hyena were quiet, replaced by the gentle yipping of jackal or wild dogs. From the large to the small, the food chain was full. The sounds of the night were replaced by the hornbills tapping on the windows reminding John it was time for their breakfast.
Your writing is exquisite. Takes me back to your African home. I hope Bill is ok.
You live in a tough neighborhood. Venturing out at night alone is dangerous. I hope Bill is ok.
Tell Diana that I said hello.
You bring the place alive for me. Thanks, Anne.
Yikes.I hope it wasn’t Bill, although whichever buffalo it was must have been someone’s friend. Keep your running shoes on.
Somehow you’ve got to sneak a peek at the parade of predators. How about the trail cam you have?
How hard it must have been to hear the crying of an animal being eaten while it was alive to die soon . This experience ,like I said before is life changing and I always thought Change was fun and good for us. Well it is good for us but for most of us it is hard. You two are champs in mybook. Thank you again for writing about your experiences and sharing with us .