Torn Trousers: A True Story of Courage and Adventure: How a Couple Sacrificed Everything to Escape to Paradise

by Andrew St. Pierre White

  “It’s a hippo,” I replied.

  Morag darted a disgruntled look at me as if she resented me answering. “He’s spent the day lying in the shallow water, and now he’s making his way into the main channel. From there, he’ll pass onto the island. It’s suppertime.”

  The hippo honked a few more times and we all peered into the channel just upstream from the camp, hoping to get a glimpse of him.

  We were disappointed.

  “So hippos feed on land?” George asked. “I thought they ate fish and stuff in the water.”

  Again Morag answered first. “They come out to feed on grass, often walking for miles during the night.”

  “They’re pretty house-bound during the day,” Andrew added. “They can’t come out of the water for long because they get sunburned.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Mary asked.

  “No.” Morag now glared openly at Andrew. “They can’t take the sun. That’s why they only come out at night.”

  Clearly, Morag didn’t like other people knowing too much about animals. That irritated me, so I kicked back in my chair and said in my best story-telling voice, “When God created the animals, the hippo lived on land. But they hated it. Every day spent in the baking sun was torture, especially when they’d come down to the river to drink. Finally, one brave little guy plucked up the courage to knock on God’s front door. He asked if he could be allowed to spend the day in the water.”

  I pointed skyward to the heavens. “I wasn’t there, but from what I’ve been told, God didn’t like the idea at all. He said something like: ‘No, because if I let you in the water, you’ll eat my fishes.’

  “As you can imagine, the hippo was bitterly disappointed. But he refused to give up. A real little fighter, this guy. So, over the next few days, he thought about his problem. Then an idea came to him.”

  I leaned forward, conscious of everyone watching me—including Morag. “He rushed back to God and said, ‘If you let me lie in the water, I promise I won’t touch your fishes, and, as proof, I’ll eat nothing at all during the day.’ Apparently, God raised one perfect eyebrow, so the hippo added, ‘Instead, I’ll come out of the water at night and eat grass.’

  “God looked at the hippo for a long time before asking, ‘How can I trust you?’ The hippo had a ready answer: ‘That’s the best part of the plan, Lord. I’ll only ever do my droppings at night. And when I go, I’ll spray my poop over the ground so you can inspect it. And you’ll see, there’ll be no fishes.’ God agreed. And from that time forth, hippos have spent their days in the water, coming out at night to feed. And when they poop, they spray their droppings wide, and they honk, which means, ‘Look, God, no fishes!’”

  Everyone laughed.

  It even raised a smile from Morag, but she quickly suppressed it. “Gwynn’s story belies the fact that hippos are extremely dangerous animals. They kill more people each year in Africa than any other mammal. It’s for that reason, the local people like to be off the water come dusk.”

  Morag’s words fell into a void of silence.

  Finally, Herb stirred himself. “Talking about dangerous animals. Andrew, have you told everyone else about the hyena?”

  “Nein. We have not heard about this animal.” Hans turned to Andrew accusingly. “What have you been hiding from us?”

  “Name, rank, and number is all I’m giving,” Andrew said, eliciting a few laughs from everyone except Hans and Gretchen.

  She still stared out at the bay.

  “Last night a hyena came into camp,” I said. “He raided the kitchen, and ate some of our best appliances. It’s possible he’ll come back.”

  “Ja, now that would be wunderbar!”

  “I’ll send the kitchen staff out to give him a telegram, if you like,” Andrew replied. “Something like this: Have deputation of people to meet you. Stop. Be at the dustbins behind the kitchen at 21h00. Stop. Dress: informal. Stop. Bring own wine glass and cutlery. Stop.”

  I heard a soft scuffle and looked up to see Kekgebele standing next to me. “Dinner is served, Mma.”

  The timing seemed appropriate.

  Everyone moved to the dining room. Andrew poured the wine, while Kekgebele dished out the deep-fried Camembert and marula jelly starters.

  Crisp and golden on the outside, once cut, the sharp-smelling cheese oozed out onto my plate, melting into the insanely sweet marula jelly. Combined, it lured me into a taste explosion like nothing else on Earth.

  The chefs had again excelled. It made me wonder who had been on duty the night we’d eaten drunken chicken with Barbara and Rodney. Then I remembered Matanta speaking about a third chef, Seatla, who was on maternity leave. It had to have been her.

  Once my plate was scraped clean, I sat back, listening to our guests chatting and laughing like they’d known each other for years. Even Gretchen was engrossed in a conversation with Mary.

  “Poor Hans,” Andrew whispered in my ear.

  I smiled. All the chatter had drowned out his voice, and he looked quite glum as he stared out across the bay.

  Someone touched my shoulder.

  I jumped, spinning to see Matanta grinning at me.

  He leaned in close. “Mma en Rra. There’s a genet in the scullery. If you come now, you’ll see him.”

  Andrew turned to the table. “Sorry to interrupt, but there is a nocturnal visitor in the scullery. If we go quietly we will see it.”

  “Ah! The hyena!” a whispered cry went up around the table, followed by the scraping of chairs.

  “I hope they’re not disappointed,” I said to Andrew as we crept towards the kitchen.

  I could have spared my worry. No one could be disappointed at the beautiful sight that greeted us.

  The size of a large domestic cat, the grey and black spotted genet sniffed around the reed walls in the scullery. He tilted his pointed snout up, fixing his bright eyes on us. Flicking his banded tail, he scampered out into the night.

  “Strong little guy, considering how he ripped into your fridge,” Herb said, smiling at his own joke.

  “This animal is smaller than a hyena, ja?”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “Only to insects, mice, and small birds,” Morag whispered, in reply to Mary’s predictable question.

  Something akin to love in Morag’s voice made me look at her. Her face had softened, as if she were a mother cooing over a beloved child. In that instance, I saw a different side to Morag, a side I could relate to, even like. A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe, if she left my husband alone, we could build on this common ground of our love for African wildlife.

  I now regretted my silly story about the hippo. It had done nothing to build relationships. I promised myself to try harder to make things work between us.

  Herb looked intently at the spot where the genet had been. “Do you think it is worth waiting for that hyena?”

  Andrew, Morag, and I shrugged. Who could possibly tell if a wild animal, free to roam anywhere he wanted over the many thousands of square miles of the Okavango, would choose to come back to our kitchen?

  A murmur of disappointment spilled through the group. Perhaps realising the lateness of the hour, and the early morning that awaited them, our guests drifted off to bed.

  Then, Morag surprised me even more.

  Without saying a word, she joined Andrew and me at the bar, helping us re-stock the fridge. She even joined our debate on whether to disconnect the gas to the stoves and fridges in case the hyena did come back.

  “I think we should disconnect,” Andrew said.

  “But, what about the meat in the freezer,” Morag objected. “It may be autumn and the nights are cool, but still not cold enough to stop things rotting.”

  I was about to ask if she had ever opened The Cupboard, but changed my mind. “I agree with Andrew. The last thing we need is a gas fire in the kitchen.”

  Morag gnawed on her lip. “Hmm, and a fire would rip through the camp … okay, I’m with you. Fridges o
ff.”

  Maybe genets should visit the camp every day.

  Chapter 27

  The new shift system meant it was my morning to sleep in, but I chose to do something else. Binoculars in hand, I set off on a walk down the runway to check the irrigation sprinkler nozzles.

  What a way to spend a workday morning!

  Up at five-thirty, I hit the morning rush hour of baboons, letchwe, and impala as I headed for the strip, while listening to the early morning broadcast of bird song, and news from the arrow-marked babblers.

  It was like I’d died and gone to heaven.

  By seven o’clock, when the day shift arrived, I’d checked every nozzle, replacing some, putting others in my pocket for later repair. I joined the staff, and we entered the camp together.

  All was quiet.

  I made my way to reception to meet Gwynn.

  “It seems Herb got his wish,” she said, by way of greeting. “Hyena came last night.”

  One look at her face and the positive effects of my morning therapy were blown away. “Damage?”

  “We can just about write off the Hyena fridge. All your work on the seal is in bits, and the lining has been mauled again. He also had another go at the stove. Just as well we turned off the gas.” She took my hand and led me to the kitchen. “And, while the guests think it’s all wonderfully entertaining, Lesego’s a bit ticked off this morning. Major clean-ups for three days in a row just aren’t cricket. Or so he’s telling me.”

  “Cricket?” I said, suddenly seeing opportunities. “He knows about cricket? What about volleyball?”

  I never got an answer because Morag stepped out in front of me. She glanced down at our clasped hands, and then said stiffly, “Andrew, I know you’re short-staffed in the scullery, and I think I’ve got the perfect girl for the job.”

  “Thanks.” I pointed at Gwynn. “But employing staff to work in the kitchen is her domain. You two should discuss it.”

  “Her name is Petso,” Morag said to me, openly ignoring my comment—and Gwynn. “I met her today on my walk down to Otter. She was under a tree, stark naked, bathing in a large zinc tub. I heard her singing long before I saw her.” Morag gave a throaty laugh. “When she saw me she became shy. But when I asked if she’d be interested in working at Tau Camp, she leapt out of the bath and jumped up and down with excitement. I told her to come to the camp today to meet you. She’s behind the kitchen with Betty.”

  “Like I said, employing kitchen staff is definitely Gwynn’s baby.” I pushed Gwynn in front of Morag and headed to the kitchen.

  Gwynn stopped, digging her heels into the sand. Then she stunned me by bestowing a smile on Morag. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

  Morag snorted. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  Shaking her head, Gwynn now pulled me around the back of the kitchen.

  Clad in a short, hand-me-down-kind of skirt and a thin T-shirt, Petso was a slight girl in her early teens. Her only defect, as far as I could see, was one leg, which was slightly thinner than the other. I later learned it was from a brush with polio. Although pretty and scantily dressed, she radiated pure innocence. She stood before Gwynn, not daring to raise her eyes from the ground.

  “Petso!” Robert, who had joined us, suddenly shouted. “Look at the manager when she speaks to you.” But there was no condemnation, only mirth-filled approval in his voice.

  Petso looked up at him, and then at Gwynn, and smiled the biggest, broadest smile I’ve ever seen.

  Gwynn smiled right back and led her into the scullery. “So, Petso, would you like to work here?”

  Petso stood in wide-eyed wonder, looking first into the kitchen, trashed by the hyena, and then at the pile of dirty dishes and pots from last night’s dinner stacked on a rickety little camping table in the corner of the scullery. Her face beamed.

  “Have you had a job before?” Gwynn asked. When Petso shook her head, Gwynn explained, “As dishwasher, you must make sure there are always clean plates and glasses for the lekgoa. Then, you’ll have to prepare lunch for the guides. And you must also help the chefs with whatever they ask.”

  “Yes,” Robert interrupted. “If Matanta or I tell you to run to the laundry, or to make food for us to eat, or to mix the bread dough, then you must do it without being cheeky.”

  Petso looked first at Robert and then at Betty. Betty, who was clearly keen to see another scullery lady employed, said something in Setswana. Petso turned back to Gwynn and beamed even brighter.

  “If you work the early morning shift, you’ll have to be at work at seven o’clock sharp—not a minute later,” Gwynn said.

  “Yes,” Robert butted in again. “Because if you’re late then The Chief,” he pointed at me standing to one side, “will be very cross with you.” Petso’s eyes widened once more. “And he is very fierce. See those red bushes growing out of his face. Chiefs with red bushes growing out their faces eat naughty girls for breakfast.”

  Pesto’s face fell and she took a quick step back.

  I was about to object that my beard in no way turned me into an ogre when Gwynn said, “Thank you, Robert, but it’s been a long time since The Chief ate anyone, so I’m sure Petso will be quite safe.” She placed a reassuring hand on Petso’s shoulder and the girl relaxed. “Now let me finish explaining the shifts. We don’t just work during the day at Tau Camp, we work at night too.”

  “With no break, either.” Robert’s smile betrayed his discouraging words. It was obvious he wanted Petso in the kitchen.

  “The night shift ends at nine o’clock,” Gwynn said, trying to keep the interview on track. “Do you still want the job if you have to work so late?”

  With her hands clasped in front of her, Petso swung her body into a little skip, and then constructed her first complete sentence. “Em Mma, I want to work here.”

  A cheer went up and all the kitchen staff clapped.

  Robert immediately shouted, “Pets! Run to Scops Camp and buy me twenty Texan Plain. Ari.”

  Petso, looking uncertain, turned to comply.

  Gwynn grabbed her arm, while shaking a finger at Robert. “First, we must get you a uniform. Because you work night shift, you’ll have to move from the village to stay closer to the camp.”

  “She can stay with me at Romance Island,” Robert offered leeringly.

  “Thank you, Robert,” Gwynn said. “But I say she lives at Honey Camp, with Betty. She’s way too young and sweet for you, so keep your hands off her.”

  “Matanta lives at Honey Camp,” Robert wailed. “And if she stays there with Betty, he’ll have her for sure.”

  “No, he won’t,” Gwynn said even more firmly “He has more than enough problems with all his current girlfriends. Now, you all just leave sweet little Pets alone.” She turned to me. “Let’s go settle her salary.”

  Within a few minutes, Petso, now re-christened Pets, was laughing gaily, her arms in suds up to her elbows.

  I stood back and looked at Gwynn. “So how do you know so much about where the staff live?”

  “Matanta. He’s the font of all knowledge, willingly shared.”

  Chapter 28

  Breakfast: my favourite meal of the day. Our guests seemed to be enjoying it, too, judging by their satisfied silence. Finally, Linda wiped the egg off her mouth and spoke. She and George had just completed their first morning walk.

  “Dylos is a total scream. You’ll never guess what he said before he took us out.” Everyone looked at her expectantly. “The moment we climbed out of the mokoro, he lined us up like a pair of naughty school children and gave us a lecture. It went like this—”

  “The Okavango is a very, very dangerous place,” George interrupted.

  “George! It’s my story.” Linda slapped him on the arm. “He said, and I quote: ‘The Okavango is a very, very dangerous place. So, if you see a buffalo, you must climb a tree. If you see a lion, you must stand still. If you see a leopard, you must not look him in the eyes. If you see an elephant, you must climb unde
r a bush.’ Then he made us repeat it back to him. Only when we were word perfect, would he take us for our walk. But, by then, we were giggling so much, I think we chased all the animals away. Dylos isn’t very happy with us.”

  “Lecir said something very similar to us on our first morning,” Mary added. “It gave me quite a turn. I wondered why the guides don’t carry guns.”

  “Because they’re more likely to shoot themselves—or worse, you—if we let them loose with firearms.” Morag sat down to join us. Late, as usual.

  “But I still don’t get it,” Linda said. “Why the speech? I would never climb a tree if I saw a buffalo. And I doubt George could either—even if he tried.” She gestured to George’s rather large paunch.

  “Oh yes you would, if you saw the right kind of buffalo.” I smiled at George’s girth, “Not even that would stop him.”

  “That sounds like the introduction to a story,” George grinned, clearly unperturbed by the reference to his girth.

  “It is. One of my best friends scaled a tree with an arm in plaster from his hand to his shoulder—all because he saw the right kind of buffalo.” I bit into my toast, happy to leave it there.

  Herb was having none of it. “Andrew, you cannot possibly leave us in suspense after that opening.”

  What could I do but comply? “Before I met Gwynn, a bunch of friends and I came up to the delta. Jonty had his arm in plaster. Anyway, our guides took us for a long walk and we bumped into about a hundred buffalo. In numbers like that, they’re as innocuous as cows. It’s the stragglers or lone animals that are the ones to watch. Our guides let us get quite close, figuring it would be safe. But what they didn’t see was a bad-tempered bull standing to one side—until he charged. Only, they didn’t tell us he was coming. So, the first we knew was when the guides bolted up the nearest tree.”

  “Talk about a healthy sense of self-preservation,” George said.

  “No kidding. Matched only by us three guys. We also took off, leaving the three girls shouting and waving behind us.”

  “Now that’s what I call being a gentleman,” Linda said with a twinkle in her eye.