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

by Andrew St. Pierre White

  While doing his paperwork, he told me he was a film director living in Hollywood. Well, he was wearing brand new Ray Bans. And he sported the coolest Nikon camera and lenses I’d ever seen. So maybe he was telling the truth.

  “I’m here to see Africa,” he enthused. “I mean real Africa. And I was told this is a good place.”

  And it was. I just hoped he would have some good game sightings.

  We appointed Jackson as his guide. On the water’s edge that afternoon, Jackson stood at his mokoro and started giving Joe the ‘if you see a lion, you must stand still’ speech.

  Joe was having none of it. “Look, my man Jackson. I appreciate all this tourist stuff, but I want to see some animals up close. Can we go now?”

  Dumbfounded, Jackson stepped on board and pushed his mokoro and Joe out into the river.

  Around five o’clock, Gwynn and I walked to the front to welcome the guests returning from their afternoon excursions. There had been the usual sightings of kudu, wildebeest, zebra, and a distant elephant. KD’s group managed to get a good look at a Pels fishing owl, a real surprise, and something neither of us had yet seen. I made a note of its whereabouts in the camp diary, used to record noteworthy events, daily temperature, and animal sightings. Sean liked to look at it when he visited the camp.

  Come six o’clock, we were beginning to get worried. Joe and Jackson had not come back. This was the first time a guest had not returned on time, and we were clueless on what to do about it. We paced up and down at reception, remembering the story of the Belgian mercenary Karomona had got lost with in the bad weather.

  The sun had almost set when a lone mokoro appeared on the river. A dishevelled Jackson poled Joe furiously towards the camp.

  Once landed, Joe was a changed man.

  He hugged Jackson, and handed him two hundred dollars. Then he slammed his Nikon on the reception desk. It had been smashed. His big lens followed. Its front bits were dented.

  “Best day ever!” Joe gushed. “Spent the day up a tree, with a buffalo snorting down below. They charged us and we had to climb for our lives. Did you know that? When a buffalo chases you, you have to climb a tree! And fast.”

  Then he hugged me, too.

  I now understood Jackson’s bemused expression. Joe’s hug was as firm as his handshake.

  “So that stuff wasn’t bull after all. Good man, Andrew. I’m gonna put my camera on a display for all to see. This is what really happens in Africa!” Joe then pulled out his wallet again, and handed me a hundred dollar tip. “Go buy your lady something nice. It’s not for the staff. It’s for you.”

  That was the first and last monetary tip we received at Tau Camp.

  Chapter 36

  Sadly, Joe left. Even more sadly, the French were still with us. Tonight was their last Tau dinner. Robert and I stared into the depth of The Cupboard, where two fillets and a couple of oxtails, our last remaining meat, lay congealing in their own slime. Somehow, all of Andrew’s attempts to get the freezer working had failed. It really was ready to be pensioned off. But having given the French fillet steak on their first and second nights here, I could hardly dish it up for their third. The problem was, anyone eating that oxtail would probably spend the next week hanging over a toilet. In a hospital.

  “Maybe today, Mma, Sepei will send us supplies,” Robert said, with an air of hopelessness.

  I shook my head doubtfully. “Only one plane coming in, and it’s filled with Scops Camp lekgoa.”

  “No lekgoa for Tau?”

  “No.” I whistled glumly through my teeth, and then joked, “I suppose we could always do a tuna bake.”

  Robert snorted his disapproval, hoicked the oxtail out of The Cupboard, and plunked it down onto the counter. We stepped back, retching.

  “I’ll radio Sepei again and plead with her,” I said, holding my nose. “In the meantime, give that oxtail a decent burial.”

  “And if the plane is too full for stock, Mma, what then?” Robert asked, tossing the oxtail into a bucket.

  “I’ll beg some meat off Milly. Let’s just keep the dinner menu open until further notice.” Sensing his disapproval, even though we both knew the situation was entirely out of my control, I changed the subject. “So what do you know about Matanta’s bone throwing skills? Is he really a sangoma?” Robert’s face instantly went into lock-down, but I pushed on. “I thought Karomona was the only sangoma on the island.”

  Robert pulled himself up tall and replied, stiffly, “Mma, I cannot talk of such things. It is forbidden.”

  I was about to protest that Matanta didn’t seem to mind talking about his skills, when we heard the screeching of cats—a sound that had been blessedly absent for the last week or so.

  Robert and I dashed out the still-broken kitchen door in time to see Tom chasing Woodie through the camp.

  A wave of fury hit me.

  After weeks of hiding out in our cottage, Woodie had finally plucked up the courage to look for me at work and Tom had savaged her.

  Again.

  By the time I reached home, Andrew had the first aid kit out. “A gash on the side of her face. It looks bad,” he said, dousing her cheek in water and disinfectant. She was too beat up to even struggle.

  I slapped the letaka wall. Hard. “That’s it. Tom leaves today.”

  Andrew handed me the cotton wool and the trembling Woodie. “I’ll tell Thekiso to punch some holes into a cardboard box. As soon as we catch Tom, he can pole him down to Scops.”

  By the time I’d finished medicating Woodie, Tom had been evicted. Aside from protecting my own cat, getting rid of that menace seemed like my first real triumph at Tau Camp. I finally felt like the manager. So, it was with a tiny spring in my step that I headed for the airstrip to meet the incoming flight.

  The booking sheets promised an Islander and I was hopeful Sepei had squeezed some Tau stock aboard. Andrew’s face lit up as the pilot unloaded wooden poles needed for fixing the scullery roof and building the kitchen door, some bricks for the new donkey boiler, and even a bag of cement.

  I wasn’t so gleeful. There was no meat. Not even a lousy sausage.

  So, with dinner looking decidedly shaky, I headed for the radio to call Milly.

  It squawked to life as I reached reception. “638, 638. This is 110.” It wasn’t just 110 calling, it was Milly.

  I wondered if she was radioing to moan about being saddled with Tom. To pre-empt that, I grabbed the mic and said, “Milly! How’s Tom doing?”

  “Tom?”

  “The cat.”

  “He’s here?” With the mic still keyed, she yelled, “Kyle! E’man! What do you guys know about a cat?”

  “Last time I saw him, he was mauling a rat under the bar,” I heard Kyle yell back, sounding as if he was on the other side of the camp. Things were definitely a lot more casual down at Scops Camp.

  “Seems he’s having a grand time,” Milly said. “When do you want him back?”

  I shoved my guilt aside. “Never. He’s all yours.”

  “Cool. The rats have really been getting on top of us.”

  I let go of a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Great. Now I need to ask you a favour.”

  “Seems like you’ve had your favour for the day,” Milly interrupted. “And anyway, I called you. Do you have any spare condoms? Kyle and I could really use some down here.”

  I swallowed hard, but that didn’t stop my voice from squeaking, “Condoms? Um…actually, Andrew and I…well…we tend to use—”

  “Not condoms,” Andrew shouted into the mic. “And when the hell do you guys even find the time or energy for it? Share the secret.”

  I covered my face with my hands. What was the matter with these people—my husband included? Didn’t they know that everyone in the Maun office could hear our chatter?

  Milly was laughing hysterically when she came back onto the mic. “Not for us, you idiot. Kyle and my sex life died the day we started running this camp.”

  “Then for who?�
� I croaked as Andrew cracked up laughing next to me.

  “Our staff. They seem to have both the time and energy. They’ve been going at each other like rabbits. Now everyone has some horrible disease. It’s the pits.”

  “And you know this because?” I asked, wondering if I really wanted the answer.

  “Because I’ve had a line of them here today, all wanting to show me their tackle.”

  “How nice for you. But we’re clean out of condoms.”

  A new voice entered the fray. Joan in the Maun office. “I’ll have Sepei send you up a couple of crates of rubbers, Milly. Verity will also let the district doctor know that her services are required. And, Andrew, just in case you’re feeling left out, I’ve news for you, too—Tau had a cancellation, so after the French leave tomorrow, you and Gwynn have an empty camp.” I could hear laughter coming from the staff in the Maun office. “Use the time wisely.”

  “Tau has an empty camp! That’s not fair! What about Kyle and me?” Milly moaned before Andrew and I had even finished our jubilant high five.

  Then we heard Kyle say, “Leave this to me, Mill, I’ll burst their bubble. An empty camp huh, Andrew? Remind me, didn’t someone once mention something about a volleyball tournament?”

  Andrew grabbed the mic from my hand. “The challenge stands, Kyle. Prepare yourselves for a thrashing.”

  “Right on,” Kyle shouted triumphantly into the mic. “You Tau wusses be here tomorrow night and we’ll see who gets the thrashing.”

  Before Andrew could respond, the mic crackled.

  “Sorry to be a kill-joy, guys, but I’m doing my best to rustle up some late bookings for tomorrow,” Joan said.

  Andrew’s face fell, but maintaining a professional edge to his voice, he said, “Of course, Joan, guests are the top priority, but how about a cut-off time?”

  “Meaning?” Joan barked.

  “Three o’clock tomorrow afternoon we turn off the radios. If you haven’t told us about a late booking by then, the volleyball tournament goes on as planned.”

  The radio went silent for a full minute and I could picture Kyle and Milly on the other side of the island, waiting, breath held, just like Andrew and I were. Finally Joan spoke. “Deal.”

  A joyful ululation broke out behind us. I swung around to see Matanta and Robert leading the rest of the staff in an impromptu dance.

  Robert broke away, jived over to Andrew, and slapped him a high-five. “Rra, the team, leave it me. By tomorrow I’ll have us some champions.”

  Everyone cheered.

  Whistling Elgar’s Land of Hope and Glory, Andrew started towards Robert. I grabbed his shirt. “Not so fast. I think we have a problem.” He looked at me like I’d sprouted a moustache. “You forget that Joan, Verity, and Sepei are not the only people working in the Maun office. Sean is there too. Maybe even Sandy.”

  Andrew’s eyes widened with understanding. “Oops.” He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and scribbled a note. “This may save our lives.” I read it before he shoved it into the mailbag to go out on tomorrow’s plane.

  Dear Sean

  I would like to inform you of an upcoming event. For the smooth operation of the island, I have decided that our relationship with Scops Camp and their staff is in need of improving. Hope you don’t object, but I have planned a Tau versus Scops volleyball game at Scops on Friday late. Milly will provide a simple meal for all team players. We will only do this if Tau Camp is empty. Please let me know if this is okay.

  Regards

  Andrew

  It would arrive in Maun too late for Sean to object. Grinning like a cat, Andrew bounced off with Robert and Matanta for their first team talk.

  Oh, and by the way, I think the French enjoyed the fillet—doused in a red wine sauce to mask the rancid smell and flavour.

  * * *

  An empty camp. I hardly knew what to do with myself once the French left. Then I saw Kegkebele and Lesego dragging the kitchen table out onto the lawn.

  “And now?” I asked.

  “No lekgoa means spring cleaning,” Matanta said, from the kitchen door. He stepped aside, allowing Petso, holding a bucket and a mangy-looking brush, to pass. “Pets, you scrub that table until your hands bleed.”

  Petso bobbed something that looked like a curtsey, and attacked the table as if her life depended on it.

  Making a mental note to check on her in ten minutes, I poked my head into the kitchen. Matanta wasn’t kidding when he said they were spring cleaning. Betty was on her knees, scrubbing out the oven. Kekgebele slopped a cloth across the grimy shelves in the steel grocery cupboard. Shining the stoves had fallen to Lesego. Robert had the unenviable task of sanitising the belly of The Cupboard—or rather, trying to. Even Matanta was down on his knees, grinding his way through the grease build-up on the concrete floor. I grabbed a cloth and joined in, swabbing down the other two fridges.

  My staff’s cheerful banter—most of it about the upcoming volleyball game—made it the best cleaning experience I’d ever had. Then it struck me that one voice was notably absent in the chatter.

  Lesego.

  I stopped what I was doing to watch him trail a handful of steel wool across the gas burners. He wasn’t even breaking the crust on the leftovers from the French guests’ breakfast. At this rate, we’d need a couple of months of empty camps before he’d dragged his way through the midden caked on the stove. Yet again, I saw the glaring contrast between him and everyone else. To add to my frustration, he had been late again for work this morning, leaving me scrambling around making tea when I should have been coddling guests. “That’s hardly going to get the job done,” I said. “Put some muscle into it.”

  Lesego let his steel wool plop back into his bucket. “I’m a waiter, not a scullery girl.”

  Robert swung his soapy cloth into Lesego’s face. “If Mma and Matanta can scrub until their fingers drop off, then so can you!”

  Fingers drop off? An image of Petso with bleeding hands shot before my eyes. I was supposed to have checked on her, and at least an hour had passed. I flung my cloth down and dashed outside, leaving Matanta and Robert to deal with Lesego.

  Uniform wet with sweat, Petso still scrubbed away at the counter. Any more rubbing, and the melamine would flake away. I sent her into the kitchen to show Lesego how it was done. A couple of hours later, we all agreed there was nothing left to clean or polish.

  You want to know a depressing thing?

  All our work hadn’t make a jot of difference. No one visiting would ever suspect that seven people had spent the morning scrubbing the ancient surfaces, cracked concrete floor, and broken appliances. If Sandy arrived, she would probably tell us to start over.

  It was time to do something life-affirming.

  I went to find Andrew. He was messing around with the electrics in the dining room. “Radio’s been nice and quiet this morning,” I said.

  He looked up from his wiring. “Don’t speak too soon.”

  “Joan wouldn’t really send us a late booking? Or would she?”

  “Empty camps are bad business. Everyone knows that.”

  I sighed. “Maybe we should just turn the stupid radio off.”

  Andrew’s head jerked up, and he glared at me. “I said three o’clock, and I stand by that.”

  Huh! Why did he always have to be so noble? I gave the bay in front of the camp a disgruntled stare.

  “By the way, I’ve something to show you. Come.” Andrew tossed his tools down on the sideboard.

  I followed him across the room. He pointed at the rolled up letaka blind and my heart skipped a beat. Woodie! Praying she’d plucked up the courage to come into camp, I lunged forward.

  Andrew grabbed my T-shirt. “Easy. You’ll frighten each other.”

  Not Woodie.

  I stepped forward more carefully this time.

  A bright black eye, set in an iridescent green face, hatched with black markings, stared out at me from the rolled up blind. Then, a startlingly blue forked tongue f
licked out, smelling the air.

  “Jeez!” I jerked back, bashing into the table as a lissome body sailed out of the letaka towards my face. “It’s a bloody boomslang! Are you crazy? We can’t have that thing living in here.” (Boomslang—tree snakes—are deadly poisonous, even if they are a bit reticent about attacking people.) That said, there was nothing retiring about this guy. He was as angry as any snake could be.

  Andrew smiled. “Relax!” Then the idiot put his finger out and stroked the snake on the side of the head.

  Its mouth shot open, and it reared back, hissing at him.

  At that point, I almost wet myself. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  So Andrew said, “See that blue tongue with the black tips?”

  I managed a nod.

  “It’s a major tell, distinguishing this little beauty from a boomslang.” Andrew sounded way too calm, especially as his fingers were still trying to tickle the snake under the chin. “He’s a spotted bush snake. I’m going to call him Spotty.”

  Still keeping my distance, I objected, “But we already have a Spotty. The hyena.”

  “So? We also have a bat called Moriarty and another bat called Moriarty. They live next to our toilet. Or have you forgotten? I’m just going for consistency.”

  Andrew had spent too long in camp. He needed to get out more. I took his hand and gently pulled him away from Spotty. “How about asking Matanta to teach you to pole?”

  Chapter 37

  Gwynn was right. I was suffering from cabin fever. When we arrived here in March, the water level had been low. Now, in mid-winter, it was at its highest, and we hadn’t left the camp for weeks to enjoy it.

  It was time to organise myself some transport.

  But before I could risk taking a mokoro out into the delta, I had to learn to pole. Gwynn suggested asking Matanta to help me, but like all men, I have this independent streak that stops me from asking for directions. I headed for the bay where, happily, one of the guides had left his ngashi—the stick used for poling—in his mokoro. That was equivalent to leaving your keys in your car’s ignition. Silly boy.