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

by Andrew St. Pierre White

  My heart sank. “Be more specific.”

  “We need the motorboat,” came his panicked reply. “The fire has reached the Y-junction right opposite the camp.” That was about hundred yards from the Scops jetty. “We want to attack it before it crosses.”

  “I’ll gather a team.” I dropped the mic and was about to head off to Otter to get a group together, when E’man called back. “No need, Rra, we have a bunch of guys here. Just bring the boat.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  I suddenly saw the flaw in all my planning. The staff had gone, and I didn’t have the knowledge of the river to power a boat in pitch darkness down to Scops. I sprinted to Otter Lodge.

  It was deserted.

  I shouted and swore but no one came. Time was of the essence, so I ran to Romance Island, but again, no one was there.

  “Where the hell are they,” I raged.

  I was out of time. Panting hard, I bolted back into camp, meeting Gwynn at the bay.

  “I’ll go to Scops alone.”

  She gave a sick laugh. “No you won’t. Get Matanta.”

  “They’ve gone. Nobody’s here.” I ran to the motorboat.

  Gwynn grabbed my arm. “Andrew, don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Every minute we waste could see the fire jump. Once it crosses …” My voice trailed off. She knew exactly what that meant.

  Her hands found her hips. “So, you’re taking a motorboat out, alone, past hippos that will try and kill you?”

  I swallowed hard, but Gwynn wasn’t finished. “Past the fire burning along a channel? And with the water level so low, it’s difficult to see the sand banks during the day?”

  Gwynn didn’t need to tell me this. I knew it was madness. At no time since being on the island—or during my tenure on planet Earth—had I been this scared. But what choice did I have?

  I kissed Gwynn on the cheek. “Hold that thought.” I was halfway to the boat when the radio crackled again.

  “638. 638. 110.”

  Gwynn raced to the mic.

  I stopped to listen as Morag’s excited voice broke through. “The wind’s changed!” I straightened up, suddenly aware of the breeze shifting the smoke over the camp. It had indeed turned. “The fire’s burning back on itself,” Morag half-sobbed, half-laughed. “We’re saved.”

  Relief ploughed through me. I wouldn’t have to do this impossible thing. I sagged to the ground. All I wanted was a drink—something strong.

  But the danger hadn’t passed.

  The wind could change again just as easily. While the fire surrounded our tiny island, sleep would be impossible.

  It was past two when the guests crawled off to bed with promises that we would wake them the minute anything dangerous happened.

  Gwynn and I grabbed a few blankets from the CIM room and curled up on the lounge chairs, waiting for radio calls. It was a strange time, talking about the important things in life. It’s not very often that such an opportunity presents itself. Every now and again, we strolled, hand in hand, through the camp onto the runway to see if the halo from the fire had grown. It remained unchanged. As the night slipped away and dawn crept across the sky, I knew for sure that we had been spared—at least for that night.

  * * *

  That morning, the staff arrived in camp in their usual happy dispositions. The same could not be said for me.

  In the kitchen, Matanta, Robert, Kegkebele and Petso were getting the day started. I barged in and demanded, “Where the hell were you last night?”

  They looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

  “I told you to stay at Otter Lodge. I needed you last night, urgently.”

  “What did you need us for, Rra,” Matanta asked, looking genuinely concerned, but also a bit confused.

  “I needed to take the boat down to Scops.”

  “But the boat is still here,” Matanta replied, with annoying logic.

  “Yes. I know. But Englishman needed it to stop the fire jumping the channel.”

  “But it didn’t jump the channel.”

  This was getting me nowhere. “Yes. I know that, too. The wind changed.”

  “Yes, we know. The wind changed.” Matanta looked at me as if I needed help—of the psychiatric kind.

  What was the matter with him? Couldn’t he see how infuriating he was being? “But before the wind changed, I needed someone to help me get the boat down to Scops.”

  “You needed help to drive the motorboat on the river?”

  “Yes,” I almost shouted.

  At that moment, I realised that to continue arguing threatened the four hundred quintillion points I’d scored during the baboon shooting. They would drop to less than 25 in an instant.

  “Well. The company would have been nice,” I said lamely, almost hearing the reverse-beeping noise as I backed up. “I told you all to stay at Otter. You weren’t there. So where were you?”

  “At Honey Camp,” Matanta said, as if that was the most logical thing in the world. “It’s closer to Scops. We thought it best to be in the middle.”

  I rolled my eyes. Didn’t it occur to anyone to mention this during our kgotla? Then I remembered saying that I was the only one who would be speaking. Man, what a time to take me literally.

  “I get that, but how would you know if you were needed? Honey Camp is too far from both camps to be of any use.”

  Silence. They all stared at me. None of the brainiacs had considered that.

  Matanta picked up a pot and dropped it noisily. He was never ham-fisted.

  Saved! I kept most of my points. I couldn’t be too cross. Everyone was alive and no harm done.

  After breakfast, Gwynn and I went out alone with the motorboat to view the fire damage. As far as the eye could see, reeds, islands, and floodplains were black and desolate.

  I could only imagine how the game and birds had suffered.

  “At least it was a quick burn,” Gwynn murmured, obviously thinking along similar lines. “The bigger game and birds will probably have survived.”

  The quick burn had spared the two palms that stood sentinel in front of the camp. Their silhouettes were a vital part of the visual composition when looking out from the bay across the floodplains. They had graced every Tau Camp T-shirt ever printed, most of which now resided in my wardrobe.

  As I stared out at this scorched Earth, it was hard to believe that fire triggered new life in so much of the Kalahari. The seeds from the palm trees we mourned would never germinate unless doused by fire or the heat of an elephant gut.

  There was some comfort to be had in that, I suppose. They, too, were torn trousers.

  Chapter 57

  January turned into February, as it always does. The fires burned themselves out, and the water level continued to drop. With it, our stamina. Like the walking wounded, we stumbled onto the plane that would take us back to Johannesburg for our ten days leave.

  We had serious decisions to make about our future. Should we renew our contract? Or did we tender our resignation when we returned to Maun?

  Our discussions only started about half way into our leave because we used the other half to catch up on sleep. Truth was, we were exhausted.

  It was a hot day in Johannesburg with towers of cumulous clouds threatening an afternoon thunderstorm. Perched on the swing in Andrew’s parents’ garden, we barely noticed the darkening of the sky.

  “I’m tired of working someone else’s business,” Andrew said.

  I understood what he meant. While we had escaped our own businesses by selling up, relieving ourselves of the stresses of making a living, the results were far from paradise. Actually, it was mostly geography. I wondered if it was possible to truly escape on planet Earth. I had my doubts. Both good and bad stress, I was coming to realise, were the human condition.

  I bit my lip, suddenly conscious of a chill in the air. The wind picked up as the storm approached. Perhaps it reflected the change coming in our lives. I wasn’t sure if I was quite ready for it.


  “How about we stay for another six months?” I ventured.

  Andrew’s eyebrows knotted and his hand tugged at his beard. “We’ve seen all four seasons. Done stuff no tourist will ever do. Met some of the best and some of the dullest people the planet has to offer. Been bitten by every known insect.”

  I snorted. “Your point?”

  “How can we top that? Is there a magic we haven’t experienced yet? Would we remember it more by staying another six months?”

  I hated it when he was right.

  The first drops of rain started to fall.

  * * *

  We drove to Maun in our Land Rover with yet another letter for Sean. Again, as we had done so many months ago, we parked in the patchy shade outside his Maun offices.

  Sean was in his cave. Andrew handed the letter over and we waited. He looked up after reading it, and said. “I accept. With regret.”

  And that was it. We had just resigned from Tau Camp. We would work out a month’s notice and then it would all be over.

  I must admit to butterflies in my stomach, squadrons of them, as we flew into camp that afternoon.

  I could not help channelling Karen Blixen, of Out of Africa fame. Would the birds that squawked and squabbled around the camp pause in their capers to acknowledge our decision? Would the lechwe and impala look up from their grazing to mark the change? Or would the ripples of our influence dissipate, unnoticed?

  We took Matanta aside as soon as we landed. He waited, a quizzical expression on his face. I left it to Andrew to break the news.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “But you just got back.”

  “No. I mean, leaving. For good.”

  Matanta’s mouth dropped and he stepped back, looking as if he had been struck. “No, Rra. Don’t joke with me like that.”

  I placed my hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. But it’s time. We need to move on. Get on with our lives.”

  Matanta buried his face in his hands, saying nothing.

  I hugged him. He hugged me. Then he hugged Andrew.

  When they parted, tears sparkled in Matanta’s eyes. “For a year, one year, I have been the deputy manager at Tau Camp. The new managers,” he spat on a nearby bush, “to them, I will just be another stupid black man.”

  Guilt bit at me. “It doesn’t have to be like that, Matanta.”

  He snorted. “It does. And it will. I know how things work.” He studied each of us in turn. “Why? I thought you liked it here. Liked my jokes.”

  I smiled. “We love your jokes. But I’m kind of ready to have a family. You know, settle down.” I could see he wasn’t buying that. But then, why should he? If the rumours were true, he had bits of families scattered all over the delta. “I want a home of my own again.”

  He sighed. “I can tell the other staff?”

  We nodded.

  And that was how the month-long procession of well-wishers started.

  Impeleng was the first to appear. I was sorting through some paperwork at reception when I noticed her, impatiently tapping her fingers on the desk. I looked up and smiled. Without uttering a word, she shoved a large, colourful basket at me, and then scampered off to the laundry. Tears filled my eyes.

  Hers was the first of many gifts we received.

  Strange thing, though, I didn’t recognise some of the bearers who came toting baskets, woven bread trays, animals carved from palm wood, and seed bracelets and necklaces. Matanta and Robert said they were people who lived in the village. People I didn’t even know.

  It was humbling.

  Every day Matanta came to work armed with his camera. He kept sneaking up, capturing shots of me doing the most mundane things, like packing away stock, writing menus, or arguing with Morag.

  Yes, Morag and I continued our hostilities right up until the end. I never really figured out her case, though. I knew she wanted my job, but it all seemed so pointless. Life was too short and these precious interludes so fleeting.

  Chapter 58

  We had only a couple of days left when Joan called me up on the radio.

  “Your Land Rover has been broken into. They took the bonnet off and broke the back window.”

  My stomach plummeted. “Is the bonnet still there?”

  “Yes. I think they might have tried to steal the engine or something. But they were disturbed. They didn’t get much by the look of it.”

  The Land Rover had been parked at Joan’s home, hidden under some trees. Protected by a low fence and locked gate, it was easily accessible to passers-by.

  It could no longer remain there. But what would I do now?

  Assuming it was okay to drive, I could bring it to Tau. That would solve the problem of getting all our stuff to Maun by plane at the end of the month. But as no vehicles were allowed on the island, I’d have to keep the whole expedition quiet from Sean. Just like we had the Jugugugu trip he still knew nothing about.

  The camps had once been served by vehicles, the two wrecks in the bushes attested to that. But would the track still be visible enough to follow? I had my doubts, so I went and asked Matanta.

  “The village does sometimes get trucks with supplies,” he explained. “So driving there should be okay because the water is low. Only between the village and here, it could be difficult.”

  I saw an instant solution to my problem. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Matanta’s face beamed and he even did that twisty jive thing with his hips.

  The next challenge was to secure two seats on an outgoing plane—without Sean knowing about it. For once, the gods smiled on me. Two empty seats were up for grabs on tomorrow’s outgoing flight.

  I grabbed the radio. When Joan answered, I asked, “Is Sean around?”

  “He’s out for the day.”

  Could this get any better?

  “The two seats on tomorrow plane….they’re mine. I’m collecting the car. Please don’t say anything.”

  “Roger that.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Let’s pray the thieves leave it alone for another twenty-four hours.” If ever there was a woman whose outward appearance belied what went on in her heart, it was Joan.

  Mid-morning, the next day, Matanta and I arrived in Maun. Sepei happily ferried us to Joan’s house. I rushed to my car. The thieves had smashed one of the small back windows, but the bonnet was there. Its hinges lay in the dust. Inside, most of our camping gear was present, save for two Maglites missing from their clamps. In the engine bay, it was clear that something had been going on.

  “I think they tried to steal the carburettors,” Matanta said.

  One had been unbolted and its connections removed. But the repair was easy and the two of us had the engine running in an hour.

  “How long is the drive to the camp?”

  Matanta frowned. “Four. Maybe five hours.”

  I grinned at him. “Four if it goes well. Five if we get lost?”

  “Get lost? This is me, Rra. How can you even suggest that?”

  “Okay. Four if we don’t get stuck in the mud.”

  “As driver, that’s your problem.”

  “No. You are going on look out duty. If anything goes wrong, the problem is all yours.”

  Matanta laughed. “Nothing will go wrong, Rra. You’ll see.

  Wishing I shared his confidence, (I’d been around too long), we fuelled up in Maun. I bought us some biltong (similar, but much better than beef jerky) and Cokes for the road. We set off.

  Within an hour of Maun, the road narrowed into a side-scraping bush track, the type Gwynn and I loved to explore. Alone, I would never have found my way but, as promised, Matanta knew which way to turn on the dozens of intersections we encountered.

  We reached our first hurdle, the Buffalo Fence rimming the delta. We stopped at the veterinary check-point. The official knew Matanta and waved us through. Ordinarily, without a special permit, access to the delta would have been denied. To say Matanta was smug would be an understatement.

 
Four uneventful hours later, we arrived at our staff village. A horde of people came running out to meet us. After a cheery welcome, we looked for the track to Tau.

  There was none.

  We both knew which direction the camp lay, so it wasn’t a major problem. But, between it and us, lay an obstacle course of rivers, dried flood plains pitted with foot-deep elephant footprints, mopane tree stumps waiting to rip through a tyre, and, of course, aardvark holes by the thousand.

  It was thrilling.

  Matanta seemed to think so too. I had him perched on the window sill of the passenger door so he could look out for hazards. He leaned out further than necessary, obviously having a blast.

  “Left. Straight. Right,” his voice called above the grind of the engine.

  And then there was a loud bang, a lurch, a thump, and silence. The car stopped moving.

  I swore. Partly at him.

  “I thought you saw it.” Matanta pulled his head and torso into the car. “You didn’t see it?”

  “No. I seem to recall that looking for things was your job.”

  “I saw you swing the wheel. I thought you had seen it.”

  Eyes rolling, I climbed out to look at the damage—and discovered that your average aardvark burrow measures almost exactly the same diameter as a General 7.00 x 16 radial tyre. The kind my Landy was shod with. We were stuck. And this kind of stuck could only be solved by lifting the vehicle out of the hole with a jack.

  “Eish,” Matanta moaned. “Sorry, Rra.”

  I smiled. “Relax. I’ve got this one.” Eager to show off more of my skills, I trotted around to the back door where my hi-lift jack was mounted.

  My heart sank.

  “Bugger! They stole it.” Bravado shattered, my hand reached for my beard. It was time for some serious tugging while I pondered the impossibility of getting my car out of the hole without a hi-lift jack, or a winch with a second vehicle. We could be here for days.

  “It’s not a problem,” Matanta said, cheerily. “They are coming.”

  “Who are coming?”

  “The guides. They would have heard the engine for a long time. They’ll come and find us.”

  I shrugged and we sat down in the shade of the car with a couple to Cokes to wait. Ordinarily, a mishap like this would have infuriated me, but not today. Maybe I had finally caught some of the stuff that made Matanta great. “Man, I love this continent.” I grinned as I cracked the tab on my can. “No problem. Why stress? Help will come. Chill out.”