by Linda Tucker
“Sure, X. It’s sinister. The hunters are pressuring the department for results.”
“Upping their aggro,” Xhosa concedes, his shoulders slumped, defeated.
“On the positive front,” I observe, “at least now we’ve something concrete to work on.”
CHAPTER 24
Unsettling Questions
THERE’S A CRACKING SOUND AND A HUGE FLASH in the dark. Then the smell of charred human flesh. A voice is wailing and I recognize it as my own. Everyone on our team has had to accept the occasional unpleasant jolt while tending to the electric fences, so this is nothing unusual. But tonight, when I opened the electrified gates, my silver bracelet caught on the electric wire, which amplified and protracted the effect. The smell of burned flesh comes from the last two fingers on my left hand. I couldn’t jerk free on reflex. Examining my fingers in the light of the Land Rover’s cabin, I discover that the burns are not so bad after all. With some ointment, they’ll probably recover in a couple of days. Jason, behind the wheel, gives me a comforting hug of sympathy.
July 30, 2005. It’s a crisp winter’s night in the bushveld. Almost three weeks after that last threatening letter from the department. Jason and I are out on a late-night check again, between 11:00 p.m. and midnight. Jason has established a roster, whereby a member of our team tests the fences every night at around this time, as well as dawn and dusk, to ensure there is no breach of our borders. It’s a grueling schedule. Tonight, and every night since my arrival in Timbavati, my most pressing objective is to get relief from the human tensions and to connect with the lions.
The past few weeks, in fact the past few years, have been a continual emotional rollercoaster. Just when I feel optimism returning, something else goes wrong and my morale takes another dive. The obstacles stacked up against Marah’s freedom, one after the other, have been so relentless.
On the positive front, our legal team has been effective in countering the department’s final warning and, thereby, staved off the executioner. The last ten days have passed without further reprisal from the authorities. However, we remain entirely in the dark as to whether the department will authenticate our project by issuing the outstanding permit, or shut us down. We are still bound in a tug-of-war. On our side, we don’t tug; we simply hold fast, our heels dug in deep so as not to shift our position. But sometimes there seems such a tearing frenzy of aggression on the other side of the rope that it’s taken all our reserves just to keep holding on. All told, we haven’t given an inch, but nor have we gained ground.
My only respite is to get out into the unspoiled wilderness and try to forget the darker side of human nature. Entering the realm of these luminous lions helps me maintain an inner calm and equilibrium. Everything stands still and human commotion dissipates. At night, Jason and I are in lion-time.
Having passed through one set of electric gates on the western property, we cross the Guernsey dust road and unlock the second set of electric gates on the eastern property. Each time we cross this road from west to east and east to west, I know we create an energetic link between the divided lands—like an artery between the two chambers of the heart—knowing that one day this heartland will be united as one. And each time we do so, it reminds me of my studies of Ancient Egypt and the attempts by the pharaohs to unite the divided lands.
Jason jumps out of the driver’s seat to open the gate on the other side, wearing a miner’s headlamp so he can see in the dark. For safety reasons, the gates Jason has erected run along a metal rail, rather than swinging open into the land. In fact, the safety design Jason engineered for our project means we enter into a cagelike space before opening the second security gate into the bushveld wilderness. He’s momentarily in the cage, having opened the external gate, and is sliding the internal gate open, grinding along its metal rail. On the other side, Jason drags the internal gate closed along its rail and locks the padlock. With Jason back in the driver’s seat, we are in the primary reintroduction area and steadily traversing the property in the direction of the lions’ boma.
Reaching the boma, I’m still licking my fingers in pain, but once I’m in the lions’ presence, I know I’ll soon forget my woes. Jason settles the monitoring Land Rover close to the southern fence of their boma, and we soak in the lions’ presence like starlight. It’s magnificent under the frozen night sky, with Scorpio stretched out above us in a shimmering sequence of dots.
Suddenly, he indicates for me to keep perfectly still. A gray duiker, a tiny antelope with dainty pointed horns, has ventured too close to the pride’s enclosure. The unwitting little creature is drawing intense curiosity from the cats. The duiker, looking up with a shock, suddenly stares four predators in the face and darts off in alarm.
“Hmmm, would’ve liked to see more instinctive predatory behavior from Marah,” observes Jason.
“And the cubs are still so innocent, all wide eyed and curious.”
“True,” Jason allows a note of concern to creep into his voice. Then adds, facing into the impenetrable moonlit darkness of the bushveld, “Really hope they’re gonna make it on their own. It’s challenging out there.”
“You’re concerned they might not survive in the wild?” It’s my greatest fear too.
“They should crack it,” he ponders, “if humans don’t prevent them from ever getting started.”
Concerns about Marah’s survival in the wild have been a long-standing topic of intensive discussion between us, but tonight the subject takes on a new urgency.
“Without any training period for her to practice her hunting skills,” Jason spells out the problem, “she’s missed her prime learning opportunity.”
We’ve been through the issues ad infinitum—the urgency, the risks, the intolerable delays. I am worried about Marah, but knowing her true identity and her prophesized destiny in reclaiming her natural kingdom, I keep praying that our gracious Queen will succeed against all the odds. Yet it’s hard to remain optimistic when there’s no end in sight.
I catch a glimpse of their glowing bodies, luminous in the moonlight. I can pick out the boys by their scruffy manes, backlit in a lunar halo. They all look restless and hungry now, but tomorrow they’ll be happily feeding. Until Marah is released and can hunt for herself, Jason continues to provide for her and her cubs. After discussing it carefully, we decided it would be an unacceptable cruelty to artificially place a live animal, like that little duiker who scampered away a moment ago, in the relatively small confined area of the boma, together with four hungry lions. Instead, Jason gives the family carcasses of a variety of different prey they might expect to encounter naturally in their land. The carcasses are given whole, together with their innards and stomach contents, to ensure the lions are getting their proper nutrition.
To minimize association between humans and feeding, Jason’s standard scientific protocol dictates that the carcass be dropped into the lions’ enclosure from behind a screen, without humans being visible. And to prepare them for the contrasting times of plenty and scarcity in the wild, he varies these feeds, sometimes waiting as long as ten days before providing their next meal. Tomorrow, he’ll treat them with the carcass of an adult wildebeest that we’ve purchased and transported from a game area some distance away, the species that Jason determined in his master’s study to be most favored by lions in this bushveld region.
We’ve observed that Marah is strangely altruistic when it comes to feeding, unlike most lionesses Jason studied in the wild. She tends to stand over her cubs, watching attentively to make sure they’ve eaten their fill before she herself tucks in. This is very unusual. Although it’s touching to watch her selflessness, this unusual behavior adds to Jason’s concern that she might never develop that killer instinct essential for a predator’s survival in the wild.
Because the cubs were raised by their mother, and not by interfering humans, their instincts appear naturally sharper than Marah’s own, particularly her feisty little daughter, Zihra. We’ve watched many chasing escapad
es in an effort to claim the same piece of meat—which is natural. But last time they ate, a little squabble developed between the two brothers over the last remaining piece. At this age, the boys are quite a lot larger than their sister, and they made sure they let off a low insistent growling to warn her off their food, rising to an impressive crescendo. But, undaunted, Zihra suddenly swooped in and seized the last piece right out from under her brothers’ noses! I reassure myself that these survival traits will stand them in good stead once they are released. If they are released.
Suppressing my frustrations, I adopt lighthearted conversation.
“Jase, let’s presume we open those gates right now?” I prompt him. “Just hypothesis, right? Who’d you think would be first out?”
“Hmm. Could be Letaba,” he responds, thoughtfully. “He’s dominant. Could make the first move.”
“Good bet,” I concur.
Letaba always showed himself fearless of mud or blood on his face. I remember him as a little fluff-ball in the concrete dungeons of the zoo. Even then, he “fiercely” threw himself against the bars to protect his mother. So I wonder whether Letaba, lionheart, will venture first out of those gates. Or will it be his mother, Queen Marah, who’s waited so graciously through seemingly endless trials to recover her heritage and reinstate her monarchy?
“Or Zihra?” Jason muses.
Both Jason and I glance through the Land Rover’s window toward Zihra, Marah’s beautiful daughter, who takes after her mother in looks but not in caution. She is an emerging leader in every sense, graced with an incorrigible curiosity, continually outwitting her floppy-pawed brothers with feminine stealth and strategy.
“I’d put my money on Zihra,” comments Jason. “But no bets on Regeus taking the lead, I’m afraid.”
Regeus is the handsome “mama’s boy,” King in waiting. He’s incredibly good-looking, and we all love him dearly. But, true to form, he always adopts the regal attitude of presuming the rest of the pride owes him a living, while he need not bother to lift his velvet paw. So we doubt he’d risk putting that paw out first.
Enlivened by this discussion, if only in theory, I gaze into our lions’ camp and suddenly notice that Marah has been watching us intently from a distance. She is so closely engaging with us, it feels she’s somehow overheard our conversation. She’s serene and glorious in the moonlight, physically glowing like a beacon, so it’s no wonder the White Lions are known as “Spirit Lions” (Ngonyama Moya) by indigenous peoples.
“D’you notice the white highlights under her eyes?” Jason points out. “To reflect the moonlight. Great aid to nocturnal hunting … one day soon.”
“Hmmmm, one day soon,” I respond.
Many critics of my project—particularly those holding White Lions in captivity, and now even some well-known scientists—proclaim these “freaks” would never survive in the wild because they lack camouflage. This argument continues to rile me deeply because the fact is that they did survive and flourish in this region until humans removed them for purposes of gross material gain. What’s more, in the silvery winter landscape, their white coats are fitting and not at all out of place, and if they choose to lie down out of sight behind the dry grasses, and upwind, no unsuspecting prey animal would guess their whereabouts.
Jason’s instinctive and innate knowledge of lions means I can easily share with him some of the shamanic techniques Maria Khosa once entrusted to me. Despite his scientific training, I’ve observed that these more intuitive interspecies techniques come naturally to him, since his instincts are already primed over the years by his closeness to the lions themselves. Then again, I respect his scientific precision, which helps me sharpen my own observation. There are behavioral aspects of our lion pride that I might never have noticed without his careful observations. A twitch of an ear indicating mood change; the “follow me” signs of dark fur on the back of the ears that act as flags during a strategic hunt; the whisker spots, like fingerprints, an identification entirely unique to each individual cat. Noticing every detail brings me closer and closer to my feline family—a warm, loving feeling that crosses all barriers.
Tomorrow morning, it will be back to the bureaucratic stresses of securing Marah’s legal rights to return to her land of origin, and the mounting practicalities of managing this project. But out here under the stars, we’ve reentered the magical world of the lions, in dreamtime. In the lions’ presence under the night sky, we find our spirits reviving and soaring! When we are together with Marah and family, we’re invincible. Human issues seem so pitifully small. Our love for the lions, and each other, deepens by the day. This soul bond is eternal, beyond time and space. It knows no limits, nor can the petty minds of men impact it. Love is the greatest force, and the force is with us!
Cosseted in the Land Rover with Jason asleep and my adorable lion family wide awake and playing under the stars, I try to imagine what life would be like without love. What would it feel like to detest oneself and the world so much as to feel unworthy of love? We all have moments of self-doubt and self-loathing, sure. But what would it feel like to hate oneself so acutely that the only way to enjoy beauty is to shoot it and put its head on a wall? We all have dark or “shadow” aspects. We’ve all made mistakes. But, again, I’m trying to imagine what it would feel like to be so dark that the only way to experience light is to destroy it, plunging oneself into fathomless darkness once again.
I shudder at the thought. In my mind, at this very moment, I return to that caged cell of the canned hunter’s house again. What damaged consciousness could construct vile cages to trap sensitive, living, flamelike creatures? And I begin to imagine what it must be like to be that tormented inhuman being, ensnaring himself in his own cages. It must be extremely painful. Surprising as it is to me, for the first time I start to feel compassion rather than anger, fear, and even hatred. This is a totally new feeling. These depraved people, brutally murdering sacred animals and blocking every step I attempt to take in forging the way to their freedom, desperately need nurturing and understanding. My dreaded opponents, brutalized and brutal, are crying out for love. And if they can’t earn love, they’ll steal it or kill it. Ironically, it is my overwhelming love for the lions that is helping guide me toward compassion for those who are perpetrating such terrible crimes against them. It doesn’t excuse anything, but it helps me understand.
Following this unlikely thought process through, I’m also coming to see why there is so much resistance to our project in the neighborhood. After the godfather of the canned-hunting mafia hurriedly relocated himself from the region, I’d mistakenly imagined our opposition was removed. Not so. Instead, the darkness that concentrated around this man seemed to have shattered into a myriad confusing fragments, coming back at us from all angles. Since most of the surrounding game farms remain under the ownership of staunch hunters, it was logical to expect a clash of ideologies from the outset. Yet it has always perplexed me that the return of these rare animals to their rightful lands should have the pro-hunting fraternity up in arms. This was, after all, the lions’ original endemic homeland! These majestic creatures were artificially removed from their natural habitat, and therefore have every right to return. So why so much aggression and obstruction to reinstating what is rightfully theirs?
Tonight suddenly, for the first time, I think I understand.
Coming back to the present time and place, I watch the lions radiating outside in the starlight—my pride and joy! Inevitably, the radiant White Lions’ shining light exposes shadows that some prefer to keep hidden.
With the lions’ return, uncomfortable questions are being raised: Why were the White Lions removed? Who was responsible for removing them? Who secretly benefited from their removal? Why were these rare animals allowed to go extinct? What vested interests were really at stake? Why were they not protected in the past? Most immediately, why are they still not protected?
These are the questions that demand answers at a ground level. At a higher level, I
am identifying another overreaching question, one that simply won’t go away until it is truly addressed by humanity. If the children of the sun god are indeed enlightenment bearers bringing messages of light and truth to humanity, they pose an ultimate challenge to those resisting change. The question is: Are we humans ready to receive grace and higher learning? Or will we fight to the end in an attempt to hold our egotistical position of control and domination over our Earth and her precious resources, thereby destroying everything, along with ourselves?
CHAPTER 25
Shock Tactics
AUGUST 27, 2005. NINE DAYS AFTER I SHOCKED MYSELF on the fence line, and my fingers, which are pressing the viewing slot open to see the lions in their enclosure, have healed. Jason’s standard protocol is to drop a carcass over the screen for them to feed on, and I have stood behind the monitoring screen numerous times during these occasions. This method has been working perfectly well. But this time, the impala carcass has mistakenly fallen on the electrified wire, and Marah is approaching to retrieve it for her cubs. She reaches out her paw to place it on the meat. Oh no! The shockwaves pass through the electrified carcass into her body and she recoils in agony, like she did that first time in the Karoo camp, but this time she won’t let go! I watch in horror. This food is her prize for her cubs, so she’s refusing to take her paw off. I watch her body jolt with pain. Jason and his team leap back into the pickup truck, speeding to the shockbox in order to turn off the current. All I can do is stand helplessly behind the feeding screen, horrified, trying to communicate to Marah to back off.
