by Ralph Helfer
The lions were the last thing loaded onto the plane; large forklifts lifted their cages one by one, and the cages were then strapped down and bolted for security. I positioned the cages so that the lions could see me and Kellen at all times.
Before takeoff, the captain, copilot, and steward came over and introduced themselves. They were the only other people on board.
“They’re sure big!” the copilot exclaimed. “I never realized just how big they were until now. Seeing them up close really brings it home.”
The captain reminded us to be sure the cages were securely locked. We assured him that they were.
At takeoff, we talked to the cats, reaching our hands into the cages and stroking them to give them a feeling of security. Without the plane’s infrastructure, the motors were deafening. When we settled at our cruising altitude, the roar subsided to a steady hum. The lions barely reacted. By the time we were in the air, Zamba was already lying down resting comfortably. The other two were licking their fur.
Kellen and I unfastened our seat belts and walked around the plane. We could have set up a basketball court, with room to spare. Brian, the steward, came out with some drinks and snacks. He couldn’t take his eyes off the lions.
“They are the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen,” he remarked. “And they seem so docile.”
I smiled. “Well, they are. Beautiful and docile.”
Zamba yawned, and Brian tripped as he was leaving, almost spilling his tray of drinks and food. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
About two hours into the flight, the captain invited us into the cockpit where he explained all the dials, controls, and principles of flight. Flying at about twenty thousand feet, we had crossed over Italy and the Mediterranean, and were now flying over Egypt. We were headed due south for East Africa, the beltline of the continent: the equator runs directly through it. The continent of Africa is about three times bigger than the United States. We would stop in Khartoum for fuel, and from there, it would take us about ten hours to reach Nairobi.
I could see the vast stretches of the great Sahara desert below me, and I can’t even begin to describe the tremendous feeling of pride and excitement and anticipation I felt as I looked down. I felt as if it really penetrated for the first time—when we got off this plane, Zamba and I would be in Africa together.
The hours droned by. The captain or one of his crew would periodically come out to see how we were doing. The steward brought sandwiches and drinks. Finally the captain pointed out the city of Khartoum in the distance as we started our descent. It was time to gas up.
The plane landed softly despite all the potholes in the runway. We had to park at the far end of the runway as a security measure because the lions were on board. It didn’t seem to matter; news of the lions had traveled rapidly, and hordes of people with their camels and goats were running down the runway toward our plane. How they knew we were arriving was a mystery.
We were in for a shock when we opened the doors. Unbearable heat hit our faces like a blast from a furnace, and the temperature in the plane rose in a matter of minutes. The atmosphere was suffocating. Never before had I experienced such heat. The lions stood up and started to breathe heavily. I was worried about Zamba and Zamba Jr.; their manes were so heavy, I was afraid they would suffer heat stroke.
I explained the danger to the captain, and he ordered the doors closed and the air conditioner left on. Kellen stayed behind while I went with the captain to fill out the permits for the cats. We pushed our way through the crowd and headed for the operations building. The heat was stifling, and by the time we arrived we were wringing wet. I wondered how the people around us, wearing their customary turbans and kanzus, the long cotton robes worn by Muslim men, could possibly stay cool.
I was fascinated by the camels. They were everywhere, bawling their displeasure at one thing or another. Most of them wore bells, bangles, and bright-colored blankets, and had tufted wool balls swinging from their reins. They all had intricate, painful-looking brands burned into their skin. Some of them were ridden by young children who whipped them with little sticks; others wandered freely, along with small groups of goats.
We signed the documents and headed back to the plane. As intrigued as I was by my surroundings, I was anxious to get back to the lions. The local airport attendants were just finishing filling the gas tanks as we arrived back at the plane. A dozen men in uniforms, the local law enforcement, came onto the field, pushing and shoving the gawkers and their camels in an attempt to get them off the field. It wasn’t until the engines started up that the camels bolted and ran off.
We blasted off, circled the city, then set our bearings for Nairobi, Kenya. Soon, it was very hot in the airplane. We took off our shirts when they started dripping with sweat. After we had been airborne about a half hour, I noticed the lions were sweating and breathing hard. I called the captain on the intercom.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “The lions are really very hot back here.”
“Sorry about that. The air conditioner isn’t working well enough to cool the whole plane.”
I called again half an hour later, but there was no answer other than the one I’d already gotten. By now the lions were drooling, and their skin was sopping wet.
I talked to the pilot a few more times, even discussing the possibility of landing somewhere to cool them off, but between where we were and Nairobi there was no runway big enough to accommodate the plane. He also pointed out that it would still be very hot wherever we landed. “It’s best to keep on flying.” There was nothing he could do.
I had to do something. Tammy wasn’t suffering as much as the other two, but Zamba’s and Zamba Jr.’s manes were now drenched. I motioned to Kellen.
“Turn them loose,” I said. “Help me open the cage doors.”
I got up, fumbled for the keys, and started to unlock the doors.
“Are you crazy? The captain’s going to have kittens if he finds out.” Kellen stood up. “Ralph—are you sure about this? Hadn’t you better tell him first?”
“If I do, he’ll say no, and if we don’t do something these cats are going to suffer heat exhaustion. Are you going to just stand there or are you going to help?”
We raised the cage doors, and one by one the cats walked out. They were all soaking wet and breathing hard. At the bottom of each cage was a puddle of sweat mixed with the bedding straw, creating a soggy mess. The cats gave us their usual greeting by rubbing against us. They peed against the wall and proceeded to explore the whole plane, smelling and rubbing every surface, and finally settled down where the passenger air conditioner blowers were the most powerful.
We pointed the blowers at the lions and wiped them down with some paper towels from the toilet. A bit of combing helped the air to circulate and dry out their fur. Then we joined them stretched out on the cabin floor to relax under the blowers. They closed their eyes and let the air blow across their faces. Within an hour much of their sweat had dried off.
Once they were a little more comfortable, each took a window, lying down and watching the clouds drift by. Tammy wanted to be with Zamba, so she climbed up and lay across him to see what he was seeing. It was a wonderful, awe-inspiring moment, seeing them so calm, so interested in the cloud formations. They didn’t know they were twenty thousand feet up in the air, traveling at more than three hundred miles an hour. They didn’t know that the clouds were made of water and no, you couldn’t walk on them.
I stroked Zamba’s mane. He rolled over into my lap and closed his eyes, totally contented. Was it his lack of awareness that made his purity of heart possible? I was deliberating the point when the cabin door opened. I bolted from my stupor.
“Oh boy!” murmured Kellen as he jumped up, moving to head off Brian coming out of the cockpit.
“I brought you some chow and—holy shit!” The man’s mouth hung open. Kellen grabbed the tray just as it started to fall. “Oh my God. Are you both crazy?”
He stood t
here in total shock, not knowing what to do or where to go. Kellen managed to close the door behind him before the others found out.
“Oh shit! Oh shit!” His breathing was heavy and uneven.
I hurried over to him, grabbed his arm, and led him over to our seats. “Here, sit down, relax. They’re not going to hurt you.”
“What in the hell are you guys doing? You’re both mad. We’ll all be killed!”
“They’ll only kill you if we’re not happy with the food,” cracked Kellen. His dry humor didn’t help.
“No really, it’s okay, it’s totally safe. Please don’t worry.” I comforted the man, shooting daggers at Kellen.
Poor Brian looked like someone who had just been thrown into ice water. Zamba was annoyed that I had disturbed him when I jumped up and was looking for another comfy place to lie down, but Tammy was curious about our guest. Kellen was supporting Brian’s weight as best he could, but as Tammy walked toward him, Brian’s legs gave way again and he slid down the wall. Tammy came over and rubbed against him, knocking his cap off.
“Go ahead, pet her,” I said. The man was useless. Kellen lifted Brian’s hand, put it on Tammy’s back, and moved it for him. He just gazed straight ahead. Tammy eventually flopped down beside them, head next to Brian’s legs, and dozed off. As Brian gradually regained his composure, life came back into his body. His hand started to function on its own.
“My God. Oh my God,” was all he could say.
A half hour passed before he had gathered his wits completely.
The captain’s buzzer sounded.
“Brian, where you? How about some coffee?
“Ah. Yes. Yes, sir, right away. Coming right up, sir.”
He slowly got up and slid out from under Tammy’s body, not wanting to wake her.
“Don’t say anything about the lions.”
“Not a problem, sir, not a problem.”
He carefully slid through the door into the cockpit so as not to alert the others.
We had just settled down to a bit of sleep when we heard a loud commotion coming from the cockpit.
“They what?”
“You what? You’re kidding me.”
A loud discussion followed, and while I couldn’t hear it all, I did hear words like “killer” and “savage attack.” After a little while, the door opened slightly, and we could see part of the captain’s face as he peered out into the coach area. Brian was in the background, and I could hear him valiantly trying to tell the boss how wonderful the cats were.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re breaking every rule in the book. Put them back in their cages, now!”
Kellen and his dry sense of humor again. “Don’t worry, sir, they just had lunch. Besides, I used to fly a Piper Cub.”
I tried to calm the captain down.
“Look, sir—these lions are very special. They’re going to be working with a small girl in the movie we’re going to do.”
He was unmoved. So Kellen and I got up and did every possible thing we could with the lions to prove to the captain how safe they were. We rode them, put our hands in their mouths, pulled their tails, kissed them, though they made it clear that they’d rather be sleeping. It took an hour for the captain to be convinced to come into the coach cabin.
But by the time we were in sight of the Nairobi airport, everybody on board had met the lions. The pilot and copilot were taking turns flying the plane so they could take pictures with the copilot’s little Kodak camera to prove it had happened. They wouldn’t rest until we had promised them all a visit to the set to see the film being made. After a final lick from Zamba for the captain’s face, all the cats went back in their cages. We roared down the runway to a perfect landing.
20
Coming to Africa had a profound effect on both Zamba and me. He was returning home to his birthplace, and a place where he had almost died, and I was finally seeing a place that I had dreamed about all my life. In a way, I felt that I was also coming home. I couldn’t explain the feeling; I just knew that I had real ties to this place.
A representative from the production company assisted with the paperwork at the airport. Once the animal control officer had checked the health of the lions by looking at them through their cages (he wasn’t about to take them out), he released them to us. They were loaded, still in their cages, onto a cart and wheeled into the parking lot where hundreds of people had gathered. A huge uproar greeted us as we made our way through the crowd toward the two vehicles waiting for us.
The bigger of the two vehicles had two large built-in cages in the back. We put leads on Zamba Jr. and Tammy and walked them over to the truck. We jumped them up on the trucks and into their new transport cages. Kellen settled down in the back of the truck to keep watch. When they saw the lions, the crowd retreated a good ten yards, and not a few people ran clear across the parking lot, tripping over one another, yelling and screaming. It may seem naïve, but it had never occurred to me that African people would react in such a way. I later learned that many of them had never actually seen a lion before.
A brand new Land Rover was parked nearby.
“This is for you and Zamba, a gift from the production company,” said the rep.
Painted on the side was a beautiful portrait of Zamba, with the words “THE LION” underneath. I was told it was the work of one of the best artists in Kenya. It was a wonderful welcome.
As I was admiring the Rover, a tall African man dressed in traditional attire walked toward us. He wore a bright red shuka, or wrap, that covered most of his body, with the end tucked into his belt. His earlobes hung nearly to his shoulders and were decorated with beaded earrings, and he wore his hair in long, thin red braids. (Masai warriors groom their hair with a mixture of goat fat, water, and mud from the banks of the local river. The result is a rich reddish color.) A sizable knife was secured in a skin sheath hanging from a leather belt, and his shoes were obviously cut from car tires. Across his muscular chest were three strings of colored beads: red, white, and black.
In any other place he would have stood out, but here he was merely dressed in his tribal garb. A quick look into the crowd showed others in similar dress.
“Sopa,” he said, as he extended his hand in greeting.
I was impressed immediately by the aura of power and strength he conveyed, offset by his gentle smile.
“Sopa,” I responded, not knowing what it meant, but it just seemed natural to answer back.
He smiled.
“Ralph, this is your driver,” the production rep said. “He will be available to you for your stay here. He is a moran, a warrior of the Masai tribe.”
“Well, okay. Glad to have you on board,” I said as we shook hands. “What is your name? “
“My name is very difficult for you mzungu to say. Most of my friends just call me Masai.” Mzungu means “white people.”
“Nice to know you. Come on over and give me a hand, Masai.”
If he was going to be driving us, he’d be spending a lot of time around lions. I figured that now would be as good a time as ever to see how he handled himself in their presence.
We went over and lifted Zamba’s cage door together. As Zamba came out, I put a loop of chain around his neck and headed for the Rover. Masai went ahead and opened the door for Zamba to hop in.
Zamba stopped at the Rover, got his nostrils full of that new car aroma, and then paused to check out Masai. Finally he gave his approval by jumping aboard. We saw the rear end of the Rover get a couple of inches closer to the ground.
“Better make a note to put some heavy-duty shocks back there,” I said.
“For sure,” said Masai.
I was impressed by the way Masai had stood his ground while Zamba gave him the once-over. Zamba’s gaze can be very penetrating, and could make people flee the scene in a hurry. Looking over my shoulder at the crowd of people watching from afar, I turned back to Masai.
“Aren’t you afraid of the lion?” I aske
d.
“Yes,” he answered.
“But you didn’t move?”
“I am Masai.”
“Oh,” I said.
The production rep spoke up. “We’d best be going.”
The horde of people waved their good-byes and chanted, “Simba! Simba! Simba!” as we headed into the countryside. It means “lion.”
The rep sat up front with Masai. I kept Zamba company in the back. I opened the hatch in the roof so Zamba could stick his head out. Even when he was sitting down, his head stuck up a good two feet above the roof. People walking on the edge of the road looked in disbelief, and more than one person tripped over his own feet because he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Zamba was thrilled. The wind was blowing his mane; he was taking in the sights. I was enjoying myself as well. Not ten minutes out of the airport I saw a sign that said RHINO CROSSING and yet in the near distance I saw what appeared to be the buildings of Nairobi, the capital of Kenya. Apparently the city was built very close to the bush.
In just fifteen minutes we were out of the town and into the country, and it was extraordinarily beautiful. Roadside stands selling mangos, oranges, bananas, and all kinds of vegetables slowly disappeared, and in their place, animals started to appear—ostriches, zebras, impalas, gazelles, as well as a few giraffes in the distance and some antelopes. It wasn’t long before the road turned rough and dusty, riddled with potholes.
Within the hour, Zamba had gotten used to the bumping and had settled in quite well. He had given up on looking around and was sleeping away. I reached over and ruffled his mane. “Hey, Zam, you’re home, boy.” For my sentimentality, I got a throaty “aggh!” and a tail whip across my chest.
