Zamba

by Ralph Helfer

  We left very early, around sunrise. I had packed some lunches with a few cold drinks. I’d also filled a jerry can, a rectangular metal can with a cap chained to the top, with water. All four of us drove out to the game reserve as if we were setting out for a very unconventional picnic. When we arrived at the gate, Zamba had his head sticking out of the open-air roof hatch. The guard was obviously quite taken aback by the arrangement, but he honored our permit. He checked it over and chatted with the Masai, then allowed us entry.

  The reserve was stunningly beautiful; I had been there many times, and was to return many more, but it never failed to leave me breathless. The African veldt stretched for miles in all directions, its rolling vistas dotted with acacia trees. The Mara River flowed snakelike through it, following the path that the recent floods had set for it. There was not a cloud in the sky as the sun rose over the Esoit Oloololo escarpment, far to the west, and I could tell it was going to be an extremely hot day.

  We drove well along the upper reaches of the Mara in search of an area where we could get out and stretch our legs. The safest places were on high hilltops, which meant we could see for miles. The grass was a bit shorter there than it was in the valleys—bad for stalkers, good for us. We were worried only about certain animals, specifically elephants, lions, buffaloes, and rhinos. Crocs and hippos could also be a bit of a threat, but we were planning to stay a good distance from the river.

  As we drove deeper into the countryside, I noticed Zamba’s behavior changing. The listless, tired animal we had left the club with was gone, and in his place was a sharp-eyed, active, and alert African lion.

  We found a perfect spot to stop on top of a small windswept hill. I jumped Zam out of the Rover. He stretched his legs and gave a huge yawn. I gave him some water from the jerry can. The Masai filled some thermoses, and we headed out into the massive Masai Mara, one of the most splendid game reserves in Africa. I took off Zamba’s leash, giving him a feeling of independence and freedom, and yet he never left my side.

  So there we were: two Masai, a white man, and an African lion, walking across the veldt. I think each of us felt very lucky to be sharing such a trek. In the near distance, far enough not to pose a threat, a herd of Cape buffaloes stood motionless, looking at us. Their beautiful heads resembled the carved statues sold in the local dukas, or marketplaces. Small birds called oxpeckers landed on the buffaloes’ backs and faces, picking dudus—small insects—from their ears, noses, eyes, and mouths. A line of giraffes moved in slow motion, turning their heads toward us, then continuing on.

  Zamba’s gaze was not on the animals, however. He looked to the horizon as if he were waiting for someone important, someone a long time coming. Occasionally he stopped, stood rigid as a statue for a minute, and then moved on. I encouraged him to take his time; we were there for him, after all.

  I followed the Masai, knowing that they were the keepers of the land. We crossed the ridge and started down into the mouth of a valley. Kapeno went ahead to check things out, and a half hour later, we saw his small figure in the distance, waving us to come. I was a little surprised that he was waving us into a valley, but this was his country. I usually stayed on the veldt, where you could see what was coming from a long way off.

  Kapeno had chosen an exceptionally beautiful place to rest; so beautiful it hardly looked real, more like heaven than a place on earth. Thick lime-green grass covered the slopes that swept down into a valley of the most beautiful jacaranda trees I have ever seen. They were in full bloom, and their vivid, bright purple blossoms covered the trees in astonishing profusion. The flowers were so thick that you couldn’t see the trunks of the trees from the hillside, and the floor of the valley was lushly carpeted with blooms that had already fallen.

  It was on this carpet that Zamba decided to sleep away the afternoon. As he lowered his massive body onto the sweet-scented blanket, the flowers swirled up around him. The grove of trees gave soothing protection from the sun. A slight breeze blew across a bubbly stream, cooling the air. I turned to Kapeno.

  “Do you think lions appreciate beauty such as this, or is it just another valley to him?” We both thought about the question. I continued, “Do you think he appreciates the white billowing cloud, the mountain peaks, the iridescent sheen of the starling the way you and I do?”

  Kepeno thought for some time. When he finally spoke, it was as if he had given the question to a higher-up and had come back with the correct answer. He was quite sure of himself.

  “I do not believe so. Their beauty comes in a different form—the ability to have a successful kill, sopping up the warm innards afterward, drinking water from a cool spring after a long, hot, dry walk. These are things of beauty to a lion, not the smell of a flower.”

  I was taken aback by the eloquence of his answer, and thought he was probably right. But there was a little voice inside me that was sure Zamba could smell and appreciate the gorgeous flowers around him.

  I chose a spot under a giant jacaranda with low-hanging branches across from Zamba, so I could watch him sleep. I was close enough to see him, but far enough to give him the privacy he seemed to need. The Masai preferred to stay together under a tree close to mine. They assured me that the grove was safe and they would keep watch.

  I had carried in my pack a small cotton hammock, which I rigged onto the tree’s lower branches. Masai took a thin impala skin from his back and draped it over the hammock. I nodded my thanks, eased into the hammock, and draped the impala skin over my head to keep out the light, and any flying or crawly things wishing to join me, leaving a small opening to see through.

  A slight breeze swayed the branches, gently rocking the hammock. I lay back, closed my eyes, and drifted off into one of the all-time best naps of my life.

  A few hours had passed when I woke up suddenly. Something had disturbed me. I couldn’t explain it, but I trusted my instinct; it was something Zamba had taught me. If there was any unusual movement or a strange noise—anything at all out of the ordinary—when I was sleeping, I would wake immediately, ready for anything. I opened my eyes.

  Not a leaf stirred. Everything was quiet—too quiet? The narrow opening in the impala skin allowed me to see out, across the grove, to Zamba, still lying in a sea of flowers. At that moment, he got up on his haunches and stared at me. His look was as intent as when he stalked an animal. I didn’t move.

  A light breeze stirred the grove, sending the petals swirling into the air. The wind picked up a little, keeping the blossoms afloat, turning the grove into a fairyland of dancing purple blooms. They moved faster and faster, obstructing visibility like a snowstorm of blooms. I could see Zamba moving toward me through the purple haze.

  He walked with his head high and his gait loose, petals in his mane. He looked absolutely stunning. His gaze never left me. What was he doing? He knew I was asleep. Whatever was on his mind wouldn’t require my participation, obviously. As he got close to me, I felt more than a little confused. What was he trying to do?

  I had never been scared of Zamba, not even once, but I had also never seen this kind of display. As he came closer and closer, I wondered why the Masai didn’t take note. My hand was at about the same height as his head, inches from his mouth and fangs. I will admit that my whole body turned cold when he sniffed my hand, just as I had seen him do to meat before eating it. Then, putting his head in the air, he made a grimace. I could smell his body oils and his sweat, and the heavy odor of the crushed petals he’d been sleeping on. He stood still for a moment. My heart was racing in my chest.

  Then, lowering his head, he put his ears back, squinted his eyes, and gently pushed his head into my hand.

  In that one moment, I went from complete confusion to total ecstasy. Zamba knew! He felt the special quality of this moment, and he wanted to share it with me, the way people do when they’re in a special place of beauty, joining each other in wonder. I felt very strongly that Zamba was acknowledging his love for me. It must have been a very powerful feeling, power
ful enough for him to leave his comfortable bed and come to share it with me. How wonderful!

  I ran my fingers across his broad head. He closed his eyes, enjoying my touch. Then, as though we did this every day, he stopped, yawned, and settled himself underneath my hammock. I, too, fell into a deep sleep, one of the most restorative ones of my life.

  When we woke up again, the horizon was glowing deep red. Although evenings on the veldt were incredibly beautiful and rich with wildlife, evening was the most dangerous time of the day. We headed back to the Rover. As we went, we heard the roar of a lion in the far distance, almost too far to be audible. Zamba stopped, sniffing the air. We were on someone else’s territory. I felt pressure at my side as he pressed hard against me. He raised his head, and without warning, roared back. I can count on one hand the number of times I have heard Zamba roar spontaneously—its power and the sheer noise of it, always shocked me deeply. A moment later, the lion in the distance roared again—and this time, it was clear that he was closer.

  Zamba was in danger. He’d never hold his own against a lion in the wild—but it wasn’t going to come to a showdown if I had anything to do with it. We walked faster, and with tremendous relief, piled into the Rover. We’d gotten what we came for—maybe even more. And so we headed home.

  23

  About a week after our return, we were shooting some scenes with a second-unit crew, a much smaller operation than the first unit, up on the Laikipia plateau, an hour and a half’s drive from the club.

  The scene called for a “battle” between two big male lions over a lioness, so all three lions were with us. Kellen and I had been rehearsing with the lions at the compound for the last week, and we felt they were ready for their shot. Masai had made sure that the lions had had a good breakfast that morning, and everything was in place; all we needed now was the sun, which was trying its best to break through the cloud cover.

  The director, figuring we had another couple of hours to go before the weather cleared, asked if Kellen could go back to the club to pick up some additional lights and a small generator. He felt that with the inclement weather, more light might be needed, and we were the only ones with a big enough truck to haul the gear. Normally Kellen and I stay together when the lions are on location, because you never know when an emergency might arise. But Junior and Tammy were asleep in their portable cages, and Zamba was reclining on the special giant lounging pad the crew had made for him. A sign above the pad featured a huge star, with the word “ZAMBA” outlined in gold beneath. Talk about spoiled! Anyhow, I figured it would be safe for Kellen to go.

  It wasn’t but an hour after Kellen left that the weather turned bad. One of the dark, ominous clouds that had been hiding behind the ridge appeared above us, and we knew we were in for it. Within a matter of minutes, the whole sky darkened, and a deluge of rain hit—hard. Some lucky crew members crowded into the remaining trucks, but there wasn’t enough room for all of us, so we quickly staked up a canvas sheet over the only soft, comfortable place there was: Zamba’s pad. Then we all clambered under the tarp, huddling around Zam to keep warm and dry. We hoped it would be a short-lived rain, but as time wore on it just seemed to get worse. Needless to say, Zamba was a little put out by our invasion of his privacy.

  The director decided to head back before the roads became impassable. We had been stuck a number of times before, sometimes for the better part of a day, and we didn’t want it to happen again. The second unit had two Rovers and a pickup—just enough room to carry the crew and some of the paraphernalia, in other words. The rest of the equipment could be covered up with tarps and set against the rocks for shelter. One Askari, a well-trained Turkana warrior, would stay and watch the equipment. He had only his spear, but the formidable reputation of his people was well known in the area.

  There was only one problem remaining: transporting the lions, when Kellen had their truck back at the club.

  We were going to have to wait out the storm, at least until someone could come back for us with the truck. Zamba and I had come upon a huge cave near the shooting location on one of our many walks. The path leading to it had reminded us of the trail leading up to the Old Lady. I decided to take the lions there.

  “At least it’s warmer in there, and out of the rain,” I explained to the assistant director.

  “You can’t take all three by yourself,” said the A.D. “It’s too dangerous.”

  He was right about one thing. There was no way I could have a leash on all three at the same time. But I knew that the others would follow Zamba, rather than be left alone.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. If I leave the lions out in this weather, we risk them catching colds and getting sick. Kellen’s on the way, and he’ll be here soon. Just leave me one of the walkie-talkies. I’ll keep in touch.”

  I threw on a rain parka, tucking the walkie-talkie in an inside pocket, and grabbed a flashlight, a pack of matches, some prewrapped sandwiches, and three cat chains. I threw two of them over my shoulder, and fastened the third around Zamba’s neck.

  I swung open the doors to Junior and Tammy’s cages, yelling over the sound of the rain, “Come on, guys, let’s go. Up and at ’em.”

  And then I motioned to Zam. All adult male lions hate rain. Their manes get so heavy with water, they can barely hold their heads up. I could tell that Zamba really didn’t want to leave his executive quarters, but as the crew had already crowded all their equipment into his lair, leaving little room for him, he gave up, moaned his displeasure, and walked out into the wetness.

  Tammy looked to Zamba as her mate, despite his constant disinterest, which was a heartbreak for me. I had tried, on a number of occasions, to set these two up, and Tammy was certainly up for it, but Zamba never reciprocated her feelings, rebuffing her most ardent advances. I would have loved for him to find a lady friend, but it wasn’t to be. But Tammy’s unrequited love served me well that night, since she’d follow him anywhere. So when she saw he was going, she bounced out into the rain after him. Junior hesitated at first, then with a low growl, took up the rear.

  Thank goodness Zamba and I had been to the cave before. He knew where we were going, and moved along quite well.

  “Junior! Move it. Tammy, come on, girl,” I called back over my shoulder. Heads down, bodies soaking wet, they moved out into the storm.

  “We’ll tell Kellen to look for you in the cave!” shouted the director after us.

  “Okay,” I yelled. Kellen had never been there before, but I figured I would be able to guide him using the walkie-talkie when he arrived.

  “Good luck!” yelled one of the crew.

  “Be careful!” yelled another.

  The wind was picking up, and the sky was a mass of turbulent thunderheads. Junior would stop every so often to take refuge under a big tree, but when he saw we weren’t stopping, he’d slap his tail in anger and follow so he wouldn’t lose us in the darkening forest. What seemed like a nice short walk when the weather was good was now a strenuous climb, filled with obstacles. The mud was treacherously slippery, falling branches and huge granite boulders blocked our way at every turn. The rain was coming down in sheets, hitting us with a force that made it difficult for the lions to stay on their feet.

  We walked a good distance into the forest, then up a rocky incline to reach the cave. Its entrance, located on the side of a mountain, was partly blocked by an enormous fallen tree. I started to dig down under the tree to allow us to enter.

  “Come on, Zam. You know how. A little help, please.”

  He knew the command for dig, and dig he did—not necessarily in the right place, but it was of some help. When the hole was big enough, Zamba crouched down and squeezed under the log, and I scrambled in behind him. We managed to clear the entrance and crawled up into the cave.

  A high pitched “augh” from outside reminded me I still had two lions out there in the rain, getting ever more soaked by the minute. They were standing on the other side of the tree, drenched to the bone, lo
oking like two giant, drowned rats. I could see they needed a little direction. Going back out, I pushed and shoved them into the right position to get under the tree and into the entrance. No go. They stood there looking into the dark bowl of the cave, and it was clear that there was no way they were going to launch themselves into the unknown.

  “You guys are lions, remember? Nothing frightens a lion. Right?”

  I pushed by them and scrambled into the cave, illuminating the walls with my flashlight so they could see there was no bogeyman inside.

  “Come on, you guys, it’s warm. Tammy girl, let’s go.”

  Once she saw me and Zamba inside, she was up and on her way without any hesitation. Junior followed.

  Although the opening was small, the cave went back a lot farther than I’d remembered. In some places, the ceiling was a good ten or fifteen feet high. I put my gear against the wall and gathered some wood for a fire. There were a number of pieces of old dried bark, twigs, and branches lying about, and a whole small dead tree. I could tell that both animals and people had used this cave many times in the past. I collected some dried animal feces to help start the fire.

  “I hope nobody else chooses to use the cave tonight. They’ll be in for quite a surprise.”

  It only took a few matches to get the kindling to light. Within minutes, we had a blazing fire. Junior was the first to shake himself, spraying water everywhere, and the others followed suit. Zamba nearly put out the fire. Then, quite content with himself, he settled in, lying at my side. Tammy sniffed and smelled the damp moss growing on the rocks. She licked the wetness, and grimaced at the taste.