a microlight flight over Victoria Falls, and now a remote
camp in the Okavango Delta with a hungry animal
outside. I vowed to reform my daredevil ways,
if only we were spared from the jaws of a lion.
I don’t know how long the purring lasted, but it felt
like hours. When it finally stopped, it wasn’t long
before we again heard the rhythmic snapping
of branches. “It’s leaving,” West whispered.
I waited until I could no longer hear a sound before
racing to the toilet. When I returned to bed, there was
no point in trying to sleep. I knew the company that
owned this camp had other camps in the Delta,
and I resolved that first thing in the morning I would
beg Kenny to move us to a place with raised walkways.
For good measure, I rehearsed my request until it had
justtherightmixofreasonandunabashedhysteria.
I was still practising my plea when the blue light
of dawn crawled across the Delta. As West and I sat in
the cool morning air having breakfast with the staff,
West explained our rough night.
From the far end of the table, Moss, one of the guides,
listened to the conversation. “Did it sound like this?” she
asked, making a rasping sound in the back of her throat.
“That was it. Was it a lion?” West asked.
“You heard an elephant,” said Moss. “They like to sleep
propped up against the termite mounds. I used to have
one outside my tent every night. It would snore
something terrible.”
Maybe I should have been relieved to learn that I had
not spent the night about to be devoured by a lion.
But I was too busy imagining what a sleeping elephant
mightdoifitweresuddenlyawakenedbyanairhorn."That night, as I lay in the dark listening to the snapping
branches outside, it occurred to me that I should have asked
Kenny what a lion trying to get into a tent would sound like"
JOURNAL