Jungle Boogie

By David Wood

“If a lion attacks us during our walk in the bush, don’t run! Just stand still and make sure it can see your eyes.”

That was a warning from Barry Wolhuter, the gregarious, extremely funny guide and general manager of The Hide – a game reserve in Zimbabwe’s Hwanga National Park. You know you’re not at the petting zoo there in the Hwanga because when you go out into the bush you had better be armed or be close to someone who is. Barry had a loaded rifle slung over his shoulder, “Just in case,” he said emphatically.

Barry was hilarious when telling his stories around the campfire. My favorite was the story about a Japanese lady visiting the camp a few years back who, during dinner, had frantically told her husband and the rest of her safari mates that she had just heard on the radio that Pavarotti had killed Princess Di!

She insisted it was true that Luciano Pavarotti was chasing Princess Di in a speeding car in Paris and there was a terrible accident. It turns out she meant the paparazzi – and Barry’s rendition of this tale, complete with his acting out the various roles, is one of the funniest stories I have ever heard.  However, Barry was deadly serious with warnings for our jungle trek as he told us to be alert and stay close to the group.  My cowardly senses were on full alert.

I took a quick inventory of my fellow safari members. I was the youngest in the group of ten guests by a good fifteen years or so. I was pretty sure I was the fastest, although the sweet little old lady with the support hose looked like she might give me a run for my money in a long distance race. I felt I had her in the sprints. I’m thinking there was no way I’m standing still if a lion attacks. The ferocious king of the jungle is running full tilt at me and I am standing there like a statue? Yeah, right. I’m going to run and scream like I’m on fire and these biddies are on their own! God bless ‘em, it’s the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest! I’ll see you back at camp!

The jungle walk was fantastic as we came upon herds of zebras and giraffes busy grazing and keeping a watchful eye and ear for predators higher up the food chain. We passed large groups of water buffalo with the ornery bulls protecting their harems of females. Across a wide plain, we spotted one large lion trotting confidently a few hundred yards away that paid us no mind. He was hunting for something bigger and juicier than our scrawny flesh. 

We had walked for forty-five minutes or so when Barry stopped and picked up a small round ball of dung, and asked me if I knew which animal it was from. I was new to the camp and not up on all the facts of the jungle yet. We stood around him in a semi-circle, and as the new kid, I wanted desperately to impress my safari mates and say something like, “Well Barry, judging by the consistency as well as the texture, I would have to say it was from the extremely rare Wild White African Rhino.”

This, of course, would have made me look stupid since I didn’t even know if there was such a creature as a “Wild White African Rhino” – which I rather doubt. I also had to admit that having left my “Animal Dung Conversion Chart” back in my tent, I was stumped on what kind of dung it was.  It turns out it was from a giraffe. Who knew?

We marched onward walking single file, and since I was directly behind our leader (I’m no fool; when walking through the jungle, I always stay close to the guy with the gun!) I took it upon myself to warn the rest of the group whenever I saw a new example of my recently acquired jungle knowledge. I’d bravely alert the others, “Step lightly folks; it looks like we had a giraffe come through here recently. No need for alarm – Barry and I have it under control!” There’s something empowering about being able to identify giraffe poo, though, I’m not sure I’d put it on my resume. However, it will be a funny story to tell back home right after the one about Pavarotti and Princess Di.