In the Dark

About halfway through the evening game drives we always find a nice spot to pull over for “sundowners.” Cocktails, conversation -- it’s all quite civilized.

After a few days, I started to look forward to this point in the drive. Not because of the wine (though lovely), biltong (which I first ate only to freak Anne out, then I decided I kind of liked it), or the stunning sunsets (how have I lived without seeing sunsets every day? Do we even have sunsets in New York?).

It was because it meant that soon it would be dark. And in the dark, amazing things happen.

A few words about this particular brand of dark: it’s really, well, dark. Think – no lights around for miles except the headlights of the Rover and a small handheld spot that the tracker shines into trees to try and spot creatures of the night. The rule in the bush is that they only use the light to spot nocturnal animals, which include all of the big cats, hyenas, and some birds. What they won’t do is shine the light on animals that are diurnal (that is, they are most active by day). This includes all of the antelope species, giraffe, and elephant.

One night, we were rumbling along at a slow pace when our ranger cut the lights, turned off the engine, and motioned for all of us to stay quiet. We had come upon a trio of ellies traveling near the road. We happened to stop the car directly beside them. They froze; I held my breath.

There was a large female with two smaller ones. The littlest one was facing the Rover with his ears perked up and trunk extended toward us. If our tracker had leaned over, he could have given the little guy a pat on the head. We’d already been told that elephants, although thoroughly habituated to humans in vehicles, can get spooked in the dark by sudden noises or lights. A panicked ellie is generally considered a Very Bad Thing. If those elephants had charged us they could have trampled the Rover “as easily as we kick a can of Coke,” according to our ranger. We were all so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.

The mama started snuffling and snorting, signs that with even my limited ranger skills (read: none) I took to mean that she wasn’t too thrilled with the smelly rumbly animal with round feet and ten heads getting so close to her babies. She herded them away from the vehicle and we moved on.

Over the course of our safari adventure, we'd have more close encounters like this. These were the times that our experience somehow seemed more real. There were no photo ops, no conversations, just Us and Them. In the Dark.