While on an African safari back in 2009, I was told that there were certain places I was allowed to travel and some areas that I was absolutely forbidden to venture. It was also clearly conveyed to me that there were no obvious borders in some regions, and it was best to stay as far away as possible from those locations. If neighboring tribes were to catch me trespassing my chances of surviving, especially being a white man, were slim to none. There certainly wasn’t going to be a rescue party sent to liberate me.
It was also cautioned that we should be weary of snakes and scorpions because we were a long way from proper medical assistance, however, we did have some anti-venoms. We were advised to always check sleeping bags before crawling in and shake out our boots and gloves before wearing. Finally, while filming certain wildlife, be sure to never leave the vehicle and most importantly do not throw food out the window in an attempt to feed them. Killing any wildlife was only to be a matter of saving our own lives, such as maybe a lion approaches our camp in the night. But our tour guide, who was a small, skinny, African man with a very loud voice, said we should be safe as long as we stayed together. Otherwise, enjoy the beauty of this great continent and have a good time.
Perhaps many readers share my sentiments when I say that I have never been enthusiastic about following directions especially when concerning two things: where I can go and what I may or may not say. In this case, I was already eager to go where I had been told that I may not.
After six days and five nights of camping I became really quiet when compared to the previous days. My thoughts were consumed with the limited time we had left on safari, and I yearned for the “forbidden” lands.
On the day I made up my mind to go there I did as much as I could for my friends around the camp. We had been in this location all day following a cheetah named Amabala, which was a Zulu term for “spots.” She seemed to enjoy our distant company; her long tail gently swaying in the air behind her head as she watched us with curiosity. Many enthusiastic people were driving by and snapping pictures. We met several people this way who were eager to share with us all they knew about her. Some were scientists who were following her, as she was a young mother and wore a tracking collar. Others were people on safari same as us.
The land was home to several large animals such as cape buffalo, elephants, and lions. The hardest of the safari animals to find was the leopard. We had not seen one as of yet. Sometimes, while the tour guide was talking about the animals, especially the ones we had not encountered, I could only imagine what it would be like to travel in a hot-air balloon with Jules Verne or go on a hunting expedition over the Kilimanjaro with Ernest Hemingway. This was truly a place to behold.
But the landscape in the distance was what constantly called to that place deep in my chest moved only by desire. I made up my mind earlier in the day that a couple of hours after dark, when the camp was quiet, I would sneak away into the great African distance. I was finally going to go to the forbidden land I had been warned to stay clear of. I was already eagerly anticipating the story I would share of my adventurous escapade after I safely returned. Naturally, I would have to have proof of my little rendezvous with the borderless Sahara, so I anticipated taking a camera with me. I had not brought one for myself and thought about how I might seize upon one given the opportunity.
As we all moved around the last bit of fire, some began to unwind and change their attire. Mainly just hats, boots, and belts were removed. Some even wore a screened-mask to keep insects from attacking their faces in the night. Surprisingly, almost everyone had a book to read or a journal to write in. I brought my ambition and an adventurous heart.
I swatted large mosquitoes until the buzzing of these insects was all I could hear over the occasional snoring from my mates. As daylight parted and nightfall clocked in I quietly began to move toward the tent flap, navigating my way around the person next to me.
I began to slip away when I remembered that I was going to take a camera with me. I quietly went over to the jeep and dug through a couple of duffle bags until I saw a small camera. It was pink but that did not deter me in the least. I stuffed it deep inside one of my boots, which I carried like a bag of wet groceries against my chest and quietly disappeared into the night.
Once a good hundred yards or so from the camp I stopped to put on my boots. I waited to do this as I thought it would enhance my chances of quietly sneaking away. The socks I wore were damp and muddy. Having removed the camera I slipped my feet into the much needed boots. Snakes were prevalent and I was not going to be found dead with a swollen leg by some African tour guide first thing in the morning.
The sounds of the environment are the most noticeable changes that occur with the exchange of day for night. I can assure my dear reader that it is impossible to know what savage crescendos begin each night unless it has been personally experienced. It speaks much louder and more aggressively than the day.
Suddenly, there are scores of large wild animals closer than one could have ever imagined. One can only assume where these beasts were previously hiding throughout the vast openness of day, just watching and waiting for the darkness to encompass the plains: waiting for an opportunity. When darkness falls upon a man in the deserts of Africa, he is no longer natures apex predator, if he ever was. He has now entered a frightening spot in the food-chain. Night, the great equalizer.
The plan of action for me was to journey until the morning, take some photos of myself far away from the camp in no man’s land, and return to camp before late the next evening. I was determined to take as many photos as I could; each one hopefully showing the camp ground farther and farther away.
My heart pumped so hard that I could hear it loud and clear in my ears and feel it burning in my throat. I knew that the chances of me getting mauled by a lone lion, or a pack of wild boar was indeed extremely great. But for some reason this only made me run faster into the vast amounts of darkness that was in front of me. I could not see much before me as I ran. However, periodically through the cloudy night sky I could gaze up to the heavens gleaming with stars.
I did the best I could to keep my head up toward the sky, camera in hand, running as fast as I could. A few times when I thought I might not be running fast enough, or that fear might be slowing me down, I would step it up and run even faster. Finally, I was out of breath. My boots were heavy and made loud thunderous noises in the crisp night air as I came to a resting point.
I considered that even though I had seemingly covered much ground, I probably only ran for about an hour. I was drenched in sweat and the temperature was now noticeably colder. I shivered from the cold and overwhelming fear. I could feel my eyes wide-open from the adrenalin. Snorts, grunts, and yelps surrounded me from all angles.
How I could run through the night so blindly without running into the sounds that encircled me began to play on my imagination. I started to wonder if it were even possible to turn back now without running into a pack of hyenas. As I sat there on the desert floor with one knee as a prop, the yelps and wild laughter grew louder and louder.
The smell of wild beasts in the night now confronted me. It was not so much the beasts of the night that I could hear in the distance that bothered me; it was the ones I could smell, the ones I knew were close by quietly staring at me as they circled in the night. I could feel the cold sweat dripping under my armpits and rolling down my rib cage, each drop chilling me like ice. I now wondered if it were even possible to run at all, or had I been consumed with fear? Rather than remain easy prey; I ran.
I was told by our African tour guide that desert wanderers lost in the night can experience what is translated as “night madness.” It is not so much the darkness that triggers this phenomena as it is a collections of triggers such as hearing large beasts walking nearby, the grunts and noises of the night, and a desert that seems to produce hungry wildlife from out of the very ground that one walks upon. “It is the fear,” he said, “of knowing that you are in the middle of a hungry desert. Sometimes, it is these same situations which produce brave men, but take that brave man’s eyesight away and his imagination runs wild. He can see himself trapped between hungry teeth,” the tour guide told me on my first day.
He then told a story of himself and two other men who were lost in the darkness many years ago after a violent storm. The three men walked, and sometimes ran, trying to find their way home. At one point the tour guide told the other two men, who were Frenchmen, that if they kept running around wildly in the darkness, it would trigger a sense of urgency within the brain and it would make them go crazy. He insisted that they should walk as quietly as possible in the direction they agreed was best. After a brief conversation in French, the two men finally conceded that they should walk as the tour guide had instructed.
The two men were constantly holding on to each other and whispering in French until, suddenly, after a couple of hours, the two Frenchmen took off from the tour guide into the darkness. He said this is what happens when you go crazy in the night and began to believe that those trying to help you are out to get you as well. “They went crazy I could see it,” he continued to tell me with a serious glare, “and they ran away to protect themselves from the lost African tour guide they were sure was out to get them!” He threw his head back in laughter at the craziness of the white men. “You abandon those you need most in your time of most need,” he concluded. The two Frenchmen were never found.
The more I ran the more I believed I would be safe. It was almost daybreak and I was sure to be safer during the day than I was at night amongst the wild beasts. The more I thought about the safety of daylight the brighter became the sky. The noises of hungry beasts were eventually replaced by the welcoming sounds of beautiful birds. At last the sky was bright orange and blue and the dark silhouettes of birds filled the air. Everything that seemed to be antagonizing me throughout the night had now vanished into thin air. I now began to wonder if it was just my imagination.
It doesn’t take long for one to become increasingly concerned with the overwhelming brightness of the day and the intensity of the heat. I shielded the sun with my free hand, tightly clasping the camera with the other. Over several hours of walking I began to see an oasis in the distance. Now would be a good time for my first photo I thought.
Examining the pink camera I turned on the power. I started snapping a couple of pictures of the distant oasis so I could show everyone proof of having traveled to the forbidden territory. After perhaps three pictures it occurred to me that I would only be allowed to take just so many photos before I would run out of film. Searching the unfamiliar device I clicked a small button that opened the camera in the middle like one might open a book.
I have never been more disappointed in my entire life than at that singular moment in time when I saw that there was no film inside. All this time I carried a worthless pink camera throughout the entirety of the night; all the while running madly across the desert! Angrily I threw it as far as I could back into the direction I had just come. I sat down on one knee and just stared at the camera in the distance. Placing my head in my hands and giving a great sigh, I stood up and began to drag my boots across the desert toward the oasis in the distance, shielding my eyes with both hands.
The closer I got to the oasis the more details became obvious. I could see tall palms trees and lots of black shrubbery on the horizon. My boot straps were loose and my left strap caught the right boot buckle, locking my boots together, which caused me to fall to the desert floor. Exhaustion, heat, severe thirst, combined with maybe even a hard knock on the head; but for whatever reason, I was now unconscious in the broiling desert sunlight.
I woke with my face in the dirt. I could hear voices talking in some deep African dialect which I could not understand. I was afraid now more than I was the previous night, fearing these were the cannibal tribesmen I had been warned of. Found trespassing on their territory I knew I would die a horrible death. I looked up from the dirt to see quite possibly the last humans I would ever see while alive on this earth. The ones who would eat me, no doubt.
King Zuhooloo: “Get up!” yelled an extremely large black man. He was wearing a few straps of red cloth in certain areas and what looked like leather bracelets on long, black arms. He held the spear that would probably be the weapon used to kill me. I looked briefly at the tip of the spear where my heart would surely be ripped out and placed for roasting over a hot open flame.
King Zuhooloo: “Get up!” was the command giving once more. I began to rise slowly and found the strength to look through the glaring sunlight at this tall figure who towered over me.
King Zuhooloo: “What are you doing?” he nearly shouted at me.
Me: “I… fell,” was my very parched reply.
King Zuhooloo: “Why?” he asked.
Me: “My boots…” I began but looking at his feet I could see he was barefoot.
King Zuhooloo: “Boots?” he puzzled. “What is this?” He looked quite confused. I opened my mouth to speak but he was much quicker.
King Zuhooloo: “I am King Zuhooloo,” he informed me.
Me: “I am sorry for trespassing,” I began once more.
King Zuhooloo: “What is this? You must be on what they call safari are you not? Are you some European or English?” I was afraid he was wondering how I would taste cooked over a blazing fire. Perhaps Europeans are cooked differently than English.
Me: “I am English,” I told him. He turned and spoke loudly to the men behind him. They said nothing just kept staring with very black, serious faces.
King Zuhooloo: “No matter what you are this is my land. What are you doing here?” His voice was very deep and serious.
Me: “I have no reason.”
King Zuhooloo: “You are here with no reason?”
Me: “I am sorry. I did not know this was your land.” I anticipated the spear at any moment.
King Zuhooloo: “I took this land and it belongs to me. I protect this land every day,” he informed me.
Me: “I gave my apologies. I did not see any signs that said this was the land of King Zuhooloo,” I said holding my head down.
King Zuhooloo: “White man. Always looking for a sign.”
Me: “How was I to know it belonged to you?”
King Zuhooloo: “Does it belong to you?” he asked.
Me: “No, it does not.”
King Zuhooloo: “Then it must belong to somebody.”
Me: “I really meant no harm. I was just taking photos.”
King Zuhooloo: “White man. Always taking.”
Me: “I’m not sure what you mean.”
King Zuhooloo: “Did you come here to give anything?.”
Me: “I don’t think so.”
King Zuhooloo: “White man. Never think so.”
Me: “What are you? A hollow log?” I asked.
King Zuhooloo: “More useful than a stump,” he quickly replied. “But now you are here and you must give something.”
Me: “I have nothing to give.”
King Zuhooloo: “White man. Nothing to give. If so, we must take.”
Me: “Wait. Maybe I can give you something.”
King Zuhooloo: “No boots,” he said sharply. “No use.”
Me: “What about a conversation? Maybe I can share my knowledge with you?” I asked rather nervously.
King Zuhooloo: “White man. Finally share but not give.”
Me: “You said you are King Zuhooloo. Have you ever heard of the King of Kings?” I asked quickly. I needed at least a small moment for shock-and-awe. It seemed to have worked. He stood motionless for a moment. I am not sure if he was shocked at such a novel notion or interested in how to obtain the position for himself. Whatever caused the shocked look in his face I went with it.
King Zuhooloo: “There is more to you than I can see white man. What do you mean? Are you here to spread the word of the white man’s King of Kings?”
Me: “The King of Kings is the king of all kings. There can only be one true king according to the scripture.”
King Zuhooloo: “Zuhooloo still king.”
Me: “But king of what? There is a difference between the common boss of employees and laymen, a master of slaves, and a king. You are not a king. You are hardly a master. A boss must pay his employees to follow him, to listen to his orders, to abide by the rules, and do to as he says with respect to his name. A master employees harsher methods, even up to the point of death, to accomplish with slaves the same objective as a boss. The master has much more work to do than a boss. But the king is loved and followed without having to pay and without fear. He is followed willingly. People from afar will seek him out to follow him. So I ask again, king of what? Who willingly follows you without payment or fear of death? Who seeks to follow you versus how many seek to escape you? The King of Kings was followed even without his physical presence being necessary. He was loved more than all the other kings combined. He was the easiest to follow. Your presence causes chaos. You are king of a borderless country of murderers and slaves. What is this to be a proud king of?”
King Zuhooloo: “Master Zuhooloo. Sound good to me.”
Me: “But when you have killed all your enemies, who will you be master of then?”
King Zuhooloo: “Destiny.”
Me: “And who will you share your destiny with? Those that you pay or those that fear you? Your destiny will be a lonely path. Tell me, master of destiny, will it rain tomorrow or not?”
With this, he took a step back. He looked up to the sky and then back at me with a little more ease in his face than before. It was for a while that he stood without saying a word. Then, with a tight grip on his spear, which sounded like leather being twisted, he spoke once more.
King Zuhooloo: “Still master.”
Me: “How can you be the master of destiny when you cannot predict the weather which holds tomorrow? I do not care what you wish to be called a master, a boss, or a king. I only wish to address you properly. You presented yourself to me as King Zuhooloo to which I disagreed. Release all those you have to pay, release your slaves from bondage and fear of death, release those who fear for their families under your name; allow people to follow you with their hearts. Only then can you become a king. King Zuhooloo, the great African king that many respect and wish to follow with all the love in their soul.”
King Zuhooloo: “Great king needs great crown. Great army.”
Me: “The King of Kings had neither. If you want to catch a sparrow all you have to do is put salt on his tail.”
King Zuhooloo: “Can catch enemy with spear.”
Me: “But not all enemies. Some creep like a thief in darkness.”
King Zuhooloo: “Yes, one spear is not enough.”
Me: “If one spear is not enough, it is the same as having no spear.”
King Zuhooloo: “How did you come?” he said motioning to the place where I had fallen.
Me: “Same as you and every other man and woman.”
King Zuhooloo: “Then we are brothers?”
Me: “I assure you that we are.”
King Zuhooloo: “What is message you bring?”
Me: “I have no message. I only want to save my life.”
King Zuhooloo: “This is true.”
Me: “It is very true.”
King Zuhooloo: “I am thinking you to be a messenger.”
Me: “Should we not take from the great teachers who have trodden the path before us and put their teachings into practice?”
King Zuhooloo: “Zuhooloo can see you admire messengers.”
Me: “I admire no man. I only admire the examples they set.”
King Zuhooloo: “We are examples,” he concluded enthusiastically.
Me: “Yes, indeed. Even though I am not a religious man and even though I find fault with all religions, every teacher leads by example. We are all teachers. Sometimes we teach through our faults, sometimes through our accomplishments. Our actions are how we teach those who observe us.”
King Zuhooloo: “That should be how we teach.”
Me: “This goes back to what I was asking earlier. What are you the king of? A borderless country of war and slaves? What is that to be proud of? Kings rule kingdoms, yet you have no such thing to rule. What actions do you set as a precedent for what you teach?”
King Zuhooloo: “This is indeed truth. The more we fight, the more there is war and the less there are borders. Slaves are born every day.”
Me: “It was said that the Prophet was a great lover of cats. I have heard that early one morning the Prophet was about to get dressed for prayer. When he reached for his prayer robe, there was his favorite cat, Muezza, sleeping on the sleeve. So, to keep from disturbing the precious animal, he cut the robe from the sleeve.
“There is a philosophy here that I extend to all living creatures no matter what they are, flowers, mushrooms, trees, or cats. No one has been granted special permission or given any right whatsoever that allows them to even disturb the life of another living creature, let alone to enslave them or kill them. Rather, what we should do, especially as humans, is promote life at all corners of the Earth no matter the expense to ourselves.”
King Zuhooloo: “In Africa we must kill. It is food and shelter for us. Life and death.”
Me: “Everything is contextual. But you should always give with equal enthusiasm what you have taken.”
The sun was at its highest point now and so was the desert heat. I was really beginning to sweat, but I could see King Zuhooloo had not perspired in the least. In fact, I am not sure that he even shifted his weight from one foot to the other while standing in that one singular spot as we spoke to each other.
King Zuhooloo: “If you can give one more story about a teacher I will let you leave in peace.”
Me: “In exchange for my life I shall be glad to do so. I will share another cat story with you. The story of Buddha and the cat. This is a story of compassion and forgiveness. In a way, cats were considered bad luck because of how they were always thought to hold themselves in high esteem. The story tells of a poor artist who sends his housekeeper to the market to buy food with the remaining money they had. When the housekeeper returned with a cat instead of groceries, the artist was vehement with anger. But when the artist notices that the cat has three colors on his fur, which is a sign of luck, his heart begins to soften. Upon seeing the cat pray to a statue of Buddha one day the artist finally accepted that the cat was a good omen.”
King Zuhooloo: “So we should look for luck?”
Me: “There is more to the story. The artist was going through a hard time. The cat was aware of their impoverished situation, so he ate little and prayed often. This reminded the artist that one must pray all the time, not just when conditions are favorable. In keeping of Japanese tradition cats were not allowed into heaven because they were considered bad luck.
“One day the artist was commissioned to paint a picture of the death of Buddha with all the animals that were allowed into heaven surrounding his body. But there were no cats in the painting. Seeing the sadness of the cat after the painting was completed, the artist, at the risk of losing his whole commission, painted the cat alongside Buddha with all the other animals in the scene. Finally, even the cat was allowed into heaven.”
King Zuhooloo: “What does this speak to you?”
Me: “Until the artist freed the cat from the shackles of societal misapprehensions, the cat was a slave to the world. Therefore, many cats suffered until someone with a heart that was willing and able to observe and listen finally freed them. All living creatures, speaking on my philosophy, should be promoted equally and put before ourselves. We should try to put others first to the point that we begin to reduce ourselves to zero. Become zero and this too you should cleave. And if this practice cannot be done with happiness and joy from within your heart, you are doing it for the wrong reasons. I never said that putting others first was rewarding. It is a type of sacrifice.”
The sun was beginning to set at last. King Zuhooloo and I had established a strong bond throughout our conversation and we learned to respect each other. I might have even managed to save my life.
Me: “King Zuhooloo, I must admit that I am quite weary and exhausted. I have a strong headache and I am very thirsty.” At this, King Zuhooloo let out a loud laugh unlike any before.
King Zuhooloo: “Where were you previously going white man?”
Me: “When you found me I was headed over to that oasis,” I said, pointing in yonder direction. He looked around in the general direction my finger was aiming.
King Zuhooloo: “There is no oasis that way. There are none for many days in either direction.”
Me: “But I can see it.”
King Zuhooloo: “I can’t believe you made it through the night.” He turned to one of his sons who handed him a leather container which he passed on to me.
King Zuhooloo: “Drink!”
Some claim that the desert is magical and filled with spirits. I believe that it is filled with giant, wild, hungry, carnivores and bloodthirsty beasts. Whatever happened had a profound effect on me. I woke again the next day to our tour guide shouting something while hovering over me which made all the other campers come over and have a look.
“He is alive!” shouted someone in the distance.
“How do you feel?” asked the tour guide looking down on me.
“With regards to what?” I asked putting my hands on each of my temples to squish a serious headache that was inevitably approaching.
“You are lucky to be alive,” the guide told me.
“Why is that?” I asked him.
“You were stung by a scorpion in your tent last night. We heard you screaming. I have been treating you,” he said almost delighted with joy at the result of his efforts.
“Where did you find me?” I asked in a very puzzled manner.
“In front of your tent,” he returned.
“So I never left?” I inquired of him.
“To go where?” he asked. “There is only one place to go when you are poisoned in the desert. Be glad you did not go there!” he laughed loudly as the group was busy picking up around the camp. We were getting ready to move on it seemed.
“Oh, no!” I heard a female voice shout in the background.
“What is wrong?” returned the guide looking back over his shoulder.
“I can’t find my camera. It’s not where I left it. It’s pink if you see it.”
THE END
