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Loose Ends
Don't touch the lion
Susan Nienow
Whenever we invite people over to see our pictures from Africa, they're busy. I think word has spread that my other half took over 1,600 pictures. We do have a comfy sofa, though. And I'll serve caffeinated coffee so everyone can stay awake to see them all.
Our most memorable moments weren't always caught by the camera. In South Africa we were in one of those big Land Rovers with the tiered seating one evening riding around the bush hoping to catch a glimpse of an elephant. Thanks to the radio where the rangers shared the locations of their "sightings," we drove to the last known location of several lions.
As we came up to the four young adult lions, the ranger stopped our vehicle and turned off the engine. We just watched as they walked beside the Land Rover.
One came over to sniff the coolers packed under the back seat where our daughter was sitting. No one moved. She was looking over the back of the vehicle when the curious one stopped sniffing and looked up at her - he was just a foot away.
I knew my other half and I were thinking the same thing - our daughter was going to put out her hand and pet the lion - but we were afraid to make any noise. From the front seat, the ranger said in a very low voice, "Don't touch the lion."
We relaxed when Curious Leo turned back to his pals and moseyed on his way. The first thing our fearless offspring said to the ranger was, "It's a good thing you told me not to touch. I was going to." That's probably why they send rangers along on these rides.
I managed to shop wherever we went, but was restricted to flat, lightweight items because we could only have one suitcase each. Earrings are a great substitute for anything. We saw many travelers toting around what were probably four-foot carved wooden giraffes, wrapped in newspaper or bubble-wrap.
My other half said he was not guarding any giraffe's head or legs halfway around the world. So that corner in our front hall is giraffe less. But my earring stash got a definite boost.
Congo was unforgettable. We went with our daughter to her office and to several meetings out in the field. The first thing she said to me was, "Mom, this isn't like other places. There aren't any public restrooms, and the one at the office is 'bucket flush.'"
That was enough to drive any other thought from my mind. As we drove along, lurching from pothole to pothole, I kept wishing I hadn't had any coffee that morning - or the day before either.
We did go to the market where I bought some fabric. My other half has never mentioned that we hauled six meters of fabric home so I could make a tablecloth or "something," or that it has been seven years since I touched my sewing machine.
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