Kafunta means CRAZY

You could smell it before the safari vehicle arrived and turned off its noisy engine. But even then the gore was hidden. Five female lounging lions blocked the road, panting heavily to help digest their meal. The previous night the pride had taken down a hippo that had strayed from the river under the cover of darkness to munch on the grassland. The car turned off the road, crunching the drying grasses, and inched under the cover of some nearby bushes. My heart skipped a beat as I stared into the eyes of an awake but calm sandy-haired carnivore nestled under a bush eight feet away. Is this safe, I thought? We continued to inch forward, the pungent scent of hippo flesh getting stronger. All that was visible under the bushes was the gigantic rib cage of a hippopotamus. About ten lions, all females or young males, feasted on the remaining meat. One lion had the sizable and still intact foot of the hippo in its mouth. It shook its head violently back and forth, trying to rip through the 2 centimeters of skin.

I was fascinated. I was scared out of my mind.

We had driven ourselves into a trap, with branched and green leaves creating a tunnel around us. There was no physical barrier stopping the lion eight feet away from jumping up onto the door-less back seats of the safari truck. If we needed to make a quick getaway there was no path to refuge. Surprisingly the loud truck didn’t bother the animals in the slightest. When we had enough excitement, our guide took a Y-turn, just noisily backing up into a pride of feasting lions, and we went on our way.

Yeah, it was looking right at me!

Enough excitement for one night, right? WRONG.

We found a beautiful spot on the Luangwa River. We enjoy our drinks and snacks as hippos (alive this time) were popping their heads up out of the water, twitching their ears. A large group of impalas and baboons were grazing in the nearby field. Mr. Heilman was the first of our group to be brave enough to go behind a bush and mark his territory so to speak when he saw a flash of spotted fur dart through the tall grasses toward some potential dinner. Soon the baboons were squawking and the soft thunder of impala hooves in motion caught our attention.

“Back in the truck!” Our guide spoke firmly. Becca was already in the vehicle. Finally ready to go, one of the guides showed a light into the field. The yellow eyes of leopard looked straight at us, maybe twenty feet away. I covered my mouth I was so enamored and surprised by its beauty and physical proximity. With all hunting prospects properly warned and fleeing, the leopard turned and stealthily walked into the nearby covering of trees. Its leg bones took turns rising up and down, tail slightly hovering off the ground, as it modeled its brown and black spots on the “catwalk.”

A leopard sleeping in a tree. SHH!

By then the Zambian night was upon us, darkness blanketing the park. We picked up speed while still shining our long-distance lamp this way and that around us looking for nocturnal animals. The road was bumpy and went to and fro. I suddenly felt as if I was inside some video game like “Frogger,” no longer an amphibian trying to dodge vehicles, but a vehicle trying to dodge the hundreds of impala, baboons, hippos and herd of elephants in the dark open plains. Taking a sharp turn, we accidently spooked a mother elephant. We were too close to her baby, I guess, and even in the darkness, I could see her charging.

“Faster, faster,” I thought. “Get us out of here.”

Against my instinct the driver slowed to a complete stop. “GO!” I thought. But our cessation of movement had communicated our acquiescence of her dominance: that we were not a threat. She stopped ten feet from our car, and we slowing inched forward and away.

And that was just our first game drive at South Luangwa National Park.

Elephants

Rebecca’s parents visiting from the United States graciously allowed me to accompany them on an adventure of a lifetime. South Luangwa is the best game park in the country and one of the best on the continent. South Luangwa is quite the contrast from my populated, urban community. It was a beautiful experience to see the open skies and clouds, colorful feathers of birdlife, various shades of greens and browns making up the flora of the area, and the mighty, mighty animals of Zambia.

I am amazed, truly, truly amazed by the beauty of this country.  As I hugged a Baobab tree that has been on this earth for 1500 years, I was humbled to be in the presence of a natural landscape that has been wild for hundreds of years.

Baobab trees: Making me feel short for 1500 years.

I pictured life in the nearby villages after observing a scene of children shouting and sending their dogs running up to scare a herd of elephants up ahead. What a life to live in the shadow of gigantic, life-threatening, and yet majestic animals? What a blessing and what a pest they must be in the villagers lives! And yet here I was paying to come see them.

South Luangwa lived up to the hype I heard about the game viewing . But no one told me I would be scared out of my mind. There was no safety video or talk before any of the drives. I was shocked by how close we got to the carnivorous cats in particular. We saw leopards sleeping in the tree during the day. At night, we saw four impala legs hanging from a high branch as a leopard devoured its body safe from hyenas and other scavengers who might want a bite. We saw two leopards walking down the road in the daytime. One got so close to our car, it was probably rubbing its fur on our wheels. I was too scared to move and look over the side of the truck. Nothing was stopping the animal from jumping up to greet me, or worse.

I took the opportunity to take a short walking safari through the mud. After mostly stopping to look at plants and animal scat, I found myself the last in our single file line and the only one to look to our left and see a very much awake leopard staring at us from a low branch less than thirty feet away from us. I was paralyzed but whispered to the elderly British woman ahead of me, “there’s a leopard in the tree…” Our guide and the man with the gun had missed the animal and were already twenty-five feet ahead of us blabbing about something I couldn’t hear.  I didn’t even get to enjoy the beautiful animal, because the tone of guide telling us to move quickly to him scared the living daylights of me. I stared at the ground, careful not to slip in the mud, but turned to watch the leopard slink down the tree. We heard the rustle of the bushes as it stalked off in the opposite direction.

Overall we saw at least three prides of lions. One lion even jumped and climbed a tree in our presence, a rare sight we were told. Each day I was amazed at how close the driver got us to these cats. Two strides and they could have been licking our vehicle. We were told as long as we stayed seated, the lions would see the vehicle as one entity, some strange animal they’ve gotten used to moving around about them. No danger, they said.

Other memorable sights were two racing giraffes, an elephant slipping down the riverbank into the water as if on a waterslide, a bushbuck barking in warning as a crocodile swam close to the edge of the pool, a giant bird swallowing a fish bigger than its sizeable beak, a lone wildebeest, a hippo munching on some Egyptian cabbage in the day time with some beautiful greenery stuck to its back, and hundreds of elephants or zebra each way you would turn. We saw a bush baby, African civets, genets, the white-tailed mongoose, the marsh mongoose, the elephant mouse, a kudu, and so so many beautiful birds. We also heard and saw lions while eating out delicious dinners two out of the five nights.

Hang on Baby Baboon!

Male impala

                                    

Finally, our last animal sight in the park was the most spectacular, violent and terrifying. Our guide received information that lions were in a particular area. We couldn’t find them in the evening light, but under the cover darkness we happened upon them. Two other vehicles were already on the scene. Between the three vehicles’ high-intensity lights we could see three lions on alert but lying low less than ten feet to the right of our car. Maybe forty feet ahead of us to our left there was one lion creeping forward toward a tree line.

It happened in such a flash. We must have only been there two minutes. An impala came running at us and right at a bush ahead of us, six young lions collided with it from all directions. You could hear the thud of animal body on animal body, of teeth sinking into flesh, the impala last words. In a flash and thunder of starting engines, the observing vehicles converged on the scene in a surrounding triangle. I heard Becca to my right, repeating the words, “Please stop, please stop.” She was talking to our driver, but I couldn’t help but say those words in my head to the lions. There wasn’t more than five feet between each vehicle and a mass of animals moving back and forth. I’m not sure if the movement was a result of the strength of the impala or the inexperience of the young lions, but pretty soon the impala’s head stopped moving and the mass of prey and predators sunk a bit lower to the ground.  It was then that a few of the lions took their teeth from their prey and moved their heads around gazing at all the spectators. A chill went down my spine. I realized that we basically had the animals cornered, the vehicles creating a barrier with some juicy human snacks in them. I felt Becca’s trembling on my legs and arms, and couldn’t believe I was seeing what I was seeing so close. And I couldn’t believe I was safe. I told the driver it was time to leave. I fully understand that lions need to eat, too, and I’m quite aware of the existence of a food chain. But now more fully aware of how gruesome that reality really is. It was interesting to have spent five days marveling at the beauty of life, and then finally be confronted with death. It was fascinating. It was horrifying. It was majestic.

When we returned to the lodge, I grilled our guide with questions about our safety in the situation, and he reassured me that the animals are quite used to the close proximity of cars and are much more interested in the fresh meat they have been hunting and eating for time immemorial. But something felt wrong about our intrusion and the barrier of the vehicles. We were there to learn about nature, but there was nothing natural about cars and laughing humans surrounding hunting animals. I think I could have enjoyed it more from a safer distance.

It was nonetheless an unforgettable experience. I might have lost some innocence, but today I am truly marveling at the both the peace and grace and simultaneous brutal violence of this animal kingdom we live in. I am in awe of the majestic place I am living this year.

The name of the lodge and safari business was Kafunta Safaris. Kafunta means crazy. Crazy Safaris. Yup, that’s about right.

HEY GUYS I'M ON A SAFARI!

At Kafunta River Lodge

A girl and her camera

A giraffe poking out to say, "Muli Bwanji?"

Becca, Myself, and Mrs. Heilman

Grandma Weinberg

In the last three weeks I’ve watched two coffins lowered into the sandy, dark Zambian soil. One coffin held a grandfather and the other a grandmother. Men jostled each other to get a chance at the shovel to tuck the departed soul into eternal rest. Grandchildren waited their turn to put a flower into the grave.

Today I picture my own family gathered around a grave in northern Minnesota. Yesterday my family honored my mother’s mother with a church service of remembrance. Today they bury her ashes.  I can’t be there physically but I can picture the spot and the scene in my mind. Last summer, when my grandmother was in the hospital, I travelled to see and visit her, which I now realize was a beautiful goodbye. During the trip, my mother took me to see a cemetery with the graves of many family members. Looking for the names of my great-grandparents on tombstones, I was shocked to find myself staring at the name JEAN WEINBERG. It was a Scrooge-like moment. I found myself staring into the future, as if my grandmother had already died. My mother had forgotten to tell me that my grandmother had already installed her own tombstone. Minutes later it was a laughing matter and remains a good story, but today I am glad for the mental picture: my grandmother’s resting place. And I can see each of my uncles and aunts, cousins, father, brother, and mother encircling this place with their love and gratitude.

The following are the words I wrote in honor of my grandmother’s passing. My younger brother, Mitchell, did me the honor of reading them for me yesterday.

Grandparents are a mysterious blessing in our lives, and my grandmother, Jean Katherine Weinberg was just that. I knew her so intimately and yet there remains so much I don’t know. Grandma gave life to my mother and aunt and uncles, shaping the very adults who would shape my own life. Grandma will forever be in my memories of my early, formative years of life. She was around when I took my first breath. She was there for Christmases and birthdays and graduations. She was there when I was still figuring this world out, when I had big questions, when I had tears and laughter. She was there when I needed hugs and pushes out the door.

The relationship between grandchild and grandchildren is so mysterious because grandmother and granddaughter are living in opposite phases of their lives. Grandma met me when she was finally taking a load off in the lawn chair outside. I was running circles around her, singing at the top of my lungs. It’s such a beautiful paradox. The beginning meets the end.

I will cherish my memories of our beautiful meeting. I’ll remember my grandmother sitting on the couch, finishing up an entire book of word searches. I’ll remember one of her characteristic smiles-- one eye closed in a wink, scrunching up the left side of her face, her thumbs twiddling in her lap. I’ll remember feeling loved as I entered her apartment, seeing all my school pictures proudly displayed. I’ll remember her introducing me to the movie, Dave, because it was one of the only VHS’s she had. I’ll remember the excitement of her arrival at the train station in Milwaukee. I would have fun guessing which track her train would come, always hoping for the far one so she would get to use the underground ramp. I’ll remember her face lighting up when you told her she looked beautiful after getting her hair done. I’ll remember sleeping on the floor next to her in her apartment when my family would come visit her. I’ll remember being scared of her bathroom sink because I might see her dentures floating in a jar. I’ll remember her as strong and resilient, living independently and fighting so many health problems at the end of her life. I’ll remember her as someone who wanted to live, lying bravely in her hospital bed.  I’ll remember her quirks and some of the funny things she said.

I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think there is something special in the generational line of females. From mother to daughter, to that daughter’s daughter. Within these relationships there is certainly times of challenge as the daughter rebels to assert her independence, but that never erases the fierce loyalty that connects grandmother to mother to daughter. I’m sad that this trio has been broken, but I remain fiercely loyal. My grandmother has left me a precious gift: my own mother. And now I have watched my mother take care, and love and forgive her own mother over and over again. Thank you grandmother, for mothering me and leaving me with a mother.

There are so many events from Grandma’s life that intrigue me: Born in Hollywood, valedictorian of her small class, survivor of a bus accident, spoiled and beloved girl-child, the first person in her family to graduate college, mother of four children born in four different states, famous and beloved in the Red Lake Falls community. I’ve looked in her scrapbook and seen her flirty captions, and I’m in awe by this woman that I knew and didn’t know. My grandmother is forever tied to my childhood, but hers will always remain a mystery to me. Now as an adult, I can think more broadly and wonder at her whole life—from girl to grandma. As I glimpse this whole woman, I am inspired. I am inspired by the mystery of the person I didn’t know, by her beauty then and even now. I’m inspired by her perseverance and love. I’m inspired that she lived and left a legacy of children, nieces and nephews, grandchildren and soon to be great grandchildren that she loved and loved her back. The web of people gathered around her in celebration now is a testament to this.

She leaves me now with intrigue at her life. So I will keep asking questions about her and musing about her, and thinking about how she has shaped my life. The beginning met the end in our relationship, but that circle continues.  She kept on throughout her entire life, and so too, will I. I miss you grandma, but you will forever be in my heart and imagination.