African Safari
By David Syme
As the first blush of dawn outlines the old baobab tree in Kasaala, the Kimanzi’s family cockerel stretches his neck and gives a wake-up call.
Ngayau Kimanzi has already lit the fire and is boiling water for the morning cup of chai (tea laced with sugar) that each of her family of seven will take to chase the chill of night away before the sun pours heat into the arid scrublands of Kamba land.
Nearby a single hippo returns from the night’s foraging to an ever-decreasing waterhole. Soon he must move further afield, for the river will dry up during the long dry season. In the valley below Kasaala a small herd of elephants starts to move away from civilisation into the denser patches of scrub of the Tsavo East Game Park.
“Goodbye, Safari,” his older brother Mutunga calls out as he sets off for school. “I’ll see you later.” n Six-year old Safari moans and turns his face to the mud wall of the hut that is home. Tears well in his eyes and he clutches the thin blanket more tightly as he thinks of what he is missing.
Later he ambles to his brother’s small school where from behind a large tree he watches enviously at the many activities that are taking place there.
Suddenly Safari is surrounded by boys who’ve crept up on him. “What are you doing here, funny face?” they taunt.
“You’ll never be any good with a face like that. No one will want you. ‘Safari’—a journey? Your name’s a joke! Go home and watch your chickens!” Embarrassed and ashamed, Safari covers his scarred face with a piece of his shirt, then turns and leaves. Within him his spirit rises and he throws a retort to his tormentors.
“One day, I will be at this school. I will learn and I will go somewhere.” Safari walks back through his village as farmers set up their market. He wanders past the ruin of the place where his life was changed. His mind goes back to that moment when he sat beside the warmth of the fire wrapped in a synthetic blanket after his bath on a cold morning. He smells the smoke of the burning blanket, his hair and flesh. Life would never be the same again.
When Ngayau sees her son coming, she realises that the boys have been taunting Safari once again. What hope does he have? she thinks to herself.
Five months later, Safari is playing on his wooden scooter when coming down the path past the old baobab tree, he sees a mazungu (European) approaching. He flees to his house, but the stranger follows.
“ Jambo. Habari ya asabuhi, Mama, ” the stranger says, then, through a translator: “My name is Paul. I work for ADRA– Kenya. I’m looking for a boy with a badly disfigured face. Does he live here?” “Yes, that is my son, Safari.” Paul is invited in and over the next few hours discusses the miracle that is about to overtake Safari’s life. Paul explains how an Australian guest who’d visited him had spotted Safari near the village waterhole, and upon returning to Australia had raised money to bring the lad to Sydney for an operation to restore his face.
More months pass, but now the day has come for Safari to live up to his name. He stands at the Jomo Kenyatta Airport with his nurse, amid television news cameras.
His safari is about to begin. He will return to Kasaala restored, able take his place among his peers without fear of ridicule.
He waves shyly, then walks aboard the huge plane, bound for Sydney, where the final preparations are being made for his arrival and surgery. For Safari, a new life’s journey has begun!
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