Kgalagadi



In the Kgalagadi we woke early. We wore socks but when we put our feet on the floor we felt the cold. Awake quickly, we sat on the edge of our beds for a few moments before getting up and walking to the door. I cannot remember what the door was like. Outside it was light with the darkness just before the sun has come over the horizon. My takkies were standing in dry sand, sand that was lying still and would hold sunlight before long, that we would have to run quickly across. There are no scorpions there in the winter, you know; I didn't have to shake out my shoes before I put them on. The trees were bare and the birds were calling.

The sun comes and jackals begin to scrounge through the camp. Everyone is talking about the lion at dawn; there was a lion walking at the tall fence, a lion roaring so loudly one could only lie in bed and listen. But then you walked to the door and looked; there is a lion walking at the tall fence. A thin lion with a mane that turns black at the edge. I have only seen lions far away as they lie under the trees and blend in the shadows. Everyone tells me they are always larger than you imagine. I woke early and thought on the word majesty. By midday so many people had told me about the lion I felt that I had heard it myself.

When we drove it was always in the heat of the day. We took long breakfasts around the stone fire pits, and we took a long time to pack the car. When we were driving, I looked at the red sand dunes and they were so clear against the blue sky; long, endless desert sculptures that I loved. Who could regret a lion's roar, I thought, even if its sound carried on forever, as my sister tells me sound waves do, when they had this red sand that was beautiful, like the air before sunrise.