Frank Scozzari

 

Disgusting animals, the hyena! But everyone knew that, Nick thought. Still, seeing them live, in person, up close and active at their handiwork, put a whole new light on the subject.

He gazed out through the protective glass of the Land Cruiser, bedazzled by it all. Six fiendish animals fought over a single gazelle carcass; their faces red in blood, red down the length of their thick necks like a scarlet bandana; their hind quarters, slopping freakishly, messed in their own defecation. It was not a vision he expected to see when signing up for this eco-friendly, photographic safari. It was a vision that would stick in his head in a bad way for a long time. Seeing it in a brochure was one thing. Quite another to see it in grizzly detail, disemboweled intestines being dragged out of a freshly opened cavity and covetously devoured; and hearing the sound of powerful jaws crunching down on flesh and bone. He watched as their glitzy little eyes looked furtively, lustfully, greedily at one another as if there was not enough meat to go around.

It is a deplorable spectacle, he thought. It is offensive to the soul. One could easily argue that it was an animal not fit to share the earth.

“I have no use for them,” he said flatly. “I’d add them to the list.”

The young blonde woman sitting next to him turned and asked, “The list?”

“Yeah, you add them to the list,” Nick insisted.

“Which list?”

“Along with flies and mosquitoes.”

The woman looked at him curiously.

“The list for extermination,” he said bluntly.

“Come’on now, every creature has its place on this earth. As do we…”

“They shouldn’t.”

The young blonde gazed out at the hyenas. “It is very horrible to watch, I know. But it is nature’s work.”

“Well, it’s a part of nature I can live without, and my future children can live without, and my grandchildren can live without. Exterminate them, I say. That’s my vote.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

The blonde continued to watch the hyenas, as did Nick. Their heads jerked violently as they ripped off chunks of flesh. Their powerful jaws snapped down on bone and sliced through the meat. Occasionally the animals looked up at the vehicles, with ears widespread, seemingly indifferent to the fact that they had an audience.

It is an animal without empathy, Nick thought. An animal without moral conscience.

“Remember, it is all part of the circle,” she said.

Nick frowned.

“They serve a purpose, you know. They’re the garbage disposals of the savannah.”

“Ha! You got that right.”

“Who then will clean up the mess left by the lions, and the weak, and the old?”

“Don’t care. Let them decompose in the sun. Anything beats this visual.”

A few vultures hopped along the ground nearby, wanting to get in on the action. But the hyenas wheeled their teeth at them, keeping them at a distance.

“Can we go now?” Nick asked the driver.

Kikanae, the dark Kenyan behind the wheel, turned back and looked at Nick. He smiled with a set of very white teeth. Beside him was their guide, Bernard Wambui. Bernard was not his real name of course. He was as black and Kenyan as Kikanae, but spoke English as well as any Englishman having had the benefit of being raised in an British orphanage. Bernard was his English name, assumed on his behalf because he liked how it sounded, and because his Kenyan name was too difficult for the tourists to pronounce.

“It is part of the tour,” Bernard said. “You are lucky to see it. It is Africa as it really is. It is big money safari.”

“What?”

“It is what your rich Americans like best, the corporate types and Hollywood celebrities, to see the real Africa. They pay big money for it, and give big tips for a show like this. Really, you are lucky to see it.”

“These places never look like the brochures,” Nick grumbled.

There were two other tourists in the vehicle, an elderly couple from England, who were likewise appalled by the spectacle. They sat quietly in the back seat, taken aback by the feeding frenzy.

“It is one thing to know about the wild; quite another to see it,” the English woman said with an elegant accent.

“They are a well-evolved animal,” Bernard said. “Known for their thievery; known to be very thorough with their kill; known to prey upon themselves. And they are the boldest of thieves, even to steal from lions, even to take meat from an animal still breathing.”

“That’s nice to know,” Nick said.

“He is a hungry one,” Bernard said to his driver, chuckling, and he pointed at one of the hyenas whose head was completely buried in the body cavity of the gazelle. When the head came out, it had a long line of intestines attached to its mouth. The others hyenas tried to take it from him and he snarled back at them. Bernard took something from the dashboard, opened his window, and threw it at the animal, hitting it in its hind quarters. The hyena turned sharply, snapping wildly into the air. Finally it locked its eyes on Bernard and snarled at him. Nick watched as Bernard’s hand reach for the shotgun he kept clamped on the inside door panel. Bernard’s hand remained on the shotgun, as if ready to pull it free, until the animal turned its attention back to the other hyenas who were trying to steal the meat from his mouth.

“Yeah, that one, he’s a hungry one,” Kikanae said.

“Do you know how Maasai rid themselves of hyenas?” Bernard asked the group. “They shoot one with a barbed-tipped arrow, not to kill but to lame, lame enough to make it bleed and take off running and yelping, with enough blood trailing behind for his pals to get a whiff. What happens next is comical. A frenzied chase follows, his blood-thirsty pals eager to sink their teeth into what now, for them, is only a wounded piece of meat… an easy kill.

“Once I shot an antelope and a pack of hyenas came out of the bush for it. Even though I stood there with a rifle on them, they were determined to take it from me. They were not afraid, even after I fired a warning shot. And it’s not as if these animals don’t know what a rifle can do. They do know. Trust me, they do.”

“What did you do?” asked the English woman.

Bernard paused. He looked over at Kikanae. There was a moment of silence. “I let them keep the antelope,” he said, letting out a chuckle. He returned his attention to the feeding hyenas. “They did not kill this animal,” he said, referring to the butchered gazelle carcass. “I am sure of it. They stole it from a lion.”

They all remained in the Land Cruiser, witnessing the way of Africa. After ten more minutes, there was little left of the gazelle, and little left to see. Nature’s work had been complete. What was left for the buzzards was merely a bloodstain on the African earth.

The Land Cruiser started up, moved forward, and wound its way down the dirt road, which was not much more than a faint pair of tire tracks. Silence prevailed within the vehicle. The thoroughness of the hyenas had taken the conversation out of Nick, and the young blonde, and the English couple in the back. After fifteen more minutes, the Land Cruiser came to a place where the savannah was indented by a small gorge. The vehicle went into low gear and negotiated it way down to the bottom. There was a dry creek bed at the bottom, filled with rocks and surrounded by flat-topped acacia trees. Kikanae braked at the crossing and the vehicle rolled slowly over large boulders before lulling its way back up the opposite rim. Ahead now was the last of the acacia trees, beyond which was open range, and just as the Land Cruiser was about to push out onto it, there was movement ahead, there on the road.

Three men suddenly appeared from behind the trees and stood in the middle of the road, blocking the path of the Land Cruiser. They all held rifles in their hands and pointed them directly at Kikanae.

“Nje! Nje!,” the large one shouted. “Get out!”

He was a stout, dark Kikuyu, who stood a step in front of and in between the other two.

Kikanae promptly placed the vehicle in park, turned off the ignition, and held his hands high where they could see them. Bernard did the same, cautiously, showing his white palms through the windshield.

“Be calm,” Bernard said to the group in the back, whispering to them. “Be patient.”

Bernard and Kikanae opened their doors and slowly stepped out, keeping their hands high. However, they did so in a way that left their bodies shielded by the opened doors.

“Sawa! Starehe!” Bernard said to the large one. “Stay calm.”

The large one said something in Swahili, and then he motioned to the passengers, waving his hand as if he wanted them to exit the vehicle.

“Leave them,” Bernard said in Swahili. “They are tourists. They have no weapons. They carry only cameras.”

The large one shouted again in Swahili, motioning with the barrel of his rifle for them to get out.

“We can supply you with whatever you wish,” Bernard said calmly. “We have money, and ammunition, and food, and supplies. The tourists, they’re our responsibility. They need to stay in the vehicle…”

From behind the seat, Nick watched. He watched as Bernard continued to speak; he watched as Bernard’s hand reached for the shotgun on the door panel; he watched as Bernard slowly pulled it from the bracket and looked over at Kikanae, and as his finger found the trigger.

In a flash Bernard’s shotgun was at the top of the door. In the same instant Kikanae’s, rifle came up too. The bright steel of the gun barrels flashed in the sunlight as the shotgun sounded first. Bam! And in rapid succession both rifles spoke; Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

So sudden was it that Nick did not fully comprehend what had just happened. When he finally raised his head and looked through the windshield he saw the three men lying on the road, Bernard and Kikanae approaching them with their guns extended. He could not believe what he had just witnessed. It seemed surreal. Three men, who were alive and standing in one moment, were now dead on the ground. He had never seen men killed before, and could hardly believe how simple and finite a task it was. He felt a chill vibrating through his body. He looked around at the others, who were likewise shocked by the spectacle.

“My God,” the British woman said.

“Stay in the jeep!” Bernard shouted back without turning his head.

There was a moment when nothing happened. There was complete silence on the Land Cruiser. Bernard knelt down beside the large Kikuyu and rummaged through his pockets, taking some papers which he tucked into his waist belt, and he found some trinkets which he examined and discarded on the roadside. Kikanae did the same with the others. Then they dragged the bodies to the side of the road and piled them on top of one another. Their weapons were gathered up and deposited in the back of the Land Cruiser. When Bernard and Kikanae finally climbed back into the Land Cruiser, they were both breathing heavily from all the work.

“Shouldn’t we take them, or bury them or something?” Nick asked.

Bernard exchanged a glance with Kikanae and said nothing at first.

“It is impossible,” he then replied. “There is no place for them in the jeep. And besides, we can’t bury them. The constable will want to see them, and identify them. He will want to see exactly how it happened.” Bernard looked back at them over the seat. “It has been a problem… robberies.”

“What?”

“They are thieves, no different then the hyenas; thugs preying on the tourists and the guide services. It has been a big problem, really, having an impact on the safari industry as a whole.”
“You will just leave them?” the British woman asked.

“The constable will be out here to tag them. He will gather up the bodies,” Bernard said. “He needs to see them exactly as they are.”

Bernard looked over at Kikanae. Kikanae turned on the ignition and let it idle. Then Bernard looked back over his seat at the group. “It is standard procedure in cases like this. The constable will take care of everything. He will notify the next of kin.”

The four of them; the blonde, the British couple, and Nick remained silent as the vehicle began to move.

They can’t really just leave them? Nick thought. Not here, exposed to the animals and elements.

“Sorry you had to witness this,” Bernard said. “But it is Africa as it really is.”

As the Land Cruiser began to move ahead, Nick thought of the three men left heaped on the roadside. In one moment they were living, breathing things; in the next they were a pile of dead flesh on the dry earth. He turned back and looked, resting his chin on the top of the back seat. He could barely make them out, hidden in the shadows of the acacia trees and as the Land Cruiser continued to accelerate away, they blended in with the earth.

Now they were part of the indelible Kenyan landscape, he thought.

And through the descending sunlight he saw them coming, the pack of hyenas, out from the underbrush and down the hillside in quick flashes of grey; their glitzy eyes caught in the angling light. As did all the good animals of Africa, they were returning for the carrion; to replenish from the dead, strength back to the living.

Nick turned, stared forward, and said nothing. There was nothing to say, he thought. It was nature at work, the way of Africa; Africa as it really is. Life was given back to the savannah as it had been given back over many generations.