Slowly I drank and finished the cold milk and came back to the Africa of the afternoon. I smelled the earth, the warmth of the rocks, strong wafts of grass, blossoming Acacia karoo and gerardii, the mingled scent of the yellow and the white blossoms touching some primordial memories in my psyche. The rain was the first heavy rain of spring, a time our early hominid ancestors knew would bring the fruits of the earth, the sweet red ivory berries and everything that bloomed and blossomed. Thus, the psyche became conditioned to the seasons that created a flow of living, and the memory was carried by countless generations. I stood for a few moments, the glass in my hand, savoring the night. With my thirst gone and the other memories receding I could enter once again the wild world that lay beyond the light of the lantern. The crickets' high-pitched song reverberated in my ears, blotting out all the other sounds but bringing a resonance and deep connection with the surrounding darkness. Then suddenly they would stop, and I could hear the frog calls rising in waves from the gullies, and way below on the banks of the White Mfolozi the deep repetitive bullfrog voices took over the night. The biological function of the frogs had been known for a long time, but I wondered as I was transported on the waves of sound how their song had touched early humans. In the quiet of the cave and other rough shelters, how many men, women and children had lain beside the small fire listening and absorbing the music of the spring nights?
Hendrik called out, "Kom binne" (Come inside).
I walked reluctantly into the small room where we were going to eat. Mrs. van Schoor put thin slices of fried bushbuck meat, some mieliepap (stiff porridge), and pumpkin on my plate. She had cooked everything perfectly. Hendrik said grace, holding the hands of his family. The light on the faces of this little group in the wilderness asking for blessing on the food was a scene I was never to forget.
- page 26
The path followed the contour through euclea scrub, dipping in old dongas and heading now toward the White Mfolozi River. We crested a rise, and I could see Nqolothi hill and the long afternoon shadows creeping down its slopes. I did not have to concentrate on any dangers with Magqubu ahead of me, neither now nor in the thousands of other kilometers I was to walk behind him. There were many administrative concerns, personality conflicts, and other worries on my mind. I was sorting through them as we walked, but gradually and almost imperceptibly the atmosphere of the land enveloped me.
It was a landscape that had been occupied by humans for hundreds of thousands of years: early hominids, Bushmen, and Nguni clans. Men had fought here with great savagery against one another. Dingiswayo the Mtetwa king was killed by the Ndwandwe people, and Shaka, the founder of the Zulu nation, had in turn chased the Ndwandwe people out and fought their chief, Zwide. I was partially aware of some of this history because in 1955 I had seen the broken maize-grinding stones littering the Mfulumkulu plain. The guards had told me it was Shaka and his warriors who were responsible, thus making sure the Ndwandwes would not return. The land had a feeling that in this fading May afternoon transported me into a realm of the mind and body much deeper than I had ever experienced. The chanting goshawk called from a dense patch of bush, and trumpeter hornbills flapped overhead with their characteristic one-two-three flight. A bushbuck barked in the distance, and a grey duiker bounded across in front of us, diving and weaving through the bush. Words could not describe the poetry of this ancient land. What I was connected to was the spirit of place, all life past and present intermingling at different levels and forming an intangible bond with the hard earth beneath my feet.
For a distance I floated rather than walked, then there would be a break in the terrain, or the sharp shriek of a monkey that had spotted us. This brought me back from my mind wanderings to the beaten rhino path and Magqubu walking at his steady pace. I became conscious of my body, the branches of trees touching me, sweat trickling down my forehead and dripping over my eyes or running down between my shoulder blades. I could feel the firmness of the compacted rhino-trodden earth through my velskoene. My socks rubbed against my heels and the burning start of a blister jabbed at me. Magqubu's head bobbed up and down above the top of his haversack and I could hear his breathing, regular and without strain.
Then everything seemed to fade away, and it was only my mind moving high and above the path. For an indeterminate length of time I was like a bateleur eagle soaring above and gliding with wings hardly moving. I did not fight anything in myself, but I drifted into different states of mind, then into my body. It was a form of self-hypnosis in which one part of my mind was absolutely still and part of the landscape, unmoving and unchanged. The other part was very much aware, my senses so sharply acute that eyes, nose, and ears missed nothing: a blue waxbill feather being pulled by tiny black ants across the path; dry, caked mud clinging to an mkia tree where a rhino had rubbed off the mud from a wallow; a dead tick caught in the mud, the outer shell glinting in sunlight for a split second before my eye passed, focusing in short flashes on other things. A boulder dark at the base and white on the edge where warthogs and wild pigs had rubbed. A depression in the churned earth where they had braced themselves.
The sun dipped behind Nqolothi hill, and we walked in the shadows. I heard the sharp-pitched whistle of the mountain reed-buck that lived on the flat tops of Nqolothi, their calls noticeably shriller than the common reedbuck. We reached the thick ndlovusiyashikana bush at the base of Nqolothi hill.
Magqubu's pace slowed and his body movements changed. He exuded an air of caution. Every meter we walked deeper into the gloom of the bush heightened his awareness of possible danger. There were big pans here, some still holding a little water where trees had protected them from the sun. Others were dark mud, the consistency of thick porridge, and rhino and warthog had been wallowing. There were signs of them everywhere-dung, dropped mud, tracks, and scraping marks against trees. I was now no longer floating. My senses had become aware of Magqubu's vigilance expressed through his body actions. We were slowly enveloped by the bush and had to bend low to pass under overhanging thorn branches. The nocturnal rhythm was beginning, with white-browed scrub robins singing and toppies calling in concert as they do when they see a snake. It was a persistent kind of chatter but without the urgency of a warning. The guttural cries of crested francolin in front and behind startled some hah-de-dah ibises, who flapped and screamed out their piercing calls. This warned some rhino ahead of us, and they snorted loudly. Magqubu stopped, cocked his head slightly, and listened. The rhino snorted again and Magqubu relaxed, turned, smiled, and said, "Mkombe" (White rhino).
He had hardly spoken when there was a deep bellow followed by a growling sound like the beginning of a lion's roar. Then the bush erupted, and the din was frightening. The sound of breaking branches and loud scrapings as rhino rubbed against one another penetrated the still evening. The enclosed surroundings accentuated the noise, and I could feel my heart thumping against my chest. The ancient human response of flight or fight and the surge of adrenaline to assist either course flashed into my mind.
I watched Magqubu. He stood facing the sound, his head moving slightly, following the movement of the animals. He held up his hand, showing five fingers. How did he know there were five rhino when we could not see through the bush? Again it was an intuitive knowledge and the combination of all his senses. There was a sharp cry, like a cat mewing. Magqubu bent down, peering through the bush, then he indicated with his hand that the noise came from a calf. He held his hand up again, showing four fingers and the fifth bent over: four adults and one calf.
He jerked his head and we walked quietly away, taking another rhino path that led to the southern slopes of Nqolothi hill. We skirted round a big pan where there were many signs of rhino. Magqubu sniffed the air. I did the same and could smell rhino. I said, "Mkombe." He smiled and pointed to a path, then showed me five sets of tracks, one of which was of a calf. He patiently drew out each track, showing me the differences, but they were so slight that by the time, he moved from one to the other I had forgotten the previous one.
We were now totally in shadow, and I knew it would be dark within an hour. I whispered that we should move, but I needed to know how he could identify the exact number of five rhino that we had heard. I asked him quietly, and he said he knew by the sound. He moved his body around, making the rasping noise of rhino rubbing against rhino then against trees and the calf's catlike sound and the suckling noise as it drank from its mother. My hearing is acute and has always been my most important sense, but this was phenomenal audible observation. He was able to differentiate between the tones, his mind taking in and eliminating unnecessary information and coming up with answers upon which our lives could have depended. I do not see color until the word is mentioned or I consciously think about it. It is like saying to myself, “Look at the landscape, what colors do you see?” Then they start to materialize. Sometimes they are so vivid that they force their way into my consciousness. It was only after I had stopped smoking that my sense of smell improved to allow me to be aware of subtle differences in scent. I had to concentrate, whereas Magqubu took everything in, filtering out what was not important but retaining it for further identification if needed. I can never recall a moment when he was not focused on his immediate surroundings.
The light in the sky was changing when we began the steep climb up Nqolothi hill. I was sweating and breathing heavily when we reached halfway. I called for a rest. Magqubu laughed and stopped. "Sinda" (Heavy), he said. It was a polite way of acknowledging my fatigue.
