Melissa Haynes - Learning to Play with a Lion's Testicles

The wait for morning will be long and agonizing, giving me plenty of time to review the information collected earlier this evening from the rangers who, unlike Gerrit, have some personality and the ability to carry out a conversation. Unfortunately, the conversation focused on the smaller but deadlier creatures to be aware of on this reserve.

“Have you ever seen a puff adder?” Ranger Patrick asked.

I hadn’t.

“It’s the most dangerous snake on the continent, and we got lots of ’em right here.”

He’s proud of this fact. I, however, am not as pleased. “Right here… on the reserve?”

“Yeah. They can swim, jump, and even climb trees. They are opportunistic little devils, and they’re not afraid of nothin’. They got a way of getting into tiny spaces. Don’t ask me how they get into those tents when the zippers are shut tight.”

“They get into the tents?” As if sleeping in a tent wasn’t bad enough, now I have to worry about the most dangerous snake on the continent trying to get into bed with me?

“Oh yeah. If you’re lucky, you’ll see one.”

Lucky?

“In fact, only a few weeks ago, there was one right under that chair you’re sitting on. Damn dog wouldn’t stop barking at the chair. Thought he was nuts. Turns out there was a big ol’ puff coiled up under there, enjoying our campfire.” He laughed.

I had the sudden urge to jump from the chair, screaming.

“They got a big thick, square head like a bull, and the attitude of a bull, too, nasty little bastards.”

“Are they deadly?”

“Pretty much. A puff’s venom will kill a person in thirty-five minutes. It’s a rough thirty-five minutes.”

“My God…” Shock and fear steal my breath away. I’d never even heard of this type of snake before, and now they tell me these venomous monsters not only sneak into tents, but also can kill a person after a half-hour of excruciating torture? What the hell am I doing here?

“But there’s good news.”

“What’s that?” Please say they’re incredibly rare, or that they’re as aloof and uninterested in women as Gerrit is.

“The hospital is only thirty minutes away. No one’s died here yet.” All the rangers except for Gerrit sniggered when he said that. “We’ve had a few injuries here, but no fatalities,” he said through a wide smile. “And everyone has gone on to lead normal lives for the most part once they leave here.”

“For the most part…?”

“Once there was a volunteer who climbed a tree to cut branches for the ellies. Reckoned he was pretty good with a machete, and he was. But he lost his footing and landed spread eagle on a freshly hacked branch.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, cut his scrotum clean open from one end to the other.”

“Oh my…”

“He passed out before we even loaded him into the back of the truck. He slept the whole way to the hospital. They stitched him up good. Could have been worse, could have cut his own balls off with his machete when he fell.”

All the rangers broke out into a rolling laughter. I wondered how many volunteers had accidently cut off their fingers, toes, or other appendages.

“There’s some nasty spiders in these parts, too, but their venom can’t kill you.”

“What kind of spiders?”

“Oh, there are lots here, too many to mention. The venom only kills the flesh, turns it black. But as long as we cut it out before it spreads to vital organs, you’re fine.”

“Cut what out?”

“The flesh. We’ve all been trained to do that.”

The rangers broke out in laughter again. I dared not even look at Melanie, who was terrified to come here in the first place. Learning about climbing snakes that sneak into tents and flesh- killing spiders would be enough to send her running to Cape Town. I give her kudos for staying in her chair. After all, she came here because of me. My reasons for being here have wholly different origins.

There is nothing quite like an African sky. The famous hues of an African sunrise render most speechless, but an African sky at night is just as remarkable and tonight’s sky is no exception. At its center is the Milky Way, a dazzling rainbow of diamonds that stretches from the western horizon to the east, where it disappears into oblivion. The rest of the sky is black, an endless pit of dark velvet that leaves me feeling insignificant. But once I adjust to the darkness, I realize I’m not insignificant, but connected, like the trillions of individual stars above that together form huge clouds of galactic dust.

We are symbiotic beings, although we are mostly oblivious that others subsist and rely on us for protection, conservation, and ultimately, for survival. Distant countries, endangered species, and struggling societies—they are like the stars above and in the daily hustle of our busy lives, we forget they exist. It is only when the darkness in our own lives becomes so overwhelming that we search for the comfort that comes from something or someone outside of ourselves to fill the void that loneliness brings.

We search for greater meaning and purpose when hopelessness and fear become too great. It is in searching that we will find that which gives us hope, like the glowing star that suddenly becomes apparent when searched for in an outwardly black sky.

But on this night, inside my tent, in the silence, staring into the blackness, I have never felt so alone. The shock of past events creep into the dark space of my soul, filling it with memories I am trying to leave behind, memories I cannot escape, even here in an insignificant tiny tent camp in the middle of Africa. It has been two years, but the conversation replays in my mind as though it happened earlier today.

“I can’t move,” my mother’s distressed voice is barely audible on the other end of the telephone. She wastes no breath by saying hello.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to wake up.

“I had a glass of wine.”

“A glass of wine?”

“Maybe I had three or four, I don’t remember.”

I am still half asleep and unsure of what my response should be. After all, as of late, wine has become her best friend, her loyal companion, and one she refuses to let go of despite how bad it is for her and how much I beg her to.

“And I took morphine, too.”

This last piece of information jolts me into full alertness because she has never mixed alcohol and narcotics before.

“I’m on my way.” I hang up the phone without waiting for a reply.

The normally twenty-minute drive takes seven minutes in the light midnight traffic. When I enter her house I find her lying on the living room floor, a blank stare covers her vacant eyes, and dried tears have left stains on her cheeks. I fear the worst.

“Mum?” I whisper.

“I have to go to the bathroom, but I can’t move. Please help me.” She begins to cry.

She looks embarrassed and frail. It’s hard to believe this is the woman who had the tenacity of a bull and whom everyone feared—even my father. She was a woman who never backed away from a challenge and feared nothing. Looking at her now, she looks helpless, weak, and vulnerable. I don’t know this woman.

I try to lift her. It is impossible. Her body is dead weight. “I need to get help.”

“Please don’t. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” She turns her head away in shame.

“I can’t move you by myself.”

“Just drag me.”

I grip her wrists tightly and begin to drag her across the hardwood floor, but once we reach the carpet, her body refuses to move. “Bring me something,” she pleads. “A pad, some paper towel, anything. I have to pee so badly.”

I run upstairs searching for something. In the spare room I find some baby diapers and bring them to her. Pulling one apart, I try to protect her dignity by acting as though this is all normal. I place it underneath of her. She relieves herself and feels her own dignity slipping away. Over the next several hours she has to relieve herself many times. She tries in vain to hold the diaper underneath her, but her arms refuse to move, and each time she becomes more frustrated and ashamed.