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

The origins of this disease are unknown, but one may surmise that the earliest cases were a few hundred years ago, during colonial times, when the first settlers made South Africa their home. Those brave settlers lived off the land and had daily confrontations with wild and dangerous animals, facing fear with unsurpassed courageousness.

After these pioneers, more adventure-seekers came for a taste of this wild continent they had read about in letters or newspapers, in which photos emerged of grand, hunted animals never before seen.

When the newcomers arrived, they were overwhelmed by the ferocity of this country, the purity and harshness of it all. They found adventure, but their adventures couldn’t have happened without a guide, a guide who became their safe-keeper, the one who kept them alive and who showed them a new life they had never been privy to. It was during those early days of discovery that the first cases of Khaki Fever came to be.

Not much has changed since that time. People still come to Africa seeking adventure, and they still get infected with the fever.

The fever is contracted from the very ones who guide them and keep them safe; the rangers themselves. The disease has evolved over time, with the evolution of women’s roles as wildlife guides and rangers, so it’s no longer just women who are afflicted by this disease, but men as well—men who find themselves in the hands of a rifle-bearing woman clad in khaki slacks.

This indigenous and elusive disease cannot be easily avoided, often incarcerating the most unsuspecting victims. There are no warning signs. One moment, the individual is fine, and the next, she is completely engulfed by this foreign, feverish state that has been appropriately named Khaki Fever, for khakis are a necessary ingredient to bring the fever to fruition.

What makes this fever so lethal is that, to this day, there is no known cure; one must simply wait it out until it passes. During this cooling-off period, one must exercise every ounce of willpower and strength within to not allow it to overtake her senses and sensibilities, forcing her to do something that she may deeply regret later.

The fever’s symptoms are similar to the common fever:

Cloudiness in judgment.

Inability to think clearly

Poor decision-making skills

Excessive sweats and a general feeling of ‘warmth’ all over

Flushed cheeks

Goose pimples

Trouble sleeping

Light-headedness producing uncontrollable giggles and laughter at things that are not funny to anyone else other than the victim

New symptoms that have arisen from this khaki-provoked condition that are different than a common fever include:

Daydreams that can be promiscuous in nature

Pangs of passion and lust

Aching that seems to be emanating from the heart and/or the groin region

A fixation on a particular ranger that is far more than a mere crush

An overwhelming tendency to flirt, giggle, blush, and act like a fool in love

Pedestal Syndrome, in which the victim places the ranger on a towering pedestal

Blindness, in that she cannot see the obvious faults in the ranger, and instead sees perfection where it does not exist

Hallucinations — the individual actually believes that the feelings of love and passion are mutual, or worse, real

Superhero Syndrome — the ranger is no longer seen as human, but, instead, is seen as a superhero

Unbridled libido

The fever comes on suddenly, when the unsuspecting victim suddenly finds that she is attracted to a ranger, one whom, in otherwise normal circumstances (i.e., if they were not in the middle of wild Africa) there would never, ever , be the slightest physical or emotional attraction. Said victim even may normally be repulsed by such debauchery with said ranger.

Typical victims include tourists who have come for safari, or volunteers who have come to volunteer on a game reserve and who suddenly find themselves with an overwhelming feverish passionate desire for the ranger with whom they are in contact every day.

The rangers are aware this condition exists, and although it is seen as a serious condition to the foreigner, the ranger looks at it in quite the opposite manner. The ranger sees it, not as a disease, but as an inevitable condition caused by his masculinity and fearlessness that inevitably draws females to him.

This is the reason there has been no attempt to find a cure or even vaccination for a condition that elevates egos in some, while simultaneously crushing it in others.

In very rare cases, a person suffering from this illness will have to be removed from the vicinity and returned to a city at once, far away from all shades of khakiness. It may take a few days, but eventually the fever disappears and normal life resumes for the individual.

I have not fallen victim to this fever. I am one of the lucky ones. Granted, there have been times when, from a distance, under extreme duress or fatigue, that I have thought the Drill Sergeant attractive. But I have always been quick to shrug off that ridiculous notion. I mean, this disease clearly only affects the weak and vulnerable, and I am neither, not at all, and I am sure that the temptation would have to be great… and, well, there is not even the slightest temptation for me… really, none at all. That would be absurd.

I would have to be suffering some type of head trauma to feel the slightest bit of desire for him. He is still, in my humble opinion, a close relative of the Neanderthal, who merely exhibits fleeting instances of humanity.

This Khaki Fever has not and will not take hold of me… I am nearly certain of that. Okay, dammit, that was before. I hold the hormonal rhinoceros culpable for the first real signs of fever I am experiencing today. It’s not my fault. If I was of sound mind and body, this never would be happening, but it’s that damn rhino and his hormonal flare-ups causing mass destruction that are the cause of my imminent condition.

It was this morning, while on our morning patrols, when the call came through on the radio, the call that would set my case of Khaki Fever in motion.

There’s one watering hole on the reserve that is fed by an underground spring. It’s hard to believe that such a thing exists in this destitute dry patch, but it does. The watering hole is not only used by the wildlife, it’s also used as a grey water source for the reserve operations. The water is pumped to a main distribution pump house and distributed from there.

It goes without saying that the pump system, like everything else here, is archaic. There’s one long pipe that’s hooked up to a diesel-powered pump that sits on the bank of the shore. Nearby, is a gas canister, which someone uses to re-fill the generator every 24-hours, or so. Without the pump, there’s no running water here. All water depends on this one antiquated pump that is exposed to wild animals, including the belligerent rhinoceros.

This morning, the male rhino, suffering a temporary fit of hormonal rage, decided to thrash the pump and accompanying main pipe. When we arrive at the scene, there are two young, inexperienced rangers trying to fix the problem. Even I can see that they appear to have no idea what they’re doing. Their blank expressions say it all, even as they hold tools in their hands and look at the mess of miscellaneous parts strewn across the muddy bank.

The Drill Sergeant looks at the mess the rhino has left behind. “Silly old rhino is frustrated.”

The rhino isn’t the only one who’s frustrated.

The Drill Sergeant doesn’t waste any time assessing the situation. He leaves me sitting in the truck and begins shouting orders in Afrikaans. The rangers hang on to every word he says, as though he is a great intellect or something. He’s pointing his arms here and there, wrenching tools from their hands, and stomping about like a Napoleonic general.