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

Bonty and Hope are also my teachers; they taught me some of the most valuable lessons of all—self-reliance and hope.

The crocodiles reminded me to pay attention to what’s lurking just below the surface; otherwise it could bite me in the butt when I least expected it.

What about that funny old hormonal rhinoceros? He reminded me that we all need love, and when we go without, we need to find it within. And just as importantly, we must give love because when we give love, simple love—a smile, a conversation, a genuine wish—even to a stranger, we can change a person’s life.

As for the lions, well, the lions reminded me to keep my imagination in check and not let fear rule me. I’m just glad they never did venture beyond their borders.

The cheetah taught me to never back down, no matter how intimidating or ferocious life may seem—always stand strong and stare it down.

About my tent… I will even miss sleeping in that tent. That tent gave me more courage than I ever could have mustered up had I continued sleeping in the common area. That tent compelled me to commit to something I, otherwise, never would have done. It proved to me that I can do things I’ve never done before, and I can do them alone, without someone else shielding me or holding my hand. That tent gave me a lifetime’s worth of confidence to step into the darkness of the unknown.

Harrison, with all his flaws, was my chariot, my powerful and faithful chariot that drove me on this journey, proving that surface flaws are not really flaws at all, as they build character. Harrison, with his broken windows, fly-away doors, noisy transmission, rusted-out floor, and lack of any bells and whistles, is and was the perfect vehicle to drive me on this journey. When taken to the limits, when being pursued by lions, he shone—my gleaming chariot is what he always will be.

Then, there is the Drill Sergeant—Gerrit, as he shall be called from now on. Gerrit has pushed me beyond my own limits in every possible way. By leaving me alone, he forced me to be strong. In gaining strength, I was able to slay my demons. By not talking to me, he allowed me to talk with myself. Gerrit, who forced me to do the most difficult and challenging jobs, gave me self-respect. He showed me the freedom of not having to live up to anyone else’s expectations, and that my expectations for myself are all that matter.

Gerrit was, perhaps, my greatest teacher of all, in all of his harshness, rudeness, and aloofness, but above all else, his honesty and truism. My fearless leader taught me well how to play with a lion’s testicles. My nemesis had become my friend.

“Are you ready to go?” Gerrit asks.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Mama Magda wanted me to give you this.” In his hands is my teapot.

The little travel teapot, shiny and perfect in every way, has accompanied me on so many journeys, like a faithful companion. “No, tell her she can keep it.”

I had cherished that teapot, but it will be more valuable in the Mama Magda’s hands than in my own.

The last thing to go in my bag is the gift my mother gave me for Christmas. A pillow she had made of safari design fabric with the Big Five embossed on it. How did my mother know it would be these very animals that I came here to save, and who would end up saving me?

We drive to the bus stop in our usual silence, but today the silence is even deeper than usual. There’s an underlying energy of sadness, and it’s not just coming from me.

When we arrive at the bus stop it’s still dark.

“Do you want me to wait with you?” Gerrit asks.

“No, it’s okay. The bus will be here any minute.”

“Okay, well, I guess this is it.”

“Thank you,” My voice continues, “I…” Words flow that I have little control over, words that say a lot more than thanks, words that signify so much more than just their meaning, but even these words are unworthy of what I am trying to express.

Gerrit looks me in the eyes for the first time. Before, he always looked past me, something that always annoyed me. Perhaps it wasn’t being aloof, perhaps it was a protective mechanism. He doesn’t say anything, instead, he pulls me close and hugs me tightly. I nearly melt in his arms, the arms that rescued me more than once, the arms that did nothing while I did the bulk of the physical work on many occasions, and the arms that sometimes even occupied my dreams. His embrace said so much more than my words.

When he finally lets go, he reaches into the back of Harrison and picks up my suitcase. “Should I carry it for you?” he asks.

We both laugh at the offer; after all we have been through together, him carrying my suitcase! Now that’s funny. I grab my suitcase and turn away, taking a step towards the bus stop.

I hear him slam Harrison’s door, once, twice, three times before it eventually stays closed. The engine turns over, and there’s a long huuuucccck as he shifts into first.

I begin to walk to the bus stop, momentarily pausing as I strain to hear the words that are whispered from his lips. The words are unmistakable. “Nice butt.”

This is followed by one final long whistle.

Grief is an insanely powerful emotion. It is usually paired with guilt, and when combined they can make even the sanest people do insane things. Everybody has their own way of dealing with things, and that’s all right. Hindsight is 20/20, but when in the midst of it all, we can be blinded by emotion. Grief is illogical. Grief is excruciatingly painful. With time, grief fades and logic returns but, sadly, sometimes when the anchor of a family is wrenched away, the ones remaining drift apart. But even without an anchor, a strong family unit can better navigate the rough seas ahead. With sails of benevolence and a rudder of empathy, any storm can be conquered.

After my mum died, I filled my life with distraction after distraction to avoid facing grief. Eventually, no distraction would suffice, and I needed more. I needed meaning. I needed purpose. But I didn’t know how to find it until one day, when I sat a few feet in front of Bill Clinton during his Giving tour. Despite feeling like I had nothing in me to give, he inspired me to give it away anyway. I followed my passion for animals and Africa, and threw caution to the wind. That is when the magic happened, a magic that I could have never foreseen in my wildest dreams.

Giving is as simple as smiling at a stranger, donating food, blood, or a few hours to the community. What we can give away at no cost to us is lifesaving to someone else.

The act of giving is what is saving thousands of species from extinction; in fact it is the ONLY thing that is saving these animals from extinction. Volunteers give millions of hours every year to conserve our glorious planet and all the magnificent beings within it. Volunteers are Mother Nature’s Ambassadors, but I prefer to just call them angels. My contribution in Africa was tiny; I am not an angel in any shape or form. In fact, the Drill Sergeant would probably have a much more colorful way to describe me, but my experience did lead me to this book.

I set out to write this book with three goals in mind. The first was to entertain just one reader. So if one reader’s hair stood on end and felt a lion breathing down his neck, or if she cringed when envisioning a great white shark smashing his jaws just inches in front of her face, then I have succeeded.

The second goal was to impart the fragility and importance of family. If one family stays together after the loss of a loved one, or if one person finds the courage to face grief and leave behind guilt, then every drop of sweat that went into this book was worth it.