Gerald Durrell - The Bafut Beagles

The next morning we set off on our hyrax hunt – myself, the four Bafut Beagles, and five of the household staff. For the first two or three miles we walked through the cultivated areas and the small farms. On the gently sloping hills fields had been dug, and the rich red earth shone in the early morning sunshine. In some of the fields the crops were already planted and ripe, the feathery bushes of cassava or the row of maize, each golden head with its blond tassel of silken thread waving in the breeze. In other fields the women were working, stripped to the waist, wielding short-handled, broad-bladed hoes. Some of them had tiny babies strapped to their backs, and they seemed as unaware of these encumbrances as a hunchback would be of his hump. Most of the older ones were smoking long black pipes, and the rank grey smoke swirled up into their faces as they bent over the ground. It was mostly the younger women who were doing the harder work of hoeing, and their lithe, glistening bodies moved rhythmically in the sun as they raised the heavy and clumsy implements high above their heads and then brought them sweeping down. Each time the blade buried itself in the red earth the owner would give a loud grunt.

As we walked through the fields among them they talked with us in their shrill voices, made jokes, and kughed uproariously, all without pausing in their work, and without losing its rhythm. The grunts that interspersed their remarks gave a curious sound to the conversation.

'Morning, Masa… ugh!.. which side you go? … ugh!'

'Masa go go for bush … ugh!… no be so, Masa?… ugh!'

'Masa go catch plenty beef… ugh!…Masa get power … ugh!'

'Walker strong, Masa… ugh!… catch beef plenty… ugh!'

Long after we had left the fields and were scrambling up the golden slopes of the foothills we could hear them chattering and laughing and the steady thump of the hoes striking home. When we reached the crest of the highest range of hills that surrounded Bafut the hunters pointed out our destination: a range of mountains, purple and misty, that seemed an enormous distance away. The household staff gave gasps and moans of dismay and astonishment that I should want them to walk so far, and Jacob, the cook, said that he did not think he would be able to manage it, as he had unfortunately picked up a thorn in his foot. Examination proved that there was no thorn in his foot, but a small stone in his shoe. The discovery and removal of the stone left him moody and disgruntled, and he lagged behind, talking to himself in a ferocious undertone. To my surprise, the distance was deceptive, and within three hours we were walking through a long winding valley at the end of which the mountains reared up in a wan of glittering gold and green. As we toiled up the slope through the waist-high grass, the hunters explained to me what the plan of campaign was to be. Apparently we had to round one of the smooth buttresses of the mountain range, and in between this projection and the next lay a long valley that thrust its way into the heart of the mountains. The sides of this valley were composed of almost sheer cliffs, at the base of which were the rocks where hyrax lived.

We scrambled round the great elbow of mountain, and there lay the valley before us, quiet and remote and filled with sparkling sunlight that lit the gaunt cliffs on each side – two long, crumpled curtains of rock flushed to pink and grey, patched with golden sunlight and soft blue shadows. Piled at the base of these cliffs were the legacies of many past cliff falls and landslides, a jumble of boulders of all shapes and sizes, some scattered about the curving floor of the valley, some piled up into tall, tottering chimneys. Over and around these rocks grew a rippling green rug of short undergrowth, long grass, hunched and crafty looking trees, small orchids and tall lilies, and a thick, strangling web of convolvulus with yellow, cream, and pink flowers. Scattered along the cliff faces were a series of cave mouths, dark and mysterious, some mere narrow clefts in the rock, others the size of a cathedral door. Down the centre of the valley ran a boisterous baby stream that wiggled joyfully in and out of the rocks, and leapt impatiently in lacy waterfalls from one level to the next as it hurried down the slope.

We paused at the head of the valley for a rest and a smoke, and I examined the rocks ahead with my field-glasses for any signs of life. But the valley seemed lifeless and deserted; the only sounds were the self-important and rather ridiculous tinkle of the diminutive stream, and the wind and the grass moving together with a stealthy sibilant whisper. High overhead a small hawk appeared against the delicate blue sky, paused for an instant, and swept out of view behind the jagged edge of the cliff. Jacob stood and surveyed the valley with a sour and gloomy expression on his pudgy countenance.

'Na whatee, Jacob?' I asked innocently; 'you see beef?'

'No, sah,' he said, glowering at his feet.

'You no like dis place?'

'No, sah, I no like um.'

'Why?'

'Na bad place dis, sah.'

'Why na bad place?'

'Eh! Sometime for dis kind of place you get bad juju, Masa.'

I looked at the Bafut Beagles, who were lying in the grass.

'You get juju for dis place?' I asked them.

'No, sah, at all,' they said unanimously.

'You see,' I said to Jacob, 'dere no be juju for here, so you no go fear, you hear?'

'Yes, sah,' said Jacob with complete lack of conviction.

'And if you go catch dis beef for me I go give you fine dash,' I went on.

Jacob brightened visibly.' Masa go give us dash same same for hunter man?' he asked hopefully.

'Na so.'

He sighed and scratched his stomach thoughtfully.

'You still think dere be juju for dis place?'

'Eh!' he said, shrugging, 'sometimes I done make mistake.'

'Ah, Jacob! If Masa go give you dash you go kill your own Mammy,' said one of the Bafut Beagles, chuckling, for Jacob's preoccupation with money was well known in Bafut.

'Wha!' said Jacob angrily, 'an' you no love money, eh? Why you go come for bush with Masa if you no love money, eh?'

'Na my job,' said the hunter, and added by way of explanation, 'I be Beagle.'

Before Jacob could think up a suitable retort to this, one of the other hunters held up his hand.

' Listen, Masa!' he said excitedly.

We all fell silent, and then from the valley ahead a strange cry drifted down to us; it started as a series of short, tremulous whistles, delivered at intervals, and then suddenly turned into a prolonged hoot which echoed weirdly from the rocky walls of the valley.

'Na N'eer dis, Masa,' the Beagles whispered. ''E de holler for dat big rock dere.'

I trained my field-glasses on the big huddle of rocks they indicated, but it was some seconds before I saw the hyrax. He was squatting on a ledge of rock, surveying the valley with a haughty expression on his face. He was about the size of a large rabbit, but with short, thick legs and a rather blunt, lion-like face. His ears were small and neat, and he appeared to have no tail at all. Presently, as I watched, he turned on the narrow ledge and ran to the top of the rock, paused for a moment to judge the distance, and then leapt lightly to the next pile of boulders and disappeared into a tangle of convolvulus that obviously masked a hole of some sort. I lowered the glasses and looked at the Bafut Beagles.

'Well?' I asked, 'how we go catch dis beef?'

They had a rapid exchange of ideas in their own language, then one of them turned to me.

'Masa,' he said, screwing up his face and scratching his head, 'dis beef 'e cleaver too much. We no fit catch him with net, and 'e fit run pass man.'

'Well, my friend, how we go do?'

'We go find hole for rock, sah, and we go make fire with plenty smoke; we go put net for de hole, an' when de beef run, so we go catch um.'