MEN OF CONSCIENCE

Mathew Lomsela looked across the desk at Helen Lewis his opposite number here in London and asked, if she would like to accompany him to the Gala Dinners on the following two nights. They’d been to a number of these previously and got on well, but only at the friendship level as neither wanted the complications of a long distance romance.

When she said yes, he mentioned an old friend was attending and asked if he could join them. She said, great, and would bring her older sister Dawn to keep the numbers even. Mathew had met her a few times and knew her to be a bright, attractive and thoughtful freelance journalist in her early forties, so readily agreed.

Poverty Action Group World Wide or PAG as it was better known, was an International Charity that raised funds by hosting Celebrity Gala Dinner’s to solicit donations from the Good and the Godly on one night, and lobby large industrial organisations from the moral high ground the next. Over the years it had built an enviable reputation for responsible fund raising and unlike many of its contemporaries, 96.5% of the donations and bequests actually went to help fight poverty in the third world.

Mathew was the Charity’s “Hands On” Operations Director in Southern Africa and due to report that afternoon to conference. Helen listened to the bland statistics of the previous year, looking forward to the passionate description of his plans and hopes for the next. Mathew was an accomplished speaker and soon had the audience’s full attention with graphic slides of wells dug in remote areas and wide-eyed children enjoying abundant clean water for the first time in their young life. At the conclusion and after his request for donations, few cheque books remained closed.

In contrast Helen Lewis was the Charity’s London Public Relations Officer, a part time position she’d held for four years. Fortunately her professional career as a Corporate Solicitor allowed her the time to devote to what she called, her ethical calling, and gave direct access to many of her target groups.

The Gala Dinners were held at the same Hotel as the conference on the last two nights, guests stopping were encouraged to mingle with the delegates, most of who like Matthew came from different parts of the world. He had arranged to meet Helen and Dawn in the bar and introduce them to his friend. All three were sipping drinks waiting for him to arrive when Matthew looked up, grinned, and stood with his hand extended.

Helen saw a tall, slim, dark featured and smiling middle aged man, dressed in the traditional white flowing robes of an Arab. The two men embraced warmly, spoke briefly in Arabic and then Matthew introduced him. Ladies, this is my friend that I was telling you about from Windhoek, Akmed Suleiman. Akmed, this is my colleague Helen Lewis from PAG, and her sister Dawn, be careful what you say to her she’s a journalist he added laughing.

During dinner the talk flowed back and forth, covering many topics from the legal scene in London to the poverty in Akmed and Matthew’s homeland, Namibia. Akmed elaborated at length on his adopted country, telling them in detail about the San Bushmen, the desolate Skeleton Coast, and the Wild Life Safari Parks. Then invited them to come and visit as his guests, saying if they did he would act as their personal guide. Both women looked at each other, grinned, nodded, and said if he was serious they’d love to come.

Matthew laughed and said they’d have to be careful if they went, as there was no guarantee they’d be safe given Akmed’s occupation before becoming an Hotelier. Before he could elaborate Akmed interrupted, looked at his friend, and then shook his head and smiling said.

“I think perhaps I should answer that dreadful allegation. My old friend here never misses an opportunity to tell this tale, but for once I’ll tell my side first. I left school before taking my final exams so gained no formal qualifications and eventually became a minor member of a gang that got involved moving people. Then Almighty Allah, May His name be forever blessed, set my feet on the righteous path to peace and fulfilment”.

The two women had watched Matthew grinning and shaking his head throughout Akmed’s story.

Dawn said, “I get the impression Matthew you don’t fully agree with all Mister Suleiman has told us?”

“All good stories should be close to the truth, and Akmed’s story is essentially true, he did leave school with no qualifications, he was expelled for trying to sell hashish in the school playground”.

Akmed had a look of sorrow on his face, almost a look of contrition Dawn thought, Matthew continued.

“This movement of people as Akmed puts it was people trafficking or what used to be called Slaving, and yes he did give it up but it was more to do with the South African Police closing in than any divine revelations by Allah. And don’t be misled by the minor member bit either, he was number two in a crime syndicate that stretched the length and breadth of Africa”.

“I will admit Matthew’s version of events is no less true then mine, perhaps a little more detailed.

Dawn turned to Akmed and said,

“Mister Suleiman, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course, if you will call me Akmed, I think Mister is far too formal on such a pleasant occasion, would you not agree?”

“Ok, then I’m Dawn and this is Helen”. Indicating her sister, then asked.

“Akmed, you and Matthew talk about Slavery or people trafficking as if it was a current problem, I thought it was abolished in the mid 1800’s”

Akmed looked at the two women thoughtfully; it was Dawn that had asked the question but both were eager to hear his reply. He smiled a little forlornly and asked, are you sure you want hear this? It is not a nice story. Both nodded, and he began speaking.

“What ended in the 1800’s was the method of transportation, Slaves leaving African ports in three masted schooners bound for the Americas. The reality was brutal, people were packed in to these ships with less space they would occupy in a grave, and when they sailed Sharks followed. As the slaves began dying they were thrown overboard to make more room for the living. It was not unusual for a vessel to carry upwards of 700-800 men women and children, and quite normal to lose 25-35% of its cargo before it was landed to work on the Sugar Plantations of the Caribbean, and the Southern Tobacco and Cotton States of America. That’s what ended in the 1800’s, the method of transportation”. He stood and looked at his watch.

“I hope you enjoyed the history lesson, you might like to consider which British and America Financial Institutions made their money from Commerce originally connected to this evil trade. Its ending is a myth perpetuated by the white majorities of Europe and America turning a blind eye to its continued existence because of their inability to truly abolish it. Euphemistically it is now called people trafficking, but it is still slavery and still prevalent around the world, but now I must retire”.

“Are you joining us for dinner tomorrow?” Asked Dawn.

“If you can suffer my company for another night, then yes I would look forward to it”. And with slight bow, he left.

His comments about the myth of Slavery ending left little room for others and a difficult silence ensued. Dawn broke it.

“Matthew, was Akmed really a Slaver, or was that just local colour for our benefit?”

“Oh no he was the real thing, but it was a long time ago. He really has atoned and continues to do so. He is a genuinely caring man. Now I’m off too, I’ll see you in the morning, goodnight both”.

“Do you believe all that?” asked Helen.

“Heaven-only-knows, Akmed seems to know his stuff and he’s certainly passionate about it, so yeah on balance I probably do”.

“What do you think of him?”

Dawn’s casual reply of, he’s ok I suppose, didn’t fool her younger sister one bit.

X X X

Dawn’s sleep was haunted by a nightmare of three masted schooners packed with dead and dying children laying in the reeking filth of their own vomit, urine, and faeces. It was a relief to be woken up by the alarm going off.

As she showered she mulled over what Akmed had told them about the existence of a still active slave trade, and decided she’d ask this enigmatic and rather interesting man to explain its significance in the modern world. Even convincing herself this was the only reason she was keen to see Akmed Suleiman again.

The final session of the conference went as expected, Delegates giving up-dates as Mathew had on the continuing fight against poverty. The Directors which included Helen reported on the Charities current finances and expected revenues for the forthcoming year. When the last delegate finished speaking, the proceedings were wound up and most people went sightseeing in the late autumn sunshine.

That night after dinner when coffee was served, Dawn looked at Akmed and said.

“Last night you talked about Slavery as it was, and the modern equivalent people trafficking, would you elaborate a little, it’s not something I’ve come across before”.

Akmed pondered this request, took a breath and smiling started to speak.

“This will sound like a lecture; perhaps I should use a slide projector like Matthew does. Today Slavery takes different forms, one is Debt Bondage. Poor people are tricked with promises of well paying jobs and then have to borrow against future earnings to pay to be transported. Often they are isolated and made to purchase food at extortionate prices from their employers. The workers are forced to work until the debt is paid off, but punitive rates of interest ensure it never will be. The debt keeps mounting so the employee is a slave for life”.

He looked at the two women who were following his every word.

“Traffickers to day use the same methods as Slavers did centuries ago, kidnapping, threats, beatings, and killings are used to force men, women, and children in to labour and sexual exploitation, this extends world wide including the USA. It is estimated over 800,000 men women and children are trafficked annually across international borders. If you count the thousands held on the farms of India, the brick kilns of Pakistan and the international sex trade, the number of victims runs in to millions”.

“Are any of the figures verifiable”, asked Dawn.

“Yes they are, in 2005 The United States Secretary of State, Colin Powel and the CIA estimated 50,000 people are trafficked into the US annually as sex slaves and domestic servants. And the USA is a country genuinely fighting slavery; many others aren’t even trying”.

Akmed was becoming emotional about a subject he obviously felt very passionate about, his voice was getting louder and other diners began to listen.

“I consider the worst is Child Slavery. In Brazil they pick cotton and work in the charcoal pits, in Burma they harvest sugar, in China they make fireworks, in Sierra Leone they mine diamonds, in Thailand children are sold to paedophiles. Children in India are used as beggars, the more deformed the child is the more sympathy they attract, some are deliberately mutilated to make them more successful. And so this dreadful evil goes on”.

Matthew gently put a hand on Akmed’s shoulder speaking to him softly in Arabic, and then said.

“I must apologise, it was rude to speak in anything other then English, but I needed Akmed’s permission for what I’m going to tell you”. He continued.

“An American named Isaac Hopper in 1787 began to help slaves escape from the South. Opponents of slavery allowed their homes to be used as shelters, donating food and money. To confuse the authorities a code was used, escaping slaves were called Passengers, safe houses were Stations, and guides and couriers were Conductors. This network of escape routes stretched from the Deep South right up in to Canada, and became know as The Underground Railroad because of the terminology it used. By 1850 over 50,000 slaves had escaped from the South using The Railroad”.

“Are they facts?” Asked Dawn interrupting again.

“Most certainly, last night I told you Akmed had atoned, well he is now the Director and main supporter of the modern African equivalent of the Underground Railroad. Many of his Hotel staff are ex-slaves; after training and with the experience they gain, they’re well placed to get employment in the leisure industry. Over the years he has helped hundreds people to escape and find proper work”.

Akmed looking embarrassed and quietly said.

“Now it is Matthew who is being economical with the truth, I just play a very small part in it. Matthew is also involved; he will not have told you but many of the escaped children he has placed in the villages he takes aid to. He approaches local benefactors for support and on occasions we get people work through them. We simply do what we can to help”.

Akmed looked at the two women a little embarrassed after his earlier emotional revelations, and shyly said, that is all I can tell you, I’m sorry if you did not find it pleasant, but that’s just the way it is. Dawn looked very directly at him.

“Akmed, I’d like to thank you for being so open and frank about what is as you called it, a dreadful evil. We didn’t realise the scale of this problem, either in the vast numbers of victims or people involved. Once again, thank you”. She continued.

“After what you told us last night, I had a word with a couple of Editors I know. If I can use that and what you’ve just told us, I think I can persuade them to run a feature on Slavery, I’ve already got a working title, “Slavery in the 21st Century”. It would help bring this problem to people’s attention, and it might prick their conscience a little. I may even get it syndicated world wide. What do you think?”

“Anything that raises awareness relating to theses people’s plight can only be helpful. It would be an honour and pleasure to work with you”.

When the evening broke up and Helen and Dawn were walking back to their rooms, Helen asked.

“Is it your Journalistic or your Womanly instincts that are being aroused by Akmed and his story?”

Dawn had the decency to blush slightly at the question, and felt a delightful little tingle of anticipation go though her as she replied.

“What a very stupid question Helen, at 42 my Journalistic ones, of course”.

“Of course”. Is what Dawn had said, but Helen wondered if they went and visited Akmed, if she would end up as a chaperone to her sister or more likely the gooseberry.

THE STAG PARTY

When Andrew Matheson announced his intention to marry his long term partner Fiona Woodall, Simon Evesham and John White couldn’t have been more pleased for him. His later request for them to join him on his stag party didn’t come as a great surprise, but the venue did. They’d been expecting perhaps a couple of days in Prague or Amsterdam but when he’d told them to get inoculations for a short Safari in Africa they assumed he was joking.

Andrew Matheson was a successful London property developer that never did anything by halves, so it shouldn’t really have come as that big of a surprise. He’d told them that he’d always wanted to go on a Safari but had never found the time. So this was probably the last opportunity he’d get, as Fiona hated snakes and creepy-crawlies.

Andrew had few friends and couldn’t abide hanger’s on, so the only people he could invite were his two fellow Directors. They’d formed London Property Rentals five years ago, and with Andrew’s small inheritance, Simon’s accountancy back ground and his own extensive experience in the building industry; it was going well for all of them.

Andrew had asked John, when the arrangements were being made, if he thought they could get away with defraying the costs to, an investigation in to an overseas investment opportunity, adding he thought they all deserved a few days away to relax. So here they were in Namibia on an all expensive paid mini Safari.

They’d landed at Windhoek early that morning and taken a private charter to a small local airstrip, where they’d met Matthew Lomsela their Guide and driver for the next three days.

Driving up a side road leading to Bushman Lodge, the accommodation booked by the Safari Outfitters Mathew ran, they were astonished to see the trees softly illuminated, giving the African night a fairy tale feeling. Also their head lights picked out small nocturnal animals that scampered away on their approach. At the entrance a small dark hawk featured man stood waiting, dressed in the traditional white flowing robes of the Middle East.

Mathew, the Safari Guide got out and the two men smiled and embraced. He brought the man over and introduced him as his old friend, Akmed Suleiman; who bowed formally then spoke in perfect English.

“You are most welcome at my Lodge, I trust your stay will be pleasant and interesting, someone will show you to your Cottages. I hope you will join me for dinner as my guests once you have had time to rest and shower after your dusty and tiresome journey. I ask only, that you do not offer gratuities while you are here, they are not required. If there is anything you need, please ask. As guests of Matthew you are honoured guests of mine. If you could register, that will be the formalities completed”. The men did as he requested.

When they’d finished Suleiman clapped his hands and Bellboys in smart uniforms appeared, grinned at the men, and took a bag each. They lead them out of the foyer on to a stone flagged path illuminated by small lanterns hung on either side; as they walked they saw Squirrels and Monkeys playing among the trees and bushes. The Bellboys warned these paths are sometimes used by Kudu and Zebra, so to be careful when moving around at night.

Coming to the first Cottage the Bellboy carrying Simon’s holdall opened the door, to his left was a large bathroom with a walk-in shower appointed in green slate and polished white marble. He walked into the bedroom and was confronted by a king size bed fitted with a wrought iron frame supporting a fully encompassing mosquito net, the overall effect enhanced by polished mahogany furniture and lit bedside lights. His guide put the bag on a low table, went to the back of the room and opened a door, switched on lights and he realised the Cottage had its own private veranda.

The Bellboy indicated him to follow him on to it. Standing there listening he heard the chirruping of Crickets, then in the distance a deep primeval roar that sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, the Bellboy seeing his reaction, smiled and said, Lion, but it is many miles away.

Entering the Lounge for dinner they saw Matthew sat at the bar chatting to the bar-man, they’d only been sat a few minutes when Akmed Suleiman joined them. Immediately asking if the cottages were satisfactory and was there anything they required.

The five men strolled in to a small comfortable restaurant, as in the cottages the furniture was polished mahogany, silver cutlery and crystal glasses shining in the flickering candle light, gave the table an intimate air.

Dinner commenced with bowls of Omajova mushrooms, Akmed explaining these had been harvested from termite hills only a mile from the Lodge. It was a lavish and convivial meal with a selection of good South African wines being served.

Over coffee they discussed what they could hope to see the following day, eventually Matthew said. “We’re up early so I’m off to bed”. The Safari party had a further coffee with Akmed then they too made their way back to their cottages.

X X X

“5.30. Morning Game Drive”.

John had been awake since 5 O’clock, so was already up when the bellboy gently knocked on his door with the early morning call. After showering and dressing he left the cottage and made his way to the main Lodge building. It was still dark and surprisingly cool, almost cold and he wished he’d brought a sweater to put on. When he strolled in to the foyer he saw cheerful smartly dressed staff laying tables, setting out jugs of tea, coffee, fruit juices, baskets of rolls and trays of toast and croissants. Matthew joined him, and when Andrew and Simon arrived he said.

“Normally guests come back about 8.30 after the morning drive for breakfast, but as we’re here only a short time I’ve arranged for breakfast and lunch to be sent out, that will allow us to spend all day in the reserve”.

He looked pointedly at his watch. “When you’ve finished your coffee we’ll be off, we’re using one of the Lodge’s vehicles, they’re better suited for game viewing”.

The four men approached a Nissan people carrier with a roof section that could be raised to allow the occupants room to stand, and give an all-round view of the country side.

When the men were seated and instructed where to find the first aid kit, radio, water, and binoculars the vehicle left. Within 200 meters it turned off the road and started driving across country on sandy trails. The Savannah was covered in sparse dry grass, broken only by occasional tall Tambotil trees. While he drove, the driver kept up an incessant unintelligible conversation on his CB radio. Matthew explained all the drivers were in constant touch with each other, so if anyone saw anything interesting everyone would know where to find it.

The vehicle slowed, Matthew pointed and whispered, Dik-dik, the one with the longest horns is the leader. The men looked and saw eight tiny Antelope like creatures, walking on stick thin legs, no bigger then small dogs. They watched as the tiny animals walked slowly between bushes delicately nibbling on the lower leaves. Suddenly they all stopped eating, looked around, and bounded off, within seconds it was if they had never been there.

As they drove Matthew pointed out a herd of Eland, the vehicle stopped and the men watched the animals browsing. John commented he was surprised at the condition of them, they all looked so healthy. Matthew said natural selection plays a big part in that, any animal not in prime condition does not survive long out here, then added.

“As I said, I’ve arranged breakfast to be brought out to a designated water hole. I’ve told the driver I want to arrive before the truck or we’ll miss any game that’s there”.

They were heading towards an area greener then the surrounding terrain, the men supposed this was the water hole they were going to. Matthew instructed the driver to slow down and scanned the trees, then told him to head towards one in particular, and suggested the men use binoculars to study the lowest branch, they did and saw nothing. Matthew asked, do you see the straight branch hanging underneath it? Good, that’s a Leopard’s tail.

The men now saw the Leopard laying motionless, sunning itself on the branch and studied its beautiful markings, as the vehicle drew nearer, its tail started to twitch in agitation as it sensed their approach. The vehicle stopped and the men watched the spotted feline head with its luminous yellow eyes slowly turn, watching them in return; suddenly it flexed its muscles, and was gone.

The Nissan was already parked when the Lodge’s vehicle arrived; the crew set out, tables and chairs, white linen cloths, cutlery, primus stoves and cooked a full English breakfast.

The high point of the morning came just before lunch, Matthew had been studying the road about twenty meters to the front of where they’d parked, he touched his lips, pointed at John and indicated him to have his camera ready, then out of the grass and on to the road stalked three adult Cheetahs, followed by three cubs, nobody spoke as they watched the animals walk up the road, each absorbed by the gracefully way they moved, then they disappeared back in to the Savannah. Matthew said. You’ve been very lucky; it’s rare to see a family group on the move between hunting areas; normally you only see a solitary animal or sometime two if they are hunting larger pray as a pair.

After an alfresco lunch brought out to them, the rest of the afternoon was rather an anti-climax by comparison to the morning. They saw Kudu, Zebra, Wildebeests, and Giraffes all as John said, they could have seen at Whipsnade. Andrew agreed, adding yes but here we’re seeing them in their natural habitat, and in a bloody sight better condition than the one’s they’d seen when he’d taken Fiona to a Zoo last year.

It was almost dusk when they returned to the Lodge to shower and change for dinner. After another pleasant meal, over coffee Akmed joined them and asked about the day and what animals they’d seen. That led naturally to a discussion regarding the following day’s planned visit to the Etosha National Park. The talk then drifting on to more general topics as it had the previous night.

X X X

The journey to Etosha took less then fifteen minutes as Bushman Lodge was only six miles east of the Von Lindequist Gate. Matthew paid the entrance fee, and they drove to a low wooden building about a hundred yards inside the park. Matthew instructed the driver to pull up in front and they read.

ETOSHA NATIONAL PARK RANGER STATION

Mathew took from his pack a carton of 200 Marlboro cigarettes and walked in to the building. He emerged minus the cigarettes but accompanied by an old man wearing a tailored green uniform with gold Sergeant’s stripes, carrying a rifle. From the boisterous conversation, they could see both men knew each other well. Matthew got in the rear of the vehicle, the older man in front with the driver, as they drove off, Matthew said grinning.

“This gentleman is Jambo; he’s The Senior Game Warden here at Etosha, we’re very lucky he’s going to accompany us today. If it works out as we hope, you’ll see sights you’d never otherwise see outside of a nature film”.

Driving over the same arid scrubland as the previous day, they saw many of the side trails had tree trunks put across to stop access. Matthew explained this was to allow the trails to recover from over use and to restrict access to areas where certain species were breeding. Simon asked.

“What’s to stop anybody driving round them?”

“Nothing, but any driver that did would be banned from the Park for life, and so would the Safari Outfitter that employed him”.

John noticed the track narrowing, Jambo told the driver to stop, and asked them to help move a tree that was blocking a side trail. After the vehicle passed, he had it he replaced.

The Nissan continued until Jambo instructed the driver to stop and turn off the engine. They sat waiting; the only sounds the creaking and cracking of the cooling engine. Jambo joined them in the back and stood looking out pointing; they saw an indistinct dark shape obscured by trees and bushes. Eventually the shape moved in to the open and resolved itself in to a full grown male Rhinoceros. They watched as it snorted and pawed the ground, then from the other side of the clearing another slightly small Rhino appeared, Jambo whimpered, that’s a female, they watched as they almost coyly approached each other, then their noses touched.

Matthew also whispering explained, you’re seeing the courtship ritual, it will last about twenty minutes, but I’m afraid we must leave before she’s covered. If anything frightens them it won’t happen and we can’t risk that, Rhinos are precious and such a desperately endangered species.

Jambo instructed the driver to slowly reverse out of the clearing and rejoin the trail. Now heading north east towards a range of low hills, they followed the trail until it petered out halfway up the slope of the first one. Jambo got out and asked them to stop in the Nissan while he went to reconnoitre. The party watched as he strode up the hill. When he got to the crest he went on all fours and crawled the last few feet, then lay for a long time watching. He slid back, stood, and bounded down the slope with a huge grin creasing his wizened old face.

Jambo instructed the men to ensure they had a hat and two bottles of water and then to follow him to the crest, adding, please keep very quiet. Approaching the hill top, he indicated the men to stop and went forward, again on his hands and knees to the rim. After looking round, he waved the men to join him. They saw grassland stretching away to the front; to their right about a quarter mile away was a small herd of Zebra cropping the lush grass.

Jambo pointed left, the men looked, and even using binoculars saw nothing of interest. John was the first to see it, he grinned and mouthed, Lion, Jambo nodded with satisfaction, Simon and Andrew now also saw it lying in the long grass. Jambo pointed to the right, the three men looked and saw a second Lion lying motionless.

The Zebras became restless, sensing the presence of men and Lions and moved closer together. Suddenly the wind changed direction, Simon laying next to Jambo felt him stiffen, then turn and wave them off the hill’s crest, while he stayed watching, listening and smelling the breeze, then he too crawled back grinning and pointed over the top of the hill, and with a smug satisfied look, mouthed, Full Grown Lioness.

Simon’s immediate thought was. Christ, we’re thirty meters from a Lion with no guns and that bloody idiot thinks that’s good news.

The silence was shattered by a dreadful roar that to the three men seemed perilously close, but didn’t seem to faze either Matthew or Jambo. The old Game Warden turned and said.

“The Lions on our left and right are youngsters, the old girl to our front is their Mother, she’s teaching them to hunt, it was her that roared to alert the Zebras and get them moving so the youngsters learn how to single out the weak ones and hunt as a pair. We can go back up now; they won’t be bothered by us”.

The five men sat on the hill’s crest, the Stag party using binoculars to see the unfolding drama better. They watched as the herd milled about aimlessly trying to decide where the attack would come from. The young Lion on the left broke cover, the herd saw this and was galvanised in to action, running in the opposite direction. The second youngster on the right, also now broke cover and the herd swerved again to avoid this new threat.

The men watched and listened as the Lionesses growled and roared, John wondered if she was giving instructions and encouragement to her siblings. The two youngsters were slowly circling a limping Zebra that was becoming further separated from the main herd. Simon commented, it hasn’t got a chance. Jambo studied the apparently one sided conflict and said. It’s an old buck, I think he may stand and fight even if as you say, he hasn’t got a chance.

As if to bear out his words the Zebra stopped trying to escape and turned to face his pursers. The young Lions were disconcerted by this change of tactic, but continued to circle unsure of what to do. The Lioness roared and the slightly larger one stalked round to the Zebra’s rear and started its attack, obviously intending to spring from behind and over its right side. A split second before it sprang, but way too late to stop, the old buck sensed the attack, turned, reared up on its hind legs and beat the air with his front hooves, even at this distance they heard the crunch of breaking bones as the hooves came in to lethal contact with the young Lion’s chest.

While the Zebra stood panting, the Second Lion started his attack on the winded and distracted animal, again from behind leaping on to it’s back and secured itself by digging its claws deeply in to the neck and hind quarters. The Zebra tried to shake it off, even rolling on the ground trying to dislodge it, but its movements were weakening as the Lion bit in to the neck and raked its throat with it’s claws, the men saw droplets of blood being thrown in the air every time the Zebra shook its head in a futile attempt to rid itself of the attacker. Eventually the Zebra slowly sank to the ground, exhausted by exertion and blood loss. The fight was over.

The Lioness went and sniffed the wounded animal, and with a swipe of a forepaw with the claws extended she ripped the stomach wide and started to gorge on the still hot bloody contents.

Now the hunt was over the Lion himself appeared, he roughly cuffed away the young Lion that had made the kill and the Lioness slunk back in to the long grass, returning with a tiny cub held gently in her mouth, followed by two others.

The Lion feasted at one end of the carcass, the Lioness at the other, she tore off strips of meat passing them to the three small cubs, before starting to eat herself. When she’d finished she went and sniffed and nudged the sibling that had been killed in the attack, after a second nudge she walked away with out a backward glance. It wasn’t until the older Lion left, could the younger one claim his share.

The men watched a succession of animals coming to feed, including Hyenas, Jackals, and Vultures all squabbling and fighting over the fresh meat. Jambo told them; by the following night nothing would be left to mark the site.

After eating plated salads and drinking cold beers from the vehicle’s cool box they left the hills driving through the same arid savannah, opening and closing a succession of tree trunk gates, making their way thorough the less frequented parts of the Park. Jambo told them they were going to a small waterhole that was not on the tourist route, where he was hoping to find Elephants.

Their approach was quiet and slow, stopping about a hundred meters from it; both Jambo and Matthew studied the surrounding area, eventually both nodded and said the areas looked safe. They walked to the edge of the pool and on the opposite side saw Elephants, and watched the huge animals’ splash and spray muddy water over themselves and each other. Then the Matriarch trumpeted and they formed up in a long straggling line and left. At its centre was a loose group Matthew explained were the nursing mothers and pregnant cows. Amongst these protected from predators were three babies less then a metre high, coming only about half way up their mother’s legs. John marvelled that the tiny offspring were not trampled underfoot by their huge mothers or older relatives.

The herd started to move slowly and ponderously round the edge of the pool in the direction of the watchers and Jambo suggested they made their way back to the Nissan. Explaining that with babies in the herd it would be nervous and protective, and could consequently be dangerous.

They sat in the Nissan while the herd passed by, having seen it so many times it was part of their landscape.

It was getting dark when they dropped Jambo back at the Ranger Station, after handshakes and thanks all round Andrew saw more cartons of cigarettes and a bottle of whisky change hands. Arriving back at the Lodge, Akmed Suleiman came out to greet them and asked if they’d care to join him for dinner again.

Sitting in the lounge later the conversation was about the events of the day. It was interrupted by a receptionist indicating Akmed had a phone call, after taking it he said.

“I must leave you, I’m afraid something has come up that I must attend to personally, but I will see you tomorrow before you leave, goodnight”.

Matthew said he was off to bed as did Andrew, John and Simon had another coffee, then also made their way back to the cottages for an early night ready for the long journey back to London in the morning, and the wedding in five days time.

The return to London was uneventful but tiring, and the Country House Wedding in Northampton went off with out a hitch after all the meticulous planning by Fiona and her mother. Over lunch on the Sunday after the Happy Couple had left on a Caribbean Honeymoon, Simon, and John sat with their respective wives, Sara and Chris relaxed and chatting. This was the first real opportunity they’d had to talk since the men had returned from Africa, and Chris said.

“Well come on then Simon, tell us all about it, what were the high lights of the trip?

“Bushman Lodge, where we stayed is a phenomenal place; you had to have been there to see it and all the animals. The highlight for me had to be seeing a Lioness training cubs to hunt; it was incredible, talk about life in the raw”.

“Did you see the actual kill?”

“Yes we saw the whole thing, John got loads of photos. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world”.

“John, what about you?”

“Like Simon said, the cottages we stayed in are really fabulous, mind you and so is the food and service. We saw a couple of Rhinos courting, not actually doing it if you know what I mean, just the preliminaries. Then a herd of Elephants at a waterhole, I never realised the babies are so small, to me it’s a marvel the poor little sods don’t get trampled to death, their mothers are so bloody big. It’s really is a stunning place from every aspect”.

After they finished explaining in detail about what they had seen, both men went to the bar for more drinks, while they were away, Chris said.

“I don’t know about you, but from what John’s told me since he got back and the enthusiastic descriptions from Simon, I think we’re missing out a little don’t you?”

“Definitely, I agree completely. We haven’t booked this year’s holiday yet, have you?” asked Sara.

By the time the men returned, the matter was decided, and the ladies had their diaries out. Never a good sign Simon commented later, as he and John signed cheques made payable to Matthew Lomsela from the Safari Outfitter for the deposit on their forthcoming holiday.

##D DAY

It was exactly 6 am when Dan Granley woke; he knew the time he’d been waking at 06.00 since he’d joined the Royal Marines on his eighteenth birthday way back in 1943. You learnt fast on the Commando selection course if you wanted to be accepted. Now, 65 years later he lay awake in the Laurels Care Home with an estimated fourteen days to live.

The Local Council had placed him in the Laurels some years previously for he had no immediate family to look after him.

So here he was, laid in bed waiting to hear the infernal sound announcing the start of another day. The sound of Douglas McPhee slouching down the corridor in his dammed rubber soled slippers, he hated that sound almost as much as he loathed and detested the man himself.

Dan had been here a year when McPhee arrived and he well remembered first meeting him. His thin reedy voice and patronising manner, Christ, he’d loathed the slimy little shite from the moment they’d met. With his creepy, I’m Douglas McPhee, everybody calls me, Dougi. Not that Dan let his loathing show; he was good at hiding his feelings.

After Dougi started things began to go missing, the odd £10 note here, a pair of gold cuff-links there. Dan brought it up with the Administrator and was told, you probably forgot where you put it, a person’s memory’s not so good when they get to your age, it’ll turn up. Like hell it did. So Dan put his mind to find a secure hiding place. The idea came to him, his Health Service walking stick was made of

Aluminium tubing, as expected it was easy to remove the rubber ferule and insert rolled up notes and other small items in to it.

Over the years Dan had found the most reliable of human vices was greed, after Dougi started he asked him to get him some beers, this was strictly against the rules but regularly flouted. He gave him a £10 note, told him to keep the change and the little bastard was hooked.

One of McPhee’s jobs was to wash deceased residents before the Doctor arrived to certify them dead and issue a Death Certificate. Some weeks earlier Mrs Alexlby had passed away and McPhee was called for, he’d entered the room, locked the door, and reappeared flushed with his clothes in disarray. Later as he walked past the administrator’s office, Dan overheard the Doctor say.

“John, you’re going to have to speak to McPhee, if a resident end’s up on the Coroner’s slab his handy work is going to be noticed. He’s now doing it to males and females; you know we only just got away with it last time”.

“Allan, it’s your job to ensure no bodies do end up on slabs, and just remember you’re well paid for your services here”.

Two weeks previously a vicious pain had lanced through Dan’s abdomen so painful he’d passed out. An ambulance was called and within twenty four hours he’d been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer and given about twenty eight days to live. The following morning a Macmillan nurse visited him to discuss pain management, she said the pain would peak in about five days and then be constant to the end. The dosage she prescribed was one pain killer every six hours and told him these would be enough to fell an ox if all taken together. Dan began to plan his exist strategy.

The Nurses changed shift at 10.00 pm, at 9.30 he started moaning loudly and buzzed for a nurse. She appeared and he explained he was in agony and asked for something and she gave him two pain killers. He pulled the same scam at 11.30 and on the next four nights, hiding the tablets in his walking stick.

Last night, Dan was walking past Old Flossy Driscoll’s door, old that was good, she was four years younger than he was, deaf as a post and confined to a wheel chair, when he heard McPhee’s voice and stopped to listen.

“How are you Flossy? I don’t know whether you realises it love, no you probably don’t, but I maybe coming to visit you in a week or so, to give you your final wash and brush up”.

“Unfortunately you won’t experience any satisfaction but I will, you have my word you won’t feel a thing, I’m always very, very gentle, especially if I get to you and your still warm and supple”.

“It could be a busy week for me, your neighbour Danny Boy will probably be passing as well. I much prefer it with you ladies, I do still service the men, but it’s not the same for me though”.

Dan moved to look through the partially open door. Flossy was sat in her wheel chair facing a mirrored dressing tablewith McPhee stroking her hair while he talked. Dan watched horrified as he began to unbutton Flossie’s cardigan and blouse, then slide his hands down and start to fondle her breasts. He could see her violently shaking her head, a look of abject terror on her face. She might not be able to hear what was being said, but could well comprehend what was going to happen to her.

Dan went to his room, collected his stick and started back down the corridor making plenty of noise. McPhee came out of Flossie’s room, throwing a casual, “Good-night Flossy, sweet dreams”, over his shoulder as he closed the door.

Bloody nightmares more like thought Dan. He made his way to the kitchen thinking, the problem is not what to do, but how. On reaching it he saw the knives were locked away as usual, he’d asked about that once and told it was Health and Safety Regulations. All the other utensils were still on the racks, he liked to fantasise about one of the Residents running amok with an egg whisk, or a collective suicide attempt using cheeses graters.

Looking round he just knew the answer to his problem regarding McPhee was here. The thought struck him, a flash-back to an incident that occurred in 1944, the day before what later became know as D-Day.

x x x x

Dan had been embarking an Assault Boat for a raid on the French occupied coast. Climbing aboard he’d noticed his Troop Sergeant, Big Billy McQueen carrying an unusual item clipped on his belt, pointing to it he’d asked, why are you carrying that Sarge?

“That’s my Equaliser lad, very useful bit of kit, you can use it to force doors open or wedge them shut, snapping padlocks, and you can use it to”, and he demonstrated.

Dan looked at the utensil rack and saw an Equaliser hanging there; he smiled, lifted it down, and surreptitiously took it back to his room. When he’d completed his preparations he went to find McPhee. Dan gave him a conspiratorial wink and asked him to come to his room later, for a little bit of business. When McPhee walked in he saw Dan hunched in a chair, a blanket over his knees looking very dejected and a bulging wallet by his left foot. Dan watched McPhee looking greedily at the wallet; he couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

McPhee opened the conversation with.“What do you want me to get you Danny Boy, some beers?

“No a bottle of Scotch, single malt, something decent”.

“You must be joking pal, beer is one thing, Scotch is something else, I could lose my job for that”.

“I’ll make it worth your while, Dougi”.

“I don’t know”.

“I’m sorry I’ve dropped my wallet, do you think you could you get it for me please? Look you’ve always been square with me Dougi; just take what you think’s fair for the Malt and the risk”.

“Ok, but I’m taking one hell-of-a chance”.

He started leaning towards Dan’s left foot.

Time slowed for both men.

As McPhee started to bend forward he saw movement in Dan’s lap, it looked as if he was getting a huge erection, and rationalised that’s impossible at his age.

Dan held the Equaliser pointing it up towards McPhee’sdescending head.

Both men’s heads were level when the blanket fell away;

Dan savagely thrust the Equaliser upwards in to the soft underside of McPhee’s jaw. It easily passed through the flesh and the thin bone in the roof of his mouth, and in to the soft pinky grey brain tissue, coming to rest against the top of his scull.

For an instance both men’s eyes met, McPhee saw triumph in Dan’s, Dan saw realisation in McPhee’s, then fear and terror and finally death.

The impetus of McPhee’s body carried him forward; the handle of the Equaliser hit the floor driving it through the top of his scull.

Dan looked dispassionately at the body sprawled at his feet;

it reminded him of a First World War German soldier, the Butchers Sharpening Steel protruding out the top of McPhee’s scull like the spike on an old German helmet.

Dan continued to look at the corpse, satisfied McPhee would never visit any residents again. He stood and found his walking stick and recovered the pain killers. He hoped there would be enough to kill an 83 year old with cancer, if there wasn’t so what he thought, and took them. As he drifted towards unconsciousness and oblivion he heard the clock in reception chime the first stroke of Midnight.

Then he heard another sound, this time outside his open window, it was a sound he remembered well, the sound of an old WW2 Assault Boat approaching. He could just make out it was being piloted by a big man wearing a torn and bloodstained Battle Dress uniform. He immediately recognised him, it was Sergeant Billy McQueen waving for him to come and join him in the boat, and shouting.

“Come on young Granley, you’ve done a good job here but it’s over now, I’ve been sent to collect you lad, get a bloody

move on we’re going home”. And with surprising agility for a dying man of 83, Marine Daniel Granley jumped in to the Assault Boat just as the clock finished chiming midnight. It was 6 June 2008, Dan Granley’s, own personal D-Day.