The Night of the Quelea Part 2 - Conclusion
Trip Start
Jul 16, 2004
1
9
11
Trip End
Aug 01, 2004
Khwai River - Moremi Game Reserve,
Botswana
Sunday, July 25, 2004
After all, it is the Night of the Quelea
Quelea2
. The evening game drive started off like usual; it was Jayne, Dan, Scott, and I with Stanley. But it didn't stay that usual for long. I was riding like the wind; poking my ponderous frame through the roof of the Land Cruiser as Stanley drove down the tree-lined bush track, my face to the warm afternoon sun. I had my bandana on. I was the master of all I surveyed. Tom of Botswana... Tom? Tom? Hello?
What can I say? The wind in your face and the African wilderness all around - the ultimate thrill ride.
It's hard to tell that it's happened when you're on the kind of roads we travel. I didn't have a clue until Stanley stopped and got out of the truck mentioning something about a "puncture". He would have changed the tire all by himself (that's the kind of guy Stanley is), but once Dan and Scott got wind of what was going on they miraculously appeared outside the truck begging to help Stanley change the tire. Not to be upstaged, I offered my assistance as well. No sooner did we get the left rear changed than Stanley said the front rear was punctured too (there are some pretty nasty thorns out here).
Okay, now it was starting to feel pretty adventuresome
Quelea3
. Out in the bush, two flat tires, nothing but a few bottles of water and some Cliff Bars... I joked with Jayne before coming here of just wandering into the bush never to be heard from again. Walking off the shore of civilization into the open sea of the wilderness. "Perhaps now is my chance!" I thought to myself. Dusting the grime off my shirt from helping Stanley with the tire, I then remembered the problem I'd had all along with this scenario of giving it all up and finding enlightenment in the wilderness. I'd eventually run out of soap and wouldn't be able to wash my hands. I remain tethered to civilization.
Stanley radioed Alwyn, who said he'd be right there. By the time Alwyn arrived, Stanley had the tube patched, and with a little help pumping up the tire, we were soon on our way.
Flush from the macho demonstration of our survival skills (Stanley helped too), the boys and I went topside as we rode toward the river in search of Big Game. Dan and Scott laid down their own rap as we went: "Tom, Tom he's the man... got his bandana on..." Then "Jayne, Jayne she's the woman..." Somehow, there is no higher praise than to be considered cool by a fourteen-year-old, if only for a moment
Quelea4
. At some point on our way back to camp, the boys had devised a fiendish game called "jelly", in which the player stands on the seat of a moving land cruiser. Upon the word "jelly" the participants go limp (as in 'jelly'), letting the bush track toss them about until the participants are simultaneously convulsed with a mixture of tears and laughter. Unfortunately, if you're not a participant, 'jelly' can become a bit tiresome rather fast. Fortunately, jelly couldn't go on forever - even for a pliable teenager. Bruises were imminent, which would alert parents of something going on. Jayne, Stanley, and I didn't want to be accused of beating their children when the children were doing a fine job on their own.
With the help of Jayne's urging, a peace and quiet settled in the Land Cruiser as Stanley headed back to camp. The sky was changing from deep blue to velvety purple, to the west lit with bright orange. The ball of the sun sank slowly and relentlessly into the horizon, jagged with line of distant mopane and acacia trees.
The trail that led back to camp ran parallel along the Khwai River to the west. Tall grass hid any distinct shoreline, the stillwater pools of the river provided the perfect respite for birds and hippo
Quelea5
. We came up behind Alwyn's truck parked on the road along the river and stopped. Alwyn, Nancy, Bill, Barb, Nicky and Christian (Alwyn's younger brother and a member of the camp crew) were all intently looking to the west. It seemed to have no beginning or end - it was suddenly just there, and we were in the middle of it - there was a sound, a gentle rush of air in the growing depth of twilight. And then a ribbon, a black wave of movement, flying low, counterclockwise in a great circle on the horizon all around us. Quelea by the millions, roosting in the transition from day to night, when so much of the African wilderness comes to life.
At first there was some furtive conversation, but soon the only sound that could be heard was the snap of shutters and the rush of air caused by the synchronous movement of a million pair of wings. Alwyn allowed us to get out of the trucks and me to walk a short distance away in my attempts to capture the sound with my sound machine. I stood about fifty feet from the truck in the tall grass holding up my little contrivance to the horizon. I realized that the effort was most likely futile. There would be no way that I could ever hope to recreate what we were witnessing, and what I was feeling. I stood there in the twilight and the whole world seemed contained here in the pools of the floodplain, the ring of trees along the horizon, and the unceasing wave of quelea
The night of the Quelea
. Making my way back to my compatriots, I saw that I was not the only one discovering their own private epiphany. We all stood awestruck facing the west. The camera shutters were mostly quiet now as everyone succumbed to the magnitude of nature's benevolence in allowing us to witness the scene before us. The movements of each bird seemed directed by a life-force larger than any individual; the whole greater than the sum of its parts. It felt like a great big lesson was being told to us in the soft blue cast of twilight. Nature was smiling and asking only that we pay attention - just be still. We stood there for fifteen or twenty minutes until the light became too faint for us to stay any longer. As we all climbed back into the trucks I noticed that Jayne had tears in her eyes. We were all quiet riding back into camp. But we were all joyous; there really is no other way to describe it - joyous.
Yes, there is definitely a feeling in the air tonight. It reminds me of the sound I hear inside my head sometimes; when I'm in deep contemplation, pondering whatever meaning I may find in this world, an internal dialog.
Nature is talking, calling out to its constituent parts; contemplating itself. I am blessed tonight because I feel as if I'm a part of it. You can't go back to the Garden of Eden. But you can sit in a tent and listen to it softly calling.
When I started this entry I held out little hope for adequately expressing what we saw, heard, and felt this evening. I have truly lived up to those expectations. But if there is any sense left in the reader, even the tiniest measure, of the transcendence that was experienced out here along the Khwai River this evening; the feeling of unfathomable power found in everything that surrounds us, then I lay down my pen tonight satisfied.
We will leave here in the morning, and I will next report from the Savuti Marsh in Chobe National Park.
It is a good night here; and to all a good night!
