Peter Allison - Dont Look Behind You, But...: Tales from an African Safari Guide

Dont Look Behind
You, But...

Also by Peter Allison

Whatever You Do, Dont Run:

My adventures as a Botswana safari guide

Dont Look Behind
You, But...

Tales from an African safari guide

PETER ALLISON

First published in 2009

Copyright Peter Allison 2009

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia
Phone: (61 2) 8425 0100
Fax: (61 2) 9906 2218
Email: info@allenandunwin.com
Web: www.allenandunwin.com

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available
from the National Library of Australia
www.librariesaustralia.nla.gov.au

ISBN 9781741756418

Map by Guy Holt
Set in 11/15.5 pt Bulmer by Bookhouse, Sydney
Printed in Australia by McPhersons Printing Group
10987654321

This book is dedicated to anyone who works to preserve wild placesfrom those who live in uncomfortable conditions in the field to teach us more about animals, to people who take a little time to lobby for protection of wilderness, my good friends in the safari business, and even the legislators who sign national parks into existence. They all make some sacrifice for this, and I salute them.

Contents

This list must always start with Flavia, whose patience and love give me a foundation that I can work from. Not many people would tolerate hearing these stories a hundred times then endure reading them, but she does just that with good humour and many servings of pasta.

My hard-working agent Kate Epstein takes care of so many things that I am no good at, but beyond that is also a great friend and mentor.

Jo Paul, Catherine Milne, Angela Handley and Katri Hilden at Allen & Unwin were sent a rather drab first draft and patiently guided me towards what you hold here, for which I am very grateful and hope you will be too.

This book was not written in any one place; I wrote some in Sydney but much while I was on the road. Many people had me in their homes at this point, and I must thank Attie and Christina Jonker (hosts so generous and kind I suggest you track them down and befriend them, then stay at their placeyou wont want to leave). Iva Spitzer saved me from the bankruptcy that staying in New York would have brought about, and did it in great style while we swapped many an Africa story. Devlin Foxcroft showed that despite his many bad habits (really, who drinks beer from a shoe?) he is a great friend to have and put me up in Johannesburg. Thanks also to Alta from his office at Impulse Getaways for arranging so much.

The people in the 5 x 5 social room (you know who you are) gave me a welcome distraction when I was blocked, but just as often when I should have been working. Any mistakes I missed during the edits can be squarely blamed on them.

Lastly Ive had family support from my wonderful sister Laurie, but also from Susie and the late Renzo Abbate. We all miss you, Renzo.

Writing is a dangerous game.

In 2007 I wrote a book called Whatever You Do, Dont Run. Seeing it published gave me a triple thrill. It made me a fourth-generation writer on my mothers side, it fulfilled my lifelong ambition to become an author, and lastly but not of least significance, it put some money in my pocket. The cheque I received was for an amount meagre to most, but able to cover my rent for some time.

Hi! I said cheerily to the cashier at a suburban bank branch in Sydney. Id like to deposit this US dollar cheque please. She smiled back at me in the professional way that cashiers do, glanced at the cheque, and the faade cracked a little, then crumbled. Her face changed entirely and she grew visibly concerned. I just stood there, grinning broadly, unaware that she was reaching for the silent alarm.

My fiance, standing beside me, was far sharper, and leaned forward. Its the title of a book, she said softly, this is his first payment as a writer.

I took a while to register what Flavia had said, and to interpret the look of horror that was fading to vague suspicion on the face of the cashier.

Oh! I said, then Oh! again, just to demonstrate how articulate writers are. Dont Run! Thats not a good thing to hand over in a bank, is it?

I wasnt arrested that day, but it was close. If Id been by myself I may well have been.

So being a writer has its hazards, ones that most days I dont seem prepared for. Being a safari guide was not dissimilar. I started each day knowing that I might find a scorpion in my boot, get lost in the bush or be charged by a lion. While I am not at all a brave man I am fascinated by animals, and my curiosity about what might be around the next corner or what Id see next kept me in the game for more than ten years. The stories in this book are campfire tales, the sort that safari guides tell at night, but there are also a few confessions that would never be shared with tourists.

This is not a sequel, but a companion to Dont Run. It starts at the start like a story should, at the beginning of my career, and hops through various stages of training, guiding, camp management and teaching. My career began in the Sabi Sands Game Reserve of South Africa, a private section of the famous Kruger National Park. From South Africa I moved to the place that became my home, Botswanas Okavango Delta. For most of my time there I lived at a place called Mombo, an island in the middle of the worlds largest oasis, which sits in the middle of the worlds greatest stretch of sand. This is a place where desert animals from the Kalahari make their homes next to aquatic creatures like hippos, and where the unusual becomes commonplace. In the Delta it is possible to see some of the larger cats swimming for fun, herds of buffalo that shake the land, and a flood that comes in the middle of the dry season. There is no place like it on earth.

These are the stories of a not particularly brave safari guide.

I was at the bottom, looking up. Above me were safari guides, offering encouragement, telling me it was easy to get where they were. But I am a lifelong fearer of heights, to the point that I dont even enjoy standing up, and think it far more sensible to stay seated. The guides shouted up to me that I was missing out on a great view, and that they could see all sorts of wildlife and scenery from their perch on our brand-new communications tower. I wanted to join them up there, wanted to defeat my phobias, but after repeated failures I tucked my tail between my legs and slunk away, like an animal.

Once the others were gone I returned to the tower and made another attempt. I was very proud to be three rungs higher than I had gone previously, above my own head height. My hand reached for the next rung, but instead of feeling metal gripped something slimy. It squirmed. The hand released, and for no good reason the other one did too and I fell, with just enough time to think Tree frog, before my feet hit the ground, skidded out, and my backside gave a flat thwack into the hard-packed earth. The frog was nowhere to be seen, presumably still safe on its perch wondering why the purple-faced and sweaty creature that had grabbed it was so quick to let it go.