The end of the second drought year had again meant little food for the lions. A subadult male stood on the termite mound at the edge of the soccer pitch by the staff village and flared his nostrils - scenting the people who had come to talk excitedly and point at him. He could hear them but against the backdrop of the manmade camp buildings nothing triggered his instinct to kill, these were merely noisy and curious animals that he, as a youngster, was not yet familiar with.
It was Christmas and the staff were already excited. The fact that they weren't busy made it worse. Having a lion so close to camp seemed like a good photo opportunity - spurred on by the rest of the group two of the girls came closer to the fence while one of the guides photographed them. The excitement and noise level increased.
The lion's ears angled forward and his fur flattened against his skin. Half a mile away his mother and eight siblings were moving hungrily through the bush in his direction. Two miles away his father in a coalition of three adult males were returning from a female-hunting expedition in a neghbouring territory. They too were on their way home. The young lion inched his way higher up the termite mound for a better view and feel of the strange scene below him. From here he could have easily jumped over the seven-foot-high fence and dropped into the staff village had he felt so inclined.
Having decided he wasn't interested, he half-skipped, half-jumped to the ground. The girls nearest the fence and all the other female staff screamed and ran - they thought - for their lives.
Something deep inside the young lion, something he'd had since birth, switched his senses to full alert. But suddenly the people had disappeared. Maybe he would tell his mother later.
*******
In camp the mood was mildly frantic. Mike the manager, and Tumi the head guide were busy talking about it in the main guest area.
'I can't believe the staff are so stupid,' Mike said, 'I mean it's not like we haven't lost people to lions before, for fuck's sake.'
'It's not their fault,' Tumi said. 'Most of these guys were illiterate villagers before they came here. They don't really understand the danger. Only the myths taught to them by their aunts and grandmothers.'
'I'm just worried. I mean, the lions are hungry after such a long drought.' Mike jumped up from the step where he was sitting and walked towards the bar. 'I'm going to grab another one. Do you want something?'
'No, I'm good. Who's got the safe key? I need fags.'
'Speaking of the gun safe, we should set up an armed patrol tonight with floodlights and take it in turns to carry the rifle. We can do it in pairs.'
'Are you serious?'
'Like a heart attack.'
*******
Martha came to Botswana from Canada to head up a program fitting reflective tags to the ears of donkeys to reduce the number of road traffic accidents at night. A secondary programme would educate the donkey owners on how to keep livestock off the roads.
As a favour to her, so that she could see some safari animals as well, she was on her way into the bush with a group of disadvantaged children. They were heading to Film Camp in the Nkwe Lodge concession. It was a good way of giving the kids - who would never be able to afford such a trip - an educational and hopefully life-changing safari.
*******
Festus 'Sheriff-Marshall' Gibbs had been running Film Camp for nearly twenty years. It was a fairly lonely existence with breaks of weeks and even months between visitors. The wages were low but the fact that accommodation and food were paid for meant that he saved enough money to build and maintain a house in Maun (with one wife) and another in Seronga (with a second).
Between film projects he lived on frozen chickenand tinned corned beef. Festus liked to vary his diet by catching and eating fish, and this would be his last opportunity to fish before the kids arrived.
The young male lion was on his way to the river to drink water when the man inadvertently crossed his path.
Festus had barely arrived at the river bank when he met his death. The subadult male, driven by hunger and curiosity, silently covered the remaining twenty metres between the sun-bleached bush that hid him and the man in one leap. The momentum alone coupled with his weight (150kg) was enough to bring the man to the ground - combined with cursory claws this was never an even match.
Intrigued, the lion removed the head of his prey with one bite and tasted for the first time, human blood.
