The Last Stop Safari Shop

By Clair Cholajda

'Evelyn walked towards the cluster of flame lilies, each one a cup of flickering scarlet edged with trickling gold, growing up from the deep, rich, red African soil. She bent down gently stretched her arms around them, just able to touch her fingers together, and breathed in deeply. The smell of green … only here on this land.'

The Last Stop Safari Shop is a beautiful ode to Africa. It is set in South Africa, Zimbabwe and Tanzania in the late 1980's and 1990's.

It charts the lives of Marius, an interior designer from Cape Town who hesitantly accepts a job decorating safari lodges in Tanzania. Astrid, a young Swiss woman who is disappointed when she arrives in Tanzania as all she sees on her journey from the airport are donkeys, dogs and vervet monkeys. No lion or elephant - not what she was anticipating at all. Evelyn, a Rhodesian war widow, returns to Zimbabwe after exiling herself in Somerset, England to help her brother-in-law and his wife with their rhino conservation.

By digging deep and finding their inner resources, paths cross, and unlikely friendships are formed. Under the transformative power of the 'Africa-ness' of Africa, all three individuals begin to heal and embrace their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Porcupine Press
• Release date: Aug 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781928455028

Clair Cholajda

Clair Cholajda was born in Kitwe, Zambia. Clair studied at Rhodes University and majored in English Literature, Sociology and Psychology and later completed a Masters in Clinical Psychology at the University of Natal. After her first stint at university she spent four years working her way around the world, doing many lousy jobs and many that she was ill-equipped for. She got a job in Greece on a sailing yacht, cooking for charter guests. Clair had never sailed and seldom cooked. She hiked in Nepal, fell in love in Bali, sailed down the Nile in a felucca, lived in San Francisco, picked avocados in Israel and drank rum in the Caribbean. In 2005 Clair and her husband and their two children went to East Africa on safari. Her trip inspired the writing of this novel. Clair fell in love with the African bush and was deeply moved by the world of safari and conservation and set up an internet-based company selling safaris, “the Tas-Tanz Connection”. She also has a small private clinical psychology practice in Hobart, Tasmania.

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The Last Stop Safari Shop

Clair Cholajda

Johannesburg, South Africa

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means the permission of the publisher and the author.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

© Clair Cholajda 2018

First published in May 2018 by

Porcupine Press

PO Box 2756

Pinegowrie, 2123

Gauteng, South Africa

[e-mail]

www.porcupinepress.co.za

ISBN: 978-1-928455-02-8

Produced and distributed by Porcupine Press

Cover design by JD Smith Design

Printed by Bidvest Data, Cape Town

For Jess and Josh

Contents

PART ONE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

PART TWO

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

PART THREE

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

CONSERVATION ACCOLADES

Selous Game Reserve, Tanzania

Kupata fisi mbali sofa! Get the hyenas off the sofas. They’re going to eat them! yelled Marius. Is there any more furniture in the trucks?

What? came a voice from the dark.

Are the trucks empty?

No.

Deep in the African bush two trucks carrying containers that were headed for a safari camp in Tanzania were stuck in a gulley and the water was rising. Leather furniture was being off-loaded onto the embankment. The night was pitch black, not a star to be seen, and the rain dropped and dropped, adding to the wet of the thigh-deep mud. Men scrambled up the bank with torches, shouting at the hyenas and waving their arms. At first the hyenas resisted, hurling and burling, curling their lips, baring their teeth and growling. Then, reluctantly, they skulked off into the shadows. To them a leather sofa was scavenged meat, too good an opportunity to pass up.

Marius tried to shout to Ambonsiye above the sound of the rain. Two of us will have to guard the furniture. Can you get the men to off-load the rest of the containers?

We will do our best.

He turned to one of the Maasai askaris. There are four hours until sunrise, he said, in the most assertive tone he could muster. You and I will do the first watch, the first two hours. Then we’ll change shifts.

The Maasais’ reputation for being quite fearless was legendary, and it was because of this that they were favoured for this kind of endeavour. In earlier times the killing of a lion would signal the coming of age of a young Maasai boy, but this practice was illegal now. The askari yawned and nonchalantly followed Marius to the shelter of the mahogany tree, where the sofas were being stacked. He was wearing a chuka draped around his waist, vermillion with veins of blue, and another in blue and red check draped diagonally across his chest. Silver necklaces and the beaded bangles on his ankles shone in the torchlight. In his elongated earlobes were silver discs, about four centimetres in diameter, and in his hand he held a spear.

About ten metres away the hyenas’ eyes glowed. They weren’t going anywhere. How many of them were there? It was hard to tell. Marius tried to count the pairs of eyes, but they were moving around, the animals chattering and twittering to one another, making plans for their attack, or so he imagined.

And then a cough.

Marius felt the black, wet night wrap itself around his throat.

PART ONE

1

Marius

1983

The marketing director of Africa for the Long Run – or ALR – John Saunders, was a thoughtful and considerate man, who loved the bush. Of medium height, with greying hair and eyes that drooped a bit at the corners, he was handsome to some, plain to others. His face had the weathered look and year-round tan of someone who spent as much time as he could outdoors, and this was indeed true. Whenever he could John was either surfing in False Bay or, if he had time to travel that far, Jeffrey’s, or otherwise climbing the mountain. His least favourite responsibility for the company was interviewing staff, but today he had promised a friend he played tennis with that he would do him a favour and talk to the young man who was now sitting, fifteen minutes early for his appointment, in the reception area.

John went through to greet him.

Marius! he said, putting out his hand. Good to meet you. Let’s go through to the boardroom. I’m looking forward to sharing our vision with you.

ALR’s Cape Dutch style head office nestled below Table Mountain in the Gardens, and the boardroom looked out over a line of magnificent oak trees.

I see you’ve brought your portfolio, John said, gesturing for Marius to sit down, but your reputation precedes you. He indicated some glossy local and international magazines on the table, a couple of them in Italian. You’re obviously very talented. He leaned forward. But do you think you could make your designs work in African safari lodges?

Marius began to rub his thumb into the centre of his palm, an old habit. I don’t know, he replied, but if I get a detailed brief, I’m sure I will rise to the occasion.

Marius knew he was being economical with the truth. He had never followed a brief, no matter how detailed. It just wasn’t in his nature. He hoped John hadn’t read the 1981 article in House and Gardens about him being able to annoy and delight his clients at the same time, how he had a way of giving his clients exactly what they had not asked for, yet left them more than satisfied.

John looked at him thoughtfully, taking in his slight frame, delicate-boned wrists and silky blond hair. Marius’s big brown eyes brought to mind, a frightened deer. How would he cope with being caught in headlights in the bush?

First let me tell you about ALR, said John. We like to describe ourselves as a conservation company disguised as a business. Everyone who works here has one thing in common: we are all passionate about conservation. He went on to give an overview of the company’s philosophy, the size and extent of their existing safari lodge businesses, how they differed from other safari businesses, and what they had planned for the future. We offer exclusivity, he said. "Ten tents for twenty guests, with thousands of hectares of wild Africa to themselves. We do not fulfil expectations. We exceed them. Your job, Marius, would be to design and implement stunning interiors for the guest areas, bedrooms and bathrooms, without losing the ‘Africa-ness’ in the luxury. Rustic luxury. That’s what we want. How does that sound?"

Like an oxymoron, said Marius, with a strained smile.

John frowned. He really would rather be surfing right now, and he had no idea what an oxymoron was. Well, rustic luxury is what we want, he said. And it’s critical that we get it right. We believe you’re the man for the job. But let me be clear: these are not homes in Constantia or Clifton. Our lodges are in remote areas in Africa. You could say they’re in the middle of nowhere. The constraints of working in such areas are huge and teamwork is the name of the game. You would have to be able to work with our architect and structural engineer. Do you think you can do that?

Marius gulped. Wherever he had worked, he had somehow always had carte blanche. He disliked the word constraints and he wasn’t wild about the word teamwork either. He folded his left arm against his stomach and supported his chin with his right hand. Fortunately, before he could answer John’s face brightened. You know, Marius, instead of me trying to explain what the job involves, why don’t you come and see for yourself? I’m about to travel to Tanzania. Why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you to a few of our properties and you will see what I mean. It would also give us a chance to get to know each other.

Marius gulped again. Tanzania, he said. When are you going?

Day after tomorrow, said John. You know, we’re very keen to have you join our team. I’ve shared your designs with the other directors and they are all very much in favour. We all believe you are exactly what ALR is looking for.

Marius felt his shoulders tensing. He changed his position – his right arm folded against his stomach and his chin supported by his left hand. It was my father, he said, who suggested I come and see you, but I’m not sure he – well, the thing is … this isn’t quite what … I don’t want to waste your time.

I know, Marius, and I understand where you’re coming from. But wouldn’t you like the challenge? And to be contributing to something worthwhile at the same time? I’m talking about the future of Africa.

Marius looked at John blankly.

John smiled. Okay, let me explain … but, first, do you want some coffee?

Sure.

How do you take it? With sugar and milk?

Just black, thanks.

John went to the door and asked Tanya, the receptionist, to organise coffee. Then he sat back and laced his fingers behind his head. Before I started working for ALR, he said, I was ignorant. I thought animals were all over Africa, free to roam. That might have been true many, many years ago, but it’s no longer the case. Without the foresight of some of the great conservationists hundreds of years ago we would never have had the protected areas for wildlife that we have today. Probably the most exciting animal we would see would be an impala – if we were lucky. Imagine what would have happened to the wildebeest migration, one of the world’s great phenomena, without the efforts of conservationists?

Marius didn’t know too much about wildebeest and he didn’t know they migrated, but he thought he should adopt an interested look. Just then Tanya came in with a tray. She gave Marius a smile, for which he was grateful, while she set the cups and a plunger on the desk.

Wildlife throughout Africa is actively managed, John continued, "at great cost, in money, effort and time. Here we are, in 1983, and wildlife in Africa remains under huge threat from many areas. Population growth, for one, and its companion – the increasing demand for land to grow food – has a major effect. This is true of other continents, of course, not just Africa, but it is in Africa that ALR is deeply invested in making a contribution, a major contribution. We are committed to the conservation of wildlife and the improvement of the lives of local people. Modern conservation funds this through selling ethical safaris, run by companies that do good."

He pushed down on the plunger and then poured coffee into two cups. So what do you say? he asked, and then, not giving Marius a chance to answer: Before you make a decision either way, come on this trip with me. Wouldn’t you like to witness a wildebeest migration? It truly is one of the most magnificent sights in the world.

Marius took a sip of his coffee, trying to imagine what could be magnificent about a bunch of shaggy-haired animals doing whatever it was that they did, but John was talking again.

The migration will be in the western corridor of the Serengeti, near our Pundamilia Tented Camp. We’ll spend a night there and then return via Ngorongoro Crater. That’s where the first lodge we have in mind for you is – it’s the most incredible location, right on the crater rim. It has all the potential for getting the ‘Best Safari Lodge in Africa’ award, but right now it’s under-performing. We’d like to think you could change that. He smiled. Well?

Marius shrank back in his chair. He might have pulled off some major wins in his design career, but he was a designer. He didn’t do camping. This sounded way out of his comfort zone.

The camp and lodge will really give you an idea of the look we’re after, John went on, not seeming to notice his reticence. Don’t commit before you’ve seen them. I realise that might be asking too much. How about it? Are you in? Good. Bring a small bag for the plane, a soft-shell one, 12kg max.

* * *

Two days later Marius met John at the airport in Cape Town. They flew to Johannesburg, then changed flights for Kilimanjaro International Airport, via Dar es Salaam. There they were met by one of the company’s drivers, Albert, who welcomed them with a huge smile. John sat next to Albert in the Land Cruiser and they chatted easily in Swahili. As they turned onto the main Arusha/Moshi road, John filled Marius in on some local background. ALR has a sizeable office in Arusha for our ground operators, who organise the supplies for our properties, transfer our guests arriving at both the international and domestic airports and deal with all sorts of logistical issues. He grinned at Albert. You guys pull off miracles every other day, don’t you?

Albert laughed. We sure do, he said.

It was too late in the evening to see either Kilimanjaro or Mount Meru, and the air at this high altitude was brisk. About fifteen kilometres from the airport, Albert turned off the asphalt road. After driving through a ditch they headed into what Marius could just make out in the dying light looked like a banana plantation. They passed mud huts here and there, dimly lit by kerosene lamps. The smell of wood-smoke drifted by. Scrawny, squawking chickens scattered out of the way of the vehicle. A donkey tethered to a tree brayed in annoyance. A barefoot child, laughing with delight, ran past them, pushing a car made from wire, its wheels wobbling.

As the road continued to deteriorate Marius panicked. This is it, this is where I get murdered. He had occasionally said that to himself on his visits to certain townships in Cape Town. He looked anxiously at John, but he seemed very relaxed sprawled out in the front seat. Five minutes later they were at a high gate. A security guard emerged and opened the gate for them.

Habari za jioni, Albert said, raising his hand.

Karibu sana.

Marius breathed a sigh of relief as the Land Cruiser drove up a neat-looking driveway and pulled up in front of a large, well-lit and ordered-looking structure. The lodge had a thatched roof and a deep veranda. A woman with a tray of fresh lemon juice and cloths to wipe their hands and faces was waiting for them. She greeted them warmly and invited them into the lodge. Marius was asked if he’d like to shower before dinner, which he was keen to do, and he was shown to his rondavel. As he walked across the lawn towards it, yellow-vented bulbuls chattered away, as they gathered in small groups before roosting, and a hadeda ibis gave a mournful, raucous cry. The rondavel was tucked away behind some banana trees with jasmine tumbling down in a shower of pink stars beside the door, giddy with fragrance. Marius collapsed on his bed, tempted to go straight to sleep, but he resisted the urge. After a shower and a change of clothes he felt considerably better. He joined John and Albert on the veranda, where they were having drinks.

After dinner he felt well and truly ready for bed, but he had a poor night’s sleep in the unfamiliar surroundings and did not feel very rested by the time Albert was ready to take him and John to the airport in the morning. He wasn’t fond of flying at the best of times. He began to wonder, and not for the first time, what he was doing and why the hell he was even considering this job.

So, John, what sort of plane will we be flying in? he asked, making conversation.

Probably a Caravan, John replied cheerfully. Great little plane, hops all over the safari circuit. Can land on all sorts of runways. Gravel – no problem; a herd of elephant on the runway – no problem; a runway that has a height discrepancy – no problem.

Marius’s hands began to sweat. He started to rub his right thumb into the centre of his palm. He could feel the blood rising through his neck. Oh no, here comes that super-anxious look of mine. I’m going to go even redder. I feel sick. What if I throw up on the plane?

Do these planes have toilets, John? he asked casually.

Oh no, no room. They’re twelve-seaters, thirteen, if you count the seat next to the pilot. Make sure you go before we board. Actually, I did see someone wet their seat once. It happens.

Marius wondered if, when they got to the airport, he could just slip away, run away in fact, never to be found. But no, he’d tried that before. He had to face this, ‘like a man’, as his father would say. Hell, he didn’t feel like a man in the South African sense of the word. Maybe he would be more like a man in France or Italy. One of those men who carried a handbag. Not that he carried a handbag, although he would quite like to.

Inside the terminal John and Marius were directed to some seats to wait for their plane. John took out a crumpled newspaper from the day before. Marius sat back, his eyes wide, taking everything in. Pilots walked past in freshly ironed shirts with creases down the sleeves and epaulettes on their shoulders and khaki shorts and sandals. People were either arriving from or departing for safari. Some wore safari clothing straight out of a Banana Republic catalogue, others wore any old thing, or so it looked to Marius. John was in safari gear too today, he’d noted: khaki pants and a khaki shirt. He wore a cap with ALR embroidered on the front. Marius thought people only dressed for safari if they were in an African movie. He felt very out of place in his white jeans and crisp white cotton shirt.

After about half an hour, someone yelled out, Coastal for the Serengeti! and John folded his newspaper and got to his feet. He and Marius joined the short line that was forming. Marius watched the names being ticked off. A woman in a Coastal uniform directed them to a plane on the runway.

On the plane he felt slightly more relaxed – but relieved, too, that the flight was such a short one when they began their descent not long after leaving Arusha. When the plane touched down and taxied to a stop he undid his seat-belt. He was about to stand up when John said, Oh no, Marius, this is Lake Manyara. We’ve still got a few stops to go. Seronera, for sure, maybe a couple of others.

Marius sat back down. Four people left the plane. He started to bite his nails. He closed his eyes, but that made him feel worse, so he looked out the window, trying to process every detail, to distract himself. Then they were moving again. The plane taxied to the end of the runway and then, gathering speed, raced towards the opposite end. Suddenly, without warning, the earth fell away. Marius had done a fair bit of flying but he had never experienced anything like this. What the hell is happening? He gripped his arm-rests as tightly as he could. John must have noticed his terrified expression because he put his hand reassuringly on Marius’s arm. Hey, it’s okay, we’ve just flown over the edge of the Rift Valley escarpment. I know it feels strange.

Marius breathed out. So nothing’s wrong?

No, the runway goes to the very edge. It always depends on the wind, of course, which direction the pilot goes. I love the feeling, but I guess I know what’s happening.

Marius breathed another sigh of relief and the colour came back to his face. He smiled sheepishly at John. He was sure John was changing his mind about employing him. He rubbed his thumb into the centre of his palm, until his palm hurt and felt tender. Luckily, there was only one more stop, which was Seronera, where all of the passengers got off, apart from John and Marius. The plane continued on its route, heading west for a concession west of the Serengeti.

This one is a hell of a runway, John warned Marius. The pilot will buzz the airstrip to clear it of game – there’s always tons of game here – and the airstrip is as bumpy as anything.

Marius nodded silently, scared that if he tried to say anything, no sound would come out. The pilot began his descent. Marius looked out of the window and saw an expanse of wildebeest and zebra. He couldn’t see much airstrip. What made the pilot so sure the animals would move? As the pilot dropped down the wildebeest scattered in different directions. They were so low Marius could see the hair on their backs. The pilot ascended, circled, buzzed the strip again and landed. The plane taxied to the terminal, which was actually just a tree with a bench underneath it. Marius felt like hugging the man for having got them there safely, but he did his best to appear to be in control. Instead he thanked the pilot profusely.

The lodge safari vehicle was waiting for them. It was open to the air with three rows of tiered seats and a canopy for shade. Marius looked at it dubiously. Where were the windows? An open vehicle with wild animals about? This job was definitely not for him. It was just all too weird.

They drove the ten kilometres from the airstrip through woodland, the guide commenting on the flora and fauna as they went. John became animated and asked lots of questions but all Marius could think was Let’s get this over with. He tried to conceal his disinterest in the surroundings. As they neared the camp, woodland opened out into savannah, dotted with the flat-topped acacias, nicknamed umbrella trees. Up ahead in a clearing was the camp. This consisted of a row of tents, one large one in the centre and five smaller ones on either side. How could anyone pay $400 a night for this? Marius wasn’t impressed but he kept his thoughts to himself.

The vehicle pulled up in front of the main tent – the biggest tent Marius had ever seen – where they were welcomed in what he recognised now was the customary manner with cold drinks and wet towels. They walked through the central communal guest area, which was divided into the dining room on the right and the lounge on the left. The deck looked out onto grassy plains and more acacias.

The camp was run by a husband and wife team, Steve and Sarah. Tall and elegant, and both dressed in khaki (although Sarah’s outfit was accessorised with some stunning beaded jewellery, Marius noticed), they welcomed Marius and offered to show him around the camp after lunch. Lunch was plentiful – and fresh and tasty. Sarah was proud to explain that just about all of the vegetables were locally grown. The fresh seafood came from the Indian Ocean. Marius was surprised that such food could be served in the middle of nowhere. Looking around the camp only added to his anxiety, however. He couldn’t decorate tents! They had so picked the wrong person for the job! While Steve and Sarah gave John an update on the lodge he gazed out at the bush in the harsh midday sun. Who on earth would choose to come to a place like this? Unless you were doing tsetse fly research or something?

After lunch Sarah showed him around. The guest tents, which were also enormous, were set on wooden decks, where the deck extended beyond the tent, creating both a front and back veranda. Each space had its own lounge, a canopy bed, also the biggest Marius had ever seen, draped with mosquito netting, and an outdoor bathroom with a ball and claw bathtub, looking over the plains. What struck him, though, were the furnishings. He had to admit it. They were exquisite! Genuine antiques, like a beautiful writing bureau, probably circa 1910, with a stash of handmade paper, tempting someone to document their memoirs. Deep orange and amber kilims were scattered lavishly on the floor. The room danced – the afternoon sun catching the brass lamps and the old-fashioned taps in the bathroom, the crystal decanter with a coppery, golden coloured liquid on the sideboard. Marius felt his excitement rise – this was like Aladdin’s Cave! Only he knew he could do better.

Wow, this is fabulous! he said to Sarah.

John stood nearby, trying not to smile.

By the time evening came Marius was feeling considerably more optimistic and his head was buzzing with ideas. He had bathed in the sumptuous bath, with its gauze window discreetly placed at head height, even though the bathroom looked onto savannah with hundreds of miles of emptiness. Guests accessed the central guest area by walking behind the tents, so privacy was more or less ensured, unless you were concerned about the quizzical look the odd zebra or antelope might give you. After he had taken many photographs of the camp in the soft evening light, he joined John and Steve on the deck in front of the central tent. Sarah was attending to some guests who had come in on the afternoon flight from Arusha. Marius leaned back in his chair, rearranging the cushions for comfort. He drank his gin and tonic with ice and lime, and nibbled on exquisitely presented canapés.

You’ve come at a good time, Marius, Steve said, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. The migration is moving through, following the fresh grass that comes up after the rain. More than 1.5 million wildebeest, 500 000 zebra and 200 000 Thomson’s gazelle. Also some eland. They all eat different parts of the grass – it’s called ecological separation – which explains the huge biomass in a relatively small area.

Marius could see Steve expected him to share his enthusiasm, but his head was spinning with other thoughts. When Steve saw Marius wasn’t getting it a brief flicker of annoyance crossed his face. Marius was conscious of him looking disapprovingly at his shoes. Well, what was he expecting – velskoens? Steve took a deep breath and changed course. He began to give Marius a rundown on some of the logistical issues they faced. He stopped short of actually saying that they didn’t want a guy who was going to give them endless headaches with beautiful things that couldn’t be maintained, but Marius got the picture. This man wasn’t taking to him.

Ja, it’s different here in the bush, Steve said. You’ve always got to be ready to make a plan. Hey, John, remember that time when the lion chased the kudu through the lounge at the Grumeti River Camp?

John chuckled. Yes, but let’s not try to put Marius off, he said. Why don’t we rather –

And that time in Katavi? Steve went on. When that badly injured hippo tried to escape from a crocodile and was trapped in the dining tent?

Marius decided he hadn’t taken to Steve either and it probably showed because John came to his rescue by trying to change the subject.

Hey, Steve, why are you telling Marius these stories? He’s a designer, not a camp manager. He’s not going to have to deal with that sort of stuff.

Steve switched to talking more about the practicalities of running a camp in the bush, but his conversation was more about listing the many logistical problems than offering the positive side. Marius tried to listen, but he had a tendency to switch off when he felt he was being given a lecture. His father was responsible for that although, admittedly, his lectures were nothing like they used to be, before the incident. He leaned his head back on the cushion behind him and looked out onto the plain, where he could see zebra dust-bathing in the warm wash of the pink setting sun. He remembered a poem by Roy Campbell. What were the words again?

¹"From the dark woods that breathe of fallen showers,

Harnessed with level rays in golden reins

The zebras draw the dawn across the plains

Wading knee-deep among the scarlet flowers.

The sunlight, zithering their flanks with fire,

…"

He was surprised that the lines came so easily to him, but then could only remember the last part of the poem …

"While round the herds the stallion wheels his flight

Engine of beauty volted with delight,

To roll his mare among the trampled lilies."

Actually the bush might not be so bad, he thought to himself.

That night the wildebeest migration moved through the camp, or rather, some of the migration, as there were thousands in the herds moving north, following the fresh green grass that came after the rain. Marius awoke to the aank, aank, aank sound they made. Strangely, he felt quite comfortable. Perhaps this was what John had meant by rustic luxury.

He lay in his bed and thought, They are so close, I could almost reach out and touch them.

---

¹ The Zebras from A New Book of South African Verse in English, selected and edited by Butler, G. & Mann, C., Oxford University Press, Cape Town,