Africa Calling

Africa Calling

Noel Laflin

1-27-16

Johnnie and Bonnie, two charming lasses, came to Africa on a whim.

 

They told their boyfriends that they needed a holiday, just the two best friends, and that they’d be back at the end of the month.

They fell in love with the continent instead, and had already overstayed their promise of return by six months at the time of our meeting, some twenty years ago, in a remote national park in northern Zambia.

I was privy to their confession of adventure as we sat about a campfire late one September night listening to the call of lions on either side of our encampment.

“And then there was Tanzania, and the climb of Kilimanjaro,” Johnnie enthused, taking another swig from the bottle of wine we passed about one to another.

A lion roared in the distance.

“Noel,” you need to come back next year, after the rains, and promise that you’ll do the climb with us,” said Bonnie. “One can fall in love up there,” she sighed.

An answering bellow from across the ravine punctuated the impromptu invitation.

“We know the way now,” chimed Johnnie.

 

The call of the first big cat sounded closer now.

“We’ll still be here,” said Bonnie, taking hold of Johnnie’s hand.

The second cat’s roar was definitely closer too.

“What about your boyfriends?” I gently enquired, setting the empty bottle aside, and reaching for a new one.

“The lads can wait,” answered Bonnie, handing me a corkscrew.

Both lions let out such a deep and prolonged cry of distress - so close to our little fire – that I felt obliged to toss another branch or two upon the dwindling flames.

“You know,” sighed Johnnie, pulling Bonnie close, “we just may never go home again.”

The thundering silence from the dark was deafening.