“How long does it take to look at a bladdy lion?” The tannie in the double cab is not happy. Her gold bracelets are jingling with indignation in time with the krr-krr-krr of the diesel engine. She must be in her 40s, overweight, hard-faced but still glamorous, and she clearly doesn’t take kak from anyone.
My mother, who is normally shy and retiring, winds down the window to commiserate. She gestures at a white Fortuner two cars in front of our Polo. “He’s the one,” she calls. “He’s been there looking for half an hour, and he won’t move.” The Fortuner displays a Free State number plate. Free State 4×4 drivers. No manners.
We’ve been here, parked at the side of the H1 to Skukuza, for more than twenty minutes now. There’s a lion somewhere in the bushes ahead. Two lions, we think, since there is the sound of growling and, what we guess, is mating in progress. Cars in the Kruger Park are evidently a sign of something exciting. Brake lights are gold here, reverse lights even better. It means there’s something to look at in what often seems like mile upon mile upon mile of featureless bush, without even a rooibok to look at. This is my first trip to the Kruger since the mid 80s and my mother’s first since the 50s — “since the rinderpest,” as she puts it — and the reality is proving somewhat different from what I’ve seen on years of dedication to Veldfokus.
For one thing, you’re lucky to see anything. Tourists are so desperate they will stop to look at a steenbok. Yet elephants seem to arouse little in the way of excitement. Perhaps this is because there are so many of them. “Poor things,” says my mother, referring to plans to put culling on hold until after the 2010 Football World Cup is over. She thinks that culling is a terrible idea.
The tannie starts hooting. Up ahead, the road is completely blocked with a phalanx of metal. Nobody can get through. This could get ugly. An older white Corolla with a blue light on the roof arrives. Out climbs a man in a khaki uniform. He’s carrying what looks like a pump action shotgun. “Tell the white 4×4 to move!” we yell in unison. This is all very exciting.
He gestures to the drivers to move forward. They hesitate, wanting to get that extra shot. “You take your picture and you move,” he says to my mother, who agrees wholeheartedly. The old blue Jetta up ahead inches forward. It has an Mpumalanga numberplate: there seem to be plenty of locals visiting the park — and by locals I mean previously disadvantaged locals. This is a good thing, because it means that the park’s continued existence is more assured. Anything construed to be elitist in this country is at risk, provided of course it is not sold at a car dealership. Then it’s just another tool in the service of the people.
There are plenty of previously disadvantaged drivers in very nice cars too.
The Fortuner finally shoves off and we are able to crane our necks for a view. Now we see the source of the excitement: a pair of lions, mating. They seem besotted with each other. Every few minutes the female crouches down and the male mounts her, growling. Then he dismounts, she rolls and he flops down in the grass. The fug of petrol fumes seems not to bother him at all. He could easily move from his position, barely three metres from the road. A most considerate big cat, we conclude. I am even able to capture a tiny image of him on my iPhone, which possesses a truly pathetic camera.
Now that we have our shot, we move on to give the queues behind us a chance to take a look. Five hours later, as we head back toward the gate, we come across the same spot. As we squeeze between another 4×4 and an Elwierda tour bus, the male rises from the grass and crouches again. For a second time, we witness a mating. The lioness rolls coquettishly, her belly creamy and soft in the dusky light. Presumably they have been at it the entire day, in front of countless hoards of gawking tourists: the park’s most cooperative big cats. Their stamina is astounding.
We drive on, pleased with the day’s viewing. After all, how long can one take to look at a bladdy lion?
i love the kruger…problem is all anyone wants to see is the lions mating…look out for tortoises, ants raiding another ant nest, watch the vultures in the trees at a kill, rock art by the hippo pools (and you can walk to the hippo pools too), buffalo by crocodile bridge, crocodiles in the crocodile at the bridge… bladdy lions…pffffft…
I did see a tortoise. Slammed on brakes and reversed for him.
A visit to a game park drives me dilly, I tell you… Hluhluwe used to be my regular haunt. The Germans were the worst, losing their marbles at the sight of a dung beetle.
Countless hoards of tourists? Were the tourists hoarded by the lions for later consumption or were they instead a horde who were there for their own entertainment?
Big fan of Hluhluwe – I once saw a rhino run into a nearby camp and put out a fire before storming off…
It has to be said that a Dung Beetle is worth a watch..fascinating little creatures busting a gut to push a giant ball of turn about – a case of has to be seen to be believed!
I hate that behaviour. I once experienced the usual car traffic jam that caused a group of rhinos to be split from their baby and in the end the male rhino rammed the cars and i jubilated when I heard the door crack and my heart was sore because of the distress of the animals. I was a unvoluntary onlooker, attempting to move out of the and have therefore not been back to KNP.
The Lions were paid to pretend to mate the whole day….
Chameleons tippy-toeing slowly across the hot, hot tar. And baboons — worth a whole hour.
Queueing to watch lions mating…????
Stay at home and watch humans mating on your telly.
You have just give me another thousand reasons for not visiting the Kruger Park. Thanks.
Traffic jams…and people jams….the last I need on my holiday.
I think it might actually be a Human Park put together by a committee of animals to watch humans doing stupid things. Must be great entertainment for them beasties. Proud of your lions, what a show!