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cool water.
“You get yourself clean. Then we’ll sort you out somethin’ to eat. But you gotta do as I say. You got me, Nengwall… Nengwam… aaah, dammit I never could say it, sorry Gramps… Nengwe?”
Nengwalamwe was already rolling over, feeling the water run down off his belly.
“Sure, I’ll do as you say, no problem. Say, you know - this is really great. So what’s yours then?”
“My what?” asked the baboon as he splashed out of the way of the frolicking lion’s forelegs. “Hey, watch it!”
Nengwalamwe laughed gently, flicking his nose up from the water at the baboon. “Your name of course.”
“Aahh… yuh, we’ll get you all spruced up an’ then we’ll go grab ya a snack.” The baboon sat up on the pool bottom and looked about uneasily: at the banks, at the trees to the west, the overlooking tower of the rock, at anything other than Nengwalamwe.
“There’s no need to go, I’ve got everything I need right here: fresh juicy fat baboon.”
“HEY! You said you weren’t gonna eat me, fuzzbutt!”
“I don’t eat my friends, and I kinda remember the names of my friends. I don’t remember yours though, so you.. can’t be my friend, can you?” Nengwalamwe lifted a paw from the water, splashing the baboon’s face. The baboon pulled back his lips, exposing his teeth, but he made no sound. Nengwalamwe partially extended his claws and waited…
The sodden ape let his lips close slowly. “Mtundu, my name is Mtundu,” he said quietly.
“Really?” Nengwalamwe twisted and licked his shoulder absently. “Wow! That was MY grandfather’s name.” He licked again with more force, adding, “Sort of.”
“No kiddin’?” Mtundu smiled nervously. “Wow, that’s cool!”
Nengwalamwe laughed, his rhino was at last running into the distance and he felt alive again. He splashed Mtundu again by slapping his outstretched forepaw down on the water, eliciting an outraged screech from the drenched monkey.
“Got ya!” He said as he watched the muddy water run in thin trails down the baboon’s chest. “It wasn’t really: One was Ngala; the other, my mother’s father, was Mbekiswe. So, what’s for dinner?”
***
‘What am I doing? “Believe me,” he says. “Sure, I’ll do anything you say. I owe you my life,” says I. Never trust a monkey, NEVER,’ thought Nengwalamwe as he walked back through the kopje later that afternoon. The heat had abated a little, though it was still oppressive; the humid air clinging to Nengwalamwe’s mane. ‘What does a baboon know about catching prey? “Trust me,” he says, but he knows a couple of lionesses who do catch prey, a lot of prey - they’re pretty good at it too, or so he says. Sure, who exactly are these lionesses?’ He growled, putting a tree full of birds to instant, swirling flight. He should have spent most of the day asleep but his failure to bring down any prey had put paid to that. ‘Yep, you fell for it Nengwalamwe, son of Nengwala. Who else could it have been other than those two self-important…lionesses?’ He swung his head from side to side matching the rhythm of his stride. He was a tired, hot and irritated lion, yet through it all his gratitude for Mtundu’s selflessness stood firm. The baboon should, in the natural order of the savannah, have provided him with a decent meal, and perhaps he still would, but not in the way Nengwalamwe had earlier expected.
The lion walked on as the day around him slowed in preparation for the evening. Soon, the hush and heat of late afternoon would give way to the excitement and cool of evening, and then to the danger and chill of night: the time of the unseen predator, the huntress. He came, in time, to realise that Mtundu, as unpleasant as he may have been, was right and that his best hope of a decent meal was with his own kind. However, as Mtundu had confirmed, Shaha and Falana were the only lions for many days around. That, while having to make do with what was available was rather irksome, did not concern the lion greatly. It did, however leave him with one puzzling problem: Yali. She must have been Falana’s daughter; ‘There’s no way she’s Shaha’s, she’s well past it’ he thought. He had seen no sign that Falana had a cub ‘in tow’, though lionesses generally left their cubs hidden when they went out hunting. Yali was a bit old to be hiding though; at her age she should have been out with her mother learning how to hunt. It was something else that was strange about this place; the baboon saving him being another.
The more Nengwalamwe thought on, the more he came to realise that there was nothing else for it but to swallow his pride and throw himself upon Faha and Shalana’s mercy. A bit of the old soft eyes and rubbing along their sides wouldn’t go amiss of course. ‘Oh yes, mustn’t forget to put on a bit of a purr, that always brings out their maternal instincts.’ His fur was now in perfect condition for such a meeting; indeed it was rather too soft and seemed to stick up as if it had a life of its own.
Nengwalamwe stopped thinking for a moment and hurriedly curled round and licked down another patch on his back that had decided to stick up. He had let the baboon deal with the top of his mane which even Nengwalamwe’s tongue couldn’t quite reach. He might even have made a decent job of it. He had certainly spent enough time fiddling with the long dark bay fur.
Anyway, it had all been the lionesses’ fault; they must have been alone together for so long they had forgotten how to treat a lion. ‘I can’t blame them. I suppose I ought to forgive them.’
He thought it best to play up his troubles with the incredibly aggressive wild dogs. After all, if they had attacked and chased him, then they must have given the lionesses some trouble too: ‘I’ll make sure they can hunt in peace. Hunt for me of course, they’ll not be able to resist when they realise I’m going to save them from those dogs. That’s what lions are for, to protect lionesses, and get their just rewards: warm food and the occasional warm body.’ He smiled, before hoping, quietly and very much to himself, that the dogs were not going to show up and force him to do any actual protecting.
Falana strode a little behind her mother. She was impatient for the fall of evening.
“Mother, are we getting going or what?”
Shaha stopped suddenly and stared ahead. Falana slid out from her mother’s wake and up to her side; sniffing her flank as she passed. Shaha stood still, ignoring her daughter totally.
Falana joined her mother in staring, open mouthed, into the distance. A large furred form passed into the thin shadow thrown from a lone acacia grazed table flat by generations of giraffe. “Just what is that?”
“Falana - That is a lion. You know - one of those big hairy things that like to lie around all day wishing you were in season.”
“Yes, but what IS that?”
Shaha paused, trying to make sense of the apparition surmounting the lion’s head and shoulders. “I really have no idea.”
It came closer and closer. When it was within five or six lengths it smiled. It neared the lionesses and paused, sat down and stared back. The lionesses’ eyes held on it, oblivious to the flies that flew about and landed on their faces. The lion seemed pleased with himself. Before the flies became unbearable, he got up and walked purposefully toward the lionesses. He smiled again as he drew close, still their eyes following him without blinking. He moved close enough to feel the older lioness’ breath on his neck as he drew himself past her muzzle. Falana closed her eyes as he slid past her, she could feel deep vibrations coming from him: he was actually purring. He turned behind her. Her fur crawled and she shivered at the thought of him brushing along her other flank. She wasn’t going to give him the chance. She turned to him, growling loudly:
“What are you doing? What do you want this time?”
The lion seemed quite unperturbed by Falana’s hostility.
“Nothing, I just thought...”
Falana snapped at him with bared teeth, “Go away, we’re busy.”
The lion stopped and jumped back out of claw range.
“B… but… but there are wild dogs about, Falana.” She was clearly unimpressed. The lion went on, “They can be very dangerous you know. I couldn’t possibly let you go hunting alone.”
Shaha appeared much more relaxed than her daughter about the lion’s presence and, as she raised and licked a forepaw, asked with only slight curiosity, “Hunting Dogs? Here? Are you sure?”
The lion turned to Shaha, keeping Falana just in view.
“Err, yes. Actually I met some just a while back, but you know how it is.”
“Yes?” probed Shaha dubiously, “How is it exactly?”
“I sent them packing with their tails between their legs.”
Falana drew back and shook her head to gain his full attention.
“You did? Oh really?” She growled at him scornfully. “Looking like that I’m not surprised they ran away.”
“Err…” For a moment he seemed to be wondering just
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