AFRICA AFTER DARK

In central Mozambique, where Carolyn and I lived, there is no twilight.  At sunset day simply turns to night.  For us Africa after dark was as interesting as the day.  

To appreciate our life in the bush it's necessary for you to know how we lived.  Our house was a round thatched roof shelter twenty-five feet in diameter with a four-foot mud wall around the perimeter, four openings, and a dirt floor.  We had reed mats all the way around the house that rolled down as needed to keep the wind and rain out.  Attached to the back of the house was the kitchen, a ten by fifteen-foot rectangular shelter built like the rest of the house.  For sleeping quarters we had a twelve feet in diameter version of the house, separated from it by a covered walk, its wall was head high for privacy, with an open entrance, no door.  In it was our mosquito net covered bed. 

The main house was our living and eating area, with the dining table in the center, a half dozen camp chairs and hand made end tables around the wall.  We had three 12V light bulbs, one over the kitchen counter, one in the peak of the main house and one over our bed in the sleeping hut.  We also had a TV set and cassette player so we could show movies, which we did from time to time, and listen to music in the evenings.   Carolyn did the cooking over an open fire and the baking in a mud-brick oven, both located out back. 

Africa after dark is a different world than Africa of the day.  After dark, the predators go on the prowl.  Your mind may immediately think of leopards, lions, hyenas, things with big claws and teeth, and of course they do, but they aren't the real terror of the night.  The real terror, or in our case entertainment, was the flying, crawling, jumping, stalking, bugs, spiders, lizards, centipedes, scorpions, bats, etc., etc.  And I do mean etc.

In fact, we had as guests for several days, three people from the Natural History Museum in Pretoria, South Africa, that came to study the insects.  At night they would hang a white sheet backlit with a bright light to attract them.  I promise you would not believe the incredible numbers and variety of insects that sheet attracted.  Months later when we visited them at the museum they told us they had indeed found two unclassified species of beetle there.  Now, imagine what the outside of our mosquito net looked like as we lay in bed at night reading.  The net was literally covered with insects.  Ever see the movie Raiders of the Lost Ark? I'm not kidding when I say the noise was so loud, with all the buzzing, whirring, and clicking, it was nearly impossible to talk to each other. 

We ate our evening meal while it was still light out, then after dinner strolled around, just looking the place over or visiting with some of the workmen.  Then as it grew dark I would turn on the lights in the kitchen, for Carolyn to clean up, and in the main house.  This is when the action started.

At first, the crawling bugs came out, then flying insects, next came the frogs and lizards.  Everybody was looking for food.  The insects stalked each other and the frogs and lizards stalked the insects.  Every night when Carolyn did the dishes bugs would collect around her light and on the counter.  Out of nowhere the lizards appeared for the feast.  Over time they became so tame that Carolyn would hand feed them.  This relationship developed between us and all the little critters, even the frogs would hop over to us looking for a handout.  At first light, birds would come in and police up the dead or those that stayed up too long.

One of our favorites was the Fast Eddies.  These three-inch spiders moved like lightning and looked like something out of a B horror movie.  They would zip around on the floor between our legs and over our feet while ravaging the bug members of our extended family.  Fast Eddies were so fast they were impossible to kill.  We spent many an evening with our feet up in the chair watching the drama going on around us.

By and large, we left them alone and they didn't bother us.  There were, however, two exceptions.  The great long black centipedes and the four-inch scorpions.  Either of these would provoke an instant response from us, KILL, man we hated those things. On the other hand one of our favorite family members, aside from the lizards, was Alfredo the single bat that showed up every evening and stayed until we went to bed.  Round and round it would fly, sometimes almost brushing our hair as it protected us from the mosquitoes.  Fred the bat would make circles until it was winded, then hang from the ceiling, tongue out panting, until it caught its breath, then round and round again. 

 The other favorite was cappie.  The little white-capped bird that would join us for coffee every morning and feed on the night's leftovers.  We became close to cappie and enjoyed his ease around us.  One morning when he didn't show I went out to look for him and found his body.  I have no idea what killed him.  There are a lot of ways to die in Africa after dark.  

One morning we walked into the living area for our first cup of coffee and saw movement on the dining table.  On closer examination, we found a dozen or so tiny baby lizards, the size of my little fingernail  They were baby geckos.  For a week we tiptoed around and sat down carefully for fear of hurting one.    At meals, they would sit on the edge of our plates nibbling at our food.  Then one morning they were gone, with not so much as a thank you.  That's kids for you. 

Flying ants were among our least favorite neighbors.  I have a picture of Carolyn during the monsoon, the M'uari river had flooded its banks and our compound.  It was dark out and Carolyn was standing ankle deep in running water cooking spaghetti by lantern light when a huge swarm of flying ants descended.  They were in the spaghetti, in her hair, mouth, and nose, but she stood her ground and continued to stir the spaghetti sauce.  I grabbed the lantern and tried to lure them away, didn't happen, so I turned off the light and she finished cooking in the dark.  That night we ate spaghetti a la flying ants.  They were still swarming when we finally retreated to the safety of our sleeping hut.  I married a winner!   

We had another flying friend, Bubba the bumblebee.  I don't know where he came from or why he was there.  This was before we built our house and were living in a tent.  The tent sat between a termite mound, the size of a small house, and the M'uari river.  The mound was covered with trees and thick undergrowth.  Several feet from our sleeping tent was a gazebo Carolyn cooked under.  (Site of the flying ant swarm)  Bubba flew back and forth in front of our tent from the termite mound to the gazebo in a straight line.  Every day from first light until late morning, back and forth he would fly.  If any other flying thing, bird or insect approached, he would chase it off.  Just for fun, I would stand in his line of flight, at which time he would hover right in front of my face looking me over until I moved, and then continue his vigil.  This went on for weeks until we had to leave for several days. When we got back he was gone, never to return.   

Africa after dark was a great experience.  During our time there we were blessed to be immune to the bites, stings, and injury that most experience.  It tickles me to think how, when living with the natural world as we did, everybody accepted us, from bumblebees to bats, spiders to scorp--, well, never mind them. 

Kim Warren   

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Kim Warren   

CACADORES FURTIVOS!

(POACHERS!)
I got up at first light and walked around the cleared, hard-packed sand of  Papagaio.  The word is Portuguese for a parrot.  It's the name of our five-acre island compound in the vast mopane forest of central Mozambique.  I was checking for telltale signs of the many mambas, cobras, and pythons that we shared our little corner of Africa with.  I found one and followed it until it disappeared into the thatched roof of our house.  This was a necessary ritual and over time I killed, I think, 16 black mambas, one green mamba, one vine snake and one Mozambique spitting cobra, not counting the mamba Carolyn killed with a spray can of Raid while sitting in the outhouse.  Or the six-inch centipedes or four-inch scorpions or malarial mosquitoes or giant spiders or tsetse flies or the lion around the next termite mound.  Carolyn and I are laughing as I write this because it sounds so awful, but it's all true and we loved it.
During my walk, Carolyn made breakfast and then we waited on the workmen to report for duty.  As we sat there the flocks of bright green parrots that lived in the two huge baobab trees in front of our house took flight heading into the forest that surrounded us.  They left at the same time every morning, returning at the same time every evening.  Baboons started their morning squabbling, occasionally a warthog or bushpig would grunt in alarm,  and the wonderful doves started cooing their song of Africa that I so loved.
The two baobab trees measured thirty-five and thirty-seven feet in circumference and were home to a variety of life, including beehives.  Their white flowers are almost a foot in diameter and so full of moisture that their weight causes them to fall to the ground like wet sponges, often waking us in the night.
We lived in the middle of a 7000 square kilometer hunting concession named Coutada 5.  It is located in the District of Machanga, Sofala Province, Mozambique, Africa and is bordered by the Indian Ocean on the east, the Gorongoza river on the north, the Rio Save on the south and stretches halfway to Zimbabwe in the west, thus comprising nearly all the District of Machanga.
When the civil war ended in 1992, this concession had been given to an Italian newspaper reporter that had written favorably for the winning team.  At the time of this story, the war had been over for ten years.  However, evidence of the war was still around in the form of ruined towns, the occasional burned-out tank and worst of all, the minefields, many of which were still unmarked.  In some areas, one would occasionally hear booms in the night as some unfortunate man or animal stepped on one.  The Italian gentleman had called me in to protect the flora and fauna.  My job was to help reestablish the fauna bravia (wildlife) and stop the cacadores furtivos,  poachers.  I was also the resident licensed Professional Hunter.  The government wanted me to help them stop the bush fires that raged every year; an impossible task.
As we set there enjoying the morning and just being in Africa, a man rode into Papagaio on a motorbike.  "Bon dia."  He said.  Handing me the authorization he told me that a hippo was being a nuisance and needed to be killed.  "Onde?" I asked him.  "En un lagoa perto de Javane."  He replied.  So the government wanted me to kill a hippo that was tearing up folks m'shambas (farms).  It was in a lagoon near the village of Javane.   Javane es duas horas por Land Rover.  Oh, sorry,  Javane is two hours by Land Rover.
Most people don't realize that hippos kill more Africans than any other animal, rivaled only by crocodiles.  They are extremely aggressive and dangerous, to say nothing of BIG.  The fact that this hippo would supply the people of Javane, who are lacking in protein, with meat for weeks, of course, didn't enter into it.  In time I was to feed two more villages in like manner.
I thanked him and served him a beer while he chatted with Armando, my head tracker, and I.  Waving over one of the men I told him to fill up the tank on the officials Honda 125.  This man was the district game warden.  Yet the government was so poor he had no personnel or money, not even for gas.  I then said to him, "Deixaremos a manha."  (We'll leave in the morning)  As he was leaving on his torturous four-hour ride back to Machanga I slipped 200,000 meticais, about $10, into his hand and said, "Give my regards to your family and buy something for your kids."  I was his "boots on the ground" for the District of Machanga.
Luis came walking into the clearing, a shriveled up old black man with fierce eyes, he could snatch up a fifty-pound bag of rice, plop it down on his head and walk all day.  "E agora?"  I thought.  (What now?)  I greeted him with, "Bon dia, Luis, e ai?"  (Good morning, Luis, what's up?)  "Nos temos un problema, Patrao.  (We have a problem, Boss)  "Ha' un fantasmo branco no mato.  As pessoas tem medo." He said. (There is a white ghost in the bush.  The people are afraid)
Luis and his family are semi-nomadic, mainly because he is a poacher and boot-legs sura.  An alcoholic drink made from the n'llala palm.  It's supposed to be against the law, but I would have to arrest every man in the district if I were to enforce it.  Luis also sells poached meat to the roadside vendors.  Since he is old and his family so poor and sells such small amounts of both I just threaten him, then look the other way pretending not to be able to catch him.  So we have a symbiotic relationship.  He in return keeps me in the bush telegraph loop.  
The truth is, people are in need of meat.  So if a man is poaching to feed his family I give him a warning, confiscate his snares and destroy his traps.  Through Luis and others, I let the word slip out "Don't be stupid.  Set your snares in out of the way places so I can't find them," and for them to do the same where they're making sura.  The real problems lie with those we called the "meat mafia."  There are two kinds.  The first comes by night in pickups.  Using spotlights they kill a truckload and sell the meat in the cities of Beria or Maputo.  The second group infiltrates our area on foot from Chimoio near the Zimbabwe border.  Numbering a hundred or so they fan out and set snares and traps at every likely spot until they have all they can pack out.  Both of these groups are well organized.
Back to Luis.  The white ghost was a serious matter.  They hold strong beliefs in the spirit world, of both good and evil spirits.  Once when a huge whirlwind was heading towards us Luis dragged me out into the M'auri river and began to fiercely rebuke the whirlwind.  It turned and passed about a hundred yards downstream.  With a satisfied look on his face, he led me back out of the river.
 I told him that I knew of the white ghost.  I explained this sort of spirit would not harm anyone unless they were breaking the law.  Of course, I was the white ghost.  It was my practice to sneak up on their little m'shambas to check on their activities.  I wanted to frighten them a little.  More than once I would have the crosshairs of my rifle scope on someone and they would suddenly turn and look right where I was hiding.  There was no way they could see me.  Yet they knew they were being watched.  These, my neighbors, were of the N'Dau tribe and  I greatly admired their bush living skills.
Luis hung around for a while drinking a Coke and watching Armando make preparations for our mini safari in the morning.  Finally, he walked over to one of the baobab trees and squatted in its shade.
After about thirty minutes he got up and made a point to walk by me.  As he passed he said in a low voice, "Talvez os homens malvados conhecam."(Perhaps bad men know.)  Then he continued on out of sight into the bush.  It took him a while to decide to tell me, but I had been warned.  Somewhere along the track to Javane I would encounter cacadores furtivos.
We got up at first light.  The Land Rover had been loaded the night before with everything except weapons.  Amadi, my Muslim driver/mechanic, would drive, with Armando in the middle and me shotgun.  Armando carried a side by side 12 gauge.  My .375 Holland and Holland rifle, the hippo medicine, was in the back with our gear.  I went into our sleeping hut and pulled a black box from under our bed.  Opening it I got out the 9mm RSA submachine gun with three forty round magazines.  I inserted one magazine in the receiver and put the other two in my bush pants pockets.
I told Carolyn goodbye and leaving Luis 2 in charge of her safety we departed for Javane.  We called him Luis 2 because he was one of three Luis's.  He was trustworthy, dependable, had sufficient physical stature and was well thought of.  He also had several wives, many children and a large m'shamba on the Rio Save.  I would later save his farm from the ravages of hippos.
In fact, Carolyn and I did several community service acts while there.  We bought uniforms and equipment for a school soccer team, brought educational movies to the bush children, bought a corn mill for the people along the Rio Save and had a water well drilled.    In the village of Luido there is a bronze memorial plaque thanking us.
 It was a pleasant drive.  I liked knowing we were hundreds of kilometers from civilization.  We encountered a mother warthog and ten babies high tailing it down the narrow sandy track for several seconds before turning into the thick bush and vanishing.  I spotted a kudu standing in the shade of a marula tree a couple of hundred meters away and a small herd of impalas bounding above the high grass off to our right.  I was pleased the animals were slowly coming back.
After driving an hour we hit the fly belt, a zone controlled by the infamous tsetse fly.  These horrible creatures can flatten themselves as thin as a postcard and are impervious to fly swatter or rolled up magazine.  You must catch them and crush them with your fingernail or some other solid object.  Their bite is a searing burning pain that makes you instantly mad.  For fifteen minutes we fought them off.  Then just as suddenly they were gone.  We were out of the belt.  Fortunately, in our area of Africa, the tsetse doesn't carry sleeping sickness.  Never the less, you simply cannot live where they are active.
By now the sun was well up.  Sweat ran down our faces and stained our shirts.  We slowed down to cross a dry wash, made a left turn up the bank and there it was, a tree lying across the track.  I told Amadi, "De volta agora! (Back up now!)  He rapidly backed us out of the kill zone.  Armando and I rolled out of the Land Rover and took cover while Amadi lay down across the seat.  Armando fired a load of buckshot.  I could hear the pellets rattling through the trees.  Nothing.  Dead silence.  We waited.  Slowly I began to hear the buzz of insects, then an occasional bird call.  Very slowly the bush sounds got back to normal.  Still nothing.
I signaled Armando that I was moving up, cover me.  I worked my way up to the fallen tree.  Nothing.  I waved Armando up and we looked the area over.  Nobody home.  Apparently, cacadores furtivos had blocked the track just to harass us.  For the next thirty minutes, we cleared brush and dragged the tree off the track.  I could feel them watching as we sweated.  It could have been much different had they so chosen.  This is one of the things I love about Mozambique.  Even the bad guys aren't all that bad.
We drove on to Javane without incident.  On arrival, everyone turned out.  You'd a thought we were liberating Paris.  The older kids climbed all over the Land Rover and rode into the village compound.  Women wearing bright colored wraps and head coverings clapped and cheered while the men all tried to shake my hand at once.  I'd never seen so many teeth.  Small children that had never seen a white person were screaming and clinging to their mothers.  Wonderful mayhem.
After things settled down we got organized.  The Regolo(Chief) and some elders led me to the lagoa.  It was a beautiful setting.  The lagoon was about thirty acres surrounded by lush vegetation and small areas of cultivation, a scene right out of a Tarzan movie.  I chased everyone off and set up a shooting position with my .375 H&H and waited.  After about an hour I saw it.  This rogue had left the river and settled here.  It was alone, old and ornery, a dangerous combination for sure.
It took a while, but the hippo finally moved into range, about a hundred and fifty meters away.  All I could see was eyes and ears.  My first shot was a little low skipping just over the hippos head.  It silently disappeared below the surface.  Twenty minutes later it reappeared.  I fired.  The 300 grain solid smashing through the brain.  A perfect shot.  It reared up then disappeared in a spray of water.  Now the wait.  It usually takes about an hour for a dead hippo to bloat and resurface.  Here came the people, knives flashing in the afternoon sunlight.  We waited.  Forty minutes passed and someone yelled, "Ai esta'."  (There it is.)
Two dugouts poled out, tied onto the hippo and towed it into the shallows.  Then as many men as could gather round rolled it to the water's edge and began the job of butchering.  Meat for everyone!  I modestly turned down the offer to be King of the N'Dau, but did stay for a hippo steak and warm beer.
It was dark by the time we got back to Papagaio.  The cooking fires were burning, people were laughing and talking as they ate their evening meal.  Carolyn greeted me as I stepped out of the Land Rover with a warm kiss and a cold drink.  Holding her in my arms I looked up at the southern cross and thought, " E bon estar en casa." (It's good to be home.)

Kim Warren

BATS!

It all started about two weeks ago.  Carolyn and I were lying in bed when a loud fluttering noise woke us.  It was coming from our second floor bedroom window above our heads.  There was  still enough light outside to see the noise was made by bats flying around.  We watched them a few minutes and agreed this was pretty cool.  Death to the mosquitos!  All right!
We continued to hear them on and off for several nights.  Then one evening as I sat in my recliner reading, a movement on the floor caught my eye .  I looked down an there was a bat crawling out from under my chair.  I gently gathered it up and released it outside.  Two mornings later we found a dead bat in the dining area.  We thought the cat must have brought it in.
The next night we were lying in bed reading and a bat started flying around the bedroom.  I went downstairs to get a towel to try and catch it, when I got back upstairs there were now two.  Being a typical Gustavus house  there is an area in the vaulted ceiling of our bedroom that hasn't been trimmed yet.  As I was chasing the bats with  the towel I saw another bat crawl out of a small hole near where the ridge beam enters the wall above our bed.  I got a rag and stuffed it in the hole.
Have you ever seen one of those round wire screens with a handle on it that you put over a skillet to keep grease from popping out?  Well, I got ours from the kitchen and proceeded to play "batminton" with the bats.  I'm sorry to say at this point wildlife conservation was furthest from my mind.  I won.  Wrapping the losers in a paper towl we went back to bed and tried to sleep.
The next morning a friend of ours brought his extension ladder over and checked the eve of our roof.  Sure enough, there was a opening in it.  He beat on the side of the house and could hear the flutter of wings.  We had bats!
I formed a plan.  That night after all the bats had left I would crawl up the ladder and plug the hole.  At 2230 we crept into position.   Nothing.  I got a rubber mallet and climbing up the ladder again banged on the side of the house.  Mind you I'm 76 years old and I was two stories up on this shaky extenion ladder in the dark when the bats came out right in my face.  Since I'm writing this story it's obvious I survived.  However, I think I used up a years supply of battery power in my pacemaker.
Manfully and under complete control I climbed back down the ladder and took up position with Carolyn.  She had been counting the bats as they flew out.  For the next hour we watched bats fly out of the airspace under our roof.  I expected a half dozen, Carolyn maybe a dozen.  We sat there and counted 152 bats before they finally stopped coming out.
Now I went back into action.  Up the ladder again armed with a can of spray foam I filled the hole.  Ha!  Take that!  We retired in confidence.  Bat problem solved.  Flutter, flutter, flutter.  On came the light.  Three bats were cutting didos over our bed.  Out came the batminton racket.  However, feeling the benevolent conquerer I opened the front door and herded them outside.  Stragglers, we thought.
Next night flutter, flutter, flutter.  On came the light.  Four bats, more stragglers, we hoped.  Another game of batminton.  Next morning I rechecked the hole to be sure it was still sealed.  It was.
We're now up to 160 bats.  I can't wait to see what tonight will bring, the score is 8-love.  However, my hope is they have found a nice warm home in your attic.
Kim Warren