Meeting Michael Jackson

by Anne Rothwell

In the semi-darkness, the young elephant swung rhythmically from side to side, one hind leg held by a short chain.

"His name Michael Jackson," said Deepak, "Because he always does this. He's hungry, it's time for food."

Around Michael Jackson, other chains echoed his as all the elephants waited. We moved on into the village as darkness literally dropped on us.

Children watched us with solemn, interested faces, till I raised my camera, then huge smiles transformed them. Mothers and grandmothers watched cautiously from hut doorways, not having the confidence of the youngsters.

Then as we headed back to our lodge, a sudden glimmer in the grass, then another and another and we were surrounded by fireflies.

Later, as the paraffin lamp hissed and we sat talking to Deepak, I became aware that men from the village were slipping in in ones and twos, some carrying musical instruments.

Before long, inevitably, the drum and the flute began to play and then a handsome young boy of about 14 began to dance, arms in the air, feet weaving complex patterns as the music went faster and faster.

Then, as he collapsed panting in a corner, two men arose to take over. Before long, they pulled me up and, a little embarrassed, I joined them. As I mimicked them, I could see the pleasure in their faces as they watched, secure in the knowledge that I could never match them.

The next morning, Deepak got us up at 6 and took us down to the river which we had to cross in a dugout canoe. A small crocodile slithered into the water as we reached the far bank, before entering the jungle.

The walk was difficult, the undergrowth thick and the grass tall. But it was quite a thrill to see peacocks in their natural habitat in the trees.

When we reached a pool, Deepak made us tuck our trousers well into our socks because of leeches, so we took deep breaths and waded through the waist-high water.

Soon we reached a path, bordered on each side by tall grasses, and began to follow recent animal droppings.

Suddenly Deepak stopped and pointed. We saw two ears appear above the grass, turning as the unseen nose sniffed the air about six yards from us.

"Run!" cried Deepak and we did, following the path, then running up a bank to the left. I felt no real fear, just a thrill of excitement as I looked back and saw the mother and baby rhino. We waited, relieved that they are short-sighted and eventually they rustled their way into the grass.

As we continued, the sky grew dark and the heavens opened.

As the torrents poured down, the ground beneath our feet rapidly became a muddy morass and our shirts became as wet as our trousers already were.

Suddenly, oblivious to the fact that we might still be surrounded by rhino, I burst out laughing. We stood there looking at each other, our hair plastered to our faces and laughed and laughed for the sheer joy of it all.

First published in VISA issue 71 (Feb 2007)