Shawu was one of the largest elephant bulls that ever roamed the Kroo-ger National Park. Born in 1926, he wandered the land that lies between the Letaba and Shingwedzi Rivers until he died of natural causes in 1982. By that time, he boasted enormous ivory tusks weighing over fifty kilograms each, monuments to his life that are preserved in the Elephant Hall at Letaba rest camp.
Ann and I were once asked to host a visiting couple from overseas for a weekend at Camp Shawu, which lies in the south-eastern corner of the park.
Camp Shawu, as world famous as its namesake, is a five-star, exclusive game lodge concession on the edge of the Mpanamana Dam, not far from the Mozambique border. It consists five, very large, luxurious rooms, each with a window the entire length of the room, and all overlooking the dam and protected by mosquito gauze with optional canvas roller shutters in the event of rain.
Following African building tradition, the side and rear walls of the rooms are built from buffalo dung. The rooms are sumptuously appointed with resplendent four-poster beds and romantic ball-and-claw bathtubs strategically located in front of the room so that the visitors can observe the animal activity at the water hole just an arms-length away while bathing in hot and fragrant bubbles.
A central entertainment lodge stands in the middle of the line of rooms and provides equally luxurious indoors and outdoors dining where the guests are encouraged to gather around a long dining table and socialize.
Our visit took place in the autumn, so we all gathered in the dining room on the first evening and introduced ourselves to the other guests over a glass of sherry. All of the visitors were from overseas, bar Ann and I, and we had a fabulous evening exchanging tales from around the world.
It was arranged that we would regroup at six the next morning at the main entrance, and from there two open safari vehicles (and rangers) would take us on an early morning game drive before returning to base for a mid-morning breakfast.
One of the couples, Sheila and Thomas Witherspoon, hailed from America and were on their first visit to Southern Africa. We got on well with Sheila and Tom, and we were the last to head to bed that night. They had flown in from New York that morning before connecting to Nelspruit and then by road to the lodge. A long and tiring journey.
We settled down to the occasional roar of lions in the distance and the grunting of hippopotami wallowing in the water nearby.
By five bells the following morning, Ann and I were up and having coffee. Across the water from our vantage point we saw a small herd of im-pah-lah at the water’s edge and four or five female koo-doo emerging from the bush on their way for their first drink of the day. The day broke clear and cool but promised to be warm and sunny.
We all made our way to the safari vehicles and were soon heading out along well-worn tracks through the savanna grassland, bush, and acacia trees to join the multitude of fascinating birdlife that inhabit this wonderful part of Africa.
When we noticed that Sheila wasn’t with us, Tom explained that she had awaken to find that her legs had swollen up from the long flight the day before and had decided to give this morning’s trip a miss in favour of a long soak in the tub to take in the idyllic surroundings.
A couple of hours had passed. The sun was casting its warmth across the bushfelt. The air was filled with different bird calls, an occasional bark of a distant baboon, and the rustle of the leaves as a gentle breeze brushed through the branches.
We heard later that Sheila had arisen while we were out and poured herself a deep hot tub filled with bubbles of lavender. She settled down with a wildlife magazine and occasionally stretched out to her mug of coffee to complete the essence of the extravagant pleasure.
By this time, we were a few kilometres away and had stopped in the midst of a pack of wild dog that were lying across the road; some sleeping, some looking around, and a few cubs terrorizing each other. As we surveyed this rare sighting, the ranger’s radio came alive, and a colleague from a different camp informed him that there had been a lion kill at Mpanamana.
Within a few minutes, a number of vehicles from various locations in the area headed for our dam in order for their tourists to see the lion kill.
Back at Camp Shawu, Sheila heard the sound of diesel engines and the excited voices of us returning. She sat up and looked out. Right in front of her, just a dam width away, stood five safari vehicles loaded with tourists, and armed with some of the most powerful binoculars and telephoto cameras known to man, with only a sheet of mosquito gauze between them and her!
In the distance she could hear other vehicles heading her way. She instinctively slid back down, almost under the water. What now? she asked herself.
Lions could feed on a carcass for hours and didn’t they then just lie around and sleep all day?
She could wait for Thomas to come back but by then her warm tub would be cold.
Across the water, everyone’s attention was focussed on a dead koo-doo male and two lions that had brought it down at the water’s edge.
After a while, Sheila came to the conclusion that it would be worth the risk to stand up with a towel for protection and that would give her all of half a minute to reach the roll-down blind and gain privacy once again. The likelihood that anyone was in the slightest interested in anything other than the lion kill was remote.
She told us later that never in all her years had she jumped out of a bath at such speed and agility as she did that morning. But if anyone on the safari vehicles happened to look in the direction of the chalets, all they would have seen was a canvass blind suddenly unfold and drop to the ground.
Sheila’s close encounter became the story of the evening around the dinner table, and the next day she was the first person ready to go on a game drive!