Let’s go to the lion park, Dad, I’ve never seen lions!
This is Jess. I remind her that she has, actually, in Zambia – but she was little.
They’re in hard bargaining mode, as we’re on our way to my folks’ place in PMB, not their best place to visit. So I agree, we can go to the lion park after lunch. (It’s my ole man’s 91st birthday lunch, which is why I’m dragging them to Sleepy Hollow).
By the time we get to the “Lion Park” it’s closed, but we can “see the lions only”. Same price, one hundred Ront.
I decide stuffit, let’s rather do this properly. “We’re going to Mfolosi game reserve for the day tomorrow”, I announce. “Let’s go and see if we can spot some real lions”.
We left at 6 sharp and were in the park at 8:40am, already paid and entered (R240 for the five of us for the day).
We had a ball. The kids were expert spotters, we saw lots & lots of eles, rhino, buff, giraffe, nyala, impala, bushbuck, wilderbeasts, wartpigs ensovoorts. – And a clear sighting of a gorgeous bush shrike!!
We sang rap and Mama Mia all the way there and back. And we laughed! These brats have decided they don’t like mixing with too many communities. Especially in crowds. Used to be bantu, then plurals, anderskleuriges, euphemisms, etc. Now its communities.
“Don’t stop here, Dad” as we drive through a village, “there are too many communities here”. I threaten to buy them each a mirror so they can check their mahogany brown selves whenever they think of such nonsense, but they just hose themselves at me.
They must have introspected a bit, though, because at lunch at the picnic spot they announce: “Hey we’re the only communities here!” To shine them up I made them do a spot of community tribal dancing in a tree.
And of course the two 12yr olds couldn’t miss the opportunity to disgust the teenage girls by letting rip on the way back, causing a hasty winding down of windows and heads hanging out for fresh air.
So we didn’t see any lions, but I heard a whole lotta lyin’.