Two weekends ago I headed up to Jakalsfontein a wild game farm in Limpopo, South Africa with a whole band of folks from the US Embassy, some US Marines and a few South Africans. Our mission for the weekend: kill African Bambis.
Well, I suppose our goal for the weekend was more along the lines of have fun sitting around a fire and drinking whilst recounting the hunts from earlier in the day.
Now, I am not ordinarily a hunter in any capacity (especially considering that the topic of hunting will likely alienate many of my friends back home!). Call me an old school-Jack London-DIY kinda girl, but I don't think having only held a live gun and pulled the trigger once (with the exception of the time I held the machine gun in the Congo--can't seem to dig up those photos still!) makes me a qualified hunter. A true hunter appreciates what nature offers, takes responsibility for what she takes from nature, and above all, should be present for the whole process. In other words, don't just shoot animals willy nilly and run off for more slaughter while the farm staff load your animal on the truck, take it back to camp, and skin and clean the carcass. I'm clearly no where near the stage of helping clean the carcass or tracking an animal for hours, so I was merely a spectator for the weekend and spectated some disturbing behaviours. Most of our crew was alright, though, and genuinely hunted with the best intentions.
Amelia, Uncle James, Chris, and me after Chris shot a beautiful male impala and immediately retired from African hunting afterwards.
Randall, me, fully loaded and Mindy. Funny how I've gone from bikinis and flip-flops to fatigues and rifles on this trip!
I was surprised by my reaction to it all. Surprisingly I was only startled by the gunshots and not by the aftermath (again, with the exception of the few times I had the misfortune to be with ungrateful "gunslingers," as I like to call the bastards). There is something very beautiful in the process, even just to watch. To see someone have to deliberate about whether or not to take a life, whether they want to be responsible for that life, to see the exchange between those heartfelt hunters and nature, and to be present in the complete dismantling of the animals body is far less gruesome than one would think.
Amelia, Me, Mindy and Randall enjoying our lunch of sliced bread and mechanically processed hot dogs.
I have to say the farm characters were a treat as well. Uncle James was our connection to the farm, and he, a self-professed "legend," was the Afrikaaner hunter to the mark. He even came complete with khaki short-shorts, a big Santa Claus beard and buckets of stories of the hundreds of elephants he's had to kill. Between Uncle James, winks from the farm owner and Marine drinking games, the trip was overall very entertaining and educational!
Uncle Suki the farm manager, Uncle James our guide, and the winky farm owner.
The whole gang minus my Uncle Allan who took the photo.
Somewhere in the past few weeks I've also made the subconcious decision to stay in South Africa for an extended period of time until I can get back on my feet. I started taking a TEFL certification course so I can find a job teaching English here, and am doing odd house/dog-sitting jobs (not as bad as you think: weekend naked party for one, anyone?) for folks from the Embassy. I'll be sure to update on anything interesting!
