KALAHARI

Chapter Two

An hour before dark, I sent them all out to gather firewood. Joey and Sam took off like a shot, eager to explore,and Avani wandered off with a bit less zeal. Miranda promptly sat on one of the logs around the fire pit and began buffing her nails, looking not the least bit ashamed, as if the request to scrounge firewood couldn’t possibly have been directed at her. Kase looked from her to the bush, then settled for something in between, picking up tiny twigs around the tents. I stared at Miranda, who ignored me, then sighed and gave it up.

In minutes, the first three returned with armfuls of wood. In this waterless scrubland it was easy to find dry kindling. They piled the wood by the pit, and I knelt in the sand and began stacking the pieces together, stuffing dry grass beneath them to catch the flame. Kase deposited his handful of twigs beside me, then sat with Miranda, who cuddled against him.

It took one  match  to light the  wood, and  it flared upinstantly. I’d seen entire stretches of land go up like that—allat once, bone-dry wood almost instantaneously combusting. Bushfires were common  out here  but still dangerous. Our camp was surrounded by a firebreak, but there had been two or three times when it wasn’t enough, and we’d had to pack up and drive to Ghansi until the fires had passed. Then there would be the fallout—animals my parents had been studying had moved on to find better grazing, and we’d have to move after them,  roaming the wilds of central Botswana like the nomadic Bushmen who’d lived there for thousands of years. Even they had gone now, moved on to the towns and cities, and though its edges were being gradually eroded by cattle ranches, this land was still a vast wilderness where nature, not man, reigned supreme.

As the fire settled into a steady, flickering blaze, my five visitors sat around  it. They’d all fallen quiet,  even Joey. I glanced at each one and found varying levels of worry and discomfort in their eyes. I wondered what had brought each of them here, what they were expecting, and how disappointed they were. According to the schedule, this was the time Dad would start a discussion about conservation and wildlife management, since that was technically what they were here to study. That would be followed by a San dance by Theo, who’d insisted that no visit to the Kalahari was complete without a display of Bushman culture. He’d even got out his traditional outfit made  from animal  skins, ostrich feathers, and  caterpillar cocoons filled with bits of twigs to make them  rattle when he danced. My primary job for these two weeks was to cook, clean, and take notes on how it all went for the Song Foundation,  which planned  on expanding its teen  wildlifeambassador program if this trip went well.

Dad had asked me to also be in charge of the “teenybopper fun stuff,” meaning games and what he called a “bush party,” or a night of music, dancing, and talking. I’m pretty sure this was his roundabout way of trying to get me to hang out with kids my own age. He always worried that I didn’t get enough age-appropriate social interaction, despite my insistence that I was just fine, thank-you-very-much. Between him and Theo and the abundant wildlife that found its way around and even into our camp, I had a more than sufficient social life to keep me busy. I barely found time each day to do my schoolwork.

 “I’ve got loads of friends, Dad,” I’d said.

 “Monkeys,” he returned, “do not count.” 

At which I’d poked my tongue out at him and proceeded to split my orange with one of the vervet monkeys who sometimes hung around hoping for scraps.

Reluctantly, I pulled out a wadded paper from my pocket on  which  I’d  scribbled  a few halfhearted  activities just to appease Dad. Now that I looked at them, they all seemed stupid. But anything was better than sitting in awkward silence. I sighed and picked one at random.

 “Want to play a game?” I asked, pitching my voice into a high, bubbly tone.

Their heads lifted, and I was reminded of a row of giant eagle owls by the way they blinked at me.