A Zebu in Kong samba Africa waywardly wanders under the beautiful fur top feather trees of shaded green evening. Moonscapes rake along the night of the lion paw path trail shedding shadows of carcasses too slow for their African foes. Hooves once wild and free lay afoot along the dirt trodden trail and now align themselves to the never more. They were seduced by the hungry breath of the cats who left scratch marks on their backs like wild fingerprints. The price of freedom in this mecca of wildlife is steeper than the mountain trails of the Atlas Mountains near Morocco, and requiring the stealth and cunning observations of their locals. Like that of the careful and eloquently equipped hillside goats of Mount Cameroun who have developed an awareness of their three hundred and sixty degree acute vision for their reality, here a one eyed Cyclops would have to develop a sixth sense to stay alive.
The graveyards of the Serengeti prove out this most obvious plight, that the fastest death usually pounces on the slowest life. In the remorseful echoes of the night you can peer into its deep caldrons and almost smell the food chain along the banks of souls as the dead rise with mornings new light. This is Africa. This is where the kings themselves resides. One misstep around these kings and Henry the Eighth looks like a school yard punk playing kid games. In this place nighttime can fall right smack down into the middle of a sunny day. It can open up a grazing neck or daydreaming drinkers near the cool streams of Oshogbo. When it happens it’s captured in one single freeze frame in one single moment and the mistake always ends in destiny. This is where the flies and the pride vanquish their jungle hunger. Picking clean the bones alongside the buzzards of opportunity. This land unlike what constitutes most civilized realities floods with terror as a roar faraway or a desperate cry for help is heard then is vanquished in its sudden quiet and almost deathly romantic absence of sound. Death is common here and resembles the morning newspaper, it’s always out there each new day waiting for you to come and get it. Death is so rapid and common that most the victims have no idea angels have already come to roost over their remains. The scene following a Murder of a new victim is so natural that it finds no news cast or teleprompter at nine. No specialized interpreter to analyze the reasons for the killing spree. No pretentious ex collegian psychologist turned savior to mend the mind of the masses. No human type of educated asses of any kind, except for maybe a zebra carcass on the Tele. There is a simple reason or law for the killings here, no hidden agendas, just survival, hunger, and the natural inbred strike’s needed to sustain a species. Here in the openness of a purer faith lives the king of the jungle as he stalks among the rest of the creatures as if they were grocery items stacked upon the store shelves. The shopping list is usually prepared at the lunch hour and will be served at noon with the flies and the buzzards invited to partake in the remaining deserts. No pretense, no bartering, no discussions or judgments, only the finality of pure unadulterated power of an ivory tooth necklace laced around the neck of today’s lunch. Long live the jaws and claws of the king. For if you underestimate him, it will be fatal.
Cannibalism is not a word understood to the residents here, no meat eaters requiring any reasoning nor special seasoning needed to survive in this jungle. No it’s merely a matter of a lucky location and slow feet which allows the predator to attack his snack and feed his pride for the day. Simplicity abounds and surrounds this entire continent. Death is not dark here but rather the right light for survival and the right light for dying. In the human jungle where most humans live, a killing spree requires a news anchor with a momentary somber voice before the jubilancy of the next news story comes up on the teleprompter. It requires a field crew with microscopic cameras and close ups that help blind us to our overworked emotions. It needs experts to explain why the viscous attack spontaneously splashed up into the face of a comrade, or a relative, or a total stranger who came too close to the danger of human unhappiness. Here where the rest of human friends grieve for what seems like an eternity before moving on, death is so much slower than even molasses in these cities of smog. However we move steadily toward our own kind of jungle vengeance. A justice dressed in green revenge we find is best served chilled and on a polished steel slab at the morgue.
God forgive the natural wild animals that react and does the most normal thing they instinctively know, for when our two jungles collide and one of the kings kill a human, well human death will hunt them down and blame them for all their woes and make their final payment swing from a string of hate with an undeserved anger and a body full of brass bullets. Their brave wild carcass must be hung by Tarzan man meat hooks, raised to the center square of all neighborhoods state wide on T.V., declaring to kings everywhere that the natural state of all things will not and cannot be tolerated here in this human jungle of our superiority. However let me also clarify the point that it’s quite okay if we turn the table on God’s creation because among all creatures on the isles of earth remember, we are the chosen ones sanctioned by this same God to hunt and kill all the other fucking species until dead. God grant us the virility to kill all those who live in our reality.
Anyway I’ve ventured off my own path of my own righteousness that I had intended not to walk on, so let me return to the straight and narrow dirt path right now. Deep within the African jungle away from prying eyes a tour truck loaded with the overzealous jungle hunters seeking to fill their empty lives and library walls with fur of almost any kind, or maybe even a tad bit of illegal ivory from the mouths or tusk of the wild ones. The hunters are under the tutelage of an opportunist jungle guide who had been hired just a week before from one of the neighboring villages. He’s had very little experience but whose boss assured him if he used the GPS System and just followed the maps and protocols set up by the company he would not have no problem as a guide for these six itchy gunslingers. Even with these six wealthy tribesmen from the jungle island of New York City he should prevail and complete his task as long as he remains true to the protocols set up by of the company. Always remember the prime directive his boss had told him, “No one ever leaves the truck, ever”. No feet on the ground. This is absolute with no exceptions, remember this above all other things. We can’t protect our clients unless they stay in the truck. Now in hot pursuit of hopefully the king beast himself these hunters are so very excited their revved up like a well shaken can of carbonate soda ready to explode as soon as the top of a head pops up. They’ve shined their brass, bullets and barrels, buffed and stuffed them down the elephant guns and single shot target rifles, packed them full with large caliber special hotshot rounds. They have their expensive death defying magnified a zillion times stock mounted crosshair scopes. What a glorious day Ed the C.E.O. of a multimillion dollar conglomerate company told everyone. Do you bastards realize what an incredible day this is going to be? Were going to bag and sack some of the most dangerous beast known to man. There’s Rhinos out there, lions and gorillas, hell anything and everything you can think of except for those big ass extinct dinosaurs and that’s too bad I say, because I’d kill them sons of bitches too if they were still here right Clive? Clive was Ed’s C.F.O. and although he had never hunted before and was kind of timid about shooting any kind of creature, he was not about to disappoint the boss. If he had to kill Godzilla and it would lead to better stock options for him and his family down the road, then Godzilla was going to have to die. Clive knew he didn’t fit in with this truck load of zombie killers, but he'd do what needed to done when the time came. He just had to remember it’s for the family. All the other zombie killers on the truck were experienced hunters who had been hunting for smaller game stateside and their fingers were itching as much as Ed’s to bag anything big and dangerous, hell even a Crocodilian would do at this moment of frenzied anticipation, and the bigger the better. Sometimes one should really give some thought to what we perceive as clarity. In moments of rapid gunfire for instance when the smoke is filing out of the barrel with excelsior speed, clarity seems to dissipate with the smoke of common sense. The moment overcomes and overwhelms you, and if you’re a natural born killer like these zombies hunters, you’re so involved in the carnage that the unexpected can jump out of nowhere and change the face of the events.
But these were mad men on a mission, skilled in the art of killing and drinking cold beer on a hot African afternoon. And here in the jungle they don’t site you with a K.U.I. There’s no police or concerned citizens to judge you in the deep bush. Only you your guide and the ability to drink beer and blood of something big and dead thank you can I get a hallelujah. The guide had followed the GPS scent to the first kill zone area located on his map. He stopped the truck in a heavy area of trees so it would provide the hunters with a natural blind for the delicious onslaught they had been preparing for. It only took about five minutes and they got their first sighting of a single lioness with cubs in tow. The guide was explaining to the group that they were not allowed to kill any animals with offspring while on this hunt when Ed’s loud bang rang out like thunder in the ears of the other hunters making them almost jump out of the truck, against the prime directive. Jesus Christ the guide shouted at Ed, what the hell are you doing? I was just explaining to you and everyone else that you can’t shoot anything with offspring, what the hell’s wrong with you? Ed’s eyes were filled with the juices of the kill as he turned without a word toward the guide with a look that obviously said fuck you, I’ll kill what I want, and that’s why I paid big bucks boy. Then instantly his face that had been contorted changed as if to recant his response with adding a very insincere “I was pulling the trigger before you had explained the rules completely” chuckling at the guide as if he was a small town clown. Before the guide could respond Big Ed grabbed Clive by the arms and pulled him off the back end of the truck and down on the jungle floor, saying come on Clive let’s check out my kill. Clive almost stumbled into the brush as he was being pulled off the back end of the truck by Ed. The guide began yelling at Ed and Clive “Get back on the truck immediately” get back here you idiots you’re in danger out there among the trees. But Ed and Clive were the kings of their own destiny right now and paying no attention to the words that fell empty from the guide’s mouth. The rest of the hunters looked at the guide as if he was an under paid jungle employee who just didn’t want to join in the fun. They all began jumping off the truck and running toward the dead queen and her offspring. The queen laid as still and dead as a block of cold ice. The lioness lay about seventy five yards from the truck and the zombie hunters were emulating Kenyan runners in a marathon nearing the finish line. The guide continued to bark out his orders telling them all that they weren’t safe while off the truck, get your asses back on this truck right now or the hunt is over. He was trying to make clear his boss’s orders about his prime directive that you can’t be on the jungle floor. No one is allowed off the truck, you’re going to get me fired. No one heard a word he was saying, the blood of the jungle was calling the hunters to it. They had become mesmerized by the scent of the kill and nothing was going to stop these zombie hunters, nothing. A couple of the hunters ran straight to the cubs picking them up and tossing them in the air like little toddlers while the others were began watching Ed bask in his glory while cradling the magnificent animals head in between his knees and leaning on his lap. The size of her head seemed gigantic in person and much more real than those in a zoo’s or in films. Her paws were enormous as Clive was lifting it up to get a closer look at her massive claws. While Ed was on his knees cradling the mane of the lioness he asked one of the other hunters to take a picture of him and his big cat prize. Good idea the other hunter said, get a picture of us all Clive and bring the pups over here for the picture. This was Ed’s first big kill so he let out a loud yahoo. It was like a rite of passage for these hunters, they all wanted their picture taken with her majesty the queen. Two hunters got down on their knees behind her with their gun butts resting on the grass aiming toward Africa’s open sky. Ed’s rifle was laying in the brush next to him why he held the queens head, Clive had let go of the paw, laid down his weapon and backed up to take the picture. Get her whole head in the shot Clive, I’m going to put this picture next to her head in my study. As Clive began to back up to include the whole gang in the shot and focus his camera so that the framing silhouetted the whole group his heart quickly began to miss all their required beats. In the background of the frame quietly in a half crouching position and half low crawl position eight full grown pissed off full mane kings of the jungle with piercing wide gold killing eyes began their hunt which was focused on the stick buffet directly in front of them. Ed was telling Clive to “Take the picture man, whatcha waiting for? Take the goddam picture Clive”. Not one single hunter knew at that moment the kings of all killers were immediately behind them, preparing their shopping list for lunch. Stealth is an underrated term when you hunt in the jungle. The zombie hunters had no idea that the family member of the queen they had just killed meant to even the score six fold. The first giveaway to the group of king killers were sneaking up behind them was the urine flooding down both of Clive’s pant legs at a high flow rate and with an incredible urgency. Then a soft and very low down deep growl that was almost upon them and sounded like a creaking gate of hell being opened was heard by the whole group.
The speed and power of this animal cannot be overrated. The hunters were seventy five yard from their truck. It’s a master killing machine capable of literally tearing the arms and legs of a human from the torso in seconds. The complete and vivid power of a lion in full attack mode is nothing short of spectacularly morbid and frightfully horrid. The blood flies for yards in every direction, the pieces of meat smear against the ground mixing with the flooding of blood. Scraps fly aimlessly into the air. The speed is mixed with horror and a deafening loud and vicious growl that carries for a mile in every direction, except in this case it’s only inches from your face. It is one of the least desirable way a human being would choose to die in Africa, let alone six of them. The eyes of the hunters widened in horror at the growls behind them grew from one to many. Ed’s rifle and three others counting Clive’s were on the ground. The guide began a childish slithering back into the cab of the truck in sake of defense and to regretfully abandon the others while witnessing this unbearable drama that was about to unfold. He knew for sure he would be looking for gainful employment and a psychotherapist after this. The circle of life was closing tighter along with the circle of death by the kings. Two hunters held their weapons with one hand and the other on the queen’s body but were just to dam frighten to move, too afraid to do anything but immolate Clive by urinating themselves. Ed was instinctively and highly aware of what carnage that was about to transpire but his weapon was just out of reach and the with the queen’s head in his lap he would surely be found guilty by the kings court. Clive began clicking the Camera lens involuntarily from his shaking hands and knowing his stock options were never going to materialize this year or forever. The stillness and quietness just before the massacre began felt like a wide charge of static electricity filling the entirety of the air. You’re mind and even your soul knows that you’re about to be literally be torn into smaller parts without the aid of pain medication and devoured by the ivory teeth of a far superior warrior type monster. The stomach feel like a ten thousand foot drop of an out of control fighter jet with only one obvious way to stop. A split second before the attack and the pit of your stomach wants to regurgitate every prior moment leading up to this fear but the mouth is too dry to heave. The kings were now ready and signaled each other by the gold eyes dilating into a very precise ice cold black circle, the circle of death and destiny.
All the low growling’s became roars, causing vibration in the air to quiver against the ear drums, the feet and force of the charge vibrated the ground adding to the fear and sound, and the tiny whimpers trying to desperately escape to cry out a word could not be completed. Ed was now finally hearing in his head what the guide had been desperately been trying to tell him. You’re not safe on the jungle floor. Get back in the truck, but at that very moment something wet, hard, warm, very fucking sharp and oh so powerful had just enveloped his entire head clamping down with disgusting hot breath and severing any hope of life. His head landed next to the queens head. Buzz saw teeth and mauling claws mated with fury and dug into the other hunter’s chest cavities. The African Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre began without any guns and was officially over before the lions began to eat. It took about a minute and left the six dead and unrecognizable. Jungle lunch meat. The authorities arrived the next day with the guide to investigate the incident. They had seen this drama play out too many times over the years. It was usually some big city big shot use to getting his own way without paying for his consequences. But here in the jungle every consequence has to be paid for in full. The site contained the six skulls with some fragments of identifying features along with splintered bones that resembled a little broken stick man board game. The red remnants of clothing, some small left over un-eaten chunks of human lunch meat. That was all that was left of the now infamous zombie hunters of New York along with their dreams of African fur coats, and hanging heads. However they got plenty of ivory on this trip. In the middle of the blood soaked jungle stained floor the shape of the blood slightly resembled that of a crown. Encircled by all the carnage lay the queen, untouched and purposely undisturbed which seemed to leave a message to the authorities. The pride seemed to spell out that we turn the tables on God’s creation because among all creatures in the isles of earth you should remember, we are the only chosen ones sanctioned by God to kill all species until dead that dare stumble onto our jungle floor. This is Africa and she is our mother, and this is our kingdom, so let God grant us kings the virility to kill all those who live in our reality. When that evening broke and the moonscape once again raked along the night of the lion paw path trails, it shed the shadows of six carcasses too slow and too afraid of their African foes. There in the dark waiting to rise with the morning sun, six souls exchange their gloating for heavenly floating. This is Africa, and here is where the kings resides. Where man should cautiously learn to step aside of their pride for the Kings pride. Here in this place we are but fragile chunks of flesh wading knee deep into the reality of Africa and her majestic nature. Here where life began, and here where life can end as seen very close up in the last picture frames of Clive’s camera.
This is Africa.