Images and words ©Bruno D’Amicis/www.brunodamicis.com
One day we decided to go further. A shepherd, in fact, had talked with us about a cave which, according to him, the lions used as a den and had offered himself to accompany us: it would take almost five hours of walk from Adjo, he said.
One day we decided to go further. A shepherd, in fact, had talked with us about a cave which, according to him, the lions used as a den and had offered himself to accompany us: it would take almost five hours of walk from Adjo, he said.
Barefoot and with a spear
in his hand (a two-meter-long metal rod crushed and sharpened at the
tip), he preceded us with a light pace. We followed him and got again
into another gorge, down a steep path that ran along one of the
walls. From there you could see well our goal: a sort of gigantic
grassy "terrace", partly covered with large trees, which
interrupted the long rock wall. On the cliffs above dozens of white
slick denounced the presence of a large colony of vultures. Such a
place would have suited well even a Tyrannosaurus rex, I thought.
Although my skepticism
was chronic, I pondered on the lightness with which my fellows
managed such a visit to the very home of the lions. I was wondering
if that was something appropriate. Anyway, after what had been one of
the most strenuous walks of my first 35 years of life, we reached the
edge of the terrace. There we stopped to eat and rest. The shepherd
said that we had to climb on the trees and, at sunset, the lions
would have come out. So we did, waiting in vain until sunset and
beyond: nothing. It was late and I suggested to return. I didn't feel
at all comfortable: we were all alone, in the alleged lion area, with
just a lamp among four, at more than two hours walk from the nearest
settlement and without any equipment to deal with the night. Crazy
stuff. We walked our first steps and into the light beam I saw it: a
beautiful big turd, exactly like the one of a cat, just fifty times
bigger and full of cow hair and bone fragments. A shiver along my
back. It was then that we heard the first ROAR: a male lion was
calling from two to three hundred meters from our position. I was
afraid.
We had to move quickly to
reach a safer place where to spend the night and so we took up a hard
and almost onirical march into the most complete darkness, embraced
by the velvet warmth of the African night, which was seasoned by a
big chirping of insects, the distant laughters of hyenas and the
roars of that damn’ lion.
I put all my trust in the
shepherd, who seemed so confident: I followed him for what seemed
like an endless journey through the night, while “we penetrated
deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness". So I felt, in
fact: like Marlow, the protagonist of Conrad’s novel.
We crossed again the deep rocky gorge climbing this time along a different trail and on the other side, finally there was our “salvation”: a small farm. There, greeted by the friendly owners, we lit a fire and, eating enset bread and drinking fresh milk (welcome, diarrhea!) we discussed until late sharing the too many emotions of that evening. When we laid down, wasted, to sleep the one next to the other, it seemed to hear him: the ROAR was not far away. I felt like a Pang in my stomach and I groped in the darkness for the gaze of my friends. We heard it all again two, three more times. Believe me, that has been a long night ...
The next day arrived way
too slowly for my taste and I had enough of it. I wanted to go back
home and end it there, but we still had to spend one more night at
Adjo and wait for the driver to come from Bonga and pick us up on the
next day. As we returned to the village in the afternoon, I have
found dozens of vultures feasting on a dead horse. Not even ten
metres from them, a group of children were attentively watching the
banquet: luckily, I was no more the main attraction. Then, as the day
was fading a rumor spread quickly: ambassa had just been
spotted not far from the last houses. We ran there, me, the
interpreter and half of the village. And there, on the edge of the
forest, half hidden in the lush tropical vegetation, nodded a
lioness, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
A vision so beautiful and
unusual, which made me wonder if the painter Henri Rousseau had not
already experienced something similar in his life. The lioness was
huge. After moments of hesitation, I realized that I was not of her
interest and, a little reassured by the presence of my companions, I
started photographing, first taking a couple of portraits with a long
telephoto lens, but, eventually changing to a shorter lens and moving
closer. I widened the frame to place the lioness in the wonderful
context. I continued shooting until it became dark, then mixing the
light from the flash to a portable spotlight. The lioness has moved
only once to lay down on a different spot. Finally, we walked away in
silence: that was it.
The photographs taken
that day probably represent the first visual document attesting the
presence of these animals in the afromontane rainforest, at over
2,500 metres above sea level. But the grotesque aspect of this story
is also that so much effort would eventually dissolve in just some
fractions of a second.
Is there a moral to this
story?
Let’s respect and start
to believe paintings, fairy tales, rumors and songs, because we will
never know where does hide "all that mysterious life of the
wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of
wild men." (J. Conrad)
And,
in the meanwhile... in the jungle... the mighty jungle... the lion
really sleeps tonight!
THE END
THE END
No comments:
Post a Comment