By the time we left Zororo Bar, it was already dark. The last thing in my mind was getting myself in trouble. Baba VaTata was driving and I sat in the passenger seat. Rasta and Fatso were sitting with John in the back seat.
They were all excited. I had many questions to ask but I kept silent. I was wondering whose idea was it to go on a hunting expedition? Where had John come from?
All these questions ran amok in my mind. It was a short drive to the farm. After leaving behind the new residential area behind us, the road was bumpy and deserted. Everyone had become quiet now that we were near the farm. It was one thing to talk about it but a different thing altogether once you are in action.
My sixth sense kept telling me that this was poaching. I had done a lot of hunting in the rural areas when I was growing up. The hunting was carefree and we had several dogs barking excitedly and running up and down in the savanna grasslands. In most cases, we returned home empty-handed but that did not deter us from trying over and over again. In those days, we were not poaching. It was free range or communal and there was no fear of being caught. This was totally different. We were risking our lives the moment we entered the private property.
I was jolted out of my reverie when John suddenly said, “ Stop, wait for me while I go and get the rifle.”
Baba VaTata parked by the side of the road near a cluster of trees.
“Keep your lights off,” John said as he disappeared into the farm. He moved too fast. I did not trust him. All around us was darkness. How were we even going to see the animals unless we had torches. I hope John was taking care of that.
“Don’t be afraid guys, it’ll be over soon,” Baba VaTata said. I did not want to say anything at this point. It was almost too late to do anything otherwise.
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I was regretting every moment of it.
Shortly afterwards, John returned. He had some flashlights and an old 270 Winchester rifle which he had promised. Baba VaTata took out a short spear from the back of the car. I was close to John and he gave me the rifle. It felt heavy and awkward. I had never fired a gun before in my life.
“I don’t know how to use it,” I said as I tried to give it to Baba VaTata.
“I’ve the spear, it’ll do, you can give Fatso or Rasta,” Baba VaTata said.
Both Fatso and Rasta did not want to touch the gun. It was an unfamiliar weapon to both of us.
“Follow me,” John whispered.
The four of us crept through the dense undergrowth, the sound of twigs snapping underfoot making my heart race. Far from the lively streets and the faint laughter of Zororo Bar, this place felt like a different world — vast, wild, and dangerous. I suddenly felt excited. The thrill of holding the rifle suddenly overwhelmed me. What was coming over me?
John stopped near a small clearing, pointing to movement in the shadows. “See those? Kudus grazing over there.”
His voice was low but excited. Baba VaTata smiled, as he gripped the spear tightly, already imagining making a kill. In the heat of the moment, Fatso suddenly grabbed the rifle from me. I was relieved and I glanced nervously around.
I wanted to back out but my voice was caught somewhere between curiosity and fear. The thrill of finally experiencing something forbidden was intoxicating.
Suddenly, a low growl broke the silence. Something large and unseen moved swiftly past us. The others froze. John’s face tightened. “Leopards… they come here at night,” he warned.
Before we could react, a sharp shout pierced the air. “Who’s there?” a voice called from behind a clump of trees. We hadn’t been as invisible as we thought.
Fatso dropped the rifle clumsily, and Baba VaTata cursed under his breath. John quickly whispered a plan. “Run back to the car, quietly.”
The chase was on. We dashed through the underbrush, branches slashing our faces and clothes. But as we neared the road where the car was parked, Baba VaTata stumbled, and fell hard on the rocky ground.
“Leave me!” he yelled, struggling to stand. But none of us could abandon him. Fatso grabbed his arm, pulling him up. I was right behind, fear pushing me forward; we were like desperate animals ourselves now.
The voice grew louder. “Stop or we’ll shoot!”
We all bundled into the car. Baba VaTata was the last to get in. I took the wheel and drove from there at break-neck speed, raising a lot of dust in the darkness. We heard rifle shots not far off.
It does not pay to go against the law. It was a close shave.
Onie Ndoro
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