It was dusk and our student group was gathered near our braai, which was where we were planning to prepare our evening feast (BBQ in my terms). Our braai is in the center of everything, and closest to my tent. We all reside in different areas of the property, all within a small proximity from each other. My tent, the one with the best view, was in the middle of everything, yet with no other residents anywhere near me. The mountain landscape and the river dam wall were my front yard view, and backdrop to our evening braai. To the East of me was another tent, unoccupied, and beyond that was a thicket of trees with a narrow path taking you to the other side. That path would lead you to more accommodations occupied by our camp chef, housekeeper and instructors.
On this particular day, as we sat together, we all did a hard turn toward that thicket when the semantic communication of monkeys began to chirp from the trees. If there is one thing I did learn, living where I did, was that monkeys don’t lie, and that sound translates into a ‘Leopard’ alarm. I scurried to my tent to grab my camera just in case, because that’s what anyone do if a predator was coming their way, right? As I exited my tent I heard the alarm call of the Franklin Spurfowls, otherwise known to me as my 5am alarm clock. These spooked birds just discovered what all the monkey chatter was about.
Out from the trees walked the young female leopard, known as Gail (not a great name for a leopard, but for authenticity purposes, I will not embellish). So here we stood in awe watching Gail walk through our camp. Her body was slightly crouched and she slinked under the neighboring tent to mine, and then pounced up on the edge of a fence, no more than 2” wide. She stood for a minute, looking back at the trees where the ‘Nya’ sounds continued to sing through the African air before disappearing on the other side to cross the river at the dam wall with the sun setting and darkness filling my lens.
I chose to share this story for the perspective.
You see, this leopard had been sleeping all day, in those trees, beside that path. All day long students and staff walked back and forth with a leopard 5, 10, or at best, 20 meters away. No one had any idea of what lurked just beyond. If we had, would we have changed our behaviour knowing there was no alternate route to walk?
There can be danger in everything we do. Everywhere we go. It is not unique or reserved for someone living amongst wildlife, or engaging in equally exposed endeavours. However, if we live in a state of constant fear and paranoia, we will inevitably attract that which we are trying to avoid. It is in the ability to maintain our focus on things that keep up grounded, that are real and absolute, that allow us to continue on those paths without being concerned about the potential of hidden threats. For, if we can do that, we do not feed the fear. We do not resurrect the danger and give it space in our life.
This leopard often found her comfort in our camp. This was not the first, nor the last time one of us had a close encounter with her. But we posed no threat to her, and she sensed this. As a result, she posed no threat to us.
We cannot live our lives afraid of what is hiding in the trees. If we did, we would never walk the paths that we need, to take us to our ultimate destination.