Welcome to the Jungle/Mr. Brownstone

This is a story about, well…poop. And for that I am sorry. Reader discretion is advised.

This poop story all started a little over a month ago, when Amy and I embarked on a sixteen-day safari across southern Africa. We traveled through South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Botswana. We traveled in a big red safari truck. We camped in tents. We saw elephants, zebras, giraffes, hippos, and much more. And it was awesome.

Things kicked off one very early pre-dawn morning in Johannesburg, South Africa, where we met our guides, Big Jeff and Little Jeff, of South Africa and Zimbabwe respectively. Big Jeff, who was more the logistics man, detailed how life would be: sharing tents, sharing cooking and cleaning duties, and sharing a safari vehicle that he dubbed “The Flying Red Elephant.”

We also met our fellow campers – eight friendly Germans (who spoke considerably better English than we spoke German – sorry Frau Champagne), and a young couple, Paula (from Argentina) and Andre (from Italy) who now live in Calgary.

Little Jeff, who held an encyclopedic knowledge of African flora and fauna, gave us the first day’s itinerary – our first “briefing,” as he called it. We’d drive for six to seven hours, and spend that first afternoon looking for Africa’s “Big Five” in Kruger National Park. Along the way, we’d need to stop for fuel, and we could get some snacks. And then Little Jeff introduced the running theme of the trip: if needed, we could stop to go “Bushy Bushy.” This was Little Jeff’s term for the call of nature. For the rest of the trip, no one ever spoke of bathrooms, or restrooms, or toilets. From then on, it was always “Booshy-Boosh!!”

After a long days journey, we arrived in Kruger National Park in northeast South Africa, where over the course of two days, we would do a number of game drives. It was a great introduction. We saw several elephants, up close, including one who trumpeted at us. We saw giraffes, and zebras, and baboons, plus a ton of impala. You see so much impala in southern Africa, you get sick of them sometimes.

At one point, the Flying Red Elephant began to swerve, and with it, we passengers were tossed around. Little Jeff stuck his head through the cab window and explained: “Our driver, Big Jeff, is a model of conservation. We won’t even run over the elephant dung, because it may contain dung beetles or other insects that are vital to the ecology of the area. So if we swerve erratically, it’s in an effort to preserve wildlife.” (In all honesty, Little Jeff, of Zimbabwe, was not as eloquent as that. But in the interest of clarity and brevity, I’ve summarized this for you. It really started like this: “Hello…um…small briefing…our truck…my brother Jeff is a conservationist…”)

That night we had our first experience with the tents. They were sizeable two-man tents, and we quickly learned how to put them up and take them down. These would be our homes for the next few weeks, and they were actually fairly comfortable. There was only one issue with these tents: the zippers were pretty loud, and the outside door flap was held in place by a few feet of thick Velcro. All night, you heard a symphony of zippers being zipped and Velcro being ripped. This, friends, was the sound of Bushy-Bushy.

The next morning, we got a lesson in animal bushy-bushy. After swerving on the road some more, Little Jeff poked his head through – briefing! – and explained to us that the roads that morning would be covered with elephant dung. It turns out elephants like the heat of the asphalt, and will travel by road at night, dumping their load along the way. And what a load, folks. Elephants are grazers, and these massive animals pretty much eat all day. This produces bowling ball sized dung, each weighing about 2.5 kilos – over five pounds. And each time they go, they drop about five of these balls.

If you read our post about the animals in Australia, you know that Amy is a bit of a poop expert (having correctly identified kangaroo and koala turds). Well, this new knowledge about elephant dung fascinated Amy, the Turdmaster General, and as we drove down the road, she would point along the way: “Five balls!…(another hundred yards)…five balls!…hey, there’s only four balls there (disappointment)…five balls!! (victory!)”

This now became another running theme for the trip. What had started simply as “Bushy Bushy” now became more defined, more illustrative:

“I’ve got to go bushy-bushy.”
“Do you have to go bushy-bush, or do you have to go five balls?”
“Well, it’s probably only two to three balls, but it sure ain’t bushy-bush…”

Armed with this puerile technicality, we pressed on into Zimbabwe. I can’t really speak to the politics of the country, which I know is a bit questionable, but Zimbabwe was otherwise a bit of a revelation. We first stopped near the town of Masvingo and the ruins of Great Zimbabwe, a stone city structure that rivals Machu Picchu and the Great Wall of China in its masonry. It was really pretty fascinating, I’m surprised it’s not more famous. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage site, but I’d never heard of it before.

The next day we camped near the town of Matapos, where the highlight was a bush walk that ended with an up-close encounter with a small family of white rhinos. That was simply incredible, being that close, and totally unprotected.

We also did a game drive through Hwange National Park, a beautiful game park where we saw many of the large animals we saw in Kruger, but also wildebeest, warthog, ostrich, and a wealth of beautiful, colorful birds.

But after nearly a week on the road, people were getting restless. Of the “Big Five,” we’d seen elephants, African buffalo, and rhinos. But no big cats: no lions, no leopards, and no cheetahs either (though not part of the Big Five). Finally, frustrated, Andre said what everyone was thinking, in his Italian accent: “Whare are-a de fooking-a leons?!” We’d have to wait.

But we did take something away from Hwange. During our stay there, Amy, the Minister of Fecal Affairs, sighted more five balls, and now moved on to spotting giraffe dung with regularity. Back at camp, she and I were discussing “turds.” Paula overheard this and asked, “what are these, ‘turds?’” Amy explained, in her own delicate way, marking our continuing contribution to international relations. You can thank us later, Nobel Committee.

Eventually we arrived at Victoria Falls, which turns out to be the Niagara Falls of Africa: an incredible force of nature, bordering two countries, and full of crummy souvenir stores. Victoria Falls is impressive as a natural wonder, breathtaking and absolutely worth the visit, but not much of a town. After a quick stay – enough to see the falls and do some laundry – our group crossed the border into Botswana.

And how were we welcomed in Botswana? By a herd of elephants, minutes after the border. Big Jeff explained that with its conservationist efforts, Botswana was rife with African wildlife. That night we went for a game cruise on the Chobe River, saw more elephants, and listened to the bellowing of frolicking hippos at sunset. I think this is the point I turned to Amy, stunned, and said, “we’re in BOTSWANA…”

The next day we went for a game drive in Chobe National Park. This was the site of two breakthroughs. First, we saw lions. Lots of lions. One big male lion, a few lionesses, and a brood of juvenile lions, on the hunt for buffalo.

But that wasn’t the big breakthrough. Amy, by now having officially declared her major as “Dung,” made her usual five-ball sighting. I chimed in: “Five balls!” And then a surprise: Andre, seated just in front of us, turned around and quietly stated, “Two point-a five kilos…” Like Dr. Livingstone, we had won a convert in darkest Africa.

A few days later, we came to the most unique and memorable part of our trip. We were leaving the safety of the land and heading onto the waters of the Okavango Delta for two nights of wild camping, riding in dugout canoes. It was an experience we will not soon forget.

All our gear was loaded on to the canoes, which were poled around the shallow waters by local guides, just like gondoliers in Venice. After about an hour on the water, we arrived at camp, set up our tents, and were told how we’d live out in the wild: cooking on an open fire, with no gas burners like our other campsites. A bucket shower (which only one person used). And our sanitary facilities – this pit toilet, dug into the ground in a clearing well behind our campsite.

Little Jeff continued the briefing: never stray into the wild – there were animals out there that could kill you. If a guide tells you to move, you move. And at night, when going “Bushy Bushy,” take your tent-mate, and shine a flashlight to look for eyes. If you see eyes – stay in your tent! Otherwise, relax, have fun, and enjoy the bush.

(A side note here: one of the greatest things I heard on the entire trip is an African proverb Little Jeff used repeatedly. Goes like this: “There are many ways to kill a baboon.” We skin cats; in southern Africa, apparently, they kill baboons.)

In the afternoon we took a bush walk, and came face-to-face (at a reliable distance) with a few elephants. Our local guide warned us – it was time to move – this elephant was heading in our direction and could be dangerous. We returned to camp, and in the waters next to our site, a hippo, one of the more dangerous animals in Africa, bellowed as the sun set. Baboons howled in the distance. We were surrounded by wildlife, and it was humbling.

We had a big pasta dinner, and then with the fire dying down, and complete darkness creeping in on us, we all went to bed. There was a mist in the air, and as the weather cooled, the hippos would soon come out of the water. The noises of the jungle enveloped us – the hippos bellowing somewhere close by, a baboon howling over on the other side of camp, and an owl in a tree that sounded intimidating. I couldn’t sleep, hearing (or imagining) noises outside the tent. And then at 2:00am, full of pasta and completely carbo-loaded, I was overcome by the call of Bushy-Bushy. This led to what I call “The Scariest Four Minutes of Your Life.”

Turns out Amy was up as well. She and I got dressed, listening to the sounds of lethal animals only footsteps from our campsite. The owl continued his threats. The hippo (or hippos!), who will kill anyone in its path, was somewhere nearby, undoubtedly on its path, awaiting victims. The baboons were out there, plotting. It was pitch black out; who knew what lurked on the fifty-yard dash to the pit toilet. We ventured forward, timidly.

Let me tell you about our flashlight: we bought a cheap dime-store flashlight before the trip; something we picked up last minute while buying, believe it or not, a doorstop and a whistle (long story). We used it a few times when the power went out in India, and during the campervan portion of our New Zealand stay. But it’s poorly made, and after seven months rattling around in my luggage, the beam isn’t that strong anymore, the batteries are weak, and the bulb has a tendency to flicker, or just go out completely. You have to shake it or hit it, like trying to get the last drop of ketchup out of the bottle. This was not the ideal flashlight to be spotting homicidal hippos. Other campers had strong beams capable of sighting enemy aircraft or signaling outer space. We had something you could barely use to read an Archie comic book under your Star Wars blanket.

So after the unnerving sounds of zippers and Velcro (this will only anger the beasts!), we flashed the light out of the tent. We saw nothing but other tents and the dying fire – whew!… Then we crawled out and put on our flip-flops. I shined the flickering light around. Nothing but darkness, and the howling sounds of impending flesh being torn. We ventured towards the pit toilet.

Here’s the thing: it was absolute darkest night out. With the slight rain, there were no stars, and no moon; no source of light except some crappy penlight. There were animals SOMEWHERE out there. And we’d have to drop our pants over a small hole in the ground dug on the periphery of the jungle. I made Amy go first.

Meanwhile, I stood outside the toilet tent, alone in the mist, shining the pathetic light around so I could get a quick glimpse of whatever animal was out there before it ripped out my thorax. And, of course, the flashlight kept going out, and I’d have to keep hitting it with my hand. For those few seconds the light was out, in complete darkness, I was paralyzed with fear. It seemed as if Amy was taking forever, her bladder releasing the equivalent of Victoria Falls, while I waited for a hippo to trample me into the dirt like a human pit toilet. Remember that Lenten promise to stop swearing? It was long f***ing gone, people!

Soon enough, it was my turn. But pasta be damned, at this point there would be no five balls, no three balls – not one solitary ball. I didn’t even try. I took a quick leak and got the hell out of that pit-toilet tent. I held Amy’s hand and we cautiously walked back to our own tent, a single, weak beam of light flickering its way back through the darkness as we tripped over plants and shrubs and the withering bones of campers past. We un-Velcroed, unzipped, and leapt into the tent. Outside, the animals kept up their noisy terror, but inside our tent there was nothing but the sound of heaving lungs, as we caught our breaths after our brush with death, The Scariest Four Minutes of Your Life.

The next morning, with the sun safely in the sky, and our guides awake and making coffee, we prepared for the day’s bush walk, a nearly five-hour walk on one of the islands in the delta. This would be Amy’s crowning moment. We trailed the group most of the way because the Poop Whisperer was consulting with one of our local guides, Walter, about various dung, comparing notes from their respective doctoral research. And here, for your edification, are some photos of Amy and her new, steamy friends, along with some vital information so you, too, can recognize your African turds:

Elephant: as mentioned earlier, a grouping for four to five bowling ball sized turds, each weighing approximately 2.5 kilos (5 pounds). Mostly grasses. Tough to miss.

Giraffe: dozens of acorn-shaped pellets, in a sizeable pile, somewhat scattered.

Zebra: a massive pile of kiwi fruit to baseball sized turds. Interestingly, zebras often poop in the same spot. They kind of mark their turf.

African buffalo: If you’ve ever seen a cow pattie, you’ll easily recognize African buffalo. It’s a mess.

Warthog: Looks like a big pile of oversized black beans, some loose, some in dense clumps.

You may be wondering about hippo. Well, we have no hippo dung photos. They basically spray the grasses they’ve eaten back onto more grass or bushes. You know it when you see it – like when your lawn mower blows the grass into the hedges. But imagine it three times the size.

The next day we left the delta, and after a final, fantastic day spotting rhino and a leopard in lower Botswana (Big Five complete!), our safari was over. We returned to Johannesburg, then flew to Cape Town for a relaxing week – including a lot of laundry and catching up with our emails, etc. – and then flew to South America, where we are now.

I’ll leave you with this, a poem co-written by Amy and me while out in the wilds of the Okavango Delta. It’s suitable for third-grade classrooms everywhere, and rivals some of the all-time greats, like “Diarrhea, Diarrhea” and “Milk, Milk, Lemonade…”:

“Bushy Bushy, brown and squishy,
Pushy pushy, from my tooshy.”

(I already apologized, right?)