In December when the world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful the savannah is full of little impalas, and it seems that the whole world has been created for staggering spindle-legged, big-eyed, hard-suckling life. Rain, rain, rain, rain – beautiful rain.
Monday
If you were here last October you wouldn’t believe it’s the same place. Back then it was a brutal world: desert-dry, hot enough to fry your brains, little to eat apart from dry twigs and the only place you could get a drink was the river. We had to stay close to it – and the dogs and the leopards and the lions always knew where to find us. If you’re alive when the rains come you’ve really achieved something.
Tuesday
In October the world was dirty yellow, the colour of lions. Disgusting. But now it’s green and lovely, so instead of trying to suck nourishment from the bushes I’m grazing on sweet new grass. The whole world is a buffet lunch and my young one is small and glossy and learning to leap.
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No shred of exaggeration, I leapt 10 feet high and covered more than 10 yards
Wednesday
The best thing about the rains is water. Water, water, everywhere, and every drop to drink. I can slake my thirst at a seasonal pond, a stream that was a dirty yellow ditch a few weeks ago, or an overflowing lagoon that was until recently a crazy-paved slab of sun-shattered concrete. No need to go anywhere near the river. Now it’s the carnivores’ turn to struggle. Huzzah!
Thursday
We do it all together. Not any old time of year like those foolish pukus. The rains come, and all at once the entire valley is an impala crèche. As I settled my own babe to lie out safe and silent while I grazed, I couldn’t help looking back to the rutting season at the end of the rains, all those months ago. The boss male had his way with me, him and his lyre-shaped horns. Just the once, then he lost interest. A little later, right on the edge of his territory, I met the most charming young fellow, horns yet to reach their full finery, and we had a little enchanted moment. Human scientists have a name for males like him. Sneaky fuckers.
Friday
The dogs, the dogs, the bloody dogs. You never know when they’re going to turn up: they’re so highly movious, as we say in these parts. They came, we scattered. As we scattered I showed them something special. I leapt. No shred of exaggeration, I leapt 10 feet high and covered more than 10 yards. I showed the dogs that I’m one hell of a fit beast. Don’t bother chasing me.
Saturday
He’s all right. The little one, I mean. The dogs didn’t get him. That’s why we all drop at once – they can’t get them all, there are just too many. But they got three in 10 minutes and didn’t take much longer to devour them. Still, they missed mine, so a good week. Another rainstorm last night. This is the kindly half of the year. Mostly.
Impala CV
Lifespan A dozen years or so
Eating habits Right now it’s sweet fresh grass
Hobbies Leaping
Sexual preferences Horny, ma non troppo
Photograph by Alamy