- Breaking news: A severe drought countrywide has prompted President Pohamba to declare a state of emergency.
Dear cousin Bob, Since the beginning of mankind the need to hunt has been part of our DNA, partly for survival and partly because of the sense of satisfaction a man feels when he provides for his family.
Growing up a city boy I never had the opportunity to hunt but recently a friend organised a hunting trip for me. Let me tell you, cuz, out there in the veld, standing on the back of the bakkie with a rifle in my hands felt pretty good. I’m sure I looked like a cowboy, something like Clint Eastwood, all squinty eyed and tough.
We drove around for quite some time and my spirits sank lower as it seemed that we won’t find something for me to shoot. At this stage even shooting a turtle would have helped in making me feel all manly and like a true big game hunter. And then I spotted movement in a thicket of bush and slapped the bakkie’s roof for the farmer to stop.
I must admit that at this stage the adrenaline was fl owing and I had first time jitters and what is called hunting fever. Looking through the telescope I saw an eland, although only its one big brown eye and dewlap (that fat hump that forms part of its neck if you didn’t know), but realising I might not have another chance I decided to take the shot. I then heard the farmer say, ‘Shoot, shoot, there’s a prize in Istanbul!’ which didn’t really make sense but in my highly adrenalised state I thought it meant that it might be a record-breaking trophy eland and I’ll win a trip to Istanbul. Or something like that.
Anyway, I took the shot and to my immense relief and excitement saw it go down. As the buzz I experienced during this highly charged moments wore off, my brain finally caught up with what the farmer was screaming. ‘You imbecile, I said don’t shoot! You just killed my prize winning stud bull, you moron!’
A picture of what my eyes really saw but my brain didn’t comprehend then took shape in my minds-eye. Now I clearly saw a bull facing away from me, grazing, and I could actually picture the bullet passing through its testicles (what I thought was its dewlap) and entering its lowered head, smashing through the brain and killing it instantly.
To lighten up the uncomfortable moment I then said to the weeping, somewhat angry farmer, “At least it died with sex on it’s brain.” Funny how fast one can run to reach a farm’s border-gate when a swearing farmer is chasing you with a hunting knife. Keep on shooting from the hip.
Your cousin Kapana