………. when scanning the treetops for leopards and other wildlife while Tom sets up camp under the African night sky. I had to warn Tom, especially if there was a leopard in our mist. The anticipation of spotting a leopard with a kill perched high in the branches was a breathtaking yet scary moment.
After I took the photo of the leopard with his kill in the tree, I marvelled at the wonders of wildlife and nature. I put down my camera and watched in silence. I knew the leopard knew we were present nearby, but I felt at peace knowing he wasn’t interested in us but in eating his kill. More of concern were the hungry hyenas, wild dogs, and other predators prowling nearby, waiting and hoping that the kill or part of the kill would fall out of the tree, which they sometimes do.
Once while visiting a game park, at dawn, we sought refuge at a waterhole. It is in nature that I always found solitude and comfort. An eagle on the hunt soared in the crisp morning air which was filled with the smell of imminent rain. A lone hippo lazed in the water, and an ostrich with a brood of eight chicks stood silently at the water’s edge. We watched zebra, wildebeest and buck, always on the alert, make their way down to the drinking spot. A jackal barked an alarm, and a sudden movement in the bush caught my attention. The grass moved violently, and clouds of dust tossed up. I caught my breath as I witnessed a leopard bring down a small steenbok. She didn’t drag it up into a marula tree but left it on the ground, injured and unable to escape. Two young leopard cubs moved cautiously towards the wounded buck, which bleated desperately in fear and pain. The mother leopard was teaching her two small cubs how to kill. The young leopards, unskilled at a quick kill, bit and mauled the struggling buck but were unable to silence it. Some lessons in life, no matter how naturally and lovingly presented, are hard.
Every moment in the wilderness taught us something invaluable about ourselves and the world. We learned to appreciate the beauty and the power of nature, but also the fragility of our planet and a deep understanding of the importance of preserving our natural world for future generations. Will our grandchildren ever experience an untamed wilderness?
My thoughts also turned to my sons and the lessons I had taught them, as well as the lessons I had failed to teach them. In my maternal desire to protect them, I had at times failed to teach the value of a struggle. I had rescued my sons from far too many battles that they should have fought on their own. After all, only through facing struggles can one find courage, learn capabilities, increase self-confidence and develop resilience. My sons, however, had both inherited my passion for adventure. After graduation from high school, each had set off on his own to explore the world.
I also considered the lessons they’d taught me, about love, patience, tenderness and the power of touch, to be hugged and held. Weighing up the two sides, I had no answer for the question, had I been a good-enough mother just like the leopard mother.
