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Lion

Dusk is falling fast and Alison and I driving through the park on the way to Zulu lessons in Mtubatuba. As we reach the crest of the hill and curve down the other side we see a car stopped in the road just ahead. Alison slows.

“Look!” she whispers suddenly. “Could that be….?”

Through the half light we can just make out a form lying in the road. We edge closer. As we do so the black outline moves slightly and we see it clearly, the green retinas reflecting back our headlights – a lioness.

As our eyes adjust we make out one, two, three, four others in the grass either side of the road. The first heaves herself up and pads nonchalantly to the middle of the tarmac and flops down again – wallowing in the heat of a days stored sunlight.

We edge forwards a little. I wind my window down.

Directly outside the window in the grass by the road is lion five, no further than your window is from you now. I look at her – she meets my eyes with her luminous yellow pair. I hold her gaze. Her eyes are so big. After about half a minute she curls up the left hand side of her upper lip and the faintest rubble of growl slowly wells up from her belly.

I wind my window up. Alison glances up. “Do you think they might try the sunroof?” That Far Side cartoon in the game park flashes to mind: “George, quick, start the engine! This one’s got a coat hanger!”

We watch for a few more minutes then reluctantly head away. We’ll be late for Zulu. I text to apologise: “Will be little late – stopped by lions”. Seconds later the reply comes “Best excuse ever!”

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