Safari Jeep Breakdown – Part 1: Dust on the Savannah

The engine coughed twice, shuddered, and died in the middle of the plain. Zawadi stared at the dashboard as though it had personally betrayed her. The sun was a red coin sinking behind the acacia trees, and the nearest tent was twelve kilometres away.

"That is not a good sound," she said.

"No," said Daniel, from the driver's seat. "That is a very bad sound. Don't worry. I've been stranded on this plain four times, and I have only been eaten once."

"That is not funny."

"It was a small lion." He grinned, quick and easy, and swung down from the jeep. He was tall and lean, with a faded green shirt and the unhurried calm of a man who had spent his whole life reading the grass.

He lifted the bonnet, examined the engine, and sighed. "Radiator hose. I can fix it, but not in the dark. We will wait here until morning and radio the camp."

Zawadi had come to Kenya to photograph the migration. She had a camera bag, three lenses and a very sensible plan. She had not planned to spend a night on the savannah with a stranger and a broken jeep.

Daniel lit a small gas stove on the ground, filled a battered kettle from a water bottle, and made tea. He handed her a tin mug without a word, and she held it with both hands as the air cooled around them.

"You're quiet," he said.

"I'm trying not to think about what's out there."

"Then think about what's up there." He pointed. The sky was filling with stars, thick and bright, more than she had ever seen in London. A hyena called in the distance, long and strange.

"It's beautiful," she said softly.

"It is also very loud," said Daniel. "The hyena is telling his wife he will be late."

Zawadi laughed, and the fear in her chest loosened a little.

They sat on the bonnet of the jeep, shoulders almost touching, while the stars wheeled overhead. He told her about growing up near the river, the grandfather who had taught him to find water by watching birds. She told him about her mother in Mombasa, the sister who wanted her to marry, the camera she had bought with her first wage.

"Can I ask you something?" said Daniel, quietly.

"Yes."

"Why photographs? Why not a job that stays still?"

She thought about it. "Because I like catching the second before something changes," she said. "The moment a lion decides, or a bird turns. Everything else is waiting."

"I like that," said Daniel. "I spend my life waiting, and I have never thought of it as catching anything."

"You catch the hyena's excuses."

He laughed, low and warm. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Yes."

"Would you let me share the blanket? It is very cold on the plain, and I would not like you to freeze. Only if you want."

Zawadi's heart gave a quick, nervous jump. "Yes," she said. "But only if you promise not to snore."

"I promise nothing," said Daniel. "But I will be warm."

"Green?" she asked, half teasing.

"Green," said Daniel, and shook out the blanket. "Very green. Sit close, Zawadi. The stars are better from here."