In the Shadow of the Lion

“Jaja! Jaja!” cried the mother as she ran out of her home, her long wraparound dress fluttering in the evening breeze. Darkness crept over the golden savannah, transforming it into a myriad of shadows. The crickets’ night chorus reassured her that she was safe.

She stood at the edge of the grass, searching the landscape for any sign of her son.

She called out his name. Silence fell upon her ears. The soft breeze rustled the turf. An overwhelming wave of hysteria threatened to overcome her, but she held strong. He had played this game before, but this night she sensed a presence.

The foul scent of a predator nearby sent a surge of panic racing through her. She ran into the waist-high, straw-like grass, her eyes desperately searching the shadows as she raced against nightfall.

The sun touched the horizon.

Alone and surrounded by a sea of towering grass, the naked toddler clumsily stumbled forward, squealing in delight each time he heard his mother call his name. He lost his balance and fell face-first onto a patch of dry dirt. He then pushed himself back up onto his tiny feet.

A fell cackle startled him. The toddler stood still and listened. The grass rustled, parting before him. The silhouette of a hyena emerged from the shadows. Teeth bared, it seemed to smile at him.

The boy whimpered.

The animal moved closer.

The boy began to wail.

The boy’s mother stopped and listened; she heard him. She ran in the direction of his voice.

Others from the tribe joined the search. Torches and spears in their hands, their voices carried into the night. Suddenly, a deafening roar froze them.

The mother screamed. She searched blindly through her tears, afraid that her worst fear had been realized. She stopped and leaned over to catch her breath. She was on the verge of collapsing when a woman reached out and caught her. With her support, the mother found the strength and courage to continue. They followed the men, who were marching in formation until they suddenly stopped. The mother broke away from the woman’s hold, stumbled forward, and pushed herself between two men. At the sight of her son, she dropped to her knees and began to pray out loud.

A lion stood over the body of her child, the wind blowing its golden mane as it lifted its head against the crimson sky. It bellowed loudly before stepping over the toddler and disappearing into the tall grass.

The men shouted and immediately began charging after it, determined to kill the beast.

She ran over to her son and lifted him up into her arms, tears streaking her dirt-stained cheeks. Her baby opened his eyes and smiled. She squeezed his little body against hers and rocked him back and forth, crying. She quickly examined him for cuts and bruises but thankfully found only a small scratch on his shoulder.

Feeling safe in his mother’s arms, the boy snuggled his face against her neck. He had lifted his head to look at the red sky when he saw the hyena again, standing atop a small termite hill. The child had the strange feeling that it was smiling at him. A small cry escaped his lips before he buried his face in her hair. His mother gently stroked her fingers through his curly hair, soothing him. While she carried him home, he fell asleep in her arms.

***

Even after spending several hours in a tanning salon, the locals still stared at her. At five foot six, she was one of the tallest in her class back home, but here, many teenagers surpassed her height, so she didn’t believe it was that that drew their attention. The people mostly stared at her straight, thick mane of long, blonde hair, gleaming in the sunlight, which accentuated her golden complexion.

She glanced beyond her onlookers to study the surrounding landscape. In the distance, away from the bustling excitement of the village, she saw the savannah. Scorched grass and red soil painted the scene for miles ahead of her. Small groves of acacias grew sparsely across the terrain before reaching the base of tall, majestic mountains, which were partially hidden by haze.

A sudden tug on her shirt brought her attention back to the small village. A little boy had reached out to touch her strange-looking hair when his mother caught sight of him. In a desperate attempt to stop her son, she crossed the dirt road quickly, accidentally knocking over the fruit basket of a woman passing by. Frustrated, she stopped to help gather the fruit, apologizing to the woman while keeping a close eye on her son.

The blonde girl crouched to meet the child and smiled.

The child smiled in turn, stroking her hair.

The mother, who had finished gathering the runaway fruits, grabbed her son’s hand and began speaking to him very quickly, seemingly reprimanding him.

“It’s all right; no harm was done,” she said to the mother, who was hastily rushing away with her son.

She stood up and saw a Caucasian girl and boy standing close to her with their oversized backpacks hanging from their shoulders.

A weathered school bus approached before screeching to a halt. The doors opened and the bus driver, an African man in his late forties, shouted words unfamiliar to her. He then cocked his head to one side, as if the unnecessary effort of speaking English annoyed him.

“Are you waitin’ for the bus to take you to archaeological site, in Tsavo East National Park?” he huffed.

“Yes, I am,” she answered. She immediately grabbed her backpack and sleeping bag before stepping onto the bus.

The moment she stepped inside, the occupants of the bus went silent.