Laying my scent across the continent of Africa is what I now realized I was born to do, and it worked. The next thing we found were four male lions spread-eagle sunbathing. We were actually able to be quiet and got as close as possible. As we were moving in, Hannah dropped her sunglasses outside of the jeep. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But can we please go back and get them? They were a hundred and eighty dollars.”
We all turned around and looked at her to see if she was serious. “I’ll buy you another pair,” I told her.
“That’s really not going to help me for the next ten days.”
Without saying anything, Life jumped out of the car with four lions surrounding us to get Hannah’s glasses. I still didn’t understand why Life was allowed to mingle with the lions, yet I wasn’t.
After we clearly disturbed them with this little kerfuffle, the lions decided to move down to the water, where a bush was blocking our view. So Hannah, wanting to see better, asked Rex if she could get on her knees.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Molly asked. “Maybe that’s what’s got you so agro.”
“Fuck you, Chelsea. We’re on safari. Relax.”
No one bothered telling her that Molly was the one who had spoken, because Hannah had stopped making any sense days earlier.
On the way home Rex was speeding to get us back in time for our last night’s festivities and almost crashed into hippos congregating in the middle of a river we were crossing. Those safari jeeps are pretty powerful, and so was the champagne we had coerced Rex to drink. He was eighteen sheets to the wind, and I had officially lost my lip balm.
We got back to Londolozi earlier than usual and headed to the local Shangaan village so that Shelly and Sue could give the toys and candy they brought to the local children. Imagine a local village or orphanage and the euphoria illuminating everyone’s faces as they saw Americans pulling up. There was none of that. Clearly these children had grown weary of white people bringing them gifts, and by the looks of things, they were already pretty well set up. Each child had a Mac laptop or a iPad mini, and there was French writing all over their chalkboard.
“Wow, Chelsea. These kids are all better educated than you. Maybe one day they’ll all get a TV show on E!, too,” Hannah announced.
Next we met with the head village woman, Lena, a stumpy woman who spoke slowly enough to make us all feel as stupid as possible. Lena told us the history of the Shangaan tribe and how the Shangaan men take multiple wives, all of whom must pay a dowry. If a woman dies before her dowry is paid, her children will have to pay their father for their mother’s dowry.
“That sounds like a sweet deal,” Molly said, fist-bumping me.
Then Lena brought us over to the hut she slept in, which was the size of a pencil sharpener. We went in one at a time and avoided any eye contact with each other. After this humbling episode, we rode back to camp in silence and went to our separate villas after canceling our massages.
Me with the Head Hut Nugget.
Not long after 8 p.m., Hannah came out of her bungalow and announced she was feeling ill. Sue, Shelly, Simone, Molly, and I all suggested that she stay behind and skip our last dinner at camp.
Our attempt failed, and Hannah insisted on coming anyway.
On our way to dinner, some sort of branch we had all managed to avoid somehow hit her in the face. Hannah clearly lacked any natural instinct to duck when objects were flying at her face, which coincided with her terrible driving ability and her accusation that my driveway hit her car.
The dinner was held outside in the boma, which was basically a pile of sand with a fire at the center. We were grouped with all the other guests staying at the myriad lodges in our camp, including the triplets. Rex was in the worst shape we had seen him in and insisted on us all taking shots of Jägermeister.
Not long after dinner commenced, he got up and made a toast, declaring to the other safarigoers that he had never met women like us. Simone gave me a half-scrambler eye roll—meaning this was, in fact, not a compliment.
During dinner Sue was talking about how incredible Londolozi had been when Hannah interrupted her with a completely unrelated topic about Rod Stewart’s new autobiography and his current concert ticket sales. I turned to Molly and asked her what she thought Hannah was on. Somehow in the midst of two different conversations being interrupted, Hannah was able to overhear my comment and turned to me. “You’re not being very nice, Chelsea. I heard that.”
“Hannah, you’re not being very nice, either. You have bitched and moaned all day about one thing or another, interrupted more than ten conversations, and have gotten upset with Life for not wanting to bring you on as his sixth wife.”
“Chelsea,” Hannah rebutted, “I told you that you looked less bloated today than yesterday. How is that not a compliment?”
“That’s true, Hannah, but you also wouldn’t walk alone with one of the camp guides because you were convinced he was going to rape you.”
“That’s not what I said!” she bellowed. “I said if he did rape me, I would get on top.”
“I didn’t hear that part,” I admitted.
“I was simply surprised that Life thought I wasn’t marriage material. As if I’m too old to procreate, or I’m not good-looking enough.”
“That’s amazing insight, Hannah. It also may have to do with the fact that you are borderline anorexic and only choose to scream or yell when interrupting a conversation.”
“Fuck you, Chelsea,” she replied. “We’re on safari. Why don’t you just calm down and relax?”
Simone had been privy to many of my outbursts, and knowing one was coming, kicked me under the table.
“Hannah! We’ve gone over this before. The two major components necessary for storytelling is for it to be either (A) funny or (B) compelling. Please pick one.”
After dinner twenty or so African women danced and sang for us. Sue got the triplets to dance, since it was their birthday. Soon Shelly, Hannah, and Simone were dancing, too. I used my knee as reason not to dance. Molly sat by my side and insisted she was too sober and white to dance among such accomplished performers.
Rex fell down repeatedly but managed to meander over to Molly to ask if she had cigarettes. “No,” she replied. “We don’t smoke.”
“I can’t believe girls who drink like you don’t smoke.”
“Sorry,” Simone responded. Then she looked down and asked me why I was wearing one motorcycle boot and one sneaker. I had no answer to this line of questioning due to the fact that I had no recollection whatsoever of losing a shoe.
It was at this point in the evening that I realized Lilly and Rex made no contact with each other. I determined that not only did they not belong together, but that Lilly was trying to make Rex jealous by allowing other male camp workers to put their arms around her and flirt. It was clear to me what was going on. Lilly didn’t feel safe with Rex because Rex never really liked Lilly, and Rex was looking for someone more worldly, like me, to share his life with.
I tried to discuss this with Molly, then Simone, then a stranger: the insincerity and unlikeliness of a long-term relationship between Lilly and Rex. Simone advised me to take a Xanax and go to bed.
After four days of monkey rape, drinking like sailors, and embarrassing the United States of America, it was time to go destroy another country. We were off to Camp Dumbo and then Botswana.