Once we were seated, Norman explained to us that later we would all be riding the elephants with a trainer. “The trainers are very careful not to develop any relationship with the elephants,” he told us enthusiastically. “They use rods to get them to move.”
We thought Norman was joking, but Norman being Norman was too naive to realize how horrible that sounded.
Our chef, Frederic, sauntered over to our table and I decided to rename him Siegfried, based on the fact that he was a white European with a bizarre dye job and, in my professional opinion, a raging queen. I understand that a chef takes pride in his cuisine, but I had more sympathy for the fact that none of us had been able to digest anything we had eaten in five days and needed to take the food down a notch. It was obvious Frederic had been warned about us when he asked us in a slightly irritated tone if we had any specific requests for dinner that night, and then rolled one colored contact. Feeling ashamed, we told him no in unison. He went over menu items, which were kudu, squirrel, and roasted cauliflower soup. After hearing this, we decided that we did indeed have specific requests; specifically, that he not make anything he originally planned and just bring us a couple of salads.
“You can throw in the soup,” I added, thinking of cauliflower being an accomplice to a bowel movement.
Hannah used this opportunity to piss off Frederic even more by asking for some plain penne pasta with butter, like a five-year-old. We all agreed and asked for the same. Frederic blanched at this request, and later Sue suspected he actually urinated in our pasta, or at least the butter.
A black man named Hunam presented himself, dressed absurdly in clothes from the late 1800s that made him look like he belonged on the set of Django Unchained. He started taking drink orders and giggled with a little glint in his eye when Shelly gave him instructions on how to make the perfect margarita. He had a sweet disposition, and I imagined he also hated Frederic, Corbin, and Norman as much as we did. Perhaps we would kidnap Hunam and take him back to the States, where he would take up work as a camera operator on my show.
“Do you think we’re being kept away from the other campers… again?” Sue asked the group, looking around at the empty dining deck. “We just got here.”
After Frederic was out of hearing range and Shelly had finished the margarita instructions, she uncorked her napkin from the chandelier-sized elephant tusk it had been stuffed in and told Hunam, “If you could just get us some weed, that would be great.” Then she turned to us and posited, “Should we only drink and skip the food? I feel pretty backed up.”
“I should go home,” Simone said, looking at the sky. Simone was preoccupied with her impending house move and was starting to feel guilty about being away from the kids during such a time. She had planned on coming only on the first leg of the trip, but after the success of Londolozi, she agreed to continue on. None of us wanted her to leave, and we were in top-secret discussions at all times figuring out how to extend her trip to match ours. I had told her it would be fine to leave after the second camp, but never intended to actually let that happen. I had been in contact with her ex-husband and was facilitating the move with him, but these were iotas of information I didn’t feel were necessary to share with her until plans were solidified. I want my sister with me at all times, and it’s of no concern to me whether she feels the same way.
The soup, pasta, and margaritas came. I placed my margarita on my knee and grimaced in pain in order to garner some sympathy from Simone and get her mind off leaving and back onto me. Then I took a bite of pasta and spit out what tasted like a pinecone.
“Rosemary,” I moaned. “I hate rosemary. If I wanted to eat a Christmas tree, I have the resources to do that.”
“Why did no one mention that the food in Africa is so horrible?” Shelly asked. “And that there are no single women anywhere.”
“That’s pretty insulting, Shelly,” I told her. “Simone is sitting right there.”
“It is surprising,” Sue chimed in. “Safaris are known for their orgies.”
“You’re very sexual, Shelly,” Molly told her. “There should be an iPhone app for when you’re on the move, like an Amber Alert. ‘Shelly’s in South Africa, she’s been drinking for eight days straight, and she’s on the move. Anyone can be a victim! Men, women, dogs.’ There should be a flashing red dot on maps like Google maps that warn people where Shelly is and to get inside their homes and lock their doors. ‘There’s a sexual twister headed in your direction. She could hit ground at any time. Anyone can be a victim! Men, women, dogs.’ ”
“And giraffes,” Sue added.
Shelly’s response to our harassment always involves a sssttt sound and no other defense, because she knows that she is a sick, sick woman who happens to have an incredibly high IQ, practice law, and be physically able to do anything I’ve ever seen any man do. I wouldn’t describe her as butch, but she does own a Harley and a boxer dog, and she walks the way real lesbians walk—with her vagina thrust forward, allowing it to always enter a room before she does. I call it the “pussy out” walk.
“Do you guys think I may have tripolar disorder?” I asked, staring at the fake rocks that enclosed our outdoor dining area. “I lost my luggage, this soup tastes like cocaine, and I left my Invisalign at Camp Londolozi.”
“You and your Invisalign,” Sue said, exhausted. “How many of those have you lost?”
“On this trip or in life?” Shelly asked.
“Why do you even take it out?” Sue asked. “Aren’t you supposed to wear it all the time?”
“No, I just wear it when I sleep. Otherwise, you have to take it out when you eat, and then I have to try to discreetly place it on the dining table or in my bra. “
“Don’t you have to clean it?” Molly asked.
“Yes, and that’s why I use Polident,” I told her. “People think they’re just for dentures and those people are wrong—and quite honestly, they’re the ones who need to get a grip.”
“Well, you’ll need dentures soon enough,” Hannah chimed in.
“Should we only drink?” Shelly posited to the group again.
“Ugh,” Hannah moaned. “The heat is so hot.”
We left a tip and told one of the staffers to forget lunch and let Hunam know to meet us back at our villa with two more pitchers of margaritas. When he reappeared, he not only had the two pitchers of margaritas, but he also had close to ten pounds of marijuana and a pack of American Spirits. Our instincts about Hunam were right. Sue began rummaging through our fruit basket in search of an apple.
Here are the margaritas.
“Do you guys think there’s a movie theater anywhere nearby?” Hannah asked, reading from her computer. “The Great Gatsby was just released, and it’s getting totally mixed reviews. It would be nice to see a movie, no?”
“Not really, Hannah… because… we’re on safari,” Sue told her. “I didn’t come all the way to Africa to go to the movies, no offense to Baz Luhrmann or Tobey Maguire.”
“Well, I thought it might be a good idea to break up the animal stuff. I mean, this place is annoying. What about you, Molly?” she said without looking up. “I bet you’re up for a movie.”
“I would rather learn a wind instrument,” Molly replied.
“I would stick my head in the oven if I could figure out how to turn it on,” I announced.
“Or we could go to a pop-up hospital,” Sue suggested, as she cut the core out of the apple with a butter knife, and then emptied the tobacco out of one of the cigarettes. “Hannah, can you check online to see if there are any pop-up hospitals? I’d love to see if any of us have caught anything yet. Who’s got a light?”