THE WITNESS (Pietermaritzburg, South Africa) 27 June 05 A feeling of déjà vu (Jeff Huntly)
From time to time my father, Norman Huntly, would relate a story to his family. This one is the best of those we managed to extract from him, he being a reluctant teller of tales, especially involving himself.
It involved a black-maned lion and a crocodile. He was hunting elephant along the Mazhowe River in that part of the then Rhodesia where it enters Mozambique and finally joins the Zambesi.
"Fine country, very wild and pretty well devoid of people except for an occasional hunting party. There were Black Rhino. Plenty of snakes. One day I walked along the bank of the Mazhowe and I heard a lion suddenly start up roaring. A terrific din. Close. I ran along the bank to get a look at the commotion which came from the opposite bank.
"There were lots of dry trees on my side of the bank and they partially spoilt my view. But I quickly shifted my position and just had time to see a big lion with a black mane being pulled steadily towards the water by a croc. I felt sick at the sight as the lion roared and tried to bite the croc's head. But his huge paws could get no grip on the bank because it was slippery and the reptile just went on pulling.
"I tried to get in a shot at the croc but those damned branches and reeds spoilt my aim and, in any case, it all happened so quickly and I was puffed. I nearly slipped myself. The lion went under with a bubbling roar. Old Kamela was with me and saw what happened. We talked about it for days afterwards."
Kamela was a Kori-Kori tribesman, guide and partner of years of bush experiences. The two men sat on the bank, lit cigarettes as they always did after crossing one of life's experiences and talked about crocs. They loathed the creatures with a passion. They talked about the gigantic strength of the big cats. "It was that slippery mud!" said Kamela, inhaling a soothing cloud of smoke, "if the bank was sand instead of mud, he would have pulled the croc right out of the water. But he would have died, I think, the croc's jaws could have broken his front leg."
My father's camp was not too far distant and he and Kamela went back to fetch the large camera. The year was about 1925 and the camera had big format negatives. He took a photo of the exact place where the croc had taken the lion. You thought carefully before you made a photograph in those days. I have the sepia print before me now, in 2005, and it still looks good enough to create a painting from. I had it photostatted and asked for a sepia print enlarged to an A3 size. Seconds later my father's 1925 sepia print no bigger than a postcard was transformed into a size I could work from into a painting.
Now for the deja vu part of all this writing of history and natural history. In 1973 I was standing on the bank of the Mazhowe River and had a strange feeling of having seen this very scene before. "Of course!" I said aloud to myself "It's Dad's sepia photo!" The feeling of deja vu is temporary and I began to lose it when I realised what I was experiencing. But it was magic while it lasted. The rocks and the baobabs were there with - give or take - some changes to the trees in the foreground.
Because it was at the end of the dry season most of the trees were bare of leaves and many were dead from veld fires and so they were white like skeletons. The old sepia print showed these features and the scene before me in 1973 did as well. Deja vu! I thought I could safely paint in the "old swine of a croc" on the opposite bank in all truth and perhaps my father would smile his approval if he was still with us looking over my shoulder! How far can you push deja vu? As far as the truth will take it, my dad would insist.
And was there a new moon just, only just, visible, when my father had stood on that bank? "Rats!" he would have said, "how would I know? I was watching a croc take a lion."
Hamerkops in 1925 look like Hamerkops in 2005 and in 1973 I saw them on the Mazhowe. I deliberately put in the croc so that it is hard to find in the painting. Typical. You can step on one before you see it.
A feeling of déjà vu