Footsteps of Mafunyane and His In Trouble With The Poachers
The longer one stayed alone, the longer one could reminisce. From time to time Mayafudi did some soul searching on the values taught him by Ukuthula. Then he weighed up her insights against his own life-experiences. Sometimes they were in harmony. At other times he became rather sceptical about her idealism, especially about the motives and attitudes of man.
His grandfather Mafunyane figured prominently in his thoughts. To him it became an obsession to follow literally in the steps of the great Mafunyane. But where would these steps be? It required detective ability to find that distant piece of earth.
Mafunyane? Who was he? To many of the younger generation which Mayafudi approached, the name of his famous ancestor meant nothing. Tusks dragging in the ground? Yes, they knew something - but only vaguely. “You would have to enquire in circles higher up in the Park.” They pointed their tusks northward.
That was exactly what Mayafudi did. “Thank you, Nhlanguleni, you were good to me and I enjoyed staying with you. But I must go on searching for my roots,” he greeted one morning just after sunrise. His one-man expedition into the past had begun.
Mayafudi steered directly north as far as the Ngwenyeni Dam with its multitude of waterbuck, then right via Nkaya Pan “where the leopards drink”, to the rest camp Satara, the second largest in the game park. Other elephants sang the praises of the N’wanetsi River to such an extent that he decided to stay a bit longer.
It was a good decision. In the vicinity of the S100 the so-called N’wanetsi River road along the bank of the N’wanetsi River, fig trees grew profusely. The area was inhabited by many elephant, buffalo, giraffe and other game. There were also a few lion prides and a handful of leopards. The bush atmosphere was tingling, but more importantly, one of the loners who chose this place as his home was a wrinkled elephant grandpa with a long memory. His name was Shawu, named after another member of the Great Seven.
Shawu knew about famous ivory carriers such as Kambaku, Phelwana and, last but not least, Mafunyane. He also knew a bag full of stories, inter alia, the one which Moholoholo so often told about the big fright Mafunyane’s darting gave the park officials.
Shawu and Mayafudi positioned their trunks on each other’s shoulders for a long conversation. For hours they could cosset themselves in the pleasant elephant folklore. The grandpa could also indicate direction. “Keep directly north, past the rest camps Olifants and Letaba. At Shingwedzi you swing to the left. Walk in a north-westerly direction, all along the Bububu River. That was Mafunyane’s domain.”
Excitement took hold of Mayafudi
At last he was on the right track. The thought that a journey of over 200 kilometres lay ahead of him – thirty days and thirty nights, according to grandpa Shawu - did not deter him. Indeed it only made him more determined to tackle his task.
The time had arrived for “Goodbye N’wanetsi”. With the H1-4 as his compass he kept walking and walking. Day and night until his feet were excruciatingly painful. Near Balule on the Olifants River, not far from Olifants Camp, he first outspanned and rested a few days. Then, on local advice, he took the river road to the rest camp Letaba, the S44.
Near the southern bank of the enormous Engelhard dam, fate took charge. Mayafudi suddenly noticed a dilapidated truck. It stood across the road. He was curious and approached slowly. The next moment a bullet flew past his head. It was an ambush. He had fallen into the trap.
For a blood-curdling fraction of a second, the vision of he heavily wounded Ukuthula flashed across his memory. Would he have the same fate? There was no hope of escape. All that Mayafudi could do was to lower his head and attack. Like an arrow, at full speed, he rushed…