Postcards from Africa - The Crossing

We are determined, ready to sit it out, despite our drivers desire to move onto something more exciting. The numbers well, as the silly gnus trail each other, shuffling towards the banks of the river. As far as you can range your eyes, nervously pacing wildebeest under a halo of dust. The sheer volume makes you shake your head in wonder. They edge closer, as do you, quite unaware, before pressing back, but there are too many, and the newcomers move the shifting mass closer to the edge. A few braver ones venture down a trail, but the croc makes a false move and scares them off. Our driver informs us huffily that the gnus are silly and have been known to move forward and shy away half a dozen times a day before going home on the wrong side of the bank. Did I mention we are determined? Another couple of titillating advances, and suddenly, there's a couple of them in the water. As your breath catches wondering if the rest will follow, the numbers swell and suddenly there's a train of wildebeest ploughing through the water, churning it as more and more leap in frantically, full on "chapaaaang!" like they were being chased by all the lions of the Mara. The other slope starts getting slick as more and more clamber up the bank and your heart stops in its mouth as one of the gnus falter and flail before dropping to its knees... you can almost hear the humans on the bank will it to get up and take those few steps and the collective sigh of jubilation when he finally does. Your heart a jackhammer, caught up in the urgency of the crossing as the waters froth and a croc disappears, watching the army plough its way thought. Gradually, the trail thins and the last few cross over, and in a rush our breaths leave our bodies as we collapse back in the jeep, utterly spent, unable to speak or move. The consensus - more exhilarating than sex and we debate a suitable technique that might make our males have the same impact on us. P.S. - clearly, stupidity survives in greater numbers.