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That makes my attention snap back. ‘A noise?’
‘Yes. Do not come out of your tent alone. Do not walk on the plains alone. Stay in the short grass, never the long grass.’
‘What happens in the long grass?’
‘That is where the lions sleep.’
‘Lions?’
‘Yes.’
My mouth has gone dry and I gulp gratefully at the glass of pineapple juice that has been brought for me.
‘The minute you call me, I will come to you.’ Dominic sits back in his chair. ‘Now. Tell me your sound.’
‘My sound?’
‘All Maasai have a sound. When we call it, our loved ones will know us wherever we are. If we are lost, if we need help, we make the sound.’ He looks to see if I understand, but clearly sees a blank and, perhaps, even vaguely terrified expression. ‘This is my sound.’ He makes a high-pitched call that ends with a click. ‘Now you will know me wherever I am.’
He looks at me expectantly, waiting for my sound, and I suddenly feel ridiculously tongue-tied and British. A sound. It can’t be that difficult to think of a sound.
Eventually, I dig deep in my brain and then I whistle a passable impression of the Counter Terrorism Unit telephone ringtone from the series 24. If Dominic doesn’t come running to my aid then perhaps Jack Bauer will although at the moment, I’m thinking that Jack Bauer would be a pretty poor substitute for a Maasai warrior.
Dominic studies me seriously. ‘That is a good sound,’ he says. ‘Now I will always know you.’
‘It’s from a television show,’ I explain pointlessly. ‘A very good show.’
He nods to indicate that he understands. Though I think perhaps that he doesn’t.
‘There are animals all around the camp,’ Dominic goes on, now that he has my sound marked. ‘Lions, hippos, hyenas, warthogs. They are very dangerous, Mrs Janie Johnson. We must get very close to them so that you can take lovely photographs, but not close enough to let them eat you.’
‘That would be good,’ I agree breathlessly, even though I haven’t been running.
Then Dominic throws back his head and laughs out loud and it’s a wonderful, uninhibited sound. ‘You should not worry so much, Mrs Johnson.’
He can laugh. As a Maasai warrior he’s probably used to lions on the loose. As a hairdresser from the Home Counties, I’m not. The only wild animal I’m used to is Archibald the Aggressive. When I booked to stay in a tented lodge, albeit a luxury one, I didn’t really think through the fact that there would be animals – wild ones! – running around just outside my door. Or that I wouldn’t actually have a door. Or walls. Just fabric. Thin fabric. Between me and lions and hippos and hyenas and warthogs.
Then Dominic stops laughing and is serious again. ‘Do not make a frown. I will protect you.’
‘Thank you,’ I breathe.
And that doesn’t even begin to encompass just how very, very grateful I am to have my own Maasai warrior to guard me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As the sun is starting to settle, we all go back to the van and head out for a short game drive while dinner is prepared. The other driver has disappeared into the working part of the camp and now Dominic takes over as our guide. I notice that even the men in the party gape in awe at this proud warrior.
‘Sit here, Mrs Janie Johnson,’ Dominic instructs, patting the seat next to him. Doing as I’m told, I slip into the front alongside him while the others pile into the back of the bus.
‘Are you happy?’ he asks us all with a broad grin. ‘Because if you are happy, then I am happy.’
We assure him that we’ve never been more happy – and I, for one, mean it. Then we set off with purpose, the bus bumping over the unforgiving ground. Our first foray out on the plains with the intent of seeing the local wildlife has begun in earnest.
The roof of the bus has been lifted so we have an excellent viewing area. It’s still hot too, so the faint breeze it provides is very welcome. Dominic steers the bus expertly through the ruts and furrows as we cover the hard-baked uncompromising African land.
‘All this,’ a sweep of Dominic’s arm takes in the landscape, ‘should be covered in grass as tall as wheat.’
There’s nothing but dust and scrub.
‘We are very much needing the rain,’ he says, a worried frown on his handsome face.
I think that we could send him some spare from England. It seems so unfair that we complain bitterly about having too much rain when the Maasai Mara is so very desperate for it.
‘It is called a game drive,’ Dominic tells us, ‘because it is a game. Our game is to find the animals. Their game is to hide from us.’ Then he gives us one of his hearty laughs.
