#peter allison

Some years before, in Botswana, I had asked an old member of the San (or Bushman) tribe to pass one some of his tracking knowledge, and he had taken me for a walk into the bush. He'd caught me taking particular note of a tree as we approached it, and chuckled derisively. 'You white people, he said, 'are so stupid,' and he laughed harder. 'Yeah, I know,' I replied, 'but just out of curiosity, this time, why?' 'White people!' he said, laughing harder. 'Yep, stupid, I know...' 'You were looking at the tree so you could find your way back, weren't you?' 'Ye-es,' I hesitantly admitted, wondering how this could be a bad thing. We had been walking while he laughed at me, and now with his small frame he showed surprising strength in pivoting me on the spot with his hands. 'Look! Behind! You!' he shouted each word, as if he was not only telling me, but my whole race. 'That's what it will look like when you need to find your way home!'

Buggershitpisswee.

This [German] couple had sat through the course [about sharks] with stoic intensity, absorbing the fascinating information with no visible pleasure, showing emotion only by registering contempt for the class clown and his jokes. Which was me. Their obvious disdain didn't particularly bother me as I found it hard to respect people who took themselves so seriously yet had grown incongruously flippant dreadlocks. The dark lank strands of their hair contrasted with their pale and unhealthy complexions, as if dead rats were hanging from tubes of yoghurt.

Now I was sitting on an inflated tube from a tractor tyre, which was roughly lashed to another of its kind; around and below me were who knew how many crocodiles. The current was picking up and my underpants were waterlogged and chafing mightily. I contemplated airing my sudden concern that we were being indescribably stupid to raft a flooded, swollen river that carried the carcasses of animals that had drowned and yet were far better suited to this environment than we were. Then looking at m four macho co-rafters I decided against it. They were all bigger than me and might just toss me to the crocs if I started whining.

Never in my life, even with crocodiles, have I seen an animal that looked more like its Entire Purpose on Earth was to eat me.

Just so you know,’ I explained, remembering my own earlier arrogance, ‘if you’ve ever owned a cat and therefore think you know how to handle a puma, you don’t. It would be like playing with sharks because you once owned a goldfish.

She asked another question: "What does it matter if the rhinos die out? Is it really important that they are saved?" This would normally have riled me... but I had come to think of her as Dr. Spock from Star Trek - an emotionless, purely logical creature, at least with regards to her feelings for animals. Like Spock, though, I knew there were one or two things that stirred her, so I gave an honest reply. "... to be honest, it doesn't matter. No economy will suffer, nobody will go hungry, no diseases will be spawned. Yet there will never be a way to place a value on what we have lost. Future children will see rhinos only in books and wonder how we let them go so easily. It would be like lighting a fire in the Louvre and watching the Mona Lisa burn. Most people would think 'What a pity' and leave it at that while only a few wept"