Harare, Zimbabwe

Leaving the safari camp in the Dande hunting concession in mid-morning, it had been nearly a seven hour drive to Harare for David Collins. He was scheduled to pick up a client who was arriving the next morning at the airport. The offices of Dande Safaris, his employer, had the documents that he would need to get his client’s rifles through airport customs. David was to be his professional hunter for the next two weeks and since there were no other clients in camp at this time; he had volunteered to pick him up. Coming in before the offices were closed for the day, meant that Sharon Catherwood should still be there and they might be able to make arrangements for the evening. Sharon and David had been enjoying an intermittent affair for the last year that was threatening to become serious.

It was the last week of July of 2001, with the African winter and hunting season half over. It had been almost a year since Robert Mugabe, the president of Zimbabwe, had begun his program of appropriating the white owned farms and awarding them to his Zanu-PU supporters. The violence accompanying many of these farm appropriations had received a lot of attention in the worldwide press. The effects of the publicity covering the farm takeovers and the killings of some of the farmers on the tourism businesses in Zimbabwe had been dramatic. Dande Safari’s bookings for the season had dropped nearly fifty percent and very few hunters were booked in advance for next year. David was 30 years old and had been in the safari business in Zimbabwe for nearly 12 years. The outlook for David making it to retirement in Zimbabwe wasn’t encouraging.

His father had been a successful professional hunter in Kenya until that country was taken over in 1969 by Jomo Kenyatta and his Marxist KANU party which had then closed down all hunting in the country. His father had left Kenya with his mother virtually penniless and had taken a position with a small safari organization in Rhodesia, as Zimbabwe was then called. When he was about to be born, his mother had followed the common practice among colonials at the time and had gone to England for the birth. David’s birth in England with colonial parentage allowed him to claim British citizenship in addition to Zimbabwe citizenship.

David was their only child. When he was eight years old, his father was killed in a hunting accident. A client of his father’s had wounded a Cape buffalo when he rushed his shot and hit the bull too far back. In such circumstances, it is the professional hunter’s responsibility to finish the animal before some is killed by it. The bull went into some thick brush and then circled back to wait on his own back trail. His father and his tracker were following the bull’s trail and were along side it and way too close when it started its charge. The two shots from his father’s double barrel 470 NE eventually killed the bull but not soon enough.  What remained of his father’s body after the buffalo had worked him over before it died had to be buried in a closed casket.

In the years following his father’s death, David and his mother remained in the country as Rhodesia went through losing its own guerrilla wars and was renamed Zimbabwe. He was still in grade school when the white run government lead by Ian Smith was forced out under international pressure and Mugabe’s Zanu party took over. Without his father’s income, they never had much money and, over time, his mother had to sell all of his father’s vehicles and rifles just to keep them going. She didn’t have enough money to afford sending David to college and, after graduating from high school; he went to work with a safari outfitter as an apprentice professional hunter. Three years after starting work, his mother died of long-term complications from a case of malaria that she had contracted years earlier in Kenya.

The offices were still open when David arrived and he was greeted with a big smile by Sharon. “I heard that you were coming in”, she said. “So I picked up a couple of steaks and a bottle of wine. I was hoping you could come over and help me grill the steaks.”

 “I would love to”, David responded and gave her a brief kiss. A petit brunet, Sharon’s wispy good looks evidenced her upper crust English ancestors. She was the fourth generation of her family to reside in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. Her ancestors had come over from England in the late 19^th century, hoping to rebuild a family fortune that had been largely been lost in some ill advised European business ventures. Her parent’s – the Catherwood’s – owned a 15,000 hectare farm near Gweru, about halfway between Harare and Bulawayo.

After graduating from Rhodes University in South Africa, she had taken a position as administrative manager with Dande Safaris. David and Sharon had found each other mutually attractive and often got together during his visits to Harare. Their relationship hadn’t become sufficiently serious for David to give up his own apartment in Harare and they both occasionally went out with others.

They went over the client’s files and rifle permits and everything seemed to be in order. He had booked for a 14 day safari plus two travel days. The information in his files showed that he was a United States citizen and that this was his fourth hunting trip to Africa. He was primarily after Cape buffalo, leopard and crocodile. With its hunt bookings down, Dande had plenty of permits remaining for these species and with 14 days available; David felt that they should be able to take one or more additional species that might interest the client. It promised to be a good hunt and, with a bit of luck, he could earn a sizeable tip and get the company its trophy fees for four or five animals.

Packing the files into his briefcase, David told Sharon that he was going to his apartment to clean up and that he would come over to her apartment in about an hour. They both lived in the same apartment complex that was located a couple minutes away from the office. David drove over to the complex and, after showing his pass to the gate guard, was admitted.

Parking his four wheel drive Toyota bakkie next to his apartment, he removed the loaded 44 magnum Ruger Blackhawk from the glove box and slipped it into the canvas holster that was sewn inside of his bush jacket. He had started carrying a hand gun whenever traveling in the country a couple years earlier after a friend was killed by a group of blacks who had blocked the road and hijacked his vehicle. He hadn’t been armed and was an easy target. David had chosen to carry the single action Ruger because a revolver was a lot easier to get a permit for than a pistol, particularly any which chambered a military cartridge. At times, it had also served as a back-up firearm when hunting. Loaded with 300 grain hard cast bullets, it could punch through the skull of a lion.

David hadn’t been back to his apartment in over a month but it looked like the woman that he paid to clean it weekly had been doing her job. If she hadn’t been cleaning it, there would have been a layer of dust over everything. Even more important, it didn’t look like anyone else had been into the apartment. David would usually leave a few items arranged in a particular manner so that anybody searching through the apartment was likely to leave traces of the search. Although there are those who might say that carrying a hand gun and marking an apartment against an intruder could be evidence of paranoia, there were few white residents of Zimbabwe who would feel that way.

After a shower and changing into starched kakis, David poured a scotch and water over ice and sorted through the mail that had accumulated. There wasn’t anything exciting, mostly advertisements and bills. Booting up the lap top computer – a tip from a previous client – and signing onto the internet, he read through his e-mail. Deleting the usual collection of junk, he responded to the messages from a few friends and previous clients. None of his previous clients indicated that they were planning to come back to Zimbabwe any time soon and most of his old friends were no longer resident in Zimbabwe.

Taking an opened bottle of scotch, he walked over the next building where Sharon had her apartment. Sharon wasn’t much of a drinker and, although she had said that she’d bought a bottle of wine, she hadn’t said anything about buying any scotch. If they were going to make a night of it, he was going to want the scotch.

Sharon answered his knock on her door and let him in, smiling when she saw the scotch. Her apartment was on the first floor and had a little patio facing into an interior courtyard. She had already started the brie out on her patio and set the table for dinner. Instead of the business attire she had been wearing in the office, she was wearing white shorts and halter-top that contrasted nicely with her tanned skin. Her outfit served very well to remind David of what he had been missing for the last month in the bush. He had no doubt but that that was her intention.

They talked about the events of the past month while David grilled the steaks and Sharon prepared the rest of the meal. Sharon told him that her parents were selling their farm animals and were trying to sell as much of their farm equipment as they could prior to abandoning their farm. They had seen the inevitability of what was occurring and held out no hope for being able to hang onto their farm much longer. They planned to get whatever they could for the animals and equipment and then move to South Africa. Although Sharon was quite upset over their having to give up the farm that had been in the family for four generations, she recognized that it was their only alternative. At least, they would be able to get out alive with some money. The gangs taking over the farms had killed quite a number of farmers.

Sharon’s view of the outlook for the safari business that employed them both was much the same as David’s. She mentioned that the two PH apprentices were let go early in June and that a full-time PH had just been sent his termination notice effective the end of the month. Although James, the owner, hadn’t said anything specifically, she believed that he was preparing to either sell the business or to close it down after the end of this year’s hunting season.

Dinner was a somewhat somber affair as they discussed the developments that they faced. Both were seriously considering leaving Zimbabwe.

Sharon stacked the dishes while David made a scotch and water for himself. He only had time for a couple sips when Sharon said, “The dishes can wait but I can’t”, and taking his hand led him into her bedroom. It didn’t take her long to remove her halter and shorts and she wasn’t wearing anything under them. Her nipples were firmed in anticipation. His clothes followed hers to the floor and they met in the bed.

She drew David into her and their first lovemaking might be best described as furious. They had been apart too long and he exploded into her shortly after penetration. Laying back and lighting a cigarette, he began to catch his breath. Brushing her hand over his groin, she kissed him and said, “Let’s see if we can do that again but with a little more finesse.”

They showered together, soaping and enjoying each other’s bodies under the spray. It wasn’t long before he was ready and carried her back to the bed. This time, he was able to bring her to full arousal before penetration and they climaxed together.

David stayed the night with Sharon, waking to her alarm clock in the morning. She had to go to the office and he had a client to pick up. After a light breakfast, she wished him luck, gave him a deep kiss and left for work. He went back to his apartment to pick up his briefcase and then drove to the airport. At the airport, he parked his bakkie in the lot and leaving the Ruger in the glove box, locked it up. It isn’t a good idea to carry a firearm into any airport, even in Zimbabwe.

The Harare international airport terminal was only about five years old and was probably four times as big as realistically needed. Most of it is empty space and the few terminal shops still in business have little to offer. It was built in the mid-90s at a cost of nearly $100 million. The cost of the airport had included at least $10 million in bribes and payoffs to Mugabe, his relatives and his Zanu-PF cohorts. Its construction had probably been driven more by the opportunity to create a source of bribes for Mugabe’s cronies than by any real need.

The client’s name was Craig Mayer and he was from the Chicago area in the United States. His documents indicated that he was a Caucasian; 56 years old, five feet ten inches tall, weighed 180 lbs and had brown hair and eyes. His plane was scheduled to arrive from Johannesburg at 9:30 AM and it was on time. David wrote his name on a large piece of cardboard with a felt tip and held it up as the international passengers entered the luggage pickup area. Craig saw the sign and headed towards him. David could easily have picked him out even if he hadn’t seen the sign, as he was the only person close to the description wearing safari clothing on the flight.

“Mr. Mayer, I’m David Collins from Dande Safaris and I will be your PH for this trip”; David said, introducing himself.

Shaking his hand, Craig replied, “Pleased to meet you David, please call me Craig.”

“Craig, I’ll help you pick up your luggage, register your firearms, get you through customs, get your hunting permits and then we’ll drive to the safari camp”, David responded. “Is there anything that you would like to pick up in Harare before we head out to camp”, he queried.