Buns of Steel…and a Leopard

Things They Don’t Put in the Brochure – Tales from 19 Years at Rhino

After 19 years at Rhino Walking Safaris, I think it is safe to say that I am now part and parcel of the place. They can’t get rid of me. I am a leadwood tree, heavy, and my roots run deep!

I did not, however, arrive at Rhino Post Safari Lodge as the General Manager. Many moons ago — and we are not going to discuss exactly how many moons — I started out as a safari guide.

Eventually, I was promoted into a position we called Lodge Anchor.

“Lodge Anchor” sounds terribly important. What it actually meant was: Marli can do everything.

Receptionist off? Marli.

Guide off? Marli.

Manager off? Marli.

Something going wrong somewhere? Find Marli.

There was, however, one significant perk to my new position.

Food.

So. Much. Food.

When I was guiding, I was out on game drives and busy with guests. But suddenly, as Lodge Anchor, I was around the lodge a lot more. Which meant leftover brunch. Leftover high tea. A little something from the kitchen. Perhaps some high tea to take home. Waste not, want not, after all.

Unfortunately, my waist took the “want not” part rather seriously.

And it wasn’t just me. Apparently life at a safari lodge was beginning to show on a few of us, because our director very kindly brought some exercise equipment down from Johannesburg.

There were weights. Benches. A rowing machine.

And then I saw it. The treadmill. Mine.

At the time I lived in staff accommodation right on the boundary fence, overlooking the bush. I had the absolute prime piece of staff-village real estate. If Rhino Post were a Monopoly board, I was living on the expensive property with the hotel on it.

Best of all, it was private. Nobody could see me exercise. Perfect.

So every afternoon I would climb onto my treadmill on the little veranda, plug in my iPod — yes, an iPod; please respect my privacy during this difficult admission — put in my earphones and get to work.

One of my favourite workout songs was Britney Spears. You know the one. “It’s Britney, b***.”*

We’ll beep that out for the newsletter.

There I would be, power-walking away, eyes closed, Britney at full volume, completely lost in my own world. And in my head I had a mantra:

Buns of steel. Step, step, step. Buns of steel. Come on, Marli. Buns. Of. Steel.

In my imagination, this treadmill and Britney Spears were going to transform me into some magnificent specimen. Reality had other plans.

I had probably been walking for about five minutes when I suddenly got that feeling.

You know the one.

That strange little prickling sensation that tells you… Something is watching me.

I opened my eyes And approximately five metres away from me was a leopard.

Inside the fence.

Now, he was a young leopard that we knew well. He had grown up around the area and occasionally appeared in places around the lodge where leopards really had no business appearing.

But let me be very clear: he was still a completely wild leopard.

And somewhere out there was also his mother.

He was crouched down, head low, tail moving, looking extremely interested in this strange creature marching furiously on a machine while going absolutely nowhere.

I stopped. He stared. I stared.

Britney continued. So much for buns of steel.

At that particular moment, I would have happily settled for buns that simply made it back inside my house.

There was only one thing to do.

“SHAAAAZ!”

My friend Sharon lived next door. “SHAAAAZ! I NEED YOUR HELP!”

From inside her room I heard:

“WHAT? WHAT’S WRONG?”

“THE LEOPARD! THE LEOPARD IS HERE! HE’S OUTSIDE MY HOUSE!”

Then there was chaos. Banging. Things falling over. Frantic movement.

Thank goodness, I thought. My friend is coming to save me. Sharon burst out of her room…

with her camera.

Not a weapon. Not something to make a noise with. Not even a broom. A CAMERA.

Because apparently when your friend is trapped on a treadmill five metres from a leopard, the correct order of events is:

1.  Get the photograph

2. Then consider whether Marli needs saving

Fortunately, all Sharon’s charging around trying to get the perfect shot startled our young leopard, and he disappeared off into the bush.

I survived. Britney survived.

And I learned two extremely valuable lessons that afternoon.

Firstly, never exercise with your eyes closed when you live in the African bush.

And secondly, if you are ever in mortal danger at Rhino Post, choose your rescuer carefully.

Because some of your friends will save your life. Others will make sure they get the photo first.

And as for the buns of steel?

Nineteen years later, I’m still working on them.

— Marli