Dr. Trevor Smythe-Barnette looked up as a gust of hot air burst into his tent, ushering in the inevitable barrage of sand particles, and his right-hand man, Karthick, with it. The building stress that threatened to crush the archeologist dissipated as he entered. Karthick had dug with Smythe-Barnette for several years and understood
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The resort’s lookout tower reached above the tree line, simmering under the South African sun. Dave peered through his binoculars into the distance. From this vantage point, he had a great view of the savanna grasslands and wild foliage. A quick movement caught his eye, but he was too slow, only peeking a tail.
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The market is an organ pulsing with life. Beating with the hearts of hundreds, thousands of people. Beating with the laughter of happiness and friendship. Palpitating with the cries of sorrow. The exertion of merchants as they compete to sell mounds of golden turmeric, blood red paprika and earthy cinnamon. Trinkets.
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I’ve just collapsed my blind when I realize two things.
First, the bushveld is silent.
Second, I’m being hunted.
If my hunch is correct, I’m being hunted by the same man-eating lion I’ve been stalking for the past three weeks. He must be tired of toying with me. Tired of avoiding my blind.
The whole town had one table.
Baie’s great-uncle Dwall had brought it home with him back in 1960-something after a long absence across the African continent. He’d promised to return with the town’s first car.
Many in the tiny Burundi hamlet scoffed. Dwall would not succeed. Even if he did, what good was a
Under the shade of the baobab trees, I watch. I see their wide-eyed looks of awe. I hear the gasps of wonder. Eager tourists face their guide, waiting for him to expound on the phenomena of the rainbow sand before them.
I’ve listened to him teach all day, that the dunes of Chamarel…
In northern Tanzania, almost to the border of Kenya, lies a lake shrouded in mountains and mystery. Petrified birds stand on our shores as silent witness—a warning to all who would enter.
Grass plains surround our lethal lake, a place where rivers come to die, their only escape through evaporation. With water temperatures
Once, long ago, an African king’s caravan stopped at a village for water. As its chief bowed before him, the bored king inquired what was notable about the place.
“Sire, here dwells Olayinka, the finest potter in the land.” The king yawned.
The chief gritted his teeth. He added, “She can make a jar…
I arrive in the Valley of the Kings in an air conditioned car. When I open the door, I’m blasted with Egypt’s oppressive heat. Howard’s tent is his only protection from the sweltering sun, but he steps out to welcome me to the set.
He’s a famous, multi-award-winning director, so I’m willing to…
Merit flicked his tail in frustration. His best servant—Pharaoh something or other—was dead. He knew this because when he’d arrived for his morning scratch, the human had just lain there, eyes open but unseeing. The body had also been cold. Not good for curling up next to.
Still, to be sure…
The windship settled in the clearing beyond the edge of the village. Grruha cut the engines, then sat in absolute stillness with his paws still on the controls. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the savannah from the viewports.
The village stood eerily quiet.
“Let’s see what emergency summons us!” Larru was already…
Great colleagues are worth fighting for.
My partner and I have been looking for a case to solve for weeks, and I’ve finally stumbled upon something. “Constable Yo-yo, have you seen the mummified crocodile for sale?”
“Maaah,” bleats the constable.
When initially partnered with a rove goat two months ago I asked,
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