Head Count

A fictional travelogue; four minutes to read.

The one good thing—the only good thing—about the Johannesburg, South Africa, airport is that a family head count is required. Like muster in the army. Four passports, four people. All present and accounted for.

My wife and two children—both in elementary school—are queued up for the South African Airways flight to Victoria Falls. It is the largest sheet of falling water in the world—5,604 feet wide and 354 feet high. In both dimensions, twice that of Niagara Falls. In the Bantu language, "The Smoke That Thunders."

A hotel guide/driver in REI safari clothes is waiting for us when we land, ready to check our names against his client list. Another head count.

On the way to the Victoria Falls Safari Lodge our jeep stops to let a baboon troop lope across the dusty, rutted, bumpy, butt-busting road. The baby baboons, curious and naughty, are behaving like my children on a typical day. The adults are busy nipping, nagging, directing their offspring—a universal parenting skill.

At the lodge, our bedroom overlooks a watering hole and salt lick. Elephants, Cape buffalo, giraffes, antelope, warthogs are the town folk on a Western movie set milling about the saloon until a troublesome gang of lions hungry for a drink and a meal prowl into town.

On our balcony, vervet monkeys perch and prance watching and waiting for an unlocked door or window. They are comedians and thieves. Pickpockets. Con artists. Given a chance, they will trash our room, steal our clothes and leave caca souvenirs.

The majestic Zambezi River divides Zambia and Zimbabwe. Hippopotami and crocodile in abundance swim in its waters. Herons, African fish eagles and other raptors glide over the shoreline reeds. The fragrance is organic and like no other that has entered our noses.

To get a closer look, we book a sunset cruise. My wife and I swoon over the swirling reds, oranges, pinks and flame yellow of the setting sun. My kids, scanning the water, subconsciously keep their hands well inside the boat.

The next morning over breakfast, I tell my kids that a waterfall requires teamwork. Zillions of individual droplets doing their part. They answer me by not answering me.

At the Falls, I see Ben and Britany, hand-in-hand, drawing courage from each other, crawling on hands and knees, heads bobbing forward like turtles, with an unmistakable intent to peer over the edge of the waterfall. No safety codes for a UNESCO World Heritage Site. No OSHA-mandated railings.

The parental instinct to protect my children screams into action. Mothers are famous for it, but I have it, too. So do grandmothers.

My kids’ grandmother is their ever-ready babysitter, story time reader, snack vending machine, consoler-in-chief and pit-bull attorney. I am certain that if even one of my children doesn’t return home in one piece, she will, without remorse, execute me on her front porch. At best.

Grandmother notwithstanding, four passports and three people raises other problems. Can I get a refund on a child’s air ticket? Will a bedroom convert to a TV lounge? What is the resale market for never-used sports equipment?

Time for another head count.

Click here for more short stories set in South Africa.