My mother wrote for the Natal Witness newspaper in Pietermaritzburg under the non de plume ‘Chips’. She did this to conceal the fact that she was a woman back in the day when working women were frowned upon.
As a young mother, she was trying desperately to meet her deadline and cope with her first born daughter Vee. The 2 year old was happily pushing a cardboard box around her feet, in and out between the legs of the table where she sat, pen and paper in front of her. The child was engrossed with rattling a few blocks into the box. She loved the ‘shushing’ noise of it sliding on the red polished tiles. She crowed with delight the noisier her play became.
So when Blessing, the domestic help brought a tray of tea cups and a teapot under its knitted cosy, she was grateful for a break.
‘I’ll take the inkosazana (the Zulu word for little girl) for a little walk down the garden,’ said Blessing quietly. Silence settled in as comfortably as a soft blanket being tucked around her as the chattering child went off hand in hand with her carer.
The 'sushing' noise gradually resumed.
So absorbed was my mother in her thought processes that she didn’t question it. Her sub conscious mind said it was Vee playing with the ‘sushing box’.
The noise stopping disturbed her, why she wasn’t quite sure.
It was a movement in her peripheral vision that shouldn’t have been there, that suddenly scared her.
Her heart fluttered painfully in her chest as she remembered that Vee had stopped playing with the box at least 10 minutes before. ‘What on earth could have been imitating that noise?’ she thought as the hairs on her arms rose.
Having grown up on a farm, the cardinal rule when a dangerous animal or creature threatened one, was to ‘freeze’. So the strange movement to her right where a second white wicker work chair was pulled up to the table, made her do just that.
Pen in hand and her poured tea cooling, she swiveled only her eyes. They widened in alarm as the head of a long snake gradually and gracefully appeared above the table. She surmised correctly that the coils of the snake were on the pretty pink and green cushion of the chair.
Pixabay
Her breath came in tiny intakes of air so that her chest was barely moving. She knew the mamba very well and the fact that her body was paralyzed with fear saved her from an extremely poisonous bite.
Later she was able to laugh and describe her potentially deadly visitor as swaying over the tea tray, trying to decide which cup he would like……….’milk? sugar? Or just plain black?’
Pixabay
Having decided that this was a fruitless exercise, her unwelcome and yet fascinating visitor slowly retracted its length back onto the cushion. With her eyes still the only part of her body moving, she could sense the swirling of the coils as the very long adult snake slid stealthily back onto the veranda.
Unable to bear the idea of her feet being ‘down there’, she used the arms of her wicker chair as levers. Never before had she been so grateful for her tennis toned muscles of her arms and shoulders. As it disappeared she raised her feet slowly and painfully until they were on the seat of her chair. When she sensed the visitor was back on the veranda under the table, she leapt onto the veranda wall, down into the garden below and ran yelling like a Banshee ‘Hamilton, Woza…………….inyoka!’ (Come………snake.)
Everyone on the property sprang into action.
Hamilton the gardener swept up a large, bushy on the end, branch. He approached the veranda from the side my mother had leapt from and assuming the snake was still on the chair, brought the big branch down with all his strength. The crash shook the house to its foundations but the teacups were undisturbed. The skin on her cold tea wrinkled a little.
The branch had hit the edge of the veranda roof as it was so long saving the teacups from extinction.
All the little gathered group of staff and neighbours saw was a mighty flash of green in the flurry of twigs and leaves. Most of them said it had disappeared through an open French door into my parents’ bedroom.
Everybody was armed with a broom, a fork or a rake and they trooped one behind the other into the house, cautiously pulling out every curtain for inspection. Pillows and rugs were pulled from beds. Every nook and cranny was searched.
My father searched once more, especially Vee’s nursery.
Finally, dropping with exhaustion, they fell into bed and slept fitfully. Every time the sheet touched my mother’s cheek she would startle herself awake.
The dull dawn was so very welcome.
I know 3 people who have actually been bitten by poisonous snakes and survived to tell the tale.
In South Africa the most dangerous killer is the male mosquito that causes Malaria.
Hippos are also very dangerous especially when they have young.
Snakes actually cause very few deaths considering how wild even our domestic gardens are. Then if you are a pet owner, your purring kitty may very well drag in an almost dead snake as a gift to you, her favourite person.
Some say, ‘the only good snake is a dead snake.’
I say, ‘live and let live.’
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