THE ADVENT OF THE CAMEL IN AFRICAN SUBURBIA

Ever since we’ve moved into this house; which is apparently in a residential area even though its half jungle, we’ve been surrounded by all sorts of animals, mostly of the normal domestic variety such as the goats that wander around eating off most of the lawn outside the walled garden, to the cats that try to get into the kitchen from atop the walls thereby getting themselves electrocuted, to the strange mongrel breeds of dogs that sometimes see fit to keep our security man on the alert.

To a family that has never seen the use of pets of the animal sort in the house, apart from a rat-catcher in the early nineties, which was thrown out for having kittens and eating them; the concept of being an animal magnet is a strange one. When one observes the types of fauna to be found in the vicinity of man, one is almost certain to discount the presence of camels and monkeys. And yet, these are the very animals that seem to have found a home in us.

When we first moved to the new house, it was with some strange feelings of loss. The town house was given up in a hurry; and the move made to pastures greener, or rather, quieter; for the religious inclination of some chaps in the neighborhood led to the Rock Concert from Hell that never quite got over. It was with feelings of glee, however, that the garden was landscaped, and the green thumbs of the gardener given leeway to construct a marvel that would be the envy of all, neighbors and friends.

Outside the walls, smooth, green turf was laid, and cactus plants elaborated the name of my family. These took a period of three months to grow, and a very peaceful three months they were too.

Then one day, four camels walked by, and seeing the cactus plants, thought it was manna from heaven. Chewing contentedly, they managed to finish off almost everything before the gardener managed to chase them away. Late evening, my uncle the budding gardener, got home from work and got a shock. Where were the plants that were his pride and joy? For a moment, he thought he’d taken the wrong turn, and backed up. No, he was on the right path. Coming in, he called for the gardener.

What happened? He asked. After a lot of wishy-washing, the gardener said that the giraffes ate the plants. Come again? Did you say giraffes? Yes, Sir. They were big, they came, and couldn’t be shooed away. ‘You’re sure they were giraffes?’ asked my utterly mystified uncle. Of course! He said. ‘Well, that’s not possible!’ But the gardener insisted, never having seen a camel in his life. So he asked, ‘Explain what they looked like.’ ‘Well. They were brown, huge, with long necks and sleepy eyes.’ ‘Camels?’ ‘Yes Yes, it was camels.’ My uncle was miserable. It doesn’t help that he’s never been able to plant cactus again without the camels getting a sniff of it.

This incident managed to give the camels’ carte blanche to the area. Long after that incident, the camels still make a tour of the area around the house, lazily munching on everything in sight, and sometimes sleeping outside the gates in the nights. Just last week, as we were in the car on my way home, we saw the camels on a running rampage, a majestic sight, were it not on-course of the car. Of course, they veered off at the end moment, leaving our little hearts still erratic. Be as it is, the camels manage to induce a bit of excitement to an area that is the norm of the African version of Suburbia.