He wears his mane with pride, eyes sharp and focussed he sits like a silhouette against the sunrise and watches everything from a distance. At a distance, the lioness is a shadow of her past pride, a once proud pride, she sits forlorn and heartbroken. The storm has been and gone, branches lie strewed across the jungle, tree trunks a history of what was once a tree and all there is, is a deafening silence. She primes her ears for that vibrating roar – a roar to awaken her feminist instinct, an instinct of love and nurturing. Memory is a sensory she cannot comprehend; did the storm that ripped them apart happen yesterday or two decades ago, she wonders into that hollow shadow inside her. The shadow that once was full of aspiration and dreams, where once there was a living soul is now echoing with an emptiness that sinks her heart into unequalled darkness. But she cannot despair even though she has no option or plan b. How can she despair, for she made a promise, a promise to herself and that promise cannot be broken? The words came from inside her, as she intensely watched that coffin lowered to rest, her mind eluded her and insanity took over, her eyes lost focus and she never heard the sound of the last shovel. She was listening to a voice, a voice inside her, the words clear and simple; to avenge for the life of that one lion in her life whose mane made her proud to call him her brother.
There is so much debris after a storm, floods bring with them some of the most fearsome reptiles and the after shock is felt for years. The floods fill the hollow shadows, form craters of their own and in them dwell some of these fearsome reptiles. It is only time that restores the post storm jungle life back to normality. Yet normality eludes the lioness as she sits alone among the debris. She must maintain a sense of calmness and remain alert and focussed to save her sanity. She has to be strong, fend for herself and look after herself. Her jaws are strong enough to rip any reptile that threatens her life, but this forest is no longer her home. As she tries to adapt her mind to her new surroundings, the longing and loneliness eats away at her inside and drains her of what ever life she has like a victim of vampire bats. But she cannot walk away from this hell hall; what if the lion is somewhere trying to find his way back; so she sits through this gruesome loneliness; there is so much at stake if she upped and left.
To get into the mind of a grieving person, you must understand grief. Some people mourn their loved ones, others grieve; there is a very fine thin line in between. It is the intensity of both that varies from person to person. This analogy is about me and my brother Mike. Yes I did make a promise 27 years ago this last July, a promise to myself, to fight for justice for my brother. For years I silently prayed on him, I begged his soul, I retraced our steps together, sang his favourite songs until I drained myself of sanity. I waited and waited, used my imagination, beseeched the spirit world, for the soul of the only one man whose soul I truly loved. There was such a strong bond between me and my brother Mike that I could never break. All those trips to Zimbabwe, a country that up until recently awoke some of the saddest emotions in me were not made out of choice. It was the refusal by the lioness in me to leave just in case the lion was also searching for me.
When they say good things come to those who wait, it does not mean sitting down and waiting. In the horizon the He lion watched the lioness as she was tempted and tried, watched her survive the reptiles and he let her fight her own battles until she was strong enough to stand on her own. Yes lions are the only cat species that forms social groups and it is also true that the lioness does most of the hunting. How could I break the bond between me and the He lion whose presence in my life completed our pride? Yes I had to hunt and kill for survival, but most important I fought for justice for my brother the lion that protected me during our childhood and I brought him back into my life. I now have a choice of which lion does what job – the He lion rarely goes on a hunt, but it surely protects its female pride. Its mane arouses the maternal nurturing instinct in the lioness!
The moral of this story is: Never abuse a lone woman. Never underestimate the power of a woman. Most important, never come in between the lioness and her lion! Not only have I got my brother’s soul in my life, I have now got the best of both worlds. THANK YOU LIONHEART – THANK YOU OTIS!