Three Dead Horses


We were woken by the voice of our night guard, he said that there were horses on the main road. Pat groggily ran down the stairs to face his worst nightmare. Fencing wire had been stolen from the paddock and horses had got out and had disappeared in the direction of the main road. Unfortunately it had happened in the early hours of the morning and by the time Patrick got to the road he was faced with the carnage of three horses run over by a lorry. Our English volunteers had gone with him I could not face it. I was later telephoned and gently told it was my beloved Grey, a most noble horse who had survived war vets, relocation and two serious illnesses but some how he had always pulled through. A gentle and kind horse with exquisite manners who had belonged to Charl Geldenhuys who now lives in New Zealand. The English volunteers were understandably traumatized and were not used to the large crowds that always gather at road accidents. Fortunately for us the truck sped on and nobody else was involved. The crowd gathered closer and took an avid interest in what we would be doing with the carcasses. We managed to load the horses onto a truck and buried them in a quiet spot near some gum trees. You can imagine how shocked we were to find the carcasses had been dug up during the night and the meat collected and obviously taken to the market. Savage Africa and hard to explain to two English Girls who come from nice places like Gloucestershire, that the locals do not understand our empathy with animals. As I sobbed with my head in my hands and Pat sat stony faced next to me, the labour just had no concept that we should be so attached to these animals and our horror at them being eaten.


A few hours later we received a call to tell us that a horse had been seen near Chicamba Dam. Pat and I rushed off in the Landrover and headed for Chicamba. Travelling along a dusty road we were pointed in the direction of the chief's house. On arrival we found Amaretto attached to long rope behind an anthill. A crowd of villagers stood around her. Pat ambled off to find the chief while I inspected her, she was loving the attention and seemed to be in good health. I put my arm around her and gave her a cuddle. After an hour the crowd became restless, I went to look for Pat, he was seated with the chief and a lengthy discussion was taking place. Just as I thought we could take her home the chief told us we would have to get permission from the Commandant and that would mean a trip to Manica. We loaded the chief into the landrover and left Amaretto with a bucket of food and a groom, bought the chief a coke and headed to Manica. The Commandant was very gracious and after scrutinizing Pat's passport carefully he gave the go ahead for Amaretto to go home. We bought the Chief another coke because everything was going so well at the nearest kiosk but they had no change, so we had to buy eight. Then we could not take them with us as we didn't have bottles to exchange. So the chief drank three rather enthusiastically and Pat drank two, I drank one and two were poured in plastic containers.

Back at the village the Chief gave instructions that Amaretto was free to go. The villagers waved enthusiastically and she gave them a toss of her mane in disdain. I handed the chief a substantial amount of money as requested quietly by the Commandant. Then in a fit of good will I gave him an apple, which he ate on the spot in rather a strange fashion, he nibbled off the skin which he threw on the ground and made little indentations in the flesh like a rodent. A peculiar way to eat an apple but he seemed to be enjoying it. We wearily clambered back in the landrover and headed off back to Chimoio three horses down but one safe and sound. Another day in Mozambleak.

Amanda,
Casa Bella,
Mozambique