An Ode to Joy in the Wilderness

"Sharing a tent with a hard-of-hearing friend, Karin Brynard writes, may end either in murder or something completely different."

- By Karin Brynar

Picture this: late night, deep in the wilderness of the Botswana swamps. My bladder is bursting, but the tent bathroom is occupied. Inside I hear water running, which doesn’t particularly help containing my waterworks.

I rap on the tent door. No reaction. Slam with an open hand, harder. Still no reaction.

“Ansie!” My tentmate has a ‘slight’ hearing problem. And she’s been inside for hours.

“Ansie! Are you in the shower?”

“What? I can’t hear you, I’m in the shower!”

“Are you going to be long?”

“Whaat?” “ARE YOU… Oh, never mind.”

I peer through the tent flap. It’s pitch-black outside. Our camp isn’t fenced and my fear of a rupturing bladder is rapidly overcoming my fear of lions. I weigh up my options.

Just then, the bathroom door flies open.

“What’s happening?” asks Ansie, buck naked and dripping, hair covered in foam and brandishing a back brush.

“Nothing. I just need...”

“Nothing! I thought there was a lion in the tent, the way you were carrying on.”

“Toilet,” I croak and shoot past her.

“You really have to speak louder,” she says, getting back in the

shower. “I have a slight problem, remember?”