Monday, July 15, 2013

Whatever Happened to my Giraffe Skin trousers?

An old friend recently had his 50th and all his mates got together to write something up, put together some pictures etc together that was made into a book. This was my contribution.

When I was a little girl I had a friend called Jake.

Sometimes we’d go shooting guineafowl, or just head off behind the pan, lean up against a warm red termite mound and do some good old target practice. He likes his guns does our Jake. I marveled at his homemade gun rack in his little wooden-upstairs house, all the guns standing to tired attention like soldiers. The whitewashed walls of his little cowboy house, set on the banks of the hungry Luangwa, with pictures of injuns and piebald horses. Strips of leather here and there. I was amazed at his handwriting, how small and neat.  He gave
me a pair of cowboy boots. I wore them through.  And that pink little knife I'd wear around my neck. Remember my pink knife?

One day Jake came to the ruins and said to me ‘lets go for a bike ride to the island’. So we set off, Jake with his pump action shotgun in a homemade leather sheath strapped to the side of his bike, me on my Suzuki 185 that I’d painted black with an 80’s shocking pink stripe (cringe). So we set off across the dambo and into the ebony trees on the other side, under the winterthorns that catch the light in that magical way.

And in a little clearing we saw a fresh giraffe carcass. All noble and dignified and… well… dead. So we stopped, propped our bikes up on their stands and studied this creature, all teenager-esque gangly legs and loose skin. Jake pulled out his knife and started skinning it. As you do. 
‘I wonder what giraffe tastes like’ he said
‘Pretty good’ I said, gnawing on a bit of rubbery nyama.

So we skinned the giraffe’s legs and they made a most excellent pair of trousers. They fit perfectly. I pasted them onto my legs, and strutted around the clearing proudly, I know the fashion houses of Paris and Milan would have been jealous of those trousers. They were a little sticky and pretty heavy but for a brief moment I was Queen of
the Catwalk.

And we hopped back on our bikes with my new trousers slung over the handlebars and when we got back to the ruins we hung them up in the old sausage tree to dry.

7 comments:

JoeinVegas said...

Oh, fresh giraffe trousers - don't sound too pleasant before drying. Probably did look impressive, giraffe legs.

Robyn said...

I'm choking on my salad with laughter.

Mud said...

I think your trousers are on the streets in Bogota. Very in here you know.

Janelle said...

Where's the phota darlin'? X

Anonymous said...

Hello,

I am a casting producer for an American television show about people buying homes abroad. I came across your blog and wanted to reach out to see if you might be interested in participating in an episode of our show. Right now we are casting recent expats who live in remote areas of Tanzania.

House Hunters International tells the story of people who have picked up and moved to a foreign location to pursue a new life abroad. Being on our show is a lot of fun for our participants and is a great way for them to document their search for a new home.

We are casting people who either have already bought/rented a home or are currently looking for a home in their new country. If you or anyone you know meet these qualifications please let me know.

I look forward to hearing from you!

Best,

Rebecca
rebeccakurland@leopardfilms.com

Lucy Campbell said...

Ha ha would love to see you wearing those. That anonymous comment? They'd be interested in Janelle as well I'd have thought? Lx

Bridget W. said...

Great memories Miranda and darn good writing too. Keep it up ;) xx