It was a sunny morning when we bustled into our jeep to go on our African Safari. I took my flask of water and basket of food and scrambled into the backseat just as the jeep set off. It was lovely to look out from our canvas windows. The scenery was barren and dry with an occasional tree standing tall in the middle. There were wild shrubs and bushes scattered across the savanna and there was a peaceful silence all around. We could see the faint figure of a giraffe in the horizon and we truly felt at ease. Suddenly, we heard a tiny noise like a baby whimpering. We looked around only to find a tiny ball of fur rolled up, pining away. I Jumped out of the jeep and went up to it glancing around for any signs of its mother. I stealthily crept up to it, cooing in my most comforting voice. It raised its head and my heart went out to it had big, pale yellow soulful eyes and a small black button nose. Looked so lost and lonely that I immediately reached out to it.

Yikes, “I screamed. The tiny little things had scratched me on my arm. My uncle came to the rescue and handling the club like an expert took us home.

I named him Zangoef after my late Brother and adopted him as my friend, companion, and bodyguard. First, I had to teach him how to eat, since food is naturally the main source of survival. I borrowed a dish from my mother and my careful wrote his name on it. It was to be his official plate. I poured some milk from the milk jug and carefully laid it down at his feet. “Tenoo.renoo,” I said that which is the African word for eat and sat myself down on the floor to watch him. Zangoef scrambled onto my lap and then balancing himself before to drink the milk. His tawny hide glowed on my black skin. This was one white creature that did not make fun of me.

Weeks and weeks passed like this and Zangoef and I developed a good friendship. A close bond was formed between us and we experienced clearly inseparable. I slowly common into a lady and Zangoef into a handsome, brave and strong lion. Now his roar was deafening and his canines were sharp and scary, but never harmed me. He was a magnificent sight to see but one thought saddened me. Soon white man bango (Sir in African) would make me send him back to the wild, his natural habitat.

At last the dreaded day arrived and my white banjo came to fetch Zangoef. Zangoef started snapping violently. I was told to pacify him. On doing so, they chained him and led him away. I watched his big body walk away till he was recently a speck in the horizon. He never looked back and from out of my life with such dignity, that I felt ashamed when my little trickled down my cheek. The thing I felt sad about most was that all his life in captivity he was never chained. So why was being been chained when he was returning to the wild?

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