Oliver Strange and the Journey to the Swamps. Dianne Hofmeyr
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“Don’t worry. It’s a small one.”
“Small?”
Zinzi nodded. “Small by python standards.”
Ollie gulped and handed over the crate as fast as he could. “You mean it’s a real python?”
“Well it’s not made of plastic.” And then she laughed. “Don’t worry. It’ll sleep all the way. I fed him a huge rat before I left school. Pythons are lazy after they’ve eaten.”
“Is it poisonous?”
Zinzi shook her head. “Pythons aren’t poisonous. They just squeeze you to death.”
Ollie swallowed hard. Of all things, why did it have to be a snake?
“Hurry up! You’re going to miss the train.”
He hesitated. Perhaps he could ask for another compartment. It was odd in any case to have to share with a girl. But there wasn’t time. He might miss the train. And his aunt’s message had been clear. He was to meet her at Kasane.
He climbed the rungs at the end of the carriage. A sharp, sour smell of coal-dust, hot metal and disinfectant pinched his nostrils as he squeezed past the toilet and the people in the narrow corridor.
Then he froze.
The snake crate was standing in the middle of the tiny space of the compartment.
“It’s okay. You can come in. There’s a catch on the crate. It can’t escape.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Whew! It’s a bit crowded.” Zinzi slid the compartment door closed and began pushing bags and boxes under the bottom bunk and onto the metal racks overhead.
Ollie watched as she pushed the python crate under the bunk as well. “Aren’t you going to check the catch?”
“What d’you take me for?”
Ollie shrugged. “Just asking.”
Ollie slid his eyes away from it to look about. On one side of the compartment were two bunks covered in shiny, green leather with saggy places where too many people had sat. Tucked into a corner was a table with a hinged cover and a leather strap. When he lifted the cover, he discovered a tiny, stainless-steel basin with a single tap beneath. Above was a narrow mirror and to one side, a sliding window with a blind that snapped up and down.
Everything he touched had a gritty coal-dust feeling.
There was a commotion on the platform as doors slammed shut. Then with a sharp whistle and an extra stamp of steam, the train began to move slowly out of the station.
Ollie pushed down the window and leaned out as far as he could. Good job Grandma wasn’t here to see. He waved through the billowing steam to no one in particular.
Goodbye! Goodbye Bulawayo!
Faces and colours blurred together and then stopped abruptly as the platform ended. The train picked up speed and raced past some dark sheds. Broken windows flashed and flickered coded messages in the sunlight.
Finally they were out in the open. Not a single building in sight, just the tangled bush and thorn trees slipping past in a grey blur. The click of the wheels over the joints in the winding, criss-crossing tracks seemed to be singing …
We’re going to I-la-la. We’re going to find your fa-ther.
We’re going to I-la-la. We’re going to find your fa-ther.
Ollie gave a huge sigh. At last! He was truly on his way.
His adventure had begun.
Hot, dry air full of coal soot rushed past his face and made his eyes sting and water. He slammed the window shut.
Zinzi was standing with her feet apart, balancing to the sway of the train. “Which bunk? Top or bottom?”
Ollie glanced at the snake crate sticking out from beneath the bottom bunk. “Top.”
Zinzi nodded. “Top is great. It’s like sleeping in a tree. The train rocks you.”
“Where will Bobo sleep?”
“She’s nocturnal. She’ll jump about. But if you bury your head under your pillow she won’t bother you. D’you have a pet?”
Ollie nodded. “Two stick insects.”
Zinzi looked as if she had just choked on a large sweet. “Stick insects!”
Ollie bit his lip. “We don’t have monkeys in England. And stick insects are … uh … interesting …” was all he could think of. But Zinzi was already beetling about pushing boxes around.
“Are these all your pets?”
“They’re not exactly mine. My school’s part of Wild Care. We look after injured or abandoned creatures. Eagle fledglings that fall from nests. Elephant babies whose mothers have been killed by poachers for their tusks. Injured leguaans.”
Ollie stared at the strange-shaped boxes. What exactly was a leguaan? Wasn’t it a scaly, prehistoric dragon?
“How dangerous is a leguaan?”
“Dangerous enough.”
Ollie kept his mouth shut as his eyes darted about. How dangerous was dangerous enough? “What else have you got?”
Zinzi shrugged. “Jumping spiders. Huge, hairy ones. Like tarantulas. They’re called baboon spiders because they’re so hairy. Bobo doesn’t like them. I keep them boxed while we’re travelling.”
Bobo must have heard her name because she popped out above the top button of Zinzi’s shirt again. Zinzi tickled her under her chin. Her huge, dark eyes flicked open then closed again.
“Her leg’s broken. See. It’s splinted. When it’s fixed she’ll be able to go back into the wild. She’s not exactly a pet. You never really own a wild animal. I offered to look after these ones during the holidays because they weren’t ready to go back into the wild.”
“Won’t your mum be upset?”
Zinzi shrugged. “She’s used to it. She’s a bush doctor.”
“A bush doctor?”
“A wild animal vet. What about you? Why are you here?”
“I’ve come to find my father. He studies frogs. He’s called a herp–”
“Herpetologist.” Zinzi interrupted.
Ollie bit his lip. Compared to a python, leguaans and baboon spiders, frogs seemed even sillier than stick insects but he wanted to defend his father. He didn’t want to let him down. “He knows quite a bit. There’s the orange-legged monkey-frog. The fire-bellied toad. The ghost frog. The poison dart frog …” he trailed off. Suddenly even the names didn’t seem so impressive.
“So what’s he doing in Botswana?”
“He’s collecting data about a small frog. It’s so small it hardly covers a thumb.”
Zinzi nodded. “Probably the painted reed frog. Pale cream, with pinkish dots on it. Sometimes with small dark patches that make it look like a death-head skull.”
A death-head skull? Ollie gave her a look. There wasn’t much this girl didn’t know.
“So where exactly in Botswana is your father?”
Ollie shrugged. “That’s the problem. I don’t know. He’s disappeared. And I’m worried.”
There was a sudden roar as the train dived through a tunnel and the compartment was plunged into darkness. Then with a whoosh they were out the other side. Someone rattled the compartment door then flung it open. A smell of curried chicken and burnt coffee wafted in from the steward’s