Since this last weekend was my last in Zambia, I knew that I had to make the most of it. So Saturday night Vaughn, Luke, and I went to a Zambian karaoke club called Dolphins (probably my favorite place in Lusaka). Afterwards, we hit up a local dance club, and I had one final practice at perfecting the booty shakes and hip gyrations that I have learned here in Zambia.
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| The White Lions |
Sunday we took a gamble and went to a random game park that was home of several “white lion cubs.” Upon arrival, we realized we were in for a treat. We were not sure whether we had stumbled upon the game park office or a junk yard. As it turns out, they were one and the same. We were escorted to the cage where they kept the white lions and informed that if we paid extra we could get in the cage with them for 15 minutes. So naturally, we ended up in a cage with two white lions. They were only 7 months old, which apparently means they were at the age where they are young enough to want play with everything but large enough to hurt (not kill) you by doing so. After we had been in the cage for about 2 minutes, the “lion tamers” (two ladies who owned the lions) had still failed to demonstrate that they actual could tame the lions. Luke saw that they had no control over the lions and exclaimed, “This is not safe! What are we doing in here? I am not supposed to run if this thing comes at me? If it comes at me... I am running. Can I leave?” One of the “lion (un)tamers” gave him permission to walk slowly to the gate. He gladly did so and became the designated camera man. Shortly after Luke’s departure, one of the lions jumped on Vaughn and wrapped around his waist. He remained calm and one of the ladies pulled it off of him. The lions continued to keep us on our toes, but Vaughn and I managed to channel our inner alpha male and exert some dominance over the lions long enough to pet them, feel their paws, etc. Just before our time was coming to a close, one of the lions decided to challenge me (Vaughn attributed it to the fact that I currently have a mane, aka beard). The lion juked its so called tamer and wrapped up my waist and bit my forearm. I firmly but slowly pushed it to the ground. The bite didn’t hurt much and barely drew blood. It was just wanting to play with me, not eat me. Nonetheless, when I pressed it to the ground it was “game on.” The lion dodged its tamer again, wrapped its paws around my chest, and bit my shoulder. It wasn’t a hard bite. It barely left a mark on my skin. But it was enough to rip my sweatshirt (which is now my new favorite sweatshirt). The lion was restrained, and Vaughn and I hung out in the cage a few more minutes before our time was up.
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| Proof I'm not lion |
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| Ripped |
It was quite a way to close out my last weekend in Zambia. After all, not everyone can say that they went toe to toe with a lion and held their ground (even it was only 7 months old).
