When moving to my little piece of heaven some four years ago, I discovered, somewhat rudely, what the agent told me about being the sole proprietor, King of my own Land, the main Ranchero, etc, etc was a bit far fetched. In fact, it was a down right bald-faced lie to be exact. Eleonore, the warthog had been there long before me and with a stony “drop dead in your tracks” stare, made it abundantly clear to me that she was the owner of this particular little piece of Africa which I now called home. In the animal kingdom, “first come – first served possession”, is all the law you need to defend your territory with life and limb and to make it damn unpleasant for any intruder wanting to home in on your turf. Being somewhat of a stubborn animal myself, I decided as I had paid some real good money for the place, Madam would simply have to go and find some place else to live other than my porch.

Now I am not sure how many readers out there have ever been in negotiations with animals before, but it is not that easy. Had this been another two-legged animal, things would have been a great deal simpler to conclude. One phone call to my attorney would have had the scoundrel scampering away tail between his legs. But with Eleonore things were not going to be that simple. The look she gave me on our first encounter left me with no uncertainty whatsoever that She was the owner, not just some simple squatter and I was in fact the intruder. So there she stood, all four legs firmly planted on my porch, and me sitting in the drivers seat of my trusty old Land Cruiser, “Shova” (now the origin of that name is an entire story on its own) trying to look as threatening as possible to a warthog, teeth bared, shoulders puffed out glaring back at her with dagger eyes that would have sent any human scurrying back to mummy. This had absolutely no effect whatsoever, so I decided to change tactics.

Since that day I was always under the misguided impression that we humans were the most intelligent beings on earth! After all, we could speak, stand erect, reason, we have the capacity to love and show emotion, which psychologists say sets us apart from our lesser counterparts. We build cities, cars, airplains, we take raw minerals from the earth with wanton abandon and make things to make our lives easier. Now surely with all this superior intelligence I could devise a plan to get a simple pesky warthog off my porch so that I could go into my house and establish my manly presence in my new home, catch a long cool shower after the dusty 10 hour trip, pour myself a Johny Walker Black and sit on MY porch watching the ever spectacular winter African sunset.

Charged with new enthusiasm and confidence, I climbed on Shova’s horn, revved her motor and jumped up and down in the seat like a demented orangutan. Any casual passerby witnessing this spectacle would have had me certified immediately. The only effect it had on Eleonore was for her to casually turn around, antenna tail thrust at a 90 degree angle from her body, trot casually to the end of the porch and calmly flop down in the last remaining pool of amber sunlight. The message was abundantly clear. “This is my turf and I am here to stay, so take your smelly, noisy man-made animal and shove it where the sun don’t shine”! Round one to the warthog with an attitude.

Disillusioned at my failure to stamp the entire human race’s superiority over lesser beings and weary from my demonic antics I slunk, keeping a watchful eye on the almost lifeless grey blob at the far end of the porch, through the back door into Eleonore’s house. After unpacking a few things and taking a well-needed shower, I poured myself a stiff whiskey and slumped in my recliner in the living room, just in time to see the last flaming rays of the sun melt into the distant aubergine mountains. Oh well, four out of five isn’t too bad I guess…… but, I still want the porch.

I sat up a while mulling over the long drive, the naked, harsh beauty of Africa and its diverse people and problems. How wonderful it must have been when game roamed plentiful and freely across this continent. The rivers, crystal clear and sparkling in the sun or swollen and muddy after a typical African rainstorm. The magnificent mountain silhouettes, skillfully carved over thousands of years, clearly defined in the crisp, smogless air, uncluttered by horrendous deformities created by the superior beings to enhance his lifestyle. Hoe I wish I could have witnessed this Africa, before humans tore her heart out, raped her virgin soil and vandalized her natural wealth. Starry eyed I heard a faint shuffling on the porch and my thoughts snapped back to the present and my current predicament. It is my porch, I paid good money for it. Perhaps we could negotiate some kind of a deal. After all, this is Africa and far more complicated agreements have been hammered out. Sharing the porch is out of the question as warthogs have a reputation of being somewhat ill tempered and unpredictable. Maybe I could build her a porch of her own down by the waterhole. That way she would not have to go too far to enjoy her own sundowners. Damn, this whiskey is good! It’s giving me the wisdom to negotiate a land deal with a warthog! Warily I stumbled to bed, secure in the knowledge that some kind of an intelligent compromise could be reached.

Before first light I am up and making myself a cup of coffee. Cautiously I peer out the living room window. The porch is deserted! Ah-ha, this is my chance. I ease out the sliding door, making sure hogzilla is not lurking in the shadows. I am alone on my porch, I am king of this place! I sit quietly sipping my scalding coffee listening to Africa awaken in the pale false dawn. I can hear the hippos down by the river. An Eland snorts in the distance, probably startled by the presence of some predator and the birds begin their daily charming cacophony of calls. This is the life and I would not wish to be any place else right now, when in true African fashion, things change faster than the fall of the Zimbabwe dollar. There she is, eyeballing me from the one end of the lawn. The warthog from hell is back. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Is she going to charge me? My mind races, possession is 9/10ths of the law, but does she know that? Maybe if I stand up and make myself look really big it will scare her off. My mind goes back to my show stopping performance on Shova’s front seat and the absolute non-effect that had on her. No, that’s not going to work. So I sit quietly and watch her instead. Why the hell did I close that sliding door? Why did I not wear brown underwear? She strolls casually across the lawn, her beady black eyes never leaving me. I am armed with a coffee mug and a teaspoon, she has teeth the size of a back-actor’s bucket. This is not going to be a fair fight. I wonder how badly I will get cut jumping through the closed window. That’s also not an option as the nearest doctor is 50kms away and I will not give her the satisfaction of bleeding to death on our porch. Suddenly she turns and heads for the flowerbed. Ten minutes is about all it took her to uproot everything that even resembled a plant in that bed whilst I took the opportunity to sneak back into the house. That was her way, I guess, of showing her disgust in being banished, even temporarily, from the porch.

This is how the somewhat weird relationship was formed between one of earth’s superior beings and a lowly dumb animal. Eleonore had outwitted me from the time she first laid eyes on me and had cunningly gained the upper hand in the relationship. She is the boss and she knows it. I am weary wary of her and have kept my distance whenever sighting her.

Since those early days we have always had that antagonistic explosive tolerance which two adversaries have when forced to live in the same space. I have seen enough prison movies to recognize the signs. She would sneak onto the porch at night and beware of anything left out which she would destroy with criminal abandon. Friends and guests found this rather disturbing and many unsuspecting cameras, i-pods, pieces of clothing and the like have fallen foul to Eleonore’s wrath. So much so that about two weeks ago I decided to enclose the porch with neat, sturdy gum pole railings which she cannot get through. So now my porch is really and truly all mine. Superiority conquers in the end.

Feeling really pleased with myself, I decided I would treat myself and take a ride into town, do some shopping, catch up on the local town gossip and watch a movie. I needed some fuel for the Range Rover as well, so I decided to use it instead of Shova. Kitted out in my best khaki “go to towns” I approached the carport and saw that one of the Rangies tyres was flat. Damn, now to change a flat in 36-degree heat! I got closer and my eye caught the front bumper, which was almost torn off! The grill was badly gashed and the fender dented. What the hell happened to my new vehicle? Typical farm workers, no regard for anything they have not paid for. I have seen how the throw equipment onto the back of a vehicle with gay abandon. I swung around accusingly, looking for any poor unsuspecting worker to vent my anger on, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a grey shadow sauntering off in the distance.

I’m damn sure that bloody warthog had a smile on her face!