Anything that slithers is not a favorite of mine, but in particular snakes! I was raised with their stories, saw people get bitten or spat at by them, and was alway told to watch where I was walking. "Pay attention to what's on the path Linda, watch for snakes" was a constant cry from adults around me. It was whispered to me when I was in my mother's belly - and long before that, when I was just a twinkle in my daddy's eye.
I have a number of snake stories that I would like to share with you - if you are brave enough to read them. Tee hee! This is the first.
The first time I was really shocked and frightened by a snake was when I was about 5 years old.
My parents and I had gone to stay with friends who had a farm just outside of a small town called Marandellas. It was a lovely farm, with a gorgeous thatched farmhouse that had a partial moat around it. It was really the farm dam, but designed and built with fun. One one side of the causeway was a lovely grove of Eucalyptus trees that at that time must have been 50 or 60 feet tall. These giant trees were a favorite during the colonial times as they grew so very quickly. South Africa has now banned these Australian imports as their roots go very deep and they take way too much water resulting in the water table dropping.
It was a sunny afternoon and Ita (the farm's resident grandmother who was then very old) and I had gone for a little walk. She was a small frail sweetie pie and one of my favorite people. I enjoyed my time with Ita and she was never grumpy or sent me away. We had crossed the lawn and gently headed down the footpath that wove its way amongst the Eucalyptus trees. I remember holding Ita's hand as she talked to me, and also that she let my hand go when I decided it was time to run or dance, or whatever gets into a 5 year old girls mind.
I had broken away from Ita and was running as fast as I could along the past ahead of her. She was quite a way behind me when I ran around a corner in the path and there lying right in front of me was a snake! Well, my little feet were already running as fast as they could go before I rounded the corner - and there was nothing I could do to slow down and get away from it. I still see it in my mind, black and oily in the mottled sunshine. It was a big snake and all I could do was jump over it and keep on running in my panic, shouting a warning to Ita as I did.
I had run about 15 feet further up the path before stopping and as I turned back to watch, Ita having heeded my warning,slowly came round the corner into view. The snake had already coiled itself, it's head up and it's fanned throat extended ready to strike - it was a Cobra.
In Africa snakes are fast and deadly. A Cobra can cover many yards in seconds, a King Cobra can outrunning a horse, and they WILL strike first. One strike from a Cobra and in 30 minutes you are paralyzed, in an hour you are dead, the neurotoxin painfully eating your flesh! Unless you are given the correct antivenom within the hour you may as well just sit down and wait to die.
Now there is a strange thing about snakes, they gauge their danger by the vibrations coming off the ground. I was obviously small and in a hurry - so not much of a threat! Ita on the other hand, although a small adult and slower, was heavier and gave off enough of a vibration that the snake felt threatened.
Ita rounded the corner of the path and cold, deadly, black, beady eyes met her soft blue ones. Neither moved! None of us moved! The stand-off lasted about 60 seconds - 60 seconds of complete and eerie silence, 60 seconds of sheer terror. Then the Cobra sank it's head to the ground and slithered off the path into the ankle high African grass.
It was maybe a minute or two before Ita or I moved. My cue being taken from her. My sweaty little hand was happily retrieved by a larger sweaty hand and reunited we continued along the path until we got to the road and headed home.
What a story we had to tell over a cup of tea later in the afternoon! This was not one of the best moments in my life, but a cherished one. One I shared with Ita.
Ita passed away when I was about nine year old, of plain old age.
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