The Thorn Tree Cafe

Lisa Marie Courtney was her name, and she'd written Newland, Tarlton & Co. in Nairobi to inquire about a safari in Kenya. She was a writer who wanted to see Africa in order to gather information for a book about the country, the animals, and the native people. At their convenience, she would like to reserve four weeks for said safari. Newland, Tarlton & Co. had contacted me about my availability, and had engaged my services from June 1 to June 29 of 1910. Such requests were not new to me, because I made part of my living as a safari guide and had since I was twenty five.

I am English by virtue of my father and mother, but have never lived in England. My father was a career officer in The Royal Army, and I first saw the light of day in India. During my formative years, my father was also stationed in various locations in China and Africa. Of the three countries, I loved Africa the most. Africa was sparsely populated by people, heavily populated by wild animals, and held the promise of the great adventures craved by all young boys.

Also like all boys I would suppose, my thoughts were not on the voice of the schoolmaster in his attempts to teach me proper English, mathematics, geography, and the sciences. I would look out the window of the classroom, see the thorn trees on the plains outside Nairobi in my mind, and was instantly taken away on a hunt for elephant, rhino, or cape buffalo.

Every shop in Nairobi had at least one head or hide on the wall, and I saw many elephant tusks being shipped out on the train. In my imagination, I saw myself bravely standing in front of a charging animal, rifle trained on the exact spot that would bring the beast down, then pulling the trigger and watching the animal fall dead at my feet. I vowed that one day I would be one of those hunters.

Instead of studying my school subjects, I studied the catalogues of Purdey, Holland and Holland and the other English companies that manufactured the large caliber double rifles used to hunt the largest African game animals. I absorbed anything I could find to read about the animals of Africa and of British East Africa in particular. I fear I also made somewhat of a pest of myself with my questions to the men in khaki who led expeditions of discovery into the interior.

All this was much to the dismay of my dear mother, who wished me to become a doctor or barrister. My father, being a lover of adventure himself and understanding my frustration with school, quietly approved of my ambition. He did mandate that I pass my final examinations in all subjects but promised that upon my doing so, he would assist in finding me a position with the British Government in Nairobi.

Pass the examinations I did, though a couple were, as the saying goes, by the skin of my teeth. Father was good to his word, and secured my employment as an assistant to one Harrison McClard, a professional hunter employed by the government of British East Africa to control the population of animals.

I was in my element with Harrison, and accompanied him on his many forays into the bush as a controller of the local game animals. Elephants and rhinos often destroyed native crops, and lions and leopards occasionally became partial to the taste of the native cattle. It was the responsibility of the government hunter of that time to dispatch the offenders in order to protect the natives. Under his tutelage, I learned the skills of a hunter and guide.

Harrison retired to Scotland just after my twenty-fifth birthday, and I was appointed to take his place. As a parting gift, Harrison gave me one of his several double rifles - a beautiful Holland and Holland chambered for the.470 Nitro Express cartridge. I took my first elephant as a game controller with that rifle, though after the years with Harrison, I did not enjoy the task. True, by the efforts of the professional hunter, the raids by elephants and rhinos of the native fields did decline, and fewer cattle were taken by lions and leopards, but this was because of the decline in the numbers of these wondrous beasts.

I witnessed this decline over only a few years, and came to realize continuance would quickly result in the elimination of the larger beasts and predators. Reason dictated that since the large predators controlled the size of the herds of antelope and zebra, without such predation those populations would explode and become a secondary threat to native agriculture. Without a significant number of elephants to remove the bottom mud and spread it on their backs, the water holes would not be excavated deep enough to retain water during the dry season and many other animals would die of thirst.

With the opening of the railroad from Mombassa to Uganda, it became much easier to access the wilds of British East Africa, and a strong demand for sport hunting was created. Mostly, the hunters came from wealthy families in England and Europe, though there were several from the United States, Russia, and India as well. Most came for the adventure of trekking through the bush and shipping home the hides, heads, and tusks that would decorate their game rooms.

Some came with the misguided hope of finding courage in facing a charging elephant or lion. With these hunters, their trophies often sported a hole in the hide from one of my.470 caliber bullets. I had little sympathy for these clients as they stood paralyzed by fear and not even putting rifle to shoulder, but I had a high regard for my own life. It was either shoot the animal myself or stand there watching my client wet himself before we were both killed.

I did not relish the idea of killing more animals for the sake of decorating some wealthy hunter's wall or floor, but guiding others in their quest to do so helped put food on my table and clothing on my back. Hunting also contributed to the economy of British East Africa through license fees and the employment of the natives as trackers, porters, and other camp help.

As the animals desired by these hunters were the largest and therefore oldest, it was some comfort to know they were mostly past the age of breeding. Just as She does with we humans, Nature tends to select the young and fit over the aged and weak to further the species. Removing the older animals, and mostly males at that, did little if anything to reduce the population of game.

I was not surprised by the contract to lead a safari for Lisa Courtney, though I was both surprised and uneasy about her sex. Never before had a woman been on any safari in which I took part. The rigors of the bush were severe, and it was then my belief that women with any sense at all should stay in their drawing rooms and parlors while their husbands went in search of trophies from Africa.

Apparently, Lisa Courtney either had no sense or at least did not share my belief. Newland, Tarlton & Co. informed me she would be traveling alone and cautioned me to not overexert the woman lest she fall ill or be injured.

She was due to arrive on the train from Mombassa on May 30, and I was to meet her there to explain my plans for her safari. At one on that Saturday afternoon, I was standing on the station platform and holding a sign that read, William Blakely - Newland, Tarlton & Co.

When the train stopped and the passengers began disembarking, I saw her and my worst fears were realized. The woman was absolutely beautiful in her long dress with several tiers of lace on the front and puffy sleeves. Her waist was obviously made very small by a tightly laced corset. The big hat she wore was outrageously flamboyant, and nearly covered her face and the blond hair she wore up in several thick braids. I envisioned her walking through the brush in that dress and getting snagged by thorns or other brambles with every step.

She also looked a bit delicate for such an effort as well. She wasn't tall, perhaps five and a half feet, and while I could not estimate her weight due to the layers of clothing in which she was clad, she was not a heavy woman at all. I would be leading her to see all of British East Africa possible in four weeks, and that would mean walking through heavy brush at times, crawling on all fours at others, and fording rivers by wading. All that could be exhausting for even the strongest of men.

She saw the sign I held and began walking in my direction. Her walk brought to mind the casual walk of a lioness at ease. There was no wasted movement; the motion of her body was smooth, flowing, and sensuous. It wasn't the typical finishing school walk I'd seen on my infrequent visits to London. She didn't put one foot in front of the other or even appear to be trying to walk that way. It was too natural to be learned.

As she approached, she smiled and I saw a sparkle in her azure eyes.

"Mr. William Blakely?"

"Yes, and you must be Miss Lisa Courtney."

"Oh, splendid. I thought I might have to wait at the station. I do not enjoy waiting on anything. I also abhor the title of 'Miss". I am well past the age of being described as a "Miss' though I have never married. As we appear to be about the same age, please call me Lisa. Now, if I am to understand the letter correctly, you will escort me and my luggage to a hotel for the night?"

"Yes, that's part of the service. One of the finest rooms in the Norfolk Hotel has been reserved for you. If you would consent to call me William, I will be happy to take you and your luggage there."

She smiled again.

"Excellent, William. I simply must change my dress. The windows of the train car were open for the entire trip and I surely must reek of train smoke."

I had a porter bring her luggage - a heavy trunk and two smaller bags - to my lorry and then drove Miss Courtney to the hotel. There, I engaged two men to take her luggage to her room while she signed the register. I was looking forward to getting her settled and then a night in my own hotel room at the Stanley after a glass or two of scotch whisky in the hotel bar. Those anticipatory thoughts came to an end when she asked if I would accompany her to dinner.

"Would you care to escort me to dinner? I despise eating alone and I would not have any idea where or what to eat in Nairobi."

I was reluctant to accept for two reasons. I had driven my Daimler lorry to Nairobi for the purpose of transporting Miss Courtney and supplies from Nairobi to my base camp. It had no top over the single bench seat so Lisa would be exposed to the dust of the streets while in her evening dress. I feared she would not enjoy puffing the dust from her skirts before entering the eating establishment.

My other reservation was my own attire. I had come to Nairobi dressed in my bush clothing. My khaki pants and shirt, and high, brown leather boots all bore the scrapes and scuffs of life in the bush, and my pith helmet that had begun life a brilliant white had weathered over time to a dull yellow as a result of frequent wettings and dust. Even though Nairobi was in the heart of British East Africa, lacking the dress uniform of the Royal Army, a dinner suit and tie were the norm for a gentleman escorting a lady to dinner in any restaurant of renown.

It would have been rude to refuse her request and my refusal would have made its way back to Newland, Tarlton & Co. Their first mandate to all employees and contractors was that the client must always receive that for which they ask as long as the request can be fulfilled at reasonable cost. Refusing would have threatened my engagement with them for future safaris. I explained my reluctance to Lisa. She listened, then smiled, and then chuckled.

"Mr. Blakely, I have often been wined and dined in the best establishments in London. I did not spend twenty-nine days aboard a steamship to Africa to repeat those evenings. I wish to experience the true Africa, not some reconstruction of London society. Can you not find a dining place where your dress will be acceptable?"

I said I could do such but my lorry would not be the most comfortable transportation. Lisa chuckled again.

"Though they remain hidden by my dress, I am equipped with two very serviceable legs. Could we not walk to our meal? If not, your lorry would be more than suitable to me. It brought me safely from the train station to here, did it not?"

After waiting for an hour while Lisa did whatever women do when they change clothing, we walked to the Thorn Tree Café. I had intended upon taking my evening meal there as it was a popular stopping place for travelers of all backgrounds and my bush clothes would not seem out of place. I was also looking forward to the food.

The food at The Thorn Tree Café was mostly East African with a few Indian curries thrown in for those people of Indian origin who had stayed in Nairobi after the railroad was constructed. I enjoyed the native dishes, but as those were my usual fare when in the bush, I had wanted a good, spicy curry to enliven my taste buds.

I explained the various items on the menu to Lisa, after which she stated she wanted to experience African food as well as everything else. She selected nyama choma with ugali - kudu meat roasted over charcoal with maize meal cake. I ordered a fiery curry of lamb, though the waiter admitted the meat was Thompson's Gazelle.

I was surprised that she also wanted a scotch whisky while waiting for our meals to be cooked. She only smiled when I remarked most women would have asked for wine.

"I have heard whisky is an acquired taste, and I suppose I acquired it at a very early age. Father always had a glass of scotch whisky before bed, and began giving me a small glass at night when I was thirteen. I grew to enjoy it very much."

I said she surely must take it with water to which she chuckled.

"No, no water please, nor anything else. Father always said scotch whisky should be enjoyed like a beautiful woman, first gazed upon to feast the eyes, and then taken warm and naked as the day it was born."

I choked back my chuckle, and she grinned.

"I suppose even in Africa, proper ladies do not say such things."

"Well, we don't have many proper ladies visiting us, but yes, they usually are quite mum about such things."

Lisa smiled.

"You will find me to be a proper lady when the occasion requires such, but quite different otherwise. My father had no sons, so I received a somewhat unusual education. Mother taught me to be what London society would call a proper lady. Father taught me to be...well, let us just say his teaching was not so proper nor ladylike. I found his teaching to be more interesting than Mother's, though of course, being female, certain of her lessons were somewhat more important to me than Father's."

After our meal, Lisa insisted upon another glass of scotch whisky. She claimed it was to assist in the digestive process. While we sipped the amber liquid, she remarked she had never seen a tree growing in the middle of a restaurant as there was in the Thorn Tree Café. She listened intently while I explained.

"It's a thorn tree and it's been there since the café was built, hence the name. Do you see all the papers pinned to the trunk? The tree serves as a mail service of sorts between the people who come to Nairobi. One writes a note to one he believes will stop by and checks the others for one addressed to him."

She beamed a wonderful smile at me.

"Oh, how very interesting. I simply must copy a few of them for my book."

So saying, she retrieved a small notepad and a fountain pen from her purse, then rose and walked to the thorn tree. I followed her to help her understand.

"What does this one mean", she asked with a confused look on her face.

I read the note and smiled. I knew the author, one Reginald Perry, another safari guide. The note read, "Frank, Nairobi on six Aug with Baxter party. Owe you a drachm or two. 8ft black mane. Perry."

"This one is from another safari guide named Perry. He is telling Frank he owes him a drink for telling him about a very large lion. I'm not sure who Frank is, but the lion Perry's client shot was eight feet from nose to the start of the tail and had a black mane. That's a very large lion, so I'd guess Perry's client is really happy. Whoever Frank is must have told Perry where to find that lion."

Lisa frowned.

"I fail to understand why killing such a magnificent creature is considered sport."

I attempted to explain what I had seen with various clients in the past.

"Over the years I've developed some theories after guiding several clients. I think some men hunt in order to prove to themselves they are superior to the animals. To others it's a test of their manhood, I suppose. I feel neither though I have killed many animals as a professional hunter."

"You hunt animals and kill them for a living?"

"Yes. I'm employed by the British Government to do so. Sometimes killing a lion is a necessity. Lions often raid the cattle of the natives, and once they develop a taste for cattle, they usually don't stop. A pride of lions would need to feed at least every couple of days, so they can quickly do some severe damage to a native herd. There also have been a few that developed a taste for humans. Perhaps you heard of the two that terrorized the workers who built the railroad"

"Yes, the newspapers in London printed the story. I can understand why they were killed. What do you mean by a pride of lions?"

"That's what a group of lions is called. Female lions form a group of four or more, and there will be a couple of males in the group. It's like a family in some respects in that the males are there to breed the females, but the lionesses determine who belongs to the pride and which male they choose."

Lisa laughed.

"You simply must show me one of these prides then. It would be interesting to see females in charge of things for a change."

After Lisa read a few more of the notes and I explained their meanings, she wrote them down in her notebook. Then I walked her to the Norfolk Hotel, made arrangements to call for her at seven the next morning, and then bade her good night.

As I lay on my own bed, I wondered at this woman who was somewhat of a riddle. She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen in the past several years, and carried herself like any lady, all be it with a walk so sensuous it would have raised the eyebrows of another "proper" woman, and yet, she was not embarrassed by comparing scotch whisky to a naked woman. It would be an interesting four weeks in the bush, I thought.

At seven the next morning, I parked the lorry outside the Norfolk Hotel and walked into the lobby. Lisa was sitting there with her two small bags and it was somewhat of a shock to see how she was dressed.

She had exchanged the lavish dresses of yesterday for khaki pants and a khaki shirt. Instead of slippers, she wore the same style boots I wore - brown leather with thick soles and shafts that reached almost to her knees. Her blonde hair cascaded in waves over her shoulders and was topped off by a white pith helmet.

I had not seen a woman in pants before, much less pants such as Lisa wore. They were of the same Jodhpur style I favored, but much more snug than the usual fit on a man. The reason for the fit was obvious, as they were cut for a man's slender hips, not the wider, rounder hips of a woman such as Lisa. Her shirt, also obviously a man's shirt as indicated by the side on which the buttons were sewn, was not sufficiently roomy in the chest for her breasts. In order to get it on, Lisa had left the top three buttons undone, and the resulting gap revealed the soft swell of her left breast. She giggled when she saw me staring.

"Mr. Blakely, perhaps you expected me to wear a dress, but my reading about the African bush indicated this clothing would be more appropriate. I rather enjoy the freedom of movement given by the pants. All those underskirts over a union suit restrict the movement of the legs so and make the heat of the day unbearable. The lack of a corset makes the shirt a pleasure since my bosom is not squeezed into such an unnatural shape and I can breathe as deeply as I desire."