I really like a sculptor from Africa, John Tolmay ( www.bronzeafrica.com )

He penned this short story on a funny episode during his time in the field.

Far from Town

We had a Muslim cook in our house in Zimbabwe and one year we decided to take him into the safari area to assist Timoti, the tall and very much liked Matabele camp cook. The camp was on the banks of the Zambezi in the north of the Chewore Safari Area across from Zambia on the north bank. The house cooks name was Frank. The journey into the proposed camping site was crazy far from Harare and the track was a nightmare. When we did get there with the Landcruiser, hunting cars and the 7 ton Isuzu loaded with supplies and everything to build the camp everyone fell out of the truck and we rolled out the sleeping mats and stretcher beds and without further ado the whole team greeted the night by being fast asleep very quickly. The next morning everyone was famished as we had slept without supper the night before, we needed to have more than a few canned beans and corn meal to eat so I went out onto the flood plain and in short order collected an Impala for the pot.

The crew were delighted when I pulled in with the Impala and set about skinning and butchering the animal right away. The crew had the pot going with the meat along with their vegetables and corn meal which is like grits, their staple diet, when along comes Frank to say to me that he cannot eat the meat because he did not cut the animals throat and intone the Muslim prayer. Well I had a big box with earth worms for fishing which was always part of our equipment especially when our two kids were with us, they love to fish and so I gave Frank a little tin can with some worms in it and a piece of fishing line and a hook and told him he can fish for his food but not in my time and left it at that. About an hour later I was driving out in the Landcruiser to hunt another Impala as the first one was not going to last long and as I drove past where the crew were eating and there was Frank stuffing himself with Impala stew. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing eating this non-halal meat, he grinned at me with his mouth full of Impala stew and said “God will not see me this far from town.” African reasoning – can you beat that!

I worked with a grad student at college. He hailed from Mumbai and was a practicing Hindu. Great guy. We often worked late and about midnight one night, I was walking back from the furnace area of the lab and he wandered by munching on a hot dog.

Me: Dude, you can eat that?
Him: I'm hungry.
Me: You wouldn't eat the pepperoni and sausage pizza we had earlier.
Him: there were too many people, and all the sacred cows are in India, don't mention this to my wife.

And that was that.

Jeremy

John is one funny guy! And a hell of a sculptor.

Not to pick on Muslims, but this reminds me of a game scout we had in the Selous. We called him M'zee, which was not his real name, but is a term of respect for a man of a certain age.

One day, I shot a Cape buffalo six times with a .458 Lott. The first shot was a soft. The buff was standing broadside, and my bullet, a 500 grain Woodleigh Weldcore, struck him right in the shoulder crease, a third of the way up from the brisket.

He flinched, then sprinted toward a river, which was about 50 yards to his front. My PH said, "Shoot him again! He's heading for the river!"

I was shooting a CZ 550 Magnum, modified by AHR (which I have since had Wayne rechamber to .450 Rigby). It held five down in the magazine, all of which were 500 grain Woodleigh solids.

I shot him five more times as fast as I could. He finally fell down, bellowed and died just short of the river.

Kayai, our lead tracker, walked up to him, stuck his index finger in all six holes, and said "Pshhh, pshhh, pshhh, pshhh, pshhh, pshhh." The point is, to paraphrase Monty Python, the buffalo was dead, deceased, no more, had expired, passed on, was no longer with us, and had joined the choir invisible.

Up walked M'zee, who pulled out his knife and slit the buff's throat. Now, among the truly faithful, this cut is supposed to be delivered pre-, not post-mortem. It is the Islamic coup-de-grace, necessary in order to make a beast edible, again - by the truly faithful.

I, being then innocent, asked Kayai, "Why did he do that?"

Kayai and our other trackers, who were all Maasai, laughed, and Kayai answered, "Because he is hungry, Bwana!"

John and his wife live here in NC now. I always try to take time to talk to him at shows. Interesting person and talented artist.

quote:

Originally posted by Michael Robinson:
Not to pick on Muslims, but this reminds me of a game scout we had in the Selous. We called him M'zee, which was not his real name, but is a term of respect for a man of a certain age.

One day, I shot a Cape buffalo six times with a .458 Lott. The first shot was a soft. The buff was standing broadside, and my bullet, a 500 grain Woodleigh Weldcore, struck him right in the shoulder crease, a third of the way up from the brisket.

He flinched, then sprinted toward a river, which was about 50 yards to his front. My PH said, "Shoot him again! He's heading for the river!"

I was shooting a CZ 550 Magnum, modified by AHR (which I have since had Wayne rechamber to .450 Rigby). It held five down in the magazine, all of which were 500 grain Woodleigh solids.

I shot him five more times as fast as I could. He finally fell down, bellowed and died just short of the river.

Kayai, our lead tracker, walked up to him, stuck his index finger in all six holes, and said "Pshhh, pshhh, pshhh, pshhh, pshhh, pshhh." The point is, to paraphrase Monty Python, the buffalo was dead, deceased, no more, had expired, passed on, was no longer with us, and had joined the choir invisible.

Up walked M'zee, who pulled out his knife and slit the buff's throat. Now, among the truly faithful, this cut is supposed to be delivered pre-, not post-mortem. It is the Islamic coup-de-grace, necessary in order to make a beast edible, again - by the truly faithful.

I, being then innocent, asked Kayai, "Why did he do that?"

Kayai and our other trackers, who were all Maasai, laughed, and Kayai answered, "Because he is hungry, Bwana!"

Perfect response!!!!

We never have lack of meat on our safaris, but Africans can never have enough of it.

Apparently, game scouts have a meat quota they can shoot themselves.

Driving along one afternoon, our game scout asked Alan if I can shoot an impala for him.

I asked why.

He said he is a Muslim, and we do't cut the throat of the animals we shoot, so as he had an impala on his quota, he wanted me to shoot it for hium so he can slaughter it the Islamic way.

I knew this was all bullshit, and he just wanted to have extra meat to dry.

I said I will be very happy to shoot his impala.

And also that me being a Muslim, I know what the "kosher" rules are better than him.

I said as I am pulling the trigger, I say "Bismullah alrahman alraheem" and that fullfills all the requirements in our religion.

It worked.

John spent some time at my home and my family and I really enjoyed his company and stories. He has done some fantastic sculpturing for me.

Years ago while at the DSC conv. my wife had wandered off shopping.
About an hour later she found me & insisted that She introduce me to the most entertaining gentleman that she had been visiting with.
When we walked up together he ask me what I was doing with his girlfriend. And that was my introduction to John.
We stayed in touch by email, but after a while that ended.
He's one of the most interesting men I have ever met.
We had a great discussion about which was the best caliber for squirrel hunting, a 375 or 416.
We settled on the 375 for fox squirrels & the 416 for gray (cat) squirrels.