Walking on the Wildside by Pat Dewil – a Book Review

Pat Dewil is an enthu­si­astic con­ser­va­tion­ist and pro­fes­sional wild­life ranger and guide and a very accom­plished story teller. You will get to know him through the count­less tales of his exploits and adven­tures in his book – Walking on the Wildside. He travels through­out Africa, through the bush and over the Serengeti. His travels take him to Mana Pools, Victoria Falls and the great Zambezi River. His pho­to­graphy cap­tures Africa and there are some images of scary moments and funny instances. You don't have to be a safari-nut to really enjoy this book.

About the book

In this book, Pat Dewil gen­er­ously shares his enthu­si­asm in a very per­son­able way and it’s impossible not to get caught up in the excite­ment of one of Pat’s safari adven­tures, whether it’s canoe­ing down the Zambezi River, breath­lessly watch­ing gor­il­las in Rwanda or mar­vel­ling at the Serengeti wilde­beest migra­tion with trav­el­lers from across the world. “Walking on the Wild Side” is both a ser­i­ous and an amus­ing story of an unusual life adventure.

About the author

Professional wild­life guide and ranger, pas­sion­ate con­ser­va­tion­ist and stu­dent of African polit­ics, Pat Dewil has seen and done lots since he left the cor­por­ate world behind over 25 years ago and set off into unknown ter­rit­ory, into the wilds of Africa. 
This is a story of his adven­tures and safaris in Namibia, Tanzania, Uganda, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Rwanda, South Africa, Botswana, Madagascar, Cameroon and the Central Africa Republic.

There are poignant anec­dotes about the inter­est­ing people and anim­als he’s met along the way. He has had many won­der­ful escapades, some hil­ari­ous and some life threat­en­ing. And his telling of these tales is com­pel­ling. Countless exper­i­ences have given him a wide and insight­ful know­ledge of the day to day work­ings of this intriguing con­tin­ent, and his astute obser­va­tions on African polit­ics and cul­ture and his deep involve­ment in con­ser­va­tion have made him a highly sought-after Safari Guide.

Excerpts from the Book:

Benji hated baboons. For some reason, he’d just get a hint that they were around and he’d go crazy. If they were chat­ter­ing in trees around him – they often came in to our garden look­ing for wild fruit  – he would go almost demen­ted, chas­ing from tree to tree, while the older baboons non­chal­antly gazed at him and the young­sters screamed and taunted him from above. He would even­tu­ally almost run him­self into the ground and I’d have to lock him inside the house until the baboons left town.

Now, next to lions, baboons have the longest can­ine teeth of all the mam­mals in Africa. Male baboons are fear­some defend­ers of the troop from pred­at­ors. Leopards sel­dom attempt to attack a baboon that is part of a troop. Stragglers, the weak and lame left behind, when the troop moved on, were the only real chances a leo­pard had of snack­ing on a baboon. Even lions were wary about attack­ing baboons and only lion num­bers, or the pres­ence of a big male in the pride, would allow them to be their nor­mal non­chal­ant selves when near baboons.

Early morn­ing and we were run­ning along the one and only tar road through Kariba. This was quite unusual, but I think we’d decided that it would be a change from run­ning along ele­phant tracks. We must have been about four miles from home, when Benji spot­ted a big troop of baboons in a wide open area, about a hun­dred yards from the road.

Benji took after the baboons before I could get voice-control of him. When the baboons saw him com­ing, they ran behind a small rise and I lost sight of them and their tor­mentor. Then World War Three broke out behind the rise. It soun­ded like there’d be no sur­viv­ors with Benji frantic­ally bark­ing, young baboons scream­ing, as only young baboons can, and the big males bark­ing very aggressively.

I ran towards the com­mo­tion, but when the baboons on the peri­phery of the chaos saw me, they took off and then so did the rest, with Benji on their heels, again out of sight. After an exhaust­ing chase through the bush, I got close enough to the centre of the tem­pest, to shout per­suas­ively enough to get Benji the Insane, under control.

He came run­ning sheep­ishly towards me and I could see from a dis­tance that the baboons had won the first round. His left ear was hanging from a sliver of flesh and blood was pump­ing from what was obvi­ously a severed vein or artery. I know that humans, and dogs too, I sup­pose, have a major sup­ply of blood run­ning to the ears. Benji’s ear was his­tory. The blood was shoot­ing at least three feet from the side of his head and he, in his nor­mal way, was totally unper­turbed. My heart dropped. Four miles from home, the bloody dog leak­ing blood at a thou­sand gal­lons a minute and, at this time of morn­ing, not a car nor human in sight.

I pulled off my T-shirt and wrapped it around Benji’s head, to stem the flow. He looked at me as though I’d gone a bit crazy but patiently stood while I band­aged him up. Then I picked him up and star­ted the long walk home. The look on Benji’s face was, I’m con­vinced, one of quiet resignation.

“If my dumb mas­ter wants to carry me, well I sup­pose I’ll go along for the ride.” For a while at least. Bull ter­ri­ers are not big dogs but after a few hun­dred yards, I real­ized that there was no way I was going to carry Benji all the way home. I put him down, he wagged his tail and looked at me with this now blood red T-shirt absurdly wound around his head and trot­ted off down the road, look­ing back to make sure that I was up to fin­ish­ing the rest of the run home.

So we ran. All the way home. With Benji squirt­ing blood all over the tar – I’d now taken off the T-shirt. I was con­vinced that he’d drop dead, long before we got home. For good­ness sake, how much blood does one dog have?

He was totally uncon­cerned. Eventually we reached home. Me ready to drop, Benji wag­ging his tail and ready for more, if I was up for it.

I man­aged to find a local Kariba res­id­ent, who’d been a medic in the bush war, and he sewed Benji’s ear back on. After that, because his left ear hung at half mast, he always had a look that seemed to say, “I’m inter­ested but not really”.

How much blood he lost, I can’t begin to guess, but he never missed a beat and we ran the next day, Benji in front.

Almost a year later, we ran the same route and des­pite the sear­ing sun and drench­ing rain, Benji’s blood­stains were still on the tar.
I loved that dog.

Photographs © Pat Dewil.

To order this book

If you would like to order the book, please see: Walking on the Wildside

About New Voices Publishing

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