I was 10 when I had my first defining bird experience. I’ll never forget it. I was sitting in the back of my parents’ beige Volkswagen Passat parked at the side of a beige dirt road in Mkhuze Game Reserve as hot air rolled in through the window. To the right of us was a large lanky black chicken, the object of my father’s rapt attention. It was stalking through scrub. Stalking schmalking, we children thought. Dad’s got distracted. We’re hungry!
Then, kapow! Instead of the chicken, there stood a showgirl, lush jet-black feathers crowning her fierce head. She held her huge wings akimbo, an expression of pure fury on her face, and began to kick her legs like an Irish dancer on speed. Then it was done. A snake…
