Shelly's butterfly

It was a stunning morning. Beautiful weather. Balmy, one might even say. On my vehicle I had a mismatch of personalities. And nationalities. And opinions. Most were American. A few German. And two South Africans, Shelly and Dan, from Daspoort, Pretoria.

We spotted impala first, because, of course. They are one of our more regularly seen and most often underappreciated little animals. I thought this might be the perfect opportunity to point out a few of these lesser-known facts when Shelly piped up, quite loudly, and started explaining about the M.

"Oh look, see the three lines on the impala's butt? The two on the outside curve in, and the one on the tail is straight, and this makes an M, and that stands for McDonald's, because everything eats impala, and that's why they have the M."

Inwardly, I cringed. That is one of the oldest, most annoying things to tell a guest. But outwardly I smiled. And sat down. And stayed quiet.

Shelly beamed like she'd just found the lost Kruger millions. And me, I was about to tell my guests about the countershading camouflage these animals have, and what the theory says about how it works.

The Germans and Americans smiled.

A bit further, we found waterbuck. I prepared to get up and sit on the door to talk to my guests about the white marking on the animal's rear, shaped like a ring, and how this acts as a follow-me sign, but at a deeper level also a species identifier.

When waterbuck are threatened, they take to water quite quickly. When kudu are threatened, they run mostly uphill, using terrain to escape. So it's always better for waterbuck not to follow kudu, and vice versa.

But before I could open my mouth, Shelly again.

"Wow, guys, look at that — that is a waterbuck, and they have a white ring around the bum because they sat on a freshly painted toilet seat when Noah's Ark was new, and till today they have the toilet-seat ring. See, isn't it cute?"

Outwardly I smiled. Inside, cringe number two made an impressive appearance. And I stayed quiet.

We carried on moving through this beautiful Waterberg landscape. Then I saw a bush. Not just any bush. It was right next to the road. But that's not what got my attention. It was a milkweed bush.

The milkweed is a host plant for two separate insects in this area. I slowed down, stopped. Picked up my binoculars and scanned it, and — I was in luck.

They were there, close to the base of the plant.

I drove closer, and I knew, until then, that none of my guests had seen it. Yet.

I stopped next to the bush. This meant the guests could only see the top part of it. I got up and sat on the door. Shelly stayed quiet.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is a milkweed bush."

I took out my old Okapi pocket knife, opened the blade, and cut a piece of the leaves off. It's soft, green, pliant. But the magic is inside, not on top.

I turned the cut section to my guests.

"See this milky white latex, or plant sap? This is poisonous. Almost nothing eats it — not that I'm aware of, anyway. But we're lucky today. One of the things that does eat it is actually here. Right now. Wanna see it?"

Everybody nodded yes.

I sat down and reversed. When I approached the bush again, I created a bigger space between us and it. This meant all my guests could now see the base of it.

"If you pick up your binoculars and look at the base of that bush, you'll see a writhing, slightly yellow and black mass of insects. Those are milkweed locusts. And the yellow and black are what we call aposematic colouration. It shows that the locusts are poisonous. Because they are. They hatch and live off this bush. The poison doesn't kill them; they absorb it. Also—"

"Oh wow, now I remember," Shelly said, with enthusiasm and utter conviction. "I saw this documentary once, and when these grow up, they become African Monarch butterflies."

Dan cringed.

The foreigners smiled.

And me?

I carried on driving.