9. In the earlier part of our journey through Africa my friend and I had always chosen a pleasant place with a view or beside some stream in which to eat our lunch. Here, however, we sank down onto the earth where we were and dully stuffed the food into our mouths. There was no view anywhere, nothing but the oppressive and silent scrub. The two guides watched us impatiently, squatting a yard or two away. Yet it was amazing what those hunks of bread and meat did: life and hope began to flow through the blood again, and a cup of sweet coffee from a thermos flask accelerated the process. I rose groggily to my feet and faced the impossible once more. We fell into line again with myself drawing up in the rear.
     10. The guides now adjured us to keep the strictest silence, and in fact it was this silence that dominated all the last moments of our climb. It closed around one with a thick palpable drug-like heaviness, almost as if one's ears were stuffed with cotton wool or one's sense of hearing had suddenly failed; layer on layer on layer of silence. And this void, this nothingness of sound, was suddenly torn apart by a single high-pitched bellowing scream. It was bizarre to the point of nightmare. It was as if one had received a sudden unexpected blow on the back of the head. As I stood there, heart thumping, transfixed with shock, one of the guides grabbed me by the arm and half dragged and half pushed me through the undergrowth towards a little rise where the others were standing. I looked at the point where they were staring and I remember calling out aloud, "Oh my God, how wonderful!”