Readers' Africa: Befriending Boris

Alan Butterworth recalls his Malawi childhood - and a rather unusual playmate

In the late 1960s my siblings, Neil, Fiona and I had the privilege of living in Malawi as the sun set on the colonial era.

My father, a seafaring Scotsman, was employed by Malawi Railways Lake Service in the "Warm Heart of Africa" as the master of the MV Ilala. This engagingly quaint 620 ton steamer ploughed up and down Lake Malawi from Monkey Bay in the south to Karonga in the north. In fact, it is still doing just that and celebrated its 60th birthday in 2009.

The Ilala was based at Monkey Bay and it was here that we had our family home. Idyllic school holidays from St Andrews preparatory and high schools in Blantyre were spent in the clear, blue waters of one of the largest inland "lakes" in the world. It was here that we first encountered the hippo that was to be in our lives for a number of years.

The children of Monkey Bay came up with the name Boris.

He literally appeared out of the blue one day, much to the shock of my poor mother. Lake Malawi has fairly large populations of hippo and crocodile but they seemed to avoid the slightly busier Monkey Bay with its harbour, holiday traffic and fairly large local population.

The common view was that Boris came from Coffee Bay next door and had reached an age where he was no longer productive to the herd. Much like the "Eskimos" used to do, he was excommunicated and sent on his way.

Befriending hippos is not usually good for your health. They probably account for more deaths in rural Africa than crocodiles and snakes combined. Though they are mostly herbivorous mammals and humans are not on their daily menu, their powerful jaws, suspicious temperaments and sheer bulk of up to three tons make them a formidable foe.

What better pals to develop, then, than the unsuspecting humans next door in Monkey Bay? So there he arrived unannounced. One minute you were swimming and the next there was a full-grown hippo eye-balling you.

He would suddenly barge out of the water and romp all over the beach, much to the delight of the ever-increasing crowds. His fame spread far and wide and, if I recall, he was a centre-spread in one of the British Sunday papers.

There was a raft about 100m out in the lake from the Monkey Bay Railway Club and this was his favourite hangout. He would let us swim out and then keep us stranded on the raft as he circled around, walking as hippos do, on the lake bed. One glorious summer afternoon, I had to escort my sister Fiona back to shore while Boris followed behind.

I was able to feed him cabbage and beer at arm's length, whereupon he would bellow in appreciation and splash at speed back into the depths. In the photo, which I can only guess was taken around 1968 when I was 13, are Fiona and my friend, Didi Burke.

Boris would spend the night ravaging our vegetable gardens about 3km from the lakeside. Our defence against that was to run outside screaming and flashing torch-lights everywhere.

We were all well aware of his potential threat and at all times treated him with caution, but the sight of Boris popping his head out of the water and flicking his ears in the distance always prompted us to dash into the lake to engage with our friend. Crazy? You bet!

Forty-five years later, I would not be seen anywhere near him but such is age, wisdom and a desire to live on.

Tragically, Boris died a few years later when he was deemed to be too much of a nuisance. In an effort to move him, he was darted. He made it back into the water and drowned.

What a wonderful experience and an unforgettable character. Living in an African paradise and a close-up encounter with one of Africa's giants. RIP Boris the Hippo. Thanks for the fun and all the memories.

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