Tuesday 200 — one hundred seventeen
I crouched down to meet the tiny hippo child, then remembered what our Massai guide said.
What in Cher’s name is a Tuesday 200?
“Joy!” Some parent yelled, “don’t go too far, sweetie.”
It was amazing how quickly her squat little legs could turn over. Galloping pell mell, I couldn’t decipher if it was with abandon or a targeted purpose.
As she zoomed closer — was I that target? — I saw her gray sweat suit, and a knitted hat with the tiniest ears poking out on top. Her eyes big and black.
Adorable.
Like the baby hippos on last summer’s Kenyan safari.
I crouched down to meet the tiny hippo child, then suddenly remembered what our Massai guide had said.
“You know hippos, when they’re outside of the water, can run Usain Bolt fast?”
Nope.
“Also, fun fact: of all the animals out here, hippos are the only ones who will kill just for the sake of killing. With one chomp of those powerful jaws, you’re done and you’re not even dinner.”
Joy charging towards me. Her mouth wide open (Laughing? Screaming? Hunting?), her teeth glistening with saliva.
I lurched out of the tiny assassin’s path. Part of me knew nothing would happen, part of me grateful that I wouldn’t be headed to the emergency room, presenting a body rendered bloody by a baby hippopotamus.