Switch! by Karen Prince Page B

her.  
    “I was drawn here by those crocodiles,” she snapped back at him, jabbing her pipe pointedly in the direction of Jimoh’s grandpa. To Ethan’s astonishment, the two crocodiles lounged like dark shadows in the firelight beside the old man, almost part of the circle of people. No one seemed to be afraid of them. Grandpa smiled at Ethan when he caught his eye.
    “Then is prophecy,” nodded one of the mothers with satisfaction.  
    “Yes. Yes. Is prophecy,” the villagers murmured, poking each other on the shoulder or rocking back and forth in excited agreement.
    The angry man glared around him as if he could not believe such stupidity.
    Ignoring him, the witch cocked her head inquiringly at the mother, who in turn gestured towards the old man. Jimoh’s grandpa patted the crocodiles on their brow ridges and came forward carrying his upturned paint tin seat, which he set by the fire opposite the witch. Ethan hoped it had been cleaned properly. It would only take one spark to set any paint residue off and blow the man up like a firework. Grandpa sat down and cast a twinkling eye over the group. After a long pause which Ethan guessed was to ensure the audience were on the edge of their seats with anticipation, he cleared his throat and told the tale of the crocodiles. Tariro translated for Ethan and the witch and, although he didn’t know it, for the leopard too.
    “When the first white man passed through the valley he shot and wounded a crocodile by this very pool,” Grandpa said. “As was often the way of white hunters in those days, he left it there to die and went about his killing ways further along the valley. Some children found the crocodile the next day and fetched their grandfather who was a powerful sangoma.” A sangoma was a witch-doctor, Tariro explained to the witch.
    Grandpa paused for dramatic effect. “The sangoma patched it up and stayed with it for five days and six nights, never resting himself until the crocodile was well enough to survive on its own. By and by it swam away down river.” He gazed wistfully in the direction of the rapids. The villagers gazed wistfully too, and murmured agreement, as if they had heard the story before. All except the angry man who shook his head as if he had never heard such nonsense.
    The old man lowered his voice. “Nobody knew what had passed between the sangoma and the crocodile during his long vigil, but sometime later, two very large crocodiles moved to the rapids below the crystal pool, and the sangoma said they had come to repay their debt. A prophecy grew up around this tale, that the crocodiles would stay here, keeping the people of Tjalotjo kraal safe until they were able to take their revenge for the shooting.” He let this idea sink in and then went on.
    “At first the people at the kraal were afraid of them, but as time passed they came to enjoy a feeling of safety around the crocodiles, and an odd feeling of happiness and good health whenever they spent time swimming in the pool. The descendants of the old sangoma had a special relationship with the crocodiles and some of them were even able to communicate with them.” The villagers nodded in agreement. After all, they were the very people he spoke of, and they all knew someone who knew a person who claimed to be able to talk to the crocodiles.  
    “About a hundred years ago,” Grandpa went on after the babble of voices had died down, “a white family moved onto the land west of the valley. When they started to camp on the other side of the pools, the villagers waited for the crocodiles to take revenge for the shooting. As they got to know them better, the Tjalotjo villagers even warned the white family of the prophecy, but they persisted in camping and swimming there. Rather than wreak vengeance upon them, the crocs seemed to include the white family under their protection.” The crowd shook their heads and tsk-tsked. Ethan couldn’t tell if this was at the stubbornness of the