Out of Africa

When I got out of the jeep later, they shouted at me:

“Crazy fucking American! Evan, put your damn clothes back on, put down the Coors, and get back in the jeep! That is our oldest living lion!”

I just said, “I’m gonna get a close photo—like Civil War style.”

Then I raised my camera and said, “Mufasa, strike a pose.”

He turned his mane and back toward me, growled deep, and slow:

“Who’s the boss…?”

I said, “I ain’t gonna fuck with you, just a little closer—Civil War movie style paparazzi.”

The lion growled deeper. Then—slowly—he rose to all fours.

From the National Geographic Expeditions jeep—Stellenbosch University, G Adventures, Nat Geo Safari crew—they screamed:

“GET IN THE FUCKING JEEP, EVAN MICHAEL MCINTYRE! THAT IS KING MUFASA!”

But then they started backing the jeep away, whispering—

“That ain’t Mufasa… that’s fucking ASLAN.”

And the beast growled, swear on my mother Alice Evans’ grave:

“Who is the boooooosssss…?”

I said, “YOU ARE. You are King. I’ll spear a Great White in South Africa, but I ain’t fucking with no Mufasa.

They fired up the jeep.

“RUN, EVAN! RUN, FORREST!” they screamed.

I turned back—Mufasa, Aslan, whatever—walking slow like Michael Myers, like Jason.

“Who’s the booooooossss…” growl, growl, deeper.

And then he picked up the pace.

I ran like I had never run before, dove for the jeep.

“YOU ARE THE BOSS! I ain’t fucking with you, Aslaaaaaan!”

I barely made it in. “Where’s your fucking gun?” I yelled as they floored it—backing into the brush at 120mph, sticks smashing into our heads.

WHAM. We stopped.

And there, in awe and glory, Mufasa—smiled.

He climbed onto the jeep. Stood over us. And I swear he said:

“Bitch fo’ Americuuur… you ain’t like us.”

And then, slowly, he backed down.

Allison screamed. I covered her with my raincoat. Jean screamed at the crew:

“PUT THE METAL TO THE PEDAL, YOU CUNTS! DON’T JUST SIT THERE! WHY THE FUCK DON’T YOU HAVE A GUN?!”

The South Africans shouted:

“We never have guns! That American is out of fucking line! All this—for a photo?!”

I was crying. I said, “Have you seen Civil War—the movie—with that guapo, the one from… you know… El Chapo?”

They radioed the Will Smith God’s Vacation Lodge:

“We have injured. PTSD now. A branch knocked one unconscious.”

The lodge radioed back:

“We’re on lunch. You’re late.”

I said, “Oh Lord Jesus, I promise I’ll never sin again… Aslan is King of everything…”

They radioed again:

“Is he backing up his photos?”

“Oh shit, the camera!” someone shouted. And there it was—hanging by the headband, clinging to the jeep’s steps—my Canon.

“We’re booking it through the brush! He’s trained by Stellenbosch, Jean got an AIFS badge…”

They radioed back, “MY MCINTYRE.”

The jeep drivers: “He’s alright. He got the King up close. He said, ‘Strike a pose, bitch.’ And yes, 911 SOS, we’re okay.

‘Who’s the boss,’ he growled…”

I blacked out, blood running from my head wound. “Send me to Johannesburg. I’m outta here.”

I plugged in the external drive. “Shit… not close enough…”

We were doing 150mph, ducking branches, heads down, until we hit the gate. Water splashed under the bridge as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

Everyone shouting at me:

“Evan, wake up—you got the boss!”

But then: “We’re not allowing any more photography from Americans in Chobe.”

I croaked out: “I got them mating…”

The gate guards, rifles slung, laughed: “Who da boss, DJ Evan?”

And I cried.

“Thank you, and Elon..you have a beautiful country. Best fucking vacation… it was work, up at 3am, camera, batteries, Nat Geo Zimbabwe.”

THANK GOD I’M ALIVE. I got Mufasa. I got Aslan. KING OF EVERYTHING.

Thank you, Chobe National Park. Kruger ain’t got nothing on Botswana.

Medic: “He gonna be fine. Just in shock. Evan, what do you want? He is in shock...can't talk.

“Get him a Coke Zero. He’s fine. Help him into bed.”

They tried to take my camera. I refused.

“Let him be. Night.

Lekker!”

“Lekker…” I whispered and smiled closing my eyes.

“I never met an American like this.” the hotel manager covering me with the blanket.

"A real grower....I think he likes me" she laughed. I whispered, "Don't flatter yourself....it is for Mufasa."

I got this close. Would I do it again? No. National Geographic Expeditions Photographer and Videographer: DJ Evan Michael McIntyre

@elon_verifiy @elonmusk1212motivation @elonsupdates