Spotted hyenas - our favorite predator

 Michael - Alt Thursdays

Most people dismiss hyenas as scavengers and even call them cowardly. Certainly they scavenge. They are willing to eat anything that is, or once was, flesh and bone. Especially bone. Their jaws can crunch them to powder, and their stomachs can digest and dissolve the calcium in strong acids. It's easy to recognize their feces as they appear white or grey from all that calcium.

However, the spotted hyena is primarily a predator. On their own they will hunt small animals or young ones - basically anything they can catch. But once they team up they'll go for much larger prey.

All the better to eat you with!

I’ve spent a night in the Kalahari with a hyena researcher following a group of seven of them. They seem to tirelessly cover the veld just loping along until one catches a scent, and then they suddenly all turn and race off in the same direction. During that night they had a go at an eland — that proved too much for them, chased a lioness up an acacia tree and circled the base with their tails up like dogs around a treed cat, and eventually pulled down a wildebeest.

Taking on a Gemsbok at night

And a lioness

In Botswana, Stan and I witnessed a much larger pack pull down a wildebeest and completely consume it over a period of a few hours. Everything is eaten except the horns and hooves. Watching that was what sparked the idea of destroying a body that way for the perfect murder, and eventually led to our first novel, A Carrion Death. When our third book, Death of the Mantis, won the Barry Award for best paperback original mystery of the year, we publicly thanked the hyenas for their encouragement.

Spotted hyenas have a very complex social structure. The females are larger and almost always form the leaders of the pack or clan. It's a competitive world, with access to kills and mating opportunities depending not only on the ability to dominate others in the clan but also on forming alliances. Leadership is usually based on the strongest alliance. 

The females build dens - often co-opted burrows - and look after the young. The males don't help and neither do other females. No "one for all and all for one" here. Their hunting, however, is cooperative and shows a lot of aggression. No cowards here either. However, the social bonds are important. Hyenas like to spend time resting together and communicating with each other in various ways. 

Even more surprising is that hierarchy usually depends on inheritance. The matriarch's cubs will generally supply the new matriarch when she dies. Presumably, the matriarch favours her cubs and so raises their status in the clan. If a male leads, he will be one of her cubs too. Males tend to hang out with their adult daughters, and the daughters tend to be more accepting of them.

In modern times, it's unusual for hyenas to attack humans, but they are certainly partial to human corpses. Some cultures even put out the bodies of the dead for hyenas to dispose of, sometimes even dressing them with blood or fat to try to lure hyenas. The hyenas are happy to co-operate in general, but may reject the odd human body, apparently a very bad and embarrassing omen.

Surprisingly, spotted hyenas have a reputation for making good pets. They socialize easily with people, but they are not easy to house train and have a strong scent which they use to mark their territories. Not ideal. 

There is even a city where spotted hyenas have become welcome nightly visitors. Although they are totally wild—in the sense that they live outside in the surrounding bush and come and go exactly as they please, they come through the city to clean up, accept offerings, be admired by tourists, and socialize with their favorite people—the ones who feed them (who are designated by the city).

The ancient city wall of Harar

Shewaber gate

The city of Harar itself is interesting. Situated in eastern Ethiopia near Somalia and the horn of Africa, it was established as a walled city in 1551 and is one of the earliest Muslim centers of importance, supposedly fourth after Mecca. Now about a quarter of a million people live in the city and surrounds. And beyond that, the hyenas live.

'Hyena man' with a friend

Don't try this at home...

Sharing is caring.

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Michael and Stanley will be at CRIMEFEST in Bristol from the 15^th to the 18^th of May. We’d love to see you at one or more of the panels we’ll be on.

THURSDAY 14:40 – 15:30

Murder is Everywhere: Evil Crimes in Foreign Climes

Heidi Amsinck, Michael Ridpath, Jeffrey Siger, Ovidia Yu

Participating Moderator: Michael Stanley (Stan Trollip)

 

THURSDAY 15:50 – 16:40

Dark Pasts and Dark Presents: Secrets and Lies

Samantha Lee Howe, M.A. Hunter, Alison Joseph, Michael Stanley (Michael Sears)

Participating Moderator: Caro Ramsay

 

FRIDAY 14:50 – 15:40

One of A Kind: Atypical Characters

Paul Durston, Christina Koning, Tom Mead, Bridget Walsh

Participating Moderator: Michael Stanley (Michael Sears)

 

SATURDAY 13:40 – 14:30

Not All 999: Police Procedurals Across Time and Place

Tana Collins, Mark Ellis, Sólveig Pálsdóttir, Michael Stanley (Stan Trollip)

Participating Moderator: Jeffrey Siger

3 Eves and An Apple: Old Friends in a New World

Ovidia--every other Tuesday

'What are those?'

'Those orange fruits? I don't recognise the plant.'

'Smell familiar?'

[sniffs] 'No… can't smell anything--'

'Some kind of fruit. Wonder if they're sweet.'

'Take a picture and do Google search.'

'Okay, I got it – oh and it's poisonous. Very poisonous. Don't touch it!'

'You're the one who touched it first!'

'How poisonous? Touch and feel itchy poisonous or touch and die poisonous?'

'Doesn't say-- but there aren't any bodies around so--'

'Maybe the poison leads to laryngospasm and an agonising death within twenty-four hours so none of the victims managed to tell anyone about the orange fruit they touched...'

No, we’re not murderers, just old school friends who hadn't met up in years, and I’m the only mystery writer. But getting together with J and C made me realise how long ago my curiosity and love of exploring the world both widely and minutely got stirred up.

We were six years old when we first met. This year, we’re turning sixty-four and it's C's first visit to Singapore in twenty years! (If she keeps to this schedule we’ll be in our 80’s by the time we meet again!)

We were about 12 years in this photograph, which feels several lifetimes away. I wonder where everyone else in this photo is!

Our original plan was to walk around Chinatown looking at Yip Yew Chong’s murals--

but being Singaporean, we started with food at the Maxwell Food Centre—

And a sudden thunderstorm persuaded us to stay put and talk. Which was by far the best thing we could have done, I think.

It's funny how we remember the same spaces and people but perspectives just slightly off. And that applied to how we remembered each other too— and the strangeness of 'seeing' yourself through someone else's eyes both and, at your own memory anchors, seeing your childhood self through adult eyes. It made me realise how much my old school memories are filtered through the lens of who I was back then.

They might not appreciate this, but at times it felt like we were old dogs, encountering old litter mates and thrilling to the awakening of long forgotten and even longer beloved scent markers.

It was the perfect time to meet too, in the luminal space between Easter Sunday and the Ascension, with the reminder that we’re all still works in progress.

Another thing that’s making me feel simultaneously younger (relatively) and older (responsibilities) is my father-in-law moved in with us last week.
It's a joy to have him. He’s a cheerful 90 year old who loves challenging our neighbours to guess his age, then laughing proudly when they get it wrong and “announcing “Ninety years old! And I still climb stairs without a stick!”

But it just made it even more special to have some irresponsible girl time.

And, maybe, discover a new source of poison in Eve's Apple, the unusual orange fruits that caught our attention.

The flowers are more familiar:

Eve's Apple or Forbidden Fruit (Tabernaemontana dichotoma), has poisonous latex, fruit and seeds. It’s part of the dogbane family, which includes one of my favourite trees, the frangipani. You can see how similar their leaves are.

I’m guessing the names come from colonialists linking the beautiful but toxic fruit to the biblical Eve. It’s a reminder that we three Singapore born girls only met and became friends thanks to the mission school mechanism set up by the colonialists, and we’re probably seeing each other—and the rest of the world—through its filters!

Tenzing Norgay: Conqueror of Everest

Annamaria on Easter Monday 

I am pretty sure that sometime ago, I posted a blog about Easter Monday.  I had intended to find it and update it today.  But they I got distracted with preparing my family's tradition Easter foods, and I was already in an Uber car heading to my brother's house in New Jersey, when I realized I had not done my MIE duty. We were entering the Lincoln Tunnel, and all I had only my phone to work with.

When I first got into the car, I had asked Tec, the driver a question, and his answer had been, "Not good English.  I come from Nepal."  No problem.

Okay, so in the car I had about 40 minutes to pull up that old post.  But when I asked my phone to search for "Easter Monday," after a number of Jeff's marvelous blog's about Easter Sunday in Greece, the only thing of mine it came up with was the one you see below, from April 2014. I kept trying to search, but I never could find what I thought I was looking for.

Then it dawned on me: the man driving the car was Nepalese, like the man you see below.  In fact, there was a strong resemblance between the two.

Even in my peripatetic life, I had never before met a Nepalese man in person.  Regular MIE readers have read how much I love it when coincidences occur in my life.  Here's one:  The reblog* that the fates have asked me to give you today.

*Thank you, Caro, for introducing me to this very useful word in your blog the past Friday!

When I was in elementary school, the news circled the globe:  Edmund Hillary was the first man to climb Mount Everest.   Hillary was feted world wide, made headlines in all the newspapers, later was knighted by the Queen.  Climbing with the ultra famous Hillary, was a man whose name did not become well-known until years later.  In the reports at the time of the ascent, Tenzing Norgay Sherpa’s name was misspelled, if not completely misreported.  He was never mentioned in the headlines, and usually only acknowledged as a “guide” or a “porter.”

At some point during my high school years, when the subject of Everest came up, it occurred to me to ask about that porter whose name the newspapers couldn’t get straight.   My youthful heart became enraged that Tenzing Norgay received so little recognition when it seemed so obvious that Sir Edmund—brave and determined though he was—would never have made it to the top alone.  Tenzing was essential to the success of the expedition.  After I learned about him, I made it a sanctimonious point to remind anyone who spoke of Hillary that Sir Edmund did not travel solo.  I am sure my listeners though me obnoxious.

Last week, when sixteen of Norgay’s brother Sherpa mountaineers died in an avalanche, all that rage against injustice came back and inspired me to write this remembrance of a man who eventually received recognition, but never the flood of adulation that was heaped on the white man who was his partner in that great adventure.

On the 29^th of May 1953, Edmund Hillary, a New Zealand adventurer and Tenzing Norgay, a Nepalese Sherpa mountaineer, together reached the summit of the tallest mountain on earth.    Neither one of them ever revealed which of the two actually put the first boot on the peak.   Hillary got most of the credit.  But we can’t blame him for hogging the limelight.  He honored Tenzing and cited his enormous contribution.  Hillary had very good reason to do so, as you will soon learn.  The western world at large, however, looked upon the triumph over Everest as the accomplishment of man of Northern European descent.  Hillary was their hero.  They pictured his shorter, browner fellow traveler as not much more than a servant.

Let’s focus on that “porter” for a few minutes.

Tenzing Norgay was a Nepalese Sherpa born and brought up in the northeastern town of Tengboche, Khumbu.  His actually birthdate went unrecorded, but he knew he was born in the Tibetan Calendar’s Year of the Rabbit, which would have been 1914.  He also knew he was born in late May—so he took the date of May 29^th—the day he and Hillary reached the summit—as his birthday.  He was the 11^th of 13 children and one of few to survive.

His first opportunity to attempt Everest came in 1935.  Chosen for his attractive smile, he joined an expedition led by an Englishman, Eric Shipton.  During the 1930’s, he went up the mountain’s northern, Tibetan face with three ensuing British teams.  None succeeded.

During World War II, Tenzing worked in India as a batman for a Major Chapman.  There, his wife died and he eventually returned to Darjeeling with his two little daughters, escaping during the 1947 Indian partition by donning one of the Major’s old uniforms and crossing the continent by train without a ticket.

Once back in the mountains, he joined another unsuccessful attempt with a Canadian and another Sherpa.  A strong storm stopped them at 22,000 feet (6700 meters).  Tenzing continued to hone his mountaineering skills, with many achievements, including a daring rescue of a fellow member of a Swiss expedition and the first successful ascent of the Kedarnath peak in the western Himalayas.

In 1952, on another Swiss attempt, he and another climber reached 28,200 (8600 meters) on the south face of Everest.

Early the following year, he met Edmund Hillary on an expedition led by John Hunt.  Hillary nearly fell into a crevasse, but the quick-thinking Tenzing saved him by securing the rope to his ice ax.  After that Tenzing became Hillary’s partner of choice.

On the 28^th of May, Hunt directed Hillary and Norgay to try for the summit.   They made it up to 27,900 feet that day, spent the night in a tent, and went for the top the next morning.  Carrying 30 pounds of gear on their backs, wedging themselves up between the rock wall and the ice, their final step was to go straight up for 40 feet.   At 11:30 AM, they reached the peak of the highest place on earth: 29,028 feet (8848 meters).

Afterwards, while Tenzing was greeted with adulation in India and Nepal, the West’s honors went largely to Hillary.  He and also Hunt, who didn’t even make it to the top, were knighted by the Queen.  Tenzing Norgay had to settle for the George Medal.

He went on to become the first Director of Field Training at the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute.

Eventually Tenzing Norgay’s name even made a few appearances in popular culture: a mention in a song in Mel Brooks’ The Producers is one of a couple of instances.  If you have not known it before, I ask you to remember it now.

Just yesterday morning, National Geographic published an article about Sherpa mountaineers, called “The Invisible Men of Everest.  You can find it here:

http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/special-features/2014/04/140426-sherpa-culture-everest-disaster/

The magazine must have been working on that piece long before last week’s tragedy, when the sixteen Sherpas died en masse and brought attention to their work, their courage, and their plight.

Sunday is Easter...For All.

Saturday––Jeff 

Over the years I’ve written about the traditions of Greek Easter many times.  This year the Julian calendar (followed by the Greeks and others of the Eastern Orthodox faith) and the Gregorian calendar (followed by Protestants and Catholics) have Easter falling on the same date, April 20th. I decided that makes this Easter an appropriate time to recap Greece's historic Easter Week celebrations. 

For that I turn again to the explanation found on the Facebook page of the oldest Greek Bakery in Queens--located in the NYC heart of America’s best-known Greek neighborhood, Astoria.  Here’s what the Victory Sweet Shop has to say:

 

For Greeks worldwide, Easter [April 20th] is the biggest religious holiday of the year.

HOLY WEEK is the week just before Easter that extends from Palm Sunday until Holy Saturday and marks the last week of Lent. It is full of symbolic events, festivities, and traditions followed by Greeks all over the world.

 

On THURSDAY, Greek Easter bread called Tsoureki is baked and the traditional red Easter eggs are dyed. This sweet bread is usually braided with three pieces of dough, which represent the Holy Trinity. The tsoureki symbolizes the Resurrection of Christ and rebirth as the flour is molded into shape and rises and takes on life as it transforms into its final shape. The red-dyed egg which is placed on top of the braid symbolizes the blood of Jesus. Nowadays, most people can easily buy the Easter Tsoureki at a Greek bakery.

 

On GOOD FRIDAY you’ll hear the church bells ring for the funeral of Christ. After the church service, the symbolic body of Christ, fashioned out of bundled sheets, is taken down from a cross and placed in a makeshift tomb called the Epitaphios, which is draped with an ornate tapestry and adorned with many flowers. The Epitaphios is then carried outside the church and paraded through the neighborhood before returning to the church for a closing ceremony. 

 

 

SATURDAY is the last day of lent and it is filled with preparations for the midnight meal, including a traditional lamb offal soup called “Magiritsa” and a red egg cracking tradition called “Tsougrisma”. Just before midnight on Saturday everyone gathers at church with their Easter candles (Lambathes). The liturgy on Holy Saturday night is a truly unique experience. The churches are usually packed, and you will often see people spilling onto the church’s streets with white candles, which will be lit later with the Holy Light brought all the way from Jerusalem.

 

The Resurrection of Christ is celebrated at midnight sharp; the priest proclaims “Christos Anesti” (Christ has risen) with bells ringing and fireworks lighting up the sky outside. People greet each other with a “Christos Anesti” (Christ is Risen) and its reply “Alithos Anesti” (He has truly risen), lighting their candles along the way. Each person carefully carries their lit candle home in order to bless their home by drawing a cross with the flame on the doorway. Afterwards, they enjoy the Magiritsa soup and play the Tsougrisma tradition.

 

On EASTER SUNDAY, family and friends gather for a big Easter meal, which typically includes lambs roasting on a spit, loads of mezedakia, Greek salads, music & dancing. The Easter meal is truly special and a feast of joy and happiness.

 

Kali Anastasi!!! Καλή Ανάσταση!!!

Happy Easter!!! Καλό Πάσχα!!!

Thank you, Victory Sweet Shop

––Jeff

 

Jeff’s Events (still in formation)

2025

All Live Events

 

Wednesday, April 2, 6:00 p.m. ET
Mysterious Bookshop
Author Speaking and Signing
New York, NY

 

Sunday, April 6, 2:00 p.m. PT
Book Carnival
Author Speaking and Signing
Orange, CA

 

Sunday, April 13, 2:00 p.m. MT
The Poisoned Pen Bookstore
Author Speaking and Signing
Scottsdale, AZ

 

Friday, April 25, 7:00 p.m.
Mystery Lovers Bookshop
Author Speaking and Signing
Pittsburgh, PA

 

Sunday, May 4, 2:00 p.m. ET
Sparta Public Library
Author Speaking and Signing
Sparta, NJ

 

Thursday, May 15, 2:40 p.m.
CrimeFest

Mercure Bristol Grand Hotel

Panelist, Murder is Everywhere: Evil Crimes in Foreign Climes, with  Heidi Amsinck, Michael Ridpath, Ovidia Yu, and Stanley Trollip (moderator)
Bristol, UK

 

Saturday, May 17, 1:40 p.m.
CrimeFest

Mercure Bristol Grand Hotel

Moderator, Not All 999: Police Procedurals Across Time and Place, with panelists Tara Collins, Mark Ellis, Solveig Palsdottir and Stanley Trollip of Michael Stanley.
Bristol, UK

 

 

Wednesday, September 3 – Sunday, September 7
Bouchercon
Author Panels yet to be assigned
New Orleans, LA

The Pitch Doc Revisited

Today I have reblogged an old post from 2019. This is because I have a sick note from my doctor saying that I am excused from blogging due to traumatic injury. A bookcase full of books fell on top of me. That's part of the story. The other, more interesting part is that a certain Douglas Skelton was outlining his new novel,  where a crime writer gets killed at a festival. He was standing by the bookcase.... and then there was darkness.

Douglas's bookshop owning wife asked if any books were damaged in the process.

You'll be glad to know there was no book damage but my right wrist is 'iffy' ( medical term).

 Wendall's blog yesterday reminded me of this blog from 2019!

The Pitch Document

Here is a blog, interspersed with some photos of the Ben on the dog walk this morning.  I only had my basic lens with me so the pics aren’t very good. Neither is the blog. But think yourself lucky that I’m not blogging about the vote on Wednesday night. Or the one on Tuesday night. As one famous MP said as he got in the lift afterwards ‘You’ve got to laugh.’

                                         

When I do my talks about novel writing, and plotting in particular, I use a template that I stole, with his permission, from the rather lovely screenplay writer Adrian Meade.   He devised it from various sources ( what ‘s that saying? Steal from one source is plagiarism, steal from many it’s research!) and he recommends that a young screenplay writer hones this document, keeps it in his/her head in case he/she gets stuck in a lift with Mr Spielberg.

I use it to clarify the thoughts of young or inexperienced writers and ask them to stick it somewhere within their vision when they are writing. Just to keep them on track and stop them falling foul of that nasty little devil, the wandering storyline minstrel.

Have I ever used it myself? No. But after my enthusiastic talk about it on Tuesday night, I so impressed myself that I will use it from now on.

But for a bit of fun, here’s a version with the first two categories empty.  You can guess the film? (It was a book, I’m waiting for the bloody musical though)

 

PITCH DOCUMENT

The log line; I’m not saying because if I told you, you know the film straight away

Title; Ditto ( no Jeff, the film wasn’t called Ditto…..)

Genre; thriller

Protagonist; An Ex NYPD police person

Goal; At the start- a nice slide into a peaceful, beachside retirement, on an island

          At the end- staying alive

Obstacles; he’s an outsider, he’s scared of water, he can’t swim, the council who want to protect the income from the holiday makers, his wife who fancies the other bloke, nobody listens to him…. And maybe, the big beastie under the waves,…..oh and he NEEDS A BIGGER BOAT and he doesn’t have one!

Theme…. Do dooo, do dooo, do do do do (yes you are humming it now,) well that is the theme tune, the novel itself is a quest novel.

Setting; Amity Island

In the end; He has redemption in the eyes of the community. He is alive. The big beastie is shark meat, but he is mourned. There is a sense they should have just closed the beach and killed the mayor instead.

Anyway, I guess you got what the film was.

                                  

Here’s the lecture as I witter it….

                                           

PITCH DOCUMENT

The log line         The natty little phrase you spout in the lift when you meet Spielberg.

Have it on the tip of your tongue so you don’t start ‘well It’s about a bloke who does this then that then something else and zzzzzzz

Title                      And put the letters W/T after it, to show it’s not a deal breaker.

Genre                   What shelf does it go on in the book shop?  And write that. A hard boiled Glasgow murder where the murderer escapes by running down a dark alley and climbing  on a turquoise glittery unicorn that then leaps over the moon and deposits him in a space ship crewed by Raquel Welch clones, might struggle on this one. (Those of you who have taken a writers group will know what I mean)

)

Protagonist         the main bloke/blokess. If they aren’t mentioned for a few chapters, and another character is butting in, maybe you have the wrong protagonist. I’ve noticed a few newbie writers think they are writing about what the book is about rather than who is running around doing the action and moving the plot forward.

Goal                      What the main character wants to achieve.

                              What he needs to achieve is sometimes a more interesting story.

 

Obstacles            What is getting in his way, personally and professionally, and the Bruce Robinson thing of stick the hero up the tree and don’t let him come down. Every time he gets close to the ground send a Rottweiler after him…. Or a hippo in Stan’s case.

Theme                  There are only seven themes out there. There is nothing new. The writer has to give that theme a new life and a new meaning.

Setting                  Good if  we are in need of an unreliable mobile phone signal, some extreme weather, heat/ cold/ rain/. And where is a human more lonely? At the top of the Ben looking down at the loch, or in a bedsit in any inner city?

In the end…         and what did happen in the end… it might not be the right thing but it has to be the satisfactory thing. And in crime fiction, the baddie can get away but he’s not going to gain what he set out to gain…. Like the Italian Job.

                                   

 

I did get a laugh in the lecture when I was talking about pantsers and I showed a picture of Brexit. ‘This is what happens when you decide on an idea with no concept of what might be involved.’

 

 Caro Ramsay  18 01 2019