not the only one

"You're back?" The woman manning the desk at the Crocodile Farm in Victoria Falls looks at us in disbelief.

"I know. We were here yesterday afternoon. But he liked it so much we had to come again." I point to my son.

If it were up to me, I would not be here. Crocodiles may not be the cuddliest of animals but I don't like the thought of them being slaughtered.

It is not up to me, of course.

Our guide recites impassively. "These crocodiles are nearly three years old." I look at the heaving mass of grey (because they are grey really, not bright green like in the toy shops) bodies in what's really just an unpainted swimming pool.

"When do they get skinned?" a tourist asks. "At three years old," he says. We have already browsed in the gift shop, seen the crocodile handbags, belts and keyrings, the stuffed croc babies. It's all a bit close for comfort, I feel.

But my son hangs on the guide's every word. He watches with glee when the crocodiles are fed elephant meat (and the resident kitten gets given its very own elephant titbit: how many cats do the crocs go through per year, I wonder grimly?) The guide shows him how the crocs only see movement: when a piece of elephant meat floats gently millimetres away from a large croc's nostrils, he doesn't snap in the slightest.

In the car after the tour, he asks: "Can we go again this afternoon?"

Turns out he isn't the only one enchanted by the Crocodile Farm. Paging through the Herald this morning, I see Libyan leader Muamar Gaddafi's son Lieutenant-Colonal Saadi has been visiting Victoria Falls: "Lt-Col Gaddafi yesterday visited various tourist attractions, including...Crocodile farm and the Falls themselves."

Gaddafi said he found the farm and the Falls"very impressive."