New Digs

April 28, 2002-Getting There
(photos:Tire change,
Amboseli Serena Lodge)

Jackson enjoyed his time at home last night. He has two boys ages 7 and 9. He said they don’t go to an international school. There are no free schools, but those are too expensive for him. There’s also no compulsory education. I asked him if most Kenyans identify with a tribe. He said they do and that he’s Kikuyu.

The clouds in Kenya are mesmerizing. They loom and hug the ground and mountain peaks. Some of them hover halfway to the hilltops like wispy wraiths. They play hide and seek with the sun and obscure views until they’re ready to move on and reveal the majesty behind them. They’re puffs of pure white, black as ebony, or gossamer whiffs of gray, but they’re ever present.

We traveled south to Amboseli National Park today. It’s Sunday and quieter around the towns. Markets open later in the day, but we were treated to several Masai going about their daily chores. Most still live in the traditional way and wear traditional clothes. We did see one man on a bike and several who succumbed to wearing boots or Nikes with their classically draped skirts and shawls. It’s confusing at first to distinguish the men from the women and identifying the symbols on the rest room doors is tricky. The symbols on the doors show the men wearing a skirt and the women wearing dresses. The only way to tell them apart is that the men are holding a spear and the women have a baby on their back. When in motion the Masai don’t walk, they flow. They resemble stilt- like ebony storks that might have flown into a clothesline on washday and come away festooned with colorful linens. Their beadwork is glorious in its variety although it’s all now made from plastic beads rather than the original clay. They docilely tend their cattle and goats and can easily be mistaken for the benign creatures they are not. They’re renowned for their fierce warriors and were one of several tribes who joined the Mau Mau group in the mid-50’s in a bloody attempt to run the English out of Kenya.

We went from a paved “highway” to a 45-mile stretch of unforgiving road that led to the lodge. The road didn’t forgive us this time either. We got a flat tire. Fortunately we carry two spares. Now we have one. Our diver was relieved that two security guards happened along. I guess there are poachers in the area and he didn’t like the idea of stopping unprotected. These burly men carried huge rifles. I know nothing about guns, but I do know I didn’t want to be on the wrong end of those. The guards joined us as spectators while Jackson changed the tire. Unfortunately, it’s a one-person job. I really wanted a picture of the guards, but didn’t think it would be polite to ask. The tire was in shreds and I asked David to take my photo with it. As I tried to lift it I realized it was hotter and heavier than I thought. Both guards happily helped me and smiled for the camera.

We passed the landing strip that serves the lodge and I was glad we didn’t fly in. It’s at the beginning of the 45-mile off-road ordeal and hardly worth the expense since passengers have to drive to the lodge from there. The 2 ½-hour-long drive took us across what’s still called Lake Amboseli. The lake has filled with silt and goes from dry flat plain to short grassy areas to verdant rich swamp and ends in a tree line at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro. Hopefully, the wonderful clouds I described before will move and I’ll be able to see the peak of this incredible mountain. It has fascinated me since I was a teen and read The Snows of Mt. Kilimanjaro and Uhuru.

This time we were welcomed by everything from buffalo, frolicking zebras, and Thompsons gazelles to elephants fresh from a mud bath and wildebeest that looked as if their parts had been assembled by a committee. Since their rears are lower than their front ends, they have an awkward gait that reminds me of a rocking horse. A huge mirage made us question whether or not the lake might have filled with water and flat-topped acacia trees littered the horizon like lonely sentries. It looked like every poster for travel in Africa I’ve ever seen.

New Neighbors

The lodge is beautifully landscaped and features the requisite swimming pool and patio for the sunset animal watch. The reception areas are open to the weather as was the other lodge. Here the motif of the rooms is motel-style with red stucco adobe-like construction. I see a pattern emerging. All the lodges are part of the Serena chain and are predictable. The food is similar with soup to start and a made to order pasta bar as a staple. They even have several guests here so I imagine the electricity will stay on all day. During lunch a woman let out a blood-curdling scream. All the serving help raced to her rescue. It sounded as it she was being carried off by a lion or by gypsies at the very least. Our waiter told us that a monkey had reached into the window by her table and tried to steal her bread. They closed the window. All help is armed with slingshots and use them to keep the smaller critters at bay. They aim to discourage, not to hurt them. This is a sanctuary after all.

Our 4 PM game drive started out with a parade of six vans intent on finding lions. It was Lion Quest Part Four. The wildebeest (perhaps gnu to you) were out in force. They hang out with zebras and I’ve a suspicion there’s been some hanky panky in the past. Wildebeest sport those stripes on their haunches, do they not? Jackson told us that zebras never go hungry. They can subsist on the dried out remains of animal dung that contain undigested grasses. They’re a favorite food of lions, but don’t give up without a struggle. Lions either smother them or try to sever the jugular vein. In either case, death comes slowly and the lionesses (the hunters of the pride) are frequently injured. That’s why the male eats first. When he hears the dying cries of the prey, he heads out to dinner. This allows the female time to recover and literally lick her wounds before she has the energy to eat. The young zebras and wildebeest were feeling their oats today and were really kicking up their heels. They chased each other in circles raising clouds of dust until they were totally obscured by the haze.

All the vans had gone off in different directions and we’d given up hope of finding “simba,” the Swahili word for lion. I was back to taking pictures of trees. We came to a clearing in the brush and slowed to a crawl. Eagle-eyed Jackson had done it again. He had seen a near invisible pride of seven tan lions lying in the yellow sand by the road. There were several young ones, some females and a young male whose mane was just coming in. The male was closest to the road and had his rear end pointed towards us. When I say they were barely interested in us, I mean they were either deaf or indifferent. I’m convinced it’s the latter. We really wanted the male to raise his head so we could get a good photo, but he ignored our attempts. We tried calling, “Here kitty, kitty,” briefly tapping on the horn, making meowing sounds, clucking, and kissing noises. We thoroughly demeaned ourselves and none of the pride so much as blinked. We stared at them through binoculars and enjoyed every detail of their felineness. Finally, the male co-operated and gave a cursory look over his shoulder. That was all we needed. We tore ourselves away and started to spread the word of our find to every van we passed. We couldn’t believe our luck when we came upon two females and three cubs in some tall grass in another location. It was a bonanza!

The vans on parade headed back to the lodge on schedule forming dust devils in their wake. We cleaned up and went to the patio for a drink. There we saw our first waterbuck as they marched purposefully on their way to, what else, water. It was a harem of females with a lone male bringing up the rear. A waiter came to our table and handed David a long stick. He pointed to the trees above our heads and told him that the monkeys were not all asleep yet. I guess David was on guard duty. Cocktail hour passed without incident as we listened to a guitar player segue from Swahili songs saying not to worry (hakuna matata) into Jamaica Farewell, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, La Bamba, and Aweemawhey (sp) or The Lion Sleeps at Night. The stars began to appear and twinkle in the sky and David said he felt as if we were at camp. We looked up through the trees at the mostly sleeping monkeys and knew we were not. As I’m writing to you on the laptop, we can hear the strains of ancient Masai songs drifting up through the bush. Yup, this is definitely Africa.

Toby