Safari
I spent my last 5 days in Kenya traveling through the west of the country and exploring the Rift Valley and Maasai Mara National Reserve. I was accompanied by my friend Ellen who had just completed a business trip to various cities in Africa, ending in Nairobi. We had hired a tour company which supplied us with a driver and van, created an itinerary and set up our accommodations. It was an interesting trip, if rushed and despite ongoing friction with our driver.
Here are some highlights of the trip:
Hell’s Gate Park, where hot water oozes out of the ground and a warm river cuts through the valley floor exposing earth striated with hues of red.
Lake Bogoria where boiling water spurts out of the ground on the shores of a hot salty lake, host to a large flamingo population. The flamingos promenade in stately lines as if choreographed, burbling constant messages to each other. From a distance the lake seems to have a ring of pink around its circumference.
A walk in a forest on the edge of Lake Baringo, where a local guide described the flora and fauna. We received a fascinating account of the life cycle of termite ants and the wily habits of weaver birds. We also visited a reptile museum housing snakes, turtles, lizards and crocodiles, lovingly cared for by the manager.
Our first night at Sarova Lion Hill Lodge, pure luxury in the middle of a national park. A balcony looking out over the plain and lake below, the sound of tree frogs in the night, a sunken bathtub and calming tasteful colors. A sumptuous dinner laid out for us and four chefs stir frying fresh meat and vegetables by the plate.
A glimpse of a leopard in Lake Nakuru National Park, disturbed from his afternoon nap by a bevy of tour vans and photo-snapping tourists. The leopard rose from the dead branch he was lounging on and stalked haughtily through the line of vehicles, completely ignoring the intrusion of tourists as if did not exist.
The unabashed sexuality of baboons, all the males from the dominant patriarch to the tiniest youngster sporting erect penises.
The beautiful vista over Maasai Mara National Reserve, the savanna stretching over gently rolling hills of yellowing grass, purpling in the distance with the Mara River cutting a wide ribbon of mud red at the base of a line of hills. Wildlife dotted across the Massai Mara plains; small herds of zebra, gazelle and wildebeest.
A close-up view of a cheetah with her five kittens and the spectacle of her hunt: stalking a Thompson Gazelle grazing nearby. The gazelle became aware of danger, but seemed fixated by it, stamping nervously and looking in the direction of the cheetah. Suddenly it bolted off away from the cheetah and then inexplicably turned around and ran straight for it. It stopped within about 50 meters and the source of its dilemma emerged: a baby gazelle appeared from the grass to suckle its mother. We watched in horror as we observed this tender moment about to be destroyed by death. The cheetah pounced, mother and child separated, and the cheetah caught the baby gazelle and broke its neck. The mother circled around and watched as the cheetah ate her offspring.
Here are some of the less pleasant aspects of our trip:
Bumping along on pitiful roads for endless hours. We each got rather accustomed to it and at the end were actually able to read as we bounced. The second day was particularly tiresome as we were in the van for eight hours for two and a half hours of sightseeing. We had awakened at 5:30 am for this outing and as I tried to catch a siesta at the back of the van I couldn’t help but wonder if this was actually a vacation!
Interactions with the driver who fancied himself a ladies man and may have been under the delusion that his innate charm would make up for lack of service and attention. Little things added up and got on my nerves: for lunch on the first day purchasing us each a tiny pastry and refusing to buy juice because it was too expensive; having to be reminded to bring the packed lunches and then leaving them on the seat in the baking hot van for six hours, making the chicken too risky to eat; constantly forgetting to bolt down the forward seat which swung forward dangerously every time there was a big bump; lying about the proximity of the Mara River so that he wouldn’t have to take us there, the list went on. Ellen and I decided not to tip him feeling that his behavior detracted from rather than added to the enjoyment of the trip. He had the gall, though to call me after and ask for it even stipulating how much it should be, whereby I informed him that we had not intended to tip him and why.
The second night after bouncing over endless dusty roads, arriving at our hotel to find that the whole town was out of power. Our meal was paltry (instant soup and frozen fish sticks). I managed a cold sponge bath to wash away the red dust.
The numerous tour vans in Maasai Mara National Reserve who crowd too close to the animals, the drivers jockeying for position as if the closer they got to the animals, the bigger their tips.
The contrast between our mostly opulent accommodations and the poverty we saw everywhere: sad ramshackle kiosks lining the road selling a pitiful array of supplies, women standing by the road with their produce to sell: bags of maize, jars of honey or handfuls of oranges; worst of all, at the entrance of Maasai Mara Park, desperate Maasai women trying to sell handicrafts to the rich tourists who drove in. Barred from the park itself and their traditional way of life compromised, the Maasai were not even provided with the benefit of a market in order to sell their wares in a dignified way to the tourists who bring millions of dollars a year to the area.
