Going on a Lion Hunt

After a quick night back in Nairobi, just long enough to repack and wash out our underwear, we were up early and ready to head off to the Masai Mara for our first safari. I did the Masai Mara when I visited Rhonda about four years ago, but spent only two nights away from Nairobi and didn’t have the chance to visit a Masai village. I don’t remember much about it, to be frank, other than seeing the animals so close was simply amazing, that I stayed at least one night in a permanent tent with its own en suite bathroom, that we toured in a van whose roof punched up and out so we could stand and see better and that a baboon stole my lunch.

Again, I started off being grumpy. We had arranged our trip through a travel agent and should have had little “thinking” to do when we arrived. But when Emily and I checked in the first night, there was no record of a second person and it took forever to get it through to the people at the desk that, hey! There is a second person, that it doesn’t change the price and that it’s not a big deal. The booked shuttle never arrived at the airport when we returned from Lamu, so we waited around for almost an hour, then turned up rumpled and annoyed in a taxi. Then we get to the safari office and learn we should have brought sheets, pillows, socks. All this stuff that could have been easily carted over from Canada, had we just known about it. I was irritated and did little to disguise it.

We climbed into a modified Land Rover and climbed up to the overhang of the Rift Valley, where vendors have nailed together shops that barely cling to the edge of the highway. It was the usual stuff: get out to enjoy the view, promptly get surrounded by salesman, who use a soapstone dish to point out the sights of the valley, one that is for sale, of course.

I wandered and took a few pictures, then walked into a shop, where there was not one interesting or attractive thing on offer and the interrupted Mom and Dad as they were being hassled by some guy wanted to sell them his soapstone landscape marker. They just kept saying no and no and no and he just kept following them and pestering and incrementally dropping his price. It was probably their first taste of the bargaining process and by the time we met up with two gregarious Australians who were joining our trip at lunch, they were full of theories about how the process worked, how to calculate costs, how to get rid of unwanted attention. Neither of them seemed sold that after a lifetime of set prices, negotiation might be the superior way to buy goods.

We had a rough ride west to the park, dipping down into ruts that were cousins to craters and slipping over to the shoulder of the road when the actual road got to be too bad. The driver did all of this without letting up any pressure on the gas pedal, so Emily and I were pitched around in the backseat while trying to avoid the flying luggage and rolling water bottles. There were exotically dressed Masai everywhere, their deep red blankets highlighting them against the dusty yellow landscape. Their ears hung in loops, some threaded with beads. Men carried walking sticks and sported daggers tucked into their belts. They had long, skinny legs with bony knees and were dripping in beads.

We got out at the park entrance to pee and I noticed I had a mask of mud on my face. My eyebrows were plastered in dust and there was a ring of dirt around my mouth where I had put on lip balm. It was disgusting, yet everyone seemed to be sporting an extra pound or two of dirt.

Just inside the gates of the park and the wildlife came trotting out as though they knew we’d be waiting. Right away we saw wildebeest, zebra, warthogs. We drove for about an hour as the sun dropped closer to the horizon and saw enough animals that we could have happily driven back to the city.

We got our first taste of a safari traffic jam when a cheetah was sighted and van after van came streaming in, circling the cheetah, who was flaked out under a tree, sated from eating and trying to digest with dignity while being surrounded by flashbulbs and goofy muzungus. Our guide later explained that while there are strict fines imposed on drivers who break the rules and get too close to the animals, there’s still a lot of pressure from safari clients to get closer and closer, so a lot of drivers, who live on tips from happy customers, often break the rules.

We drove to the permanent camp, dumped our belongings in the cabins and went for the showers. We ate like kings, starting with yummy soups and moving on to things like fish and chips, stews and ugali, pasta with beef and vegetables. There was usually fresh fruit for dessert. Breakfasts featured fried eggs, sausages, loaves of toasted bread, fruit, jam. It was heavenly, made all the more amazing by the fact that the chef cooked everything over a charcoal pit.

The first night we were warned that if we needed to make any late night trips to the bathroom, we best take an escort, as the camp is on the edge of the park, nestled next to a river where lots of animals freely roam in search of a little water and some green leaves. I laid in bed until the light broke through the night, my bladder threatening to burst, but I figured that would be safer than being swallowed up by a lion or gored by a waterbuffalo. Each morning the night askari would give us a report of the nocturnal visitors. Usually a few elephants trampled through. There were a few hyenas and always, always baboons, who streamed across the campsite in the early morning in search of garbage. By the end of the trip, we had figured out that baboons are Africa’s raccoons: aggressive nuisance animals good for nothing but causing trouble.

I made only one trip to the bathroom in the three nights we were at the park and it was an interesting experience. We’d been told that if we needed the night guard, we had only to flash our torches and he would come. So I stood on the edge of our cabin, waving away with my flashlight and listening to the cacophony of animal noise. It sounded like we were surrounded by elephants. The trees were absolutely alive. After what felt like forever, I gave up and simply dropped my drawers and peed at the edge of the cabin. In the morning, the askari confirmed there had been elephants and even a few giraffe.

The nights were the polar opposite of the days, when temperatures soared and the sun glared down with stunning intensity. As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, a chill set in and most nights I slept wrapped in Dad’s fleece jacket, wearing Mom’s socks and wrapped in my wrap. Even then, I was still fairly cold.

We spent the next two mornings and early evenings in the Land Rover, driving and scouting animals. My dad proved to be a very adept animal spotter. He would see things off in the distance, like ostriches or elephants, that appeared to be no more than rocks or shadows. We were spellbound by elephants, transfixed by giraffes, amused by the warthogs and their antenna tails. We couldn’t seem to get enough of the zebras, but were always on the look out for lions.

By our last day, our driver was feeling a bit of pressure to show us some lions. We had spotted lots of zebra and giraffe and elephants and were even lucky to catch a hippo half out of the water. But we’d only seen one male lion and had caught a glimpse of two females hunting. Alfred came through with aces, driving up to a pride of lions that were flaked out in the shade, their puffed up bellies too heavy to move. We watched six or eight lions like their paws and settle in for an afternoon nap, then drove a millisecond more and saw three “teenagers” down on their haunches, practicing their hunting techniques out on the grassy savannah. And then, just behind them, was a mama lion with four cubs. She was giving one a bath, while two others chewed adorably on nearby tall grass. One rolled out on the grass to collective coos from the assembled vans. We watched until she moved the cubs away for a drink.

As we drove back to camp, the sun dipped below the horizon and we drove through the dusk, past long lines of cattle that kicked up dust and made their own music with soft lowing and the clink of cow bells.

After four dusty days, we packed up and headed back to the city, having seen three of the big five. We just needed to see a rhino and a leopard, or better yet, a rhino riding a leopard.