There's nothing like camping in the middle of the wilderness with nothing but a thin sheet of tent material between you and the wild animals to get a feel for the spirit of Africa. The first night of a two-week camping safari in Kenya and Tanzania in East Africa, our intrepid group of eight people had pitched camp on a grassy hill on the northwestern slope of Mt. Kenya. We were awakened in the dead of night by the pounding of horses' hooves and high-pitched neighing, followed by quieter rustling of the underbrush. I wondered what had caused the horses to bolt in the middle of the night, and the only answer I could come up with was a wild cat or a large snake. I didn't get much sleep for the rest of the night, as I lay in my sleeping bag waiting for further developments that never occurred.
Our next bush camp was in the Samburu Game Reserve in Western Kenya, and the campsite was on dry, sandy terrain close to a river which supplied water for a couple of primitive showers and a tap. We had spent the day driving through the reserve, observing lions, elephants, giraffes, zebras, gazelles and antelopes at close range, but from the safety of a van with a pop-up top. As our cook was preparing a dinner of boiled cabbage, lentils and ugali, a dense cornmeal mush bearing some resemblance to a thick porridge, I could see beyond the cooking fires to the water tap just outside the circle of tents, where the dark silhouettes of elephants drinking from puddles stood out against the starlit sky.
I wondered what adventures the night might hold, and was only slightly reassured by the knowledge that an armed guard was on duty, walking around somewhere in the trees. This was confirmed when a rifle was fired from within the nearby bush, a precautionary measure to keep the elephants at distance. However, it didn't seem to phase the genet, a fox-like cat who slinked unconcerned across the clearing in the middle of the camp or the screeching vervet monkeys overhead in the branches. I was hoping there would be no need to get up in the middle of the night and make my way to the ramshackle outhouse where earlier I had seen significant piles of elephant dung on the path.
Living among the many exotic animals enjoying a natural existence in Kenya and Tanzania's game parks was a thrill, but equally intriguing was close contact with the tribal people that inhabit the remote regions. We visited a village of the Samburu tribe, a compound of dome-shaped huts made out of mud and dung. Like the neighbouring Masai tribe to whom they are closely related, the Samburu strive to maintain their ancient cultural practices in the face of an encroaching modern world. They are nomadic herders of goats and cattle, and can be spotted walking the barren plains clad in red blankets (shukas) they wear tied around their necks like togas, and carrying long sticks and spears. The brilliant red of their garments apparently repels lions, and also enables the herders to see each other at great distances.
As nomads, the Samburu shun most possessions. Inside their huts I saw no signs of clothing beyond shukas and sandals fashioned out of tires with leather straps. Each hut had a firepit and sometimes a couple of crude stools, but no other furnishings. A couple of tiny holes for ventilation let in a little light, but it was almost completely dark inside and the smoke was thick. Most people had a couple of bowls for eating, and a calabash (hollow gourd) for drinking. While it's difficult to grow much on the hard earth, the tribe practices a tradition of bleeding their cattle and drinking the blood on a regular basis, usually mixed with milk, and this regular protein may account for their tall stature.
Although the Samburu lacked running water and electricity, they had no desire for our modern conveniences such as flashlights or matches. They were interesting in trading their carvings and beadwork, but only for watches, sandals, pens or knives. They were experts in lighting fires by twirling one stick inside a hole carved into a piece of wood. A few who spoke English and were acting as village guides answered our questions about some of their practices.
While the Samburu lived in a barren area of Kenya characterized by grass plains, sparse shrubs and flat-topped acacia trees, we also drove through Africa's fertile Rift Valley to Lake Nakuru, a verdant bird's paradise. The shoreline glowed with a tropical rim of pink due to massive flocks of flamingos attracted by the "soda" lake. The waters are highly alkaline due to lack of drainage and the area's volcanic deposits, giving rise to an algae that feeds crustaceans, insect larvae and, in turn, attracts many types of birds. We were fortunate to see elusive rhinoceros at close range as well.
Next we traveled further south to Kenya's most famous park, Masai Mara National Reserve, and stayed in a camp on Masai tribal land just outside of the park. Our tents were encircled by a protective fence made of thorn bushes and cactuses, similar to the Masai's animal pens. In keeping with the tribe's adherence to traditional ways, our red-blanketed Masai night watchman carried a long spear rather than a gun. I had no doubt he could protect us from any wild animals that might show an interest in our camp. Outside of our encampment stood a cluster of Masai huts, and many of the villagers came by with large plastic containers to collect water from our tap and exchange a few words in our limited Swahili and their limited English, and a lot of curious glances. After dinner, we were invited to their fire where they performed some of their ceremonial dances and chants. At this campsite, I did get up in the middle of the night for an outhouse visit, and was please to find our red-robed watchman quietly walking among the tents, his spear in hand.
Overall, there weren't as many animals in Masai Mara as in Samburu, and we were told it was because the wildebeest and the predators they attract hadn't yet arrived. Every summer, when the dry season comes to the Serengeti Plain in the neighbouring country of Tanzania, there is an extraordinary migratory ritual whereby more than one million wildebeests move westward to Kenya's Masai Mara in search of greener pastures. Crocodiles, instinctively knowing their prey's habits, lie in wait for the wildebeest and the other herbivores that accompany them at various river crossings.
When we crossed from Kenya into Tanzania the following week, we witnessed the tail end of the parade in Serengeti, as long lines of wildebeest accompanied by herds of zebra made their way steadily across the plain. Tanzania's Serengeti National Park is a vast 14,763 square kilometres of golden savannah stretching as far as the eye can see with Mount Kilimanjaro looming majestically in the distance. In fact, the name Serengeti means "endless" in Swahili. In addition to the plentiful wildebeest, we were also fortunate to glimpse several lions at close range. We also spotted a dead antelope slung over the branch of a tree, indicating a leopard was concealed somewhere in the branches and waiting for some privacy to enjoy his meal.
Serengeti was memorable for having the most rustic bush camp of all, plunked in the middle of a grass plain surrounded by a sparse sprinkling of acacia trees. I avoided the cold shower, an invention that consisted of a grass hut with a pole where you could hang a large bag of water filled up at the nearby pump. There was also an outhouse, but it had no door. The atmosphere of the night was a mixture of the music of crickets and snorting wildebeests combined with a brilliant star-studded sky.
While large cats were generally less visible than other creatures, at the Ngorongoro Conservation Area adjacent to Serengeti we were fortunate on a dawn game drive to catch a majestic cheetah leisurely enjoying his morning stretching and drinking rituals. Tanzania's Ngorongoro crater has been aptly described as a combination of Noah's arc and the Garden of Eden. More than three million years ago Ngorongoro was one of the highest peaks on Africa, until its collapse created the world's largest intact caldera. With lakes in the bottom supplying the water necessary for survival, the crater is essentially a giant bowl of wildlife. We camped on the rim at the top, where the cold temperatures and blustery winds were a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat and dust we had experienced at our Serengeti bush camp, but spectacular views of the Ngorongoro valley were our compensation. We were visited by a curious elephant who ventured out of the forest and into the camp, creating a stir. Elephants in the wild are unpredictable and have been known to charge. The experienced local guides were considerably more concerned at this one's close proximity than the excited, camera-snapping tourists.
After Ngorongoro, we began the long drive back to where we started in Nairobi, Kenya, stopping for a day in the tropical rain forest not far from the base of Kilimanjaro. Looking at the giant peak standing in stark relief to a fiery African sky at sunset, I contemplated the adventures and spectacular vistas offered by a climb to the famous mountain's summit, but that will have to wait until another trip. After two weeks of lurching along the pot-hole strewn dirt tracks that pass for roads in remote Africa I was looking forward to stretching my legs on the beaches of nearby Zanzibar Island instead.
Jade Hemeon's safari in Kenya and Tanzania was sponsored by G Adventures of Toronto.