Memories From Safari

Nighttime Visitor 

The thing about nighttime out in the Tanzanian wilderness is that it is complete, opaque blackness. You open a door or look out a window and all you see is a perfect black rectangle or square. In Los Alamos, there is always light illuminating from something. An outside house light or a street light. You are never completely in the dark so nothing is a mystery. There is a lot of mystery, at least to me, during the night in the Lake Manyara Reserve located in Tanzania. During one particular night I was sleeping in what could be considered the most posh tent every constructed. It had an actual toilet and shower inside its canvas walls and the bed came with throw pillows. It was luxurious and I should have been sleeping soundly only animal sounds were keeping me wide awake. There was a rustling noise, a crunching sound of dried grass being pressed down and most alarming to me, a low growl. Lions! I thought. They are right outside the tent! Like human burglars, I imagined the stealth cats casing my room, looking to slice up its walls like scissors to paper. Just as if I'd met a Great White Shark or Tyrannosaurus Rex, I lay frozen; not daring to move. One of my legs fell asleep but it didn't dissuade me. The room was pitched black but I swore the animals were on the tent's porch, batting around the camping chairs and knocking over the table. I lay like that for who knows how long. But the black was changing to a pearl grey. I heard my father in the next tent let out a lazy yawn. Then the whizzing sound of a  tent zipper being pulled down. No! I thought. The lions will come for him! I need to warn my parents! I burrowed under the comforter with my phone to send a warning text. It was suffocatingly hot but I didn't want the lions attracted to the phone's light. The message failed to send. I could hear my parents chatting happily. Were they crazy? Or was I? What was out there, anyway? Deciding to chance it, I got up and crept to the tent's entrance. I moved the zipper just high enough to poke my head out. The porch and its furniture were untouched and hadn't moved an inch. There was nothing there. I wondered throughout the morning just what my night visitor was but I never reached any conclusion. It was a mystery of the night.

Battle Royale 

Not only is the Ngorongoro Crater beautiful but it is full of action. A herd of zebras crossing one of the dirt car paths; the stocky animals looking like a maze of black and white zig-zags. A huge elephant towering over buffalo or a smattering of wildebeest. A herd of hippos luxuriating in a pool; continuously and leisurely flicking their stubby tails to splash water on their backs. Then there were the lions hunting  the buffalo. Buffalo, at least the ones in Tanzania, are unattractive beasts. They appear to be overstuffed; their huge curling horns look like a terrible haircut and their facial expressions resemble a crotchety old man. In contrast, the lions are beautiful. They are all different shades of honey and gold. Their bodies are sleek and muscular; their cat eyes are the color of amber. So when everyone noticed a group of gorgeous lions stalking a wayward buffalo, a long line of safari jeeps stopped in their tracks and we all peered through binoculars and cameras to watch this deadly game. The giant buffalo lumbered into a ravine and the lions perched, tense on the ridge, waiting. In turn, all of us held our breath and leaned in closer for a look. Any sudden movements from either the buffalo or the lions would make elicit a collective gasp or Oh! from the crowd. Then the buffalo made a run for it, the lions lept up behind the animal, clawing and biting it. But still, the buffalo was on the move! It trotted further and further away, until it was a black dot on the horizon. The lions seemed unconcerned. They saunter after it, their tails taunt in the air. It seemed they had all the time in the world but time was slipping away from the poor buffalo. 

A Rattle And A Hum 

We drove in a six-seat, khaki colored safari jeep from Ngornongoro Crater to the Serengeti. The car was built like a tank and our guide, Eric, drove that car like a pro. It cannot be easy for either car or driver to race down a long stretch of dusty, dirt road that is deeply graded and centered in the middle of nowhere. In fact, we met a fellow traveler whose car fell victim to these extreme conditions. Our car shook and rattled like a metal box full of loose bolts but it never collapsed or sputtered. We were told that this was a vehicular massage and indeed we all jostled with every bump and dip. Every now and then another safari jeep would roar up next to us and a giant curtain of dust would fall around the vehicle. We would all slam our windows shut for a second and then snapped them back open once the cloud had disappeared. The sun glowered in a cloudless sky; the world looked parched even though we would see a Maasai cattle herder from time to time. Then, rising up from this landscape like a lush garden oasis was the sign for the Serengeti.