Safari in EAST AFRICA

The King, Masai Mara, Kenya

Bird of prey, Masai Mara

Week-old baby elephant by his mama.

Winding Alley in Stone Town, Zanzibar

Warm, fun-loving Tanzanian

Idyllic beaches of Zanzibar

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In late February we were given a Muslim holiday lengthy enough to tackle a travel itinerary that included Zanzibar & Arusha, Tanzania, followed by Nairobi & Masai Mara, Kenya. Up there on the "highlights" list was Mount Kilimanjaro. The name alone evokes such strong images of Africa. I love the way it trips off the tip of the tongue: ki-li-man-ja-ro, ki-li-man-ja-ro. Now try saying it when that imposing volcano completely envelopes your line of sight: KI—LI—MAN—JA—RO…*GASP*. We took a plane that allowed us a different perspective of Africa’s highest peak rising above the flat, endless plains and when we were directly over top, the pilot tilted the plane so that we were looking straight down the jaws and into the belly of the giant. Arguably the most awe-inspiring sight I’ve seen in Africa.

"Zanzibar" is yet another name that trips off the tongue so agreeably and yet carries the weight of legends. "The Spice Island" was one of the descriptive monikers given to it. Sounded interesting to us so we decided to take a guided tour to learn how it got this name. It was a bit touristy, as guided tours tend to be, but what an olfactory journey! Cloves are the cash spice of the island but on the tour we saw how over two dozen other spices were grown and harvested. Tangy lemon grass, musky cardamom, delicate ylang ylang, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla, anise, rose mint, menthol, turmeric and acato: there was a dazzling array of flavours and fragrances extracted from nature. I marveled at how serendipitous events must have led to their discovery and use. What must have they thought when the first man or woman threw that strange variegated weed into the pot of soup? How did they know that scraping the bark of that tree would make such a pretty cinnamon stick? And who was the first randy devil that plucked those purplish-pink buds for an aphrodisiac?

Apart from the many spice plantations and beaches on the island, the main town itself was quite pleasant. "Stone Town", as it’s called, is a white-washed place that oozes charm with its narrow alleys, ornate wooden doors and architecture redolent of Cairo’s Arab edifices, though with a somewhat more restrained "small-town" feel. We found it enjoyable to just wander the winding alleys, explore old forts and bargain hunt at the outdoor markets. Then, when our bellies dictated, we’d head down to the waterfront where for $3 we could savour grilled lobster or prawns and wash it down with a cold beer. Ah yes, the word "lobster" in the same sentence as "beer"; "heaven" should be crammed in there too.

After Zanzibar, we flew into Arusha for a short visit with Canadian friends teaching near the foot of Mt. Meru, Africa’s second highest mountain. Following a very pleasant couple of days in Arusha, we had a bus ride to Nairobi to look forward to, a time to just let the mind wander. I remember lush, green hills and an overcast sky. There were the occasional bands of light that would stab through breaks in the clouds to cast dramatic lighting on the focal points of the expanse: straw huts, herds of goats, 6-feet tall termite mounds, the Masai in bright red garments. Then I saw them – my first giraffes. They were so graceful despite their title as the world’s tallest animal. Their movements and appearance were so other-worldly, I was transfixed, like a school boy with my face pasted to the window. Yet these lone animals were just a precursor to the Darwinian wonders we were about to see.

Masai Mara was where we officially started our safari. At the gates there was a herd of souvenir hawkers that flocked around us but then shortly after that there were far more interesting assemblages. Impalas, topis, zebras, warthogs, wildebeests and water buffaloes – it just kept getting better and better. Our guide was quite knowledgeable and had a sharp eye. He’d catch things in the distance long before anyone else did. "Look over there," he’d say, "they’re jiggy-jiggying!" And we’d turn to catch two unabashed giraffes doing something naughty – perhaps having eaten too many purplish-pink buds.

We were within 4 metres of sleeping lions, saw wounds from real cat fights, witnessed cheetahs on the prowl and a leopard carrying its prey 5 metres up a tree. We saw a week old baby elephant tottering beside its parents, a bull hippo protecting its harem and young, a lioness playing with her cubs, water buffaloes on guard duty, ready to work collectively to trample any predator. Apart from the adrenaline rush of being in that raw environment, it was interesting to take what we observed and extrapolate it into the human arena. There were the obvious parallels, such as the tender bond between mother and child or the cooperation we witnessed amongst the water buffaloes. There were also contrasts that were quite evident: most humans would not prefer the friendless, solitary lifestyle of the leopard, nor would they care too much for its diet of raw herbivores. Between the obvious similarities and differences, though, there was a lot of room for questioning. How much jiggy-jiggying are we biologically programmed to do? Males to the same extent as females? Does group cohesion ineluctably break down when population density gets larger? How come some cultures allow hippo-style harems? Are the territorial bulls any different from the perpetrators of war? What about that impala that fell prey to the leopard? Much like a person struck down by a car or cancer, it reminded you how ephemeral life is.