The beginning of an African adventure: A perilous plane ride

Nothing prepared me for this. I had only seen it in movies before, and I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Here I was, flying in one of those small, limited-seater, light aircraft, gazing out of the window at the tower of giraffes as they gracefully trotted across the great African Savannah. I couldn’t wait for us to land!

To be honest, my hurry to land had other reasons. Besides the excitement that was building up in my belly, the stale muffins that I had gorged on at Wilson Airport in Nairobi had started to make their presence felt. As the adorable little plane bobbed and swayed each time it got a little windy outside, my belly threatened to bring up the muffins, tea et all; and boy was it windy! 

I panicked, looking around for one of those bags they have on all flights for the passengers to empty the contents of their stomachs. On a related note, I wonder what happens to the bags once they are full? Is one expected to call out to the flight attendant and politely hand it over, reaching over your fellow-passengers as they cringe and gag reflexively, hoping the bag is leak-proof? Thankfully, I never have had the opportunity to find out. Coming back to my current predicament, the plane was no larger than a sedan, and my poor knees knocking against my collar-bone were testimony to that. So the possibility of a sick-bag simply did not exist. I just had to hold it in.

Well, this is supposed to be a blog about my trip to Africa, specifically the Masai Mara in Kenya. So let me get back to the wildlife. I tried to distract myself by gazing at the large herds of elephants, followed by the delightful hippo family bathing in a waterbody far down below. From the airplane, the hippos and the elephants looked like minuscule blobs moving lethargically in the vast, green plans of the Mara that were occasionally dotted with Acacia. The Mara river soon came into view, our plane gliding over the muddy brown waters gracefully snaking below. The waters alternated between silver and brown, turning silver whenever the sun peeked from behind clouds, casting its powerful rays down below, and of course, baking the 6 passengers and the two pilots within.

The heat did not help matters, and I was reminded once again of my protesting stomach. We still had 20 minutes to go. 

“Why doesn’t everyone have some mint, it helps with nausea,” the strapping young pilot announced as if sensing my discomfort. He then turned to face us and handed over a box of mint. 

“Jeepers! He needs to look ahead, not at us!” I whispered urgently in my husband’s ear. Come to think of it, my husband appeared a little green himself, having partaken the muffins a couple of hours ago.

The pilot overheard me, considering there wasn’t much room to whisper aboard the itsy-bitsy cabin and smiled benevolently. 

“Don’t worry, she’s good! We’re gooo-oood!” he assured grinning ear to ear, as he tapped on the paraphernalia that kept us inflight.

I smiled back, popped a mint, and kept my eyes closed until we finally began descending. 

I looked outside expectantly, naively assuming there was a runway ahead. The “runway” was but a muddy clearing in the jungle, prepared before each landing by the rangers, who chased away curious zebras and wildebeest herds, making space for the planes to land. Awestruck and amused, I watched the beasts make a run for it, as the landrover drove them off the airstrip, and moments later we landed with a loud “thud” followed by short,  jerky movements, and then an abrupt stop.

I was the first one out of the plane, pretty certain of desecrating the airstrip by getting sick all over it. Nope, just nausea that soon disappeared after I gulped in the clean, fresh air in the Masai Mara Reserve. I staggered a little uncertainly, swallowed some more air, and in a few minutes, I was as fine as a flea on a butcher’s dog!

“Okay, let’s get back into the plane, everyone!” shouted the pilot, clapping his hands impatiently.

“Excuse me, what?” I enquired wondering if I had misheard.

“This isn’t your stop, it’s where he gets off,” the pilot responded, flashing a smile that would have passed off as charming if not for the impatient tone of his voice. 

I glanced at the man he was pointing to and saw that it was the bloke who had occupied the seat behind me. He was now walking away, shaking hands with his guide, driver, and companion for the next few days.

“You get off in 20 minutes. So come on in, you can have another mint,” said Mr.Pilot man benevolently.

I followed him and my husband back into the plane, taking him up on his offer for the extra mint. My husband, whose pallor was nearly back to human and less Kermit-the-frog, helped himself too, as did the remaining passengers on board. And so, we covered the next 20 minutes in relatively good spirits.  The break had helped, and I seemed to enjoy the breathtaking scene beneath me, as we descended once again, the airstrip cleared off the herbivores. 

The Masai Mara… we were here at last! A dream that my husband I nursed for many years was finally real. I couldn't believe it... our feet were planted firmly on African soil, the savannah stretching endlessly ahead and our hearts bursting with excitement in anticipation of the game drives and adventures in store!

The adventure continues in my next blog, which will follow soon.