Meeting the mighty elephants

I just about managed to wolf down the morning cuppa as politely as possible, quite aware and appreciative of the kitchen staff’s effort at putting together a breakfast hamper and brewing a hot cup of masala chai at the ungodly hour before sunrise. Truth be told, I would have preferred to down the whole cup of tea in one gulp and get moving as soon as possible, but two things deterred me from doing that; first, the masala chai, painstakingly made by the chef just for us, the Indian guests, was delicious and it would be insulting to gulp it down without savoring every sip. The second reason was very simple...I’d end up scalding my mouth.

It was 5 AM and our guide revved the Landrover impatiently. I smiled apologetically, thanked the staff for the fantastic tea, and hopped into the Landie. The breakfast hampers safely tucked between the seats, my husband, also safely tucked into a comfortable seat, our quest for the mighty elephants had begun.

Once more, we found ourselves racing across the vast savannah. A lone Topi ( a type of antelope found in some parts of the continent) breakfasted on the short grass. Its silhouette against the backdrop of the rising sun was like a picture on a postcard. I quickly captured it on camera.

The skyline was now a rich mix of red, gold, and blue. The rising sun brought with it excited tourists in hot-air balloons, waving at us from up above. I had never quite seen anything like this and was awed by the dozens of brightly colored hot-air balloons that moved gracefully above. We paused for a bit to admire the view before setting off again, where our tusked friends awaited.

I truly believe that elephants are the soul of the jungles. A jungle that lacks elephants is without a soul, hence does not figure on top of my “must visit” list. Anyway, there we were, among a large family of noble and wise souls.  

The sight gladdened my heart. Time stood still as I gazed hypnotically at the family of the majestic African elephants! I heard the telltale rumble of an elephant’s stomach and turned around to figure out if the baby was communicating with its mother, or perhaps its sibling who was munching on some strange-looking pods. 

It’s amazing how animals have their language and say what needs to be said through behavioral cues and sounds that humans cannot hear and don’t always understand. Maybe that’s a good thing. Imagine if we could understand elephant-speak. I’d be a tad hurt if I’d heard junior tell his mother that the pesky humans were back to rudely point fingers at them!

The herd moved closer, and our guide wisely backed up. All animals have an invisible line that demarks their safe space. Under no circumstances should this line be crossed. To do so can sometimes spell disaster, for it is the equivalent of someone breaking into your home and threatening you. It cannot possibly end pleasantly, can it?

We must have stayed with the herd for over an hour, simply watching them go about their lives. I was fascinated by the fine tusks that adorned both genders, unlike their smaller Indian cousins, where the females lack tusks. The differences between the two giants belonging to the Asian and African continents are rather distinct. If you look at the ears of an African elephant, for instance, you’ll see that they’re shaped somewhat like the continent itself! Fascinating isn’t it?

My reverie was broken by another, familiar rumble. This time, it emanated from a human… me! My stomach signaled that it was time for breakfast. I offered a sheepish smile in response to the guide’s amused chuckle. However, he understood the non-verbal communications emanating from my stomach and drove away from the herd towards a clearing where we could tuck into the eggs, sandwiches, and most importantly, tea.

“Wait here,” he said, before disappearing for a few minutes. He popped back and crouched as if he’d misplaced the Landie’s key somewhere. Scanning the undergrowth thoroughly, our guide then gave us a thumbs-up, indicating that we could get off the vehicle and open the hamper. 

“What were you looking for?” I asked as he enthusiastically peppered an egg.

“Oh, the usual, you know. Lions snoozing in the shade, occasionally buffaloes or rhino. They get curious sometimes,” he said nonchalantly while pointing to the riverbank. 

“Look carefully,” he said. I squinted against the sun and watched the water bubble and sputter before a huge head popped up. It was followed by another huge head, then another, before the whole family of hippos came up for air. 

“Breakfast with hippos!” he declared, breaking into a grin. As I stared at the massive teeth and tusks, one of them grunted noisily. 

“Did you know that hippo poop transports essential silica into the river, which is vital for the aquatic ecosystem?” our guide enquired between a mouthful of bread and eggs. I momentarily lost my appetite and gently put back the cup of tea on the bonnet. Somehow the hot, brown liquid lost its appeal, for the time being at least. “Do tell” I responded with a tepid smile. “Well, their poop has silica that comes from the grass they eat. This is important for the algae, which in turn, is food for various forms of aquatic life. So no hippos mean no hippo poop, which means no silica, no algae, and no aquatic life!” he explained, the humor in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that suggested absolute devotion to nature in all its forms. “Wow!” my husband whistled appreciatively, “We certainly didn’t know that!”

I nodded agreeably, reaching for the tea while watching the hippos with newfound respect. It was a breakfast to remember... if there is such a thing. The hippos snorted, and grunted joyously, probably gossiping about who among them contributed the most silica into the water that morning, while we polished off the sumptuous breakfast, my appetite back with a vengeance. “So, what do you want to do next?” the guide asked, warming up the Landie. “Do you think it’s possible to see more elephants? A different herd, maybe?” He grinned, winked, and nodded, as we headed to the Kenya-Tanzania border, looking for our next tête-à-tête with the mighty mammals.

Whistle in case of an emergency!

Sundown in the African savannah possesses the kind of timeless beauty that inspires even the most poetically-challenged to pen a verse or two. We had just disembarked from our light aircraft and had about 3 hours to go before dusk, so breaking into Frost or Wordsworth could wait.

No sooner did we collect our luggage, which was simply stacked within an elastic, netted contraption at the back of the plane, our guide and driver, a strapping young man from the Masai tribe, greeted us with a cheerful hello. 

“Let’s head straight for the game-drive,” he said as he loaded our bags into the Landrover. 

“Huh? Aren’t we going to the camp first to freshen up?” I questioned, quite aware of how I must look and smell after not having showered in the last 24 hours, since leaving India.

Scarface and I

He grinned, shook his head, and convinced me that the wildlife won’t mind the occasional unshowered, disheveled human. I agreed sheepishly, unable to refuse his offer to drive through the vast grasslands that stretched endlessly and invitingly ahead. So, it began, our very first game drive through what I believe to be one of the most beautiful places on this planet.  

We made a beeline to a scrub that housed a massive, male lion, aptly christened “Scarface” inspired by the battle scars that ran across his massive face. At first, I was stunned to be so close to this magnificent beast with his shaggy, thick mane, and paws the size of dinner plates. Scarface couldn’t care less and continued to alternately gnaw at the wildebeest remains and yawn lazily as the tiresome flies buzzed around. Once the shock waned, the awe took over. I was at once overwhelmed and mesmerized by his presence. My first lion in the wild and it was Scarface... I just couldn’t believe my good fortune!

Scarface after a good meal!

The rest of the evening was a blur of many firsts, each one more amazing than the next. My first cheetah in the wild, first hippo, first giraffe, first river crossing in a Landrover, I was simply flabbergasted by the sheer species of wildlife that lived within minutes of each other! 

“There’s your first Ostrich!” shouted our guide to make himself heard against the wind as we sped towards our camp. 

The memory is as strong today as it was on the day I saw the silhouette of the magnificent bird as it walked seductively against the backdrop of the setting sun. The engine turned off, I stuck my head out of the sunroof, savoring the moment, as dusk set in, bringing the eventful day to an end. 

It was time to head to the camp.

The night had set in by the time we reached our camp. Truth be told, I had no idea how our guide knew one track from another, especially in the dark. Everything looked the same to me...a combination of vast plains, dotted by scrubs, and the occasional river crossing, which I will come to later. But I reckon, having driven across the same tracks for years, posing this question to the guide would only invite a quizzical glance, followed by a well-rehearsed, obvious answer to a very silly and unnecessary question. So, I refrained. 

We were exhausted to the point of collapse and wished we had more energy to fully appreciate the welcome dance that the staff so graciously put up for us. Tired and hungry, we swallowed the hot meal that was laid out and headed to our tent, after being warned several times over not to venture out alone after sundown. 

We are warned of running into ill-tempered Cape buffaloes or highly territorial Hippos that ventured into the camp that was set up in the middle of the Mara. Point taken. I didn’t fancy a clandestine tête-à-tête with either beast in the middle of the night and assured the accompanying tribesman of my noble intentions, which involved a wash and bed. 

He nodded agreeably and handed us a whistle each. Once more, I raised an eyebrow, which seemed to be a regularly used form of expression ever since my arrival a few hours ago.

“If you need us,” he clarified, grinning ear to ear. 

“A Masai guard will be posted outside your tent. Use the whistle if there’s an emergency,” he continued as he dropped us off. 

He disappeared before I had the chance to ask him what qualified as an emergency. I stared at the tiny whistle and hoped I’d never had to use it. My imagination ran wild, with images of angry hippos tearing through the tent while we slept, or snakes slithering into the blankets for warmth. Who knows, maybe a curious hyena might make an appearance. 

I don’t know if any of this happened, for I slept right through everything. I remember the snorting of hippos as they splashed around the river by the tent, the call of the hyenas, and several other sounds as they lulled me to sleep on my first night in Africa. Maybe a lion or two sniffed around, deciding unshowered humans were not worth the trouble! 

Nevertheless, exhausted as I was, I couldn’t wait to jump into the Landrover the following morning. We were going to see the mighty elephants! 

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.