Africa 1987 VII

July-August 1987

Our final safari of the trip was in Masai Mara to catch the wildebeest migration. In many ways, it was the most enjoyable safari of our trip, primarily because it was self-drive. However, it took a few days to organize; we had to wait for our Sierra Suzuki to become available and one of the participants was ill. We stayed at the Nairobi Youth Hostel as our friends, the Lee’s were tied up. We borrowed a large tent from them. Leonard was a retired Boeing engineer and bed ridden Jack was from Montreal. On Wednesday, we collected the vehicle and food supplies to set out at 1:00pm from Nairobi. We headed west through down into the Rift Valley through grazing land that supported domestic animals and giraffe, gazelles and zebras along side. We refuelled at Narok and topped up our supplies and headed towards the eastern side of the park. 

Soon after, but well north of the park, we came across large populations of wildebeest and zebras, so we drove off road and camped behind a small hill with brilliant views of the savannah. Jack was new to the African safari scene and he was nervous that the zebra might become aggressive. A line of giraffe passed at a distance, pausing to observe us and then they carried on. It was an early night without fire, mostly quiet until a hyena visited our camp and let off a “hoop” that woke us up.

The drive into the park included numerous stops for animal viewing, particularly for large gatherings of zebra and giraffe. We entered the park around noon and paid Kenya resident rates. I told the woman at the gate that we were from Karen. We reached Keekarok Lodge and had beer out on the splendid gardens with seven animal species in view. We had diagnosed Jack’s ailment as giardia and gave him a full dose of Tinadazole that morning so he sipped on tea.

We drove from the lodge, looking for a good picnic lunch spot and encountered a pride of seven lions. We opted to eat inside the vehicle. The lions rolled about and then a lioness rolled over to the male lion, nudged him, and lay down. Then he mounted her, thrust a few times and gave off a mighty roar that shook us all. The lioness walked down to a rock pool for a drink and went to sleep. It was a pattern that was to continue through the afternoon, sometimes just 15 minutes apart. Our private viewing was interrupted by a couple of waves of vehicles as we were close to the lodge and word travelled from guide to guide. It seemed the wildebeest migration was accompanied by “hundreds of thousands” of guided tourists in search of the perfect camera angle. We camped that night behind the Keekarok staff quarters for KSH 30/head; it was not an especially beautiful spot. 

The next day, we headed out on a game drive at 6:30am with the services of a keen eyed guide. We quickly reached a lion that was finishing off the remains of a wildebeest. We continued our game drive through tall grass, chasing hyenas and admiring zebra herds, some very close up. We returned to camp for breakfast, showers and to battle he baboons. A cheeky one sauntered up to our Suzuki Sierra and jumped up and inside via the open sun roof and helped itself to a couple of avocados. The baboon looked us and then departed nonchalantly to the sounds our banging and screaming. We imagined it was thinking that humans are dumb.

We headed on towards Serena enjoying the magnificent scenery and large herds of game, particularly wildebeest that filled entire fields. Lenny kept exclaiming that he wanted to see hundreds of thousands of wildebeest. We drove down a fairly smooth track and accelerated through a thousand strong herd of wildebeest and the poor beasts scattered in all directions. The sound of the thunderous rustling of hooves through the tall grass was extraordinary. 

We had lunch by hippo pools and then drove along the beautiful Mara River but game diminished the further west we drove. We had beer at the Serena Lodge, majestically perched high up on a hill overlooking expansive scenery. We had a campfire that rather cool evening.  

We descended to and followed the Mara River northwards, encountering pockets of buffalo, a hippo returning from its night time grazing and a profusion of water birds. The track disappeared at times in the tall grass as we headed towards a herd of about 40 elephants. The mothers surrounded the young and others monitored our progress. We altered our course to avoid splitting the herd. The herd moved off into the woodland and we searched for a track and regained a small riverside road that was without obvious wildlife and then we came across a herd of several hundred buffalo. Once we left the park proper, we came across klipspringer alongside steep hills of the Rift Valley. We then made our way back to Nairobi. 

We caught the train to Mombasa, then buses north, and finally a ferry to the Lamu Island. We spent 5 nights on Lamu and were not sure where the time went. It was both relaxing and interesting. We were winding down from our African journey and didn't keep the journals on our last stage, so details are a little sketchy.  It was the first town that we stayed in, that stayed open after 7:00pm. The main walkway through the tangle of buildings saw plenty of action by dark. Women in black Moslem dresses were seen browsing in stores at 10:30pm. Lamu was alive. 

Lamu is an island along a mangrove coastline with a Swahili history of its own. There were no cars on the island nor bicycles, though we spotted a police car and a tractor. The narrow walk ways made Lamu charming. It seemed that everywhere we went, there was a great deal of activity. Children played in the narrow streets. Mosques are found on every corner. Sundays are busy as many people stroll the streets in all their fine clothes. Sad looking donkeys cart sand and coral bricks used in buildings. Men deliver goods from small dhows and load them onto hand carts, embellished with bicycle bells to clear the passage down narrow, sometimes busy streets.

Lamu has a subtle Indonesian influence but it also includes Pourtugese, Arab and many other influences brought in during the historic period of trade with the Persian Gulf and India that have developed a definite flavour. Men sell "Miraa" (local name for khat); the fresh green and red stems can alter state of consciousness if chewed in considerable quantities. Chris (another tourist) and I tried a bundle with little to no effect. 

One day, we strolled along the waterfront and we were enticed by the offer of a dhow trip to Shela (a village on Lamu Island). We headed up wind and the crew kept the sheets tight to ensure a close sail to the wind. We minimized tacks on the way to Shela and ran with the wind on the return. 

 Our time ended at Lamu. We never figured out what was causing the mysterious insect bites during our stay. We bussed down to Malindi. Glenn got sick, but Sheila was able to go for a dive trip before we returned to Mombasa and the train back to Nairobi.

We left Nairobi the same way that we had arrived, on the #34 bus to the airport. I sat squeezed between a large Afrian woman munching on a charcoal grilled corn cob and a drunk guy who asked the same questions repeatedly. When we pulled into the airport terminal, the red sun was majestically setting over the Ngong Hills.