babysitting...

Sometimes I find myself wondering what im really doing here. It’s a long way for a kid from texas to travel for a bit of life experience, or whatever. Call it what you will. Finding yourself. Defying death. Being totally and utterly lost. Soul searching. Babysitting.

Babysitting?

Yeah, you read me. Babysitting. I feel like that’s sort of what ive been doing lately in this profound, eye-opening quest to discover what exactly is in this youthful soul of mine. So far, ive found theres a bit too much vodka and not enough patience it in. well done, grant.

Patience is necessary when dealing with children, and unfortunately its rarer for me to be patient than it is for an irish dockworker to be sober. It just doesn’t happen. Especially at the end of a four and a half month stay when youre managing and camp and fielding complaints like ‘my bathroom smells.’ To which I answer, ‘when is the last time you used it.’
‘about five minutes ago.’
‘jumpin jesus, you just took a shit and now it smells? Ill get right on that, sir. And while im at it, im gonna recommend you lay off the curry surprise.’
Shoot me. In the face.

But now, not only is it clients that test my patience, it’s the maasai that I work with on a daily basis. For the most part, they are a proud people, a joy to be around and lots of fun to work with. But when they are nearing the end of their rope, they become a bit difficult.

Not difficult in the sense that they are going to yell at you, but difficult in the sense that they will throw down their mighty war toys with which they slew their first lion, (the story of which is usually complete and utter bullshit) and plop down on the ground with their legs crossed under their red blanket/dress-like-thing , and sulk. This tantrum resembles that of a small girl whom you just told will have to miss her ballet lesson, and then thrashes about and throws her toys all over the playroom. It is a hysterical sight.

For being such reputed warriors, they really can be a girls blouse sometimes. For instance, our ‘fearless’ guide petro called me the other day in a state of complete panic. I thought his prized heifer had just died and the family was going to lose the plot. But no. he was a bit upset that I didn’t inform him that he would be packing a sundowner for the day. Tragic.

At the time he called, he still had 2.5hrs before leaving for his game drive. Plenty of time to pack a cooler and throw some chairs in the car. Enough time even for a paraplegic to accomplish the task.

Not only did he complain that he did not receive enough warning, but that he could not possibly fit the necessary supplies in his tank-sized land crusier; he was carrying a nearly full load of 5 passengers. To fit the necessary supplies would have been easier than inserting a baby’s fist into mick jagger’s mouth. But no, he could not possibly be bothered with such a complex task. It was as if you had asked a blind man to solve a rubik’s cube.

Now don’t get me wrong, petro is a smart guy. Its just that like some maasai, he can be a bit lazy. They live a laidback lifestyle. Hell, they live in houses made of poo and sticks. How much more carefree do you get? But they hate when their work taxes them beyond the normal call of duty.

I explained to him that he had no choice, he was taking the drinks with him and he had to make it work. In this business, you cant tell the client no, although at times you might have a slight desire to bring about a more speedy trip to st peters gate for them. Petro whined over the phone to me in maa (their language) and although I don’t understand a lick of it, it sounded much like the equivalent of our ‘but I don’t waaannnnaaaaa!’

But sometimes these guys have balls the size of Bombay. Just last night, as a night askari escorted two clients back to their tent, number seven, which lies on the very edge of camp, they came upon a full grown male leopard. (his name, thanks to the bbc show big car diary, is golden boy. But that sounds gayer than rainbows). hes huge. ive seen him hang a full grown wildebeest in a tree.

He came across the path about 3 yards in front of them and the askari froze. The clients shit themselves, and then began to run. He reacted in an instant and had both of them by the collars as the leopard tensed and crouched on the path before them. He kept them calm and shown his light right in the leopards face. After a brief stare down, the leopard uncoiled, strode quietly away and took up a place near tent one. Had those clients and the guard run, they would have been goners. You become, to use an earlier analogy, like a giant ball on a string if you run. They will chase and then maul you.

By the way, tent one, that’s mine. Awesome. So at the time our leopard is traipsing through camp, im filling my soul, which if you remember contains no patience, with vodka, lime and soda around the camp fire with a group of five from costa rica. My Spanish is flowing as smooth as tap water in Honduras; a bit rusty and coming out in sputtering gasps. It doesn’t really help that when I cant remember a word in Spanish ill throw in the Swahili equivalent. It makes absolutely no sense to these people, but it makes me seem worldly and sophisticated, so I go with it.

About this time our trusty night guards inform me that there is a leopard just beyond the veranda of my tent. More exciting animal encounters in store?

Id rather there be lions or buffalo, because at least you can see those. If a leopard wants you, the last thing youll see is its open mouth flying at your throat. I better have another vodka.

While having our last drink around the fire, the clients and I hear something that resembles the sawing of big, heavy logs. This is a leopard.

‘ay dios mio,’ says the tica, ‘que es eso.’
‘no te preocupes, es un…mdawadawa.’ No idea how to say leopard in spanish, but they think I have just told them that a popular Kenyan cocktail (a dawa) is making all sorts of noise in camp. As im sure you can see, I have just said, ‘don’t worry, it’s a leopard.’ Good thing they didn’t understand, because I think leopard would, in fact, inspire a great deal of worry.

Confused, the conversation fizzles and I do not elaborate on the subject. Its time for me to return to my tent. Leaving the fireside chat, I hear that terrible cocktail roaring away again, and he is right next to my tent. But I cant see the bastard.

So heres the visual. I have a terrified maasai on my arm, spear thrust out in front of him, creeping back along the path to my tent. We are constantly turning circles with our backs to each other, flashlights scanning up and down, all the while our legs are a bit bent at the knees and we are stepping so as to make as little noise as possible. The slightest creak makes us jolt and this guy is grabbing my arm so tight that I now have fingernail scratches.

Now I have a question: what the hell is the, the goat herding, lion killing, spear toting warrior, doing holding onto me? Shouldn’t I be the one grabbing at him? I mean hell, im the one that’s been sitting around the fire sipping vodka and he just stared down this thing not 15min ago. All of the sudden, im around and now hes back to infantile form.

It seems I have once again found myself babysitting.