The Dark Continent

last phots pt.I

2007-10-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

last photos pt.II

2007-10-23T13:28:00.001-07:00

grey-headed kingfisher.

last photos pt.III

2007-10-23T11:49:00.001-07:00

the mara burns

the biggest lie ever told...by me

2007-10-16T01:00:00.000-07:00

Lately ive been on fire here. Its all about who you know….

My friend, billy, whom most of you know from my previous adventure tales, came into town the other day (and by town I mean he caught a bus to the bustling metropolis that is talek) and came to stay for a few days in the mara.

When he came in, it was night time, and that means no driving in the mara. But like I said, its all about who you know. We gave the sector warden, naurori, a quick ring and since we had already been using his car for the day, he agreed to drive me to talek to meet billy.

Like I said before, the mara is run by a mafia, and this guy, the sector warden, is like the tony soprano of his area. He runs this place and my being in his car at the time was a bit terrifying. I had just started a small tribal war among the masai in camp after a little misunderstanding, and this guy that I was with is pretty much the boss of them all. So when they complained to him, hes the one that had to work it all out. For the first part of the ride I was pretty sure the posse in the back, armed to the teeth with various spears and clubs, was the hit squad. But alas, the drive ended with some nice heterosexual handholding between men. (not my idea, its just the custom here. Still straight.)

Anyways, we collected billy and we were off to a nearby lodge for a free night because I knew one of the balloon pilots. Not only did we get a free night there, we got free food, drinks, and balloon flights in the morning. Roughly about $1,000 in free stuff. No exaggeration, the balloon flight would have been $385 alone. Damn im good.

Then, more free stuff. Three nights at naibor, all you can eat and drink, and we got our hands on one of the company cars for game drives. Not only that, but billy was prepared to take a 8hr bus back to Nairobi when his stay came to an end. Nonsense. If theres one thing ive learned out here, its how to go as many days as possible without showering. If there is one other thing ive learned out here, its how to get free stuff.

I took him to the airstrip on the day of his departure and as soon as I saw the first plane land, I realized it was a private charter. If they are dropping clients, they usually go back empty and if you play your cards right, you can hitch a ride. After a bit of bs and pretending that I actually know the guy who works for the guy that the pilot is friends with, billy was riding shotgun for free. Not totally free though. The clients that had just gotten off the plane had, in effect, paid for his trip to the tune of about $700 since it was a charter.

But the bottom line is…

I have become the king of bullshit. Its great. Now don’t get me wrong, the blog and such is true, but ive become really tired of telling the same stories to clients over the past four months, so every now and then you have to spice things up, you know.

You all remember abbie from the last story. Girl, about my age, managed camp while managers were on leave, etc. well anyways, abbie and I had both become very tired of telling the same story over and over again so, just before lunch, we made a deal that we each had to tell three lies at dinner.

Well, abbie ended up choking on a chicken bone at lunch, getting it lodged in her throat and having to be flown back to Nairobi. So that sucked. She lived and is fine now, but that left me alone for the night. I decided now that I could tell the biggest, baddest and best lie that I have ever even thought of….

Did you know that I once worked for an anti-poaching unit along the congo-rwanda border? Its true. (no, its not.)

I was educated at michigan state university where I majored in zoology, with a concentration in conservation. After my junior year, I decided that I wanted to work in mountain gorilla conservation. My family is very involved in African wildlife conservation because my grandfather, who is german, was actually raised in Tanzania and did some work with the chimps in mohale before moving to Rwanda to work with gorillas. He even worked with dianne fossey. So gorillas were in my blood. (lies, all lies.)

Given our connection to African conservation, I was able to meet a booster who funded the mtn. gorilla fund and in turn, the anti-poaching units that protected them. I spoke with him and told him that, more than anything else, I wanted to work with the anti-poachers. Given my family’s strong connection to African conservation, my wish was met and in june of last year, I was off to Rwanda. (actually, I was in Prague sitting at a pub drinking dollar beers with lots of Americans and Czechs. Details.)

I arrived in Rwanda not really knowing what to expect. But in short, I met up with my colleagues in the anti-poaching school, not far from the border where many of the gorillas reside. Now this lie was timely; if you saw newsweek a bit ago, a story about the killing of 6 gorillas was on the cover, the killings apparently a threat to the warden of the park because of his anti-logging stance.

I spent six weeks in the school learning about gorillas, the habitat and the major threats to them. Not only this, because ‘we’ are never unarmed, I was trained to use an AK-47, the gun of choice in the third world. I learned some basic combat maneuvers, how to use and clean my gatt, and was instilled with the belief that if it came down to it, I had to be ready to die protecting these amazing animals. Wow grant, youre so brave. (and full of shit)

The clients were amazed, aghast and in disbelief. Not so much disbelief that they could not believe be, but just generally amazed at what I had done in life. I am awesome.

We began our first patrol in late july. Armed all the while, we protected the border from loggers and poachers wanting to come in from the congo and take the precious trees that the gorillas lived amongst. To do this, they simply shot the gorillas to drive them out, or shot all but the young ones which they would then sell to zoos for a tidy profit. It was my valiant job to accompany these soliders on their mission to protect these gorillas. End of story, but not quite…

‘well I heard that they have a shoot first, ask questions never philosophy when it comes to dealing with poachers in Africa,’ asked one client.

I raised my wine glass, looked pensive for a moment and replied. ‘its more of a shoot first ask questions never, to be honest.’ Little gasps are heard all around the table. This is so fun, and they are none the wiser.

‘so, did you ever actually like, get in any…I mean, have any encounters with poachers?’ asked another.

‘yes, of course, it comes with the territory,’ I answered.

Silence. Everyone wanted to ask the question, but no one was sure how to do it. So I let the story fade away and changed the subject. I could have said just about anything at this moment because they were so captivated, but instead I went to the bathroom to let them mull it over a bit.

After dinner I went to the fire with a young honeymoon couple and after a few drinks, they decided to press a little more into my saving of the gorillas.

‘so let me get this straight, you actually got into fights with these poachers?’ he asked.

‘well, yes. Its inevitable given the state of things in the Congo/Rwanda region and the markets that poaching involves. They are there, and so are we. So we run into each other.’

‘so did anyone ever get killed?’

‘none of the good guys. You know, most of the time you run into them and you cant see them, only hear them. So you get these blind gun battles and you hear all sorts of noises and never really know whats going on. But we weren’t very good with body counts. Bodies equal paperwork, and they aren’t very good at that. No one cares about a dead poacher,’ I told them. ‘the only numbers that matter are the numbers of gorillas in youre area, the rest is just details, details to be swept under the rug.’

They were stunned, and rather gullible. Anyone that knows the first thing about gorillas and their protection would have seen that I was totally full of it, 100% lies. But these were naïve American tourists, still calling lions tigers and asking if a buffalo here was the same as an American bison. But it was great, the most fun dinner I ever had.

Anyways, im off tomorrow and it sucks. Just at the end of my stay have I managed to make a good amount of friends, and now its time to go. But at least I have something I can come back to if I want. A place to live, a job, friends…etc. and theres still so much I want to do in Kenya. The mara was amazing, but theres lots of other stuff out there. Pipe dreams may turn into a reality, and if destiny is kind, ive got the rest of my time to see it through.

So this is my last post from Kenya, for this go around at least. Thank you all for tuning in to the circus that has been my life. I will see most of you very shortly. And if not, well you probably didn’t want to see me either…

just photos

2007-10-15T23:56:00.000-07:00

on the hunt for a warthog. she got it.

rachel feeding a giraffe at hog ranch, where some friends i met live. they come in most nights around 630-7 and just hang out in the yard.

babysitting...

2007-10-04T03:39:00.000-07:00

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.

what i have learned

2007-09-30T06:00:00.000-07:00

God help us all. Somehow I have managed to find myself at the helm of a safari camp here in the mara. (well not entirely, I am working here with a 26yr old named abby that they have brought in to manage as well.) when I was told that I would be managing the place with her, I looked about as confused and dumbfounded as george bush would after being asked the square root of 4. mindblowing, really.

So weve been pretty busy here. Its tough trying to watch three movies a day and beat the heat.

Really though, its actually a ton of work and a big challenge, but im up for it and so far things are going very well. But so far has only been two days. Well see.

But as my departure draws nigh, I suppose its time to tell you all what I have learned here in the great nation of Kenya, in the shitstorm that is the African continent. Kenya has absolutely kicked my ass…but im a glutton for punishment and ive loved every minute of it. Well, almost. I could have down without the face to face encounter with a lion and being charged by a buffalo while half naked. That was a doozy. But, lets get on with the show.

· Sometimes things here make about as much sense as a taxi driver with a seeing eye dog. It really just defies logic and intuition. Take for example my waiting three hours to be fingerprinted to receive a card that will be mailed long after I have left Kenya. Fantastic, genius at work.

· Never drive at night. If you are in Nairobbery, you will be carjacked if you go anywhere outside of Karen. Theres also a good chance of your nightclub, or the one next to you, having some grenades lobbed in through the open front. Luckily, like most things in this country, the grenades usually don’t work. If you drive anywhere in the mara at night, well youre not making it back until sunrise. You will be more lost than a mormon at a porn convention.

· Trust no one. This place is more corrupt than an Italian dive in little italy. The park fees that you so diligently pay for the ‘conservation of wildlife’ usually find their way into the pockets of the tribal chieftan and county council honchos. Amazing how some maasai live in houses made of cowshit and sticks while others tool around town in a new Mercedes slk.

· Again, trust no one. Sadly, the black rhino that I posted photographs of just the other week was found dead, riddled with bullets from an AK and his horn lopped off. The massacre of an endangered species just so the Chinese can feel a bit more confident about their nether regions. Rumor has it the rangers were in on the job and will split the profits from the sale of the horn. But who can you tell? Chances are the person you tell was probably in on it all along, and if you go asking questions, you might just find yourself packaged up in some little bottle for Chinese virility.

· The going rate for an attractive british girl is about 150 cattle. I know this because one of our maasais attempted to arrange the marriage. She respectfully declined.

· When the big bang occurred, it took only a few millionths of a second for our universe to expand to the width of a couple billion light years. Also, it is not possible for us to travel beyond the speed of light. How might I know this? When youre out here, you read a lot, and I just read an absolutely riveting thriller about quantum physics. Fascinating stuff really. So fascinating that it made me want to take a bath with a toaster. If only we had toasters and bathtubs…

· Cheetahs may look quite friendly, but after this mornings adventure, im not so sure. I saw two cubs chase a wounded fawn that their mother had caught and then proceed to eat it alive. Such cute, cuddly little things.

· The absolute worst time to be charged by a buffalo is while wearing a towel at night.

· On that note, there is no good time to be charged by a buffalo.

· I recently broke the world record for the 100m dash. If you don’t believe me, go to hell. You have no idea how fast you can run when being chased by a black mamba. Afterwards, i nearly died from overexertion.

· Not only do some Chinese feel a bit bashful about their willies, they will soon own Africa. Albeit still under-endowed.

· Having your car checked for bombs when entering a hotel or a heavily guarded bar is about the most unsettling feeling ever. But this can quickly be cured by a few beers. Ahh, liquid confidence.
· Whiteboy = sucker.

· Malaria medicine is for the weak. (this will be be quite funny if, between now and the time I leave Africa, I come down with malaria. Im sure ill have a good laugh about that one.)

· Gun safety is not exactly the number one priority for the rangers out here. If you remember from a previous story, I once had a loaded AK bouncing around the back of my land cruiser while the ranger who owned the gun held his head out the window like a dog, taking in the sights and smells of a wondrous car journey. I meanwhile gripped the steering wheel ever tighter, waiting for a hail of bullets to tear me and the car apart. Also, remember the woman guard at the immigration with the automatic MP5? By the way, why the hell do you need guards at immigration?

· Rich people, for the most part, have a lot more money than they do sense.

· There is an entirely new form of timekeeping that ive discovered here. It pretty much consists of outright lies. Fifteen minutes could mean five minutes, or it could mean the day after tomorrow.

· Chefs are one of the most integral, yet quirky people who work in safari camps. Take, for instance, our Naibor chef Richard. Richard cant even tie his shoes unless hes high, much less prepare a three course dinner for twenty-two. The one day things went wrong in the kitchen, I asked what happened: Richard had run out of weed. I promptly sent him in a car to Talek to remedy the situation. He was back in an hour, high as a kite. He then proceeded to prepare one of the best lunches I have ever had, although when I asked him what it was, he totally blanked, looked around the kitchen, and simply pointed at the stove. But damn, that man can cook.

Anthony’s chef flipped one of our land cruisers. Enough said.
The chefs at ilkeliani are constantly hammered, and at least twice a month, a knife fight erupts between the two, one time resulting in six stitches. Amazingly, they are best friends. Imagine that.

As much as I hate going to the airstrip, it does provide me with some endless entertainment. I sit there in my car, watching as departing and arriving tourists simultaneously snap up their first and last memories of Kenya. Then, every once in a while, you get some clients that walk off the plane, and instead of looking like they came off a safari charter, they look like they walked out of the nyc saks fifth avenue. The makeup immediately begins to run, forming a disgusting paste on their fake-bake tan faces. And the hair. The hair, although they are walking through a 100+mph propwash, does not move an inch. Theres enough aquanet on there to immobilize a rhino. I think with enough heat and sunlight it might turn into something resembling the burning man festival out in the Nevada desert. Bottom line: people watching is great in Kenya.

Monkeys, while on the surface might seem very nice a sweet, are vicious little bastards. The other day, while walking to the bar at intrepids, a nearby lodge, a vervet jumped out of the bushes and latched onto my leg. He pounded away with his fists and just as he was preparing to sink his teeth into my leg, I was able to shake the little shithead off. Oh and also, they have neon blue balls, which is funny.
Blood diamond makes me want to kill tourists. If you remember, there was a phrase in there, ‘TIA’, meaning this is Africa. It was said in relation to the slaughter of thousands and the enslavement of a people to harvest precious natural resources. Now, it’s the tourist catchphrase. The matatu is not on time? TIA. Theres a fly in your water? TIA. Your flight is inexplicably cancelled? TIA.

NO! Its not at all. And people sound so damn stupid when they say it. I once played dumb and asked a girl ‘do Africans really say that over here?’ ‘Oh yeah’, she replied, ‘all the time.’ That’s funny. The only people ive ever heard it from are idiot Americans. Now, when I hear of a tourist drug from a rented car, beaten on the side of the road and then mugged, I might say ‘well shit man, that’s Kenya.’ But I swear, the next person I hear say TIA, im going to stab them in the jaw and really give them something to say TIA about.

And that’s all for now. I hope that you have found my life lessons entertaining. I will soon be leaving Naibor and heading to climb Mt. Kenya with my friend Billy. The plans are tentative, but assuming that the dates work out for climbing the mtn and being back in time to leave on the night of the 17th , ill get to climb. Then its off to London for a weekend to see friends from school as well as some people that I have met here. Back to work now.

the real world: naibor

2007-09-17T05:49:00.002-07:00

I dont usually like to write this sort of blog, but on this occasion i could not resist. This past night at naibor had all the makings of an episode of the real world: sex, drugs and rock and roll.

Ok, well there wasn’t much rock n roll, but we can pretend. If I had to pick a soundtrack for the night, it would have to be the Buckcherry song with the chorus line ‘I love the cocaine, I love the cocaine. As for the sex and drugs, no pretending necessary.

Now I wont say who the clients were that caused all this drama, because, well that would just not be very professional. All I can say is that it was an inidan guy named anuch, who was friends with one of the directors, and two girls that he met in a bar in Nairobi, who he subsequently invited down for a night to impress them. Well I guess that about says it. Oops.

All we knew before their arrival was that two people were arriving that are friends with someone on high and we were to treat them accordingly. There was a rumor that it was even one of the sons of one of our illustrious directors. This suspicion was immediately invalidated as two young American girls climbed out of the land cruiser and presented themselves as our newest guests.

We, the management, exchanged some confused looks, speculated as to their connection with the directors, and went about our business. I was given the task of briefing and welcoming them. This involves your standard ‘watch out for the animals and don’t get eaten’ speech. During this little chat, I tried to glean as much information as possible as to their origins and connections to naibor, but I failed miserably.

An hour or so later, after they had been settled in their tent, we received a call that the third member of their party was arriving in his own car. The plot thickens.

From a two-door blue range rover emerged anuch. He exuded an undeserved sense of entitlement and an air importance usually reserved for heads of state….or extremely arrogant assholes. He explained that he been driving around the mara, scouting out locations for two luxury camps that he was planning on opening in the future, all the while sparing no expense. I though to myself how lucky I might be to get the chance to shine this man’s Gucci boots. Little did we know at the time, this guest had been airmailed to us direct from hell.

But this was not the only story of the night set to unfold; a few hours before the arrival of our three esteemed guests, some clients of ours, both with irish ancestry, set off for a balloon ride. A balloon ride entails a 430am wake up followed by a 5am departure to make it to the launch site in time for a 630am liftoff. The flight lasts an hour to an hour and a half and upon landing, the clients are treated to a champagne breakfast. The champagne does not stop flowing. In short, they began drinking at 745am and did not stop for the entire day. But well come back to them.

Intrigue was abound once our three guests, anuch, reim and Christine settled in. there was clearly something between anuch and Christine, but as the wine began to flow, the interest of anuch shifted towards her friend, reim. Drama was on the horizon.

In the meantime, our Scottish guests departed for their evening game drive around 4pm, having arranged for a sundowner; basically a picnic cocktail party. This arrangement was made after they spent the afternoon by the river drinking wine as if it was their job. These people, by the time of their departure, were not safe within 100ft of an open flame due to the high likelihood of spontaneous alcohol-induced combustion.

The afternoon passed uneventfully as our three guests drank and anuch, our new resident playboy, worked his magic on his two little birds. He kept the wine flowing and asked that the tab for the three person party be placed on his room, and his room alone. The joke here lies in the fact that they were drinking house wine, which, as the name suggests, is on the house. He knew this, I knew this, but his guests did not. So I let him play the part and inflate his small-man ego.

I went for a shower around 645pm and returned to the campfire around 715pm. Reim, anuch and Christine were still sitting by the fire downing wine (free, house wine) as anuch ordered bottle after bottle, requesting that it all be billed to him.

Our Scottish couple rejoined us a little later, we went to dinner, and our guests showed no signs up letting up. About halfway through the appetizer, anuch and reim disappeared for about ten minutes. They came back with fresh faces and a case of the sniffles. Not to mention the personality of someone jacked up on some fine china. Their mouths ran at ninety-to-nothing and small beads of sweat dripped down their foreheads as they sniffled away, suddenly losing interest in their roasted red pepper and tomato soup. All this despite having drunk enough wine to poison a small elephant. Patrick and I exchanged a suspicious look.

This little disappearing act was repeated about 3 or 4 times during dinner, but they never all disappeared together. Most of the time anuch went with one or the other, and one occasion the girls went off together. My favorite was their excuse used for the third departure from the dinner table; ‘im going to get a book, well be right back.’

A book? A little light reading at dinner seems like the perfect thing to complement to some lively conversation and wine drinking.

The night proceeded as our three guests continued to inhale copious amounts of cocaine and our Scottish friends kept right on drinking.

Eventually, after dinner and some time by the fire, the requests for the johnny walker black label came out. This, unlike the house wine, is not complimentary for our normal guests. Anuch sensed this after the third or fourth glass ordered by his female guests, and pulled me aside. He asked how much each tot was and sat back down, knowing full well that he would not be paying a dime.

A short time later, as one more black label was ordered, he said, above normal conversational tone, that it should be placed on his room bill. This was really starting to get to me. Not only did he pretend to pay for everyones free wine, but he loudly proclaimed that he would pick up the tab for the whisky as well. Idiot. As a guest of one of the owners, he wasn’t paying for a damn thing. He was getting everything comp’d. he knew this full well, but like I said, small-man ego.

As the night drew on (much like this story, but sorry, I gotta write to stay sane) anuch’s interest had switched entirely to reim and, sensing this, Christine, the original object of his affection, became disgruntled. So what did she do? What any sane, healthy girl would have done to soothe her emotions; lots of cocaine. Now they weren’t telling us that they were doing this, but youd have to be an idiot not to figure it out.

Meanwhile, our Scottish guest, mark, and his new wife jillian, were getting piss drunk. The request came out for campfire songs and I sat back to watch the magic unfold. Christine launched into some smoky-sounding jazz numbers, her voice with some nice whisky gravel in it. Mark thought he could top her and began to serenade us with some nice, family style tunes; these happened to be folk songs of the IRA. I shit you not. They were about setting up bombs and blowing away british soldiers, with a nice chorus of ‘o mama, help me’. Touching, really.

His wife did not like this. At this point she began to try and drag him away, forcefully at times. She pleaded with him to shut up, as some of our guests happened to be from England, which have traditionally not been the strongest supporters of their friends across the straits, in this case the IRA.

He then went on to rant that these men who had planted bombs and shot up soldiers were not terrorists by any stretch of the imagination, they fought for religion. Sounds familiar, no? I wonder what his take is on the bombers that drove a flaming truck into Glasgow airports.

The love triangle plot was growing by the minute. Anuch’s attention was now fully on reim and Christine, feeling rejected, turned to talk to me. I guess the cocaine had run out. She made a point of letting anuch know that she was now talking to me, who up until this point, had pretty much remained silent and enjoyed the show. I didn’t really entertain this new conversation; I hated her for using me as a pawn in this whole drug-alcohol fuelled love triangle.

We have now reached the boiling point of this story. It was the end of the night, and time to go to bed. But two questions remained; who would anuch try and go home with, and how the hell was this poor Scottish newlywed going to get her husband to shut up about the IRA and get him back to the tent. Judging by the hushed answers given in response to how he knew these IRA songs, im pretty sure they had some IRA background in the family, at least on the husband’s side. In fact, im pretty sure that we had the son of a former IRA soldier on our hands, judging by his take on the ‘freedom fighters’ and his intimate knowledge of their songs and customs.

Mark was drug home by myself, his wife and one masai askari. I usually don’t stick around with clients this late unless theyre my age, but in this case it would have been a bit of a liability to abandon them this drunk. I, on the other hand, was dead sober; I made one glass of red last me through most of dinner and the proceeding camp fire. Earlier in the night, after the repeated incantations of IRA songs, mark mused that he might not be getting any honeymoon action tonight. Im pretty sure he was right.

Anuch, reim and Christine had now become a full-blown disaster. As they prepared to head to their tents, anuch had his arm around reim and was asking her which tent they should go to. At this point, Christine had had enough and demanded that anuch stay behind and talk to her. This was too good to miss. Myself and another masai walked reim back; she seemed dejected, but nothing that a little nose candy couldn’t fix for her. Im pretty sure that as I walked away from her tent I heard some loud sniffing sounds.

Now I don’t usually like to eavesdrop, but this one was not to be missed. I pretended to help the staff clean up around the fire and messtent as the argument began to rage.

‘I came all this way to see you, and you ditch me for my friend!’ a female voice yelled.
‘well, uhhh.’ Drunk. ‘I didn’t see the problem, you were, uh, talking to that grant kid.’
‘only because you weren’t talking to me.’ Ah, what a self-esteem boost.
‘well im sorry.’ At this point he tries to pull her close, and she recoils.
‘what did you expect from us, a threesome!?!’

this was a loaded question that required a delicate answer, which did not come. After a little too much wine and whisky, our friend anuch was feeling a little too honest at exactly the wrong time.

‘well the thought crossed my mind….’ Idiot.

After this, he had totally lost the argument, which had now been raging for about an hour. The above is simply an abridged version. They set off for their respective tents and upon arrival outside of anuch’s tent, when he asked her to come in (this don juan simply did not get the point) the argument began anew, and this time it could be heard around camp. I had to intervene. I politely asked them to choose a tent, as they were in danger of waking up our sober clients. Not only that, but there were elephants around tent 6, and an elephant is not something you want to piss off in the middle of the night.

She rejected his advances, and he stormed back to the bar to berate our innocent bartender, joseph. He demanded two bottles of wine to be opened. Joseph politely advised him that he would open only one, and then if he still needed another, then a second would be opened. He did not like this at all. He became irate, at which point we had to shut him up again. Finally he got the point, grabbed his bottle and left. Cue the eric Clapton song ‘cocaine’.

Instead of going for the sure thing, our little playboy had pissed off both his guests and managed to wind up drunk and alone. Sweet revenge for us, the management, who will now surely have to field complaints from playboy as to why not enough wine was served, not enough women wanted him, and not enough drugs were on hand.

This was the first time, in my knowledge that drugs had come through naibor, and hopefully the last. Policy dictates that, if we have proof, such guests are asked to leave. But in this case, all we had was speculation, and the guest in question was a friend of the owners, so we could do nothing.

the height of inefficiency

2007-09-10T07:25:00.001-07:00

The height of inefficiency

A visa renewal; an easy task, right? Well if ive learned one thing since ive been here, its that nothing is as easy as it should be in Africa. This ended up being a battle, and a near defeat for yours truly, the intrepid traveler.

I arrived in Nairobi on Friday afternoon after another month long stint in the mara, splitting time between naibor and anthony’s camp on the mara river. I wasn’t really looking forward to the stay; my time in Nairobi is about as enjoyable as a walk through downtown Baghdad without a flak jacket. This being said, this go around wasn’t all that bad and boring.

Friday night, after putting in some QT with the clients during the day, I went over to the hyena cottage. (I refer to them as the hyena girls for lack of a better term. I would use names, but I have a feeling that would just confuse yall.) we laid low, watched a movie and ate some take out dinner, and although it was a low key night, it was nice to be around someone my age again and relax without being bombarded with questions from clients to the effect of ‘what do we do if a lion comes into camp tonight? Can we go outside and look at it?’ yes, please do. why don’t you give it a little pet as well.

But Friday night was about the only good night so far. The next morning, after a breakfast with Danielle (ill give the name thing a try) and sarah, i said bye to them as they set off for a conservancy near the Tanzania border to research striped hyenas. Well that’s cool, see yall in a few weeks. They will eventually return to the mara in not too long, or so they’ve said, but who knows. Shortly after their departure I became sick, very very sick.

At first I thought it was malaria, but then the whole stomach business started, so I chose to blame the duck that I had for lunch the day before. That was much easier to do than rush off to the doctor for a malaria test. How, you might ask, can you get malaria while youre on malaria medication? Well, you cant. But I quit my medication about three weeks into the trip. The main warning on the label said avoid prolonged exposure to the sun. that’s a bit like telling an Eskimo to avoid cold weather. It just wasn’t an option. So I quit, and became an expert mosquito killer. So I quit, and became and expert mosquito killer.

I spent pretty much all of Saturday and Sunday on the couch. I watched cricket, rugby, soccer, read and drank tea. Now those are some activities that really get your blood flowing. It was exhilarating. The only thing that interrupted the monotony was little oscar rushing into the den to see if I wanted to kick the ball around with him or watch some high quality bbc kids programming. I wanted to do neither, but I didn’t really have a choice.

Around last night I started to feel better, which was good because I knew that Monday was going to suck; it was time to renew the visa. This process took no less than five hours, and cost me about 19 burst blood vessels in my head.

I had been warned by Fiona that the Nyayo immigration house downtown was a place where logic failed, but this didn’t really set in until I arrived at the place, which is smack in the center of downtown Nairobbery.

I set off from Karen with Francis, a messenger from Fiona’s office, Francis, as my guide. We drove along smoothly for about 22 seconds until we turned a corner and hit bumper to bumper traffic on the Ngong Rd. leading to downtown. I was stuck behind a city works vehicle that put out enough black smoke in one belch to give the entire city a right case of the black lung. I was miserable, it was raining and I still felt a bit sick. The matatu (bus of death, in cast you don’t rememeber) behind me started blaring on his horn, and then attempted to slip around me on the outside, in this case being the left since these silly people drive on the wrong side of the road. But no, I wasn’t having any of this today. If I was waiting, so was this asshole. I pulled the car on the shoulder, much to the dismay of the expert driver behind me, who nearly relieved me of the back third of my little Subaru. I held strong, withstood the verbal abuse, stones and insults being hurled at me and kept the matatu at bay.

Not long after he began to lay on his horn for no less than five minutes. This, combined with the stress of traffic and the lingering effects of some vicious peking duck, cost me the first ruptured blood vessel in my head. My temperature was rising, my eyes were filling with fire and I began to chew a hole in my check. This was not going to be a good journey. Francis, meanwhile, was singing away, fascinated by the wondrous contraption plugged into the cigarette lighter whose screen glowed white and filled the car with all sorts of tunes.

Traffic crept along at a blistering pace (all of 2mph) and we inched our way towards the city. At one point, we passed the Nairobi hospital. Francis was keen to point this out and said if I ever needed it, it was right here. If this was a movie, this would have been some very austere foreshadowing. I just hoped that life didn’t imitate art in this particular instance.

I finally arrived downtown and parked across the street at the intercontinental hotel. Upon entry into the parking garage, two men scanned the inside of my car and then passed a mirror attached to a large metal pole underneath the undercarriage to check for bombs. (you think im joking?) nothing like the feeling of safety in downtown.

As I entered the immigration house, my spirits immediately lifted. Contrary to what I had been told the scene was going to be like, the building was empty and so was the line marked visa renewal. I happily strode up to the desk, presented my passport and application to the waiting lady and said nothing.

She finally spoke. ‘what are you doing here in Kenya?’

‘Working for a safari-‘. Not good, wrong answer. Without a work permit, the word work should never leave my mouth.

‘but you don’t have a work permit.’

Shit. ‘right…I know. I didn’t mean working, I just meant that ive been down at a safari camp that is owned by a friend of mine. He works there. Or owns it, whatever’

‘and what have you been doing down there?’

‘driving around, watching animals’

‘driving? Driving a safari car?’

no, its actually a BMW M3. god I hate people. ‘yes, a safari truck, the ones clients use.’ Oh crap, I did it again. I wasn’t really at the top of my bullshit game here and I was quickly digging myself in a hole.

‘how have you been driving, you do not a PSV license to operate a safari car?’

er. ‘I didn’t mean that ive been driving, ive been driven around, you see. around the mara. By people, people with work permits and licenses.’ Im flailing.

‘why have you stayed so long?’

‘they need me there.’ Ive done it again. Im done, kill me now. I was quickly heading up shit creek with a turd for a paddle.

‘if you are not working, why do they need you there?’

‘they are my friends and have been there for a long time. Sometimes its nice to have someone new in camp, they like having me there. Did I mention im their friend. The unemployed, nondriving, legal immigrant friend?’

Within 15 seconds I was dismissed and, judging by the look on her face, judged to be a complete idiot. I could not simply renew the visa since my original stay was longer than 90 days, but rather, I had to apply for alien status. This required me to return with two passport photos and a fistful of cash. I had lost the first battle, brining the running score for my trip to: Kenya 1,682 – Grant 0.

I returned about 15 minutes later and was crestfallen. During my short absence, every single immigrant in Kenya had decided that it was time to renew their visa as well. My once empty line now contained the entire population of India. The place was becoming hot and stinky. Not quite as stinky as the paris metro, but it did smell like food poisoning coming out the wrong end. Blood vessel number two was gone.

So I took up my place in line, waited and then eventually arrived at the front. About 30 seconds and 2,200 shillings I was cast back out to wait amongst the masses. At this point I accidentally got in the way of a soldier guarding the building.

Now im not really sure why the guards are here at all; at the entrance to the building was a metal detector, but with no one supervising it. People walked in and out at will, the detector constantly beeping away warning people about imminent threats such as loose change and key chains. To be honest, I was more scared of the guards than I was of the people. Most had AK-47s (which ive come to fear after my last encounter with one) and one had an HK-MP5.

not to get all Tom Clancy on yall, but the MP5 has a slector switch as a safety. There are three settings; safe, three-round burst, and full automatic. As the guard with the MP5 approached from my blindside, she (yes, she) proceeded to ‘accidentally’ dig the butt of her gun into my ribs and ‘politely’ ask me to move out of her way. All the while, her finger rested just behind the trigger of the weapon, and when I saw this, I also noticed that her selector was on full automatic. Now the gun was either unloaded and this was all a show, or she was the best damn gun safety expert ive ever seen. I spent the next 3 hrs. dodging the swinging barrel (which was at any given time pointed directly at someones chest given how she held the gun) of her gun while she strode around the building on some very official business. This marked the rupture of vessel three.

I waited. And waited, and waited even more for….shit, I had no idea what I was even waiting on. I had a little piece of paper in my hand after forking over my passport and lots of shillings, but I had no idea what I was doing.

I approached the counter numbered 3, I started at number 7, and asked the lady what I was waiting on. She asked for my little slip of paper and told me to take a seat. Defeated, once again. I was fuming. I heard a little pop in my head as the fourth vessel went bust.

I toughed it out for about 20 more min when I went back up to her. She gave me a look as if I was the last person on the face of the earth she wanted to help. In fact, she stared at me, then went back down to her paperwork as I stood before her. I cleared my throat, tapped a finger, and did pretty much everything to let her know I wanted he attention.

Finally, she looked up. I once again asked what I was waiting on. She said it was to be fingerprinted. Fingerprinted? Are you kidding? When I was arrested, the whole arrest, booking, printing, mugshooting and cell assignment went so fast it made my head spin. And here I was waiting on a f***ing fingerprint for three hours for a card that I would get right around the time of my departure from this great nation. This was a futile exercise exacerbated by a level of inefficiency never before seen with mine eyes. That was then end of vessels 5-17. I was well on my way to a coronary.

But alas, I finished. I was passed along between 5 different desks for over four hours to sign a little form, pay a little money and have a little fingerprinting. Francis came back to collect me after his errands and was surprised to find me just exiting the building. We had agreed that if I was done before him that I should not wait, but my lighting fast round through the immigration office gave him enough time to run a telegram to Tanzania on foot. he came back anyways just to make sure it had gone well and that I wasn’t getting screwed. (im sure I got screwed somehow…at least it felt like I did.) for his help and troubles I bought him lunch at the java house.

That’s it for my immigration story. All in all, it sucked. Hope you like the pictures below.

just photos

2007-09-09T23:41:00.000-07:00

not the best pic, but i still like it. shes in full stride after a tommy with her cub off to the side. the gazelle won

some very thoughtful looking young lions.

cheetah mom w/ cubs seen below

7mos old cubs playing

young leopard crossing the talek river. we had just watched her hunt gazelle. she lost

black rhino on the ongata possee. only 20 in the mara, very rare. the second one ive seen in three months

a very hungry looking lion walking towards my car

my favorite bird; lilac-breasted roller

lion cub in a tree. they are terrible climbers. she fell out soon after this photo

mom her young cub. sadly, this cub has since been killed by a lion. not the same cheetahs from above

if an elephant falls on me, will i die?

2007-08-17T06:57:00.000-07:00

this current stint in the mara has been one of many firsts. so ill start with the first first. first, this was the first time that i have not only been left in camp to guide with anthony not around, but i had to manage camp as well. (how many times can i use first in the intro?)

this safari marked the first time i lost my temper with the crew. with anthony not around and kamau, the crew chief, in nairobi, i was pretty much the boss of the camp. and they took advantage of me starting from day one. i could see this coming and at first (thats six) i could deal with it. things were still getting done, albeit a bit slower than normal. but when the mess tent flooded one night during a torrential downpour and we had to clean it in the morning, i lost it.

the waiters were in the tent mopping and john came to me to complain; he had asked the rest of the staff for help and, being a very jr. member of the crew, the simply laughed at him. i stormed back to the crew area to find them warming up around the fire. i told them to go help john and they exchanged some words in swahili that i didnt understand. one masai then got up and walked off dejected to help the mopping effort. now breakfast was in 30min, and three people could not get this job done.

i asked them if thats all they were going to do, and the rest told me it was not their job. i lost it, completely blew my top.

'your job is exactly what needs to be done right now, and if i tell you that its mopping the mess tent, then you get down there and you mop the damn tent...please' i told them, trying to contain any yelling to avoid waking the clients.

i immediately thought id overstepped my bounds as they looked at me with shocked faces, but they slowly got up and went about their business. i was all the more incensed because one of the guys down there had malaria and should not even be working, he should be taking his meds and resting. but he knew that if he did, nothing would get done.

i called anthony to tell him about my outburst and apologize. but none was needed. he said i did exactly the right thing, that the crew was notoriously lazy without him and kamau around and, being the one in charge, i needed to do just that, take charge. it felt good. for the first time i was really doing a full time job; managing camp, guiding, solving problems, etc.

i gained a new level of respect amongst the staff after that, and although i apologized, they conceded that they were in the wrong.

also, i managed to get my car so stuck in a small river that i had to leave it overnight. i assured the clients i could get it out at first (thats another one) but soon realized that i had lied. not the first time ive lied to the wageni. after repeated attempts to winch the car out and almost burning out the clutch on james' (the other guide) car, all the while being videotaped by an american family who passed by and found this wildly entertaining, i was very stuck. the car had sunk up to the chassis and was not going anywhere without the help of something very heavy duty. i then realized that i knew of a camp, rekero, that had a tractor. i phoned patrick at naibor and he gave me the number of the rekero manager.

i called and, in as diplomatic a voice i could manage (which was not very diplomatic at the time), i informed him that i worked for naibor and was in need of a tractor. there is a bitter rivalry between rekero and naibor, and being one of the guides for naibor while im in camp, the rivalry runs even deeper. however, i knew that our camp had bailed out his cars on numerous occasions and he owed us, big time.

the clients abandoned my stricken vehicle like people leaving a sinking ship and all piled into our other car for the ride back to camp. i was humiliated. i had made it across the same crossing twice the day before, but it was in a different car and this new land rover was apparently not up to the challenge.

gerard, the rekero manager, told me he would send the tractor, which i met at 530am the following morning. i was cold, miserable and up to my knees in mud when they arrived, laughing at me for how stuck i had managed to get. screw it, at least they are here.

the car popped out with some effort and once again i was back to guiding, albeit with a very wounded ego. but enough about that. i want to tell you all about my last safari (ive done two, in the last week, but the first was much more noteworthy). ill start with the clients...

i had a total of five for this four day safari. the eldest were a set of grandparents that had brought along their two grandkids for the safari, as well as their grandkids' stepmom (pauline). this provided for a very interesting dynamic. not only was the stepmother married to the father of the children, the father was not even related to the parents. the kids were born out of wedlock by their daughter, who later left the father living in france. the father had since remarried to pauline. i know, i wish i could draw a family tree here, its comlicated. but in short, pauline had no relation to the kids nor to the grandparents.

as for pauline: she was one of those new-age granola hippies; she believed in all sorts of crap. one more than one occasion, as we bounced along the rough roads of the mara, she would inhale deeply and let out some sort of very sexual groan, at which point she would request that i stop the car. not being one to argue with clients, i obliged her request. she would then leap out of the car, bend over and begin walking out into the grass. this was a bad idea for many reasons, but i really wanted to see where she was going with this. then, she would get down on all fours (you cant make this up), pick some grass reeds, crush them up in her hands, and then take a handful of dirt. now, she lifted this mix to her face, practically smearing her nose in it, and would let out another of her strangely erotic moans. i could barely stifle my laughter as she turned around to exclaim what a delightful smell this was. i laughed mainly because the ground was covered in elephant dung. im pretty sure she takes lots of bubble baths and listens to yanni everynight, most likely while getting high on glue.

not only this, she claimed that she had some sort of bizarre back problem, causing her great pains whenever the car would bounce around, which was quite often. but instead of crying out in pain everytime this back problem irritated her, she let out loud, very pronounced shrieks that once again sounded as if she was being intensely pleasured. she would then apologize, assuring us that the noise was involuntary and a product of the discomfort she incurred as a result of bumpy car rides. secretly, i think the enjoyed the vibrations of the car over bumpy roads and could not contain her ecstasy. at least thats what it sounded like.

like i said, she believed in all sorts of new age stuff and to explain one of the children's very hyperactive attitude, she claimed it was because he was born on the day that his grandmother was buried, causing great stress for the mother, which was then passed on in the form of hyper behavior to the child. this was while we were at dinner, and after this comment, you should have seen the look the grandparents shot me. when she went off to the bathroom, the grandfather exploded in a fit of laughter, unable to believe what he had just heard. 'boys will be boys' he said, 'its nothing more than that. this lady is crazy.' indeed.

the children: french. young and french, with an english stepmother.

every night at dinner they insisted on sitting right next to me. now there are two things in this world that really bother me; one is when after the breakup, an ex-girlfriend ends up having more girlfriends (yes, girlfriends) than you, and the other is bad table manners. seeing as how these children did not fall into the former category, they had abhorrent table manners. they smacked constantly with their mouths open as they shovelled food into their faces. they sounded like a marathon runner on mile twenty tgrying to choke down a chunk of peanut butter the size of their fist. it was disgusting.

not only this, the kids refused to shower. this led me to debate the myth of whether or not french people really smell as bad as people say...

ive spent some time in france here and there and, in my personal opinion, ive discovered that they dont smell as bad as people say. most of the french smell like they have bathed in chanel no. 5 and then doused their entire body in a very musky smelling aftershave. actually, on second thought, this is terribly offensive to my olfactory, so i think they do actually smell. but these kids put the whole of france to shame. but honestly, ive only noticed the smell while in close quarters with the french on the paris metro. so really, i think its the paris metro that gives the french the bad rap.

after not showering for four days straight, the kids took on an extremely pungent odor. they smelled like the metro on a hot summer day; a nice blend of jock strap and goat cheese.

they did, however, provide me with one very entertaining afternoon. i had to go to talek, the nearest town, at one point while they were in camp and they begged me to let them accompany me on this three hour excursion to get some more supplies and cell phone credit. i relented and they excitedly hopped into the car.

on the way to talek, i took them by the lions we saw feeding earlier in the morning to see what they were up to. shortly after entering the lions' territory, i found one snoozing under a tree, and pressed on deeper into the bush to find the rest. terrible idea.

i soon became stuck on a very large rock. it had become wedged under the car, lifting the front two tires off the ground and prohibiting any further movement. i had to get out of the car, jack it up and hope it slid off the rock. once again, i was stuck in the middle of lions. some heads began to pop up from about 20yds away and look at me in a very curious manner. thats it, i thought, im going to die in front of two small children as a result of a vicious lion attack and traumatize them for the rest of their lives. this would surely be more unsettling than being born on the day your maternal grandmother is buried. but alas, the lions were only curious, and only one actually got up and took a few steps towards the car. i made some loud noise, banging the lug wrench agains the jack and the lion stopped in its' tracks, more confused than ever.

after taking care of business in the town of hourly hotels, hookers and goats, we headed back for our camp along the mara river. on the way back, we came upon some lions again. at some point during our viewing of these lions, the female got up, brushed her tail in the face of the mail and then presented herself for some lion nookie.

'gwahnt, what are zey doing, ze lie-ons?' asked one of the kids. their accents were unlike any other french accent i have heard. this may have to do with the fact that they are from the south of france. they sounded as if they were constantly trying to expectorate a softball-sized wad of phlegm with every word.

er, i thought, it is not in my job description to explain the birds and the bees to 9 and 11 year old children. but what the hell, ill give it a shot as best i can.

'they are making baby lions' i told them.
'ow do zey do zis, ze making of baby lie-ons?'
crap. 'have you ever played with legos?' i asked them,
'oui.'
'well,' i began, 'theres boy legos and girl legos. and when you put them together, you get baby lions. they fit into each other jsut like legos and it makes something in the end.'
'ahh, oui oui'
a wee-wee indeed. i should teach sex ed.

now i was pretty sure they knew where babies came from, but being the consummate safari guide i decided not to shun the question, even though thats pretty much exactly what i had just done.

as a side note, lions mating is hilarious. for being the king of the jungle, the male does not give a very kingly performance; hes good for about 15 seconds, at which point he lets out a loud, gutteral roar and dismounts. the female, once again left wondering why her mate is known as the 'king', rolls over and furiously swats the male across the face with one of her large paws, as if to say 'once again youve given a very unkingly performance.' this is repeated every twenty minutes for about 4 days on end.

back to the story of the kids: their accents were, at times, indecipherable. on one occasion, tio, the youngest asked me a question:

'gwahnt, can we go find some of ze lepers?'
lepers? no, im sorry. there are no leper colonies here in the mara. i think you have come to the wrong place for shock tourism.

another instance:
tio: 'i would weally like a crap wight now.'
'very well then,' i said, 'here is some toilet paper, let me just go to the nearest bush and make sure theres nothing hiding behind it'
'no no, a CRAP, like one zat you can eat.'
perhaps this new age psycho-babble was true if what i was hearing was in fact accurate. i then flashed back to a book i had read (stephen clarke, a year in the merde, read, funniest thing ever) and realized that the child was talking about crepes.

'oh i see, well i think we can cook those in camp. ill see what i can do. do you still need the toilet paper?'

now the grandparents were a whole other story. they lived in kenya and exhibited the attitudes of the old colonialists. they referred to the camp staff as 'delightful specimens' and spoke of the days when men were men and beast were beasts, whatever the hell that means.

on only one occasion did they manage to really offend me. at dinner, they spoke of the overpopulation of africa. the grandfather then remarked that aids was not doing enough in africa, and we needed it to explode, or perhaps another bout of the plague would do something good.

i stopped eating and was completely taken aback. i would assume that living in the continent of africa had opened their eyes to the ravages of aids and the heartbreak it caused in countries all around the world, but i guess not. i have never been more offended in my entire life, but i could say nothing. i had to swallow my words and sit quietly. this is the most frustrating aspect of my job.

in addition to their terrible attitudes regarding diseases, the grandfather had once run a safari camp in the mara about 25yrs ago. he contstantly told me where were the best places to go to see the animals and insisted i follow his directions. now ive only been here for 2mos so i respected his knowledge of the mara, but cmon, that was 25yrs ago. a lot has changed since then.

at one point he directed me to a lugger (small watering hole) where he used to see elephants back in the stone age. i dont know what you know about elephants, but they move, a lot, especially over 25yrs. my home country used to be covered in sheets of ice, but you dont hear me asking people to show me the glaciers in the midwest now do you? but once again, i had to grin and bear it.

this being said, they did have a very good safari. we saw lions everyday, a 'leper' on two separate occasions, and masses of wildebeest. but the grandfather remained somewhat unimpressed. after viewing each animal for all of 45 seconds, he would say 'right then, jolly good. shall we move along?' the children squealed in protest, but he would only turn to me a make a very decisive motion with his hands, meaning something to the effect of 'if you dont start this car and start driving, im going to castrate you.'

its hard to impress old men like this that have been in the bush for years. when you can look out of your car and see thousands upon thousands of wildebeests and say 'look, its the newly proclaimed seventh wonder of the natural world' and he doesnt so much as bat an eye, what can you do? nothing, except serve him lots of whiskey and hope he tips well.

so thats it for my safaris. the other group i had in camp was another set of locals and they were very easy going. we saw all sorts of good stuff; leopards hunting, lions everyday including a hunt, hundreds of thousands of wildebeest and the best thing i have seen since ive been in africa; a cheetah and her 6mo old cub. (pictures will be posted as soon as i get to nairobi.)

now for a few quick naibor stories....

in camp we have a family of four from malaysia. they are terrified of everything and ask every possible 'what if' question. i remember i did this a lot when i first came to africa, but never to this extent.

question one: 'what if an elephant is grazing near your tent, he trips and falls on one of the tent ropes and comes crashing down onto where you are sleeping?'

do you really need an answer to this? youre dead, absolutely dead. crushed to death by a four ton beast. but this will never happen. i cant imagine an elephant tripping on a tiny rop that holds up a flap of a tent.

question two: 'if youre watching a very hungry lion right next to your car, and you get of the car and walk towards it, what will it do?'

once again, a very intelligent question. the lion will eat you, on the spot. you will die. next?

question three: 'are there snakes here? what happens if during the night a snake comes into your tent? should i put a candle outside to ward off the snakes?'

good lord people are dumb.

but my favorite was not a question, bur rather a statement. this morning at breakfast, patrick johanna and i were all sitting together having some fruit and tea when the wife of the malaysian family approached us. she asked how far it was to the mara river. its about 40 min, we answered.

'oh, thats too far. i will need to pee along the way. is there a camp along the way that we can stop in at and have a some tea and use the bathroom?'

sometimes i wonder why people even come here if these are their top concerns. of course you cant stop in at another camp. safari camps are notoriously exclusive and its not like the bar at your local hilton where you can walk in and grab a drink on your way around town. we told her she could use the bushes, but shes far too afraid of snakes. so there you have it; she paid thousands of dollars to get to the mara, hundreds of dollars per night to stay here, and she wont go see the river because shes afraid a snake will bite her in the ass if she has to pee. totally logical.

youd be amazed at the questions we get. half the time patrick and i just sit there, dumbfounded and contain our laughter. sometimes the questions are not so bad and we can see how someone who had never been to africa before might pose such queries. but for the most part, its pretty ridiculous.

that is all. sorry if ive bored you and it wasnt quite as entertaining as the last. photos will be up upon my return to nairobi, whenever that might be....

round 2

2007-08-09T00:48:00.000-07:00

if my second trip to zanzibar was a boxing match, i would have been felled by TKO somewhere in the early fourth round. my 'fight' ended with me in a minibus lying on the floor with my backpack as a pillow as i sped towards the airport in stone town...a full two hours after my scheduled departure. i was utterly defeated and felt like i was doing to die. but to see how i got here, lets just start at the beginning.

i was originally supposed to fly back to the mara on saturday, but after receiving my work schedule in print, i decided that would be a terrible idea; starting today, i will not have any time off until the end of september. after discussing this with anthony and getting the ok to get out of town, i contacted billy.

billy, famous for going for the weak link in the group and keeping you out til sunrise, is my friend from my last zanzibar adventure. he wrote back to my email almost immediately and informed me that he was going to zanzibar with two friends from the states. within an hour i was packed and had a plane ticket.

night one was in dar es salaam, or just dar. this is a pit. i arrived in the late evening and was met at the airport by billy and ashish (real name, friend from states). we opted not to take a taxi and instead hop in a much feared dalla-dalla for the ride into town. as we crammed in they assured us there was room, but i was a nonbeliever. i, along with ashish, was forced to stand and as a dalla-dalla barely has enough head room for me when i sit, i was pretty much bent over at the waist with my face nestled somehwere near a large african's ass. fantastic start to the trip, what would be great now is if he could just let a little fart slip out.

but enough of that. after dinner on the beach, we headed to garden bistro for an 'easy' night. we didnt want to ruin ourselves for our zanzibar departure the following day. after a hookah and a few beers, i soon realized that this would not be the night i had in mind. hookers were hitting on billy as he danced and harassing ashish and i as we watched, laughing at billy as he fended off the repeated attacks.

they are quite grabby, the hookers, and dont really like to hear you say no. i, however, was adamant in my refusals; i would rather play russian roulette with six in the chamber than so much as shake hands with a prostitute (no offense to the hookers of the world, im sure some of you are very nice ladies). billy on the other hand was turning into a sort giggolo. while the ladies of the night constantly ask you for drinks, billy decided to turn the tables on the one harassing him and demand a drink from her. astonished, she actually complied and billy gave us a beaming smile and a thumbs up, exclaiming that 'hey, a hooker just bought me a beer!'

one small victory for us. she eventually offered him money to go home with her, but he declined.

as for the rest of the night, it wasnt all hookers. i met some american marines who guarded the embassy and they invited me back for cards at their secret hidden away bar in ther basement of their large house. maybe next time. some local girls, very nice, not hookers, chatted us up for awhile and then it was time to call it a night....or day, it was afterall 6am and as we wandered home, the muslim calls to prayer rang out from the tall towers of the city's many mosques. i felt so far from home, and in such violation of everything good and holy in this world.

day two. we found our way to the airport around 2pm for our 330pm flight and met up with another friend along for the voyage, gerard. after the introductions billy split for his flight which left out of a different terminal, at which point me, ashish and gerard made our way to the departure lounge for some much needed hydration.

as we sat around eating and drinking, i noticed a very official looking man next to us with his face buried in a bloody mary, and another empty one by his side. in fact this man looked so official that he just so happened to be a pilot. i checked to be sure that he wasnt a precison air (our airline) pilot and, thankfully he was not. he flew for tanzanair. not my problem, i didnt come to africa to blow whistles and tell people that drinking and flying planes full of tourists was a bad idea. he soon picked himself up off the bar, only after yet another cocktail, threw on the official issue pilot shades, and stumbled towards some official looking entrance to go do some sort of official things while officially wasted.

we landed in zanzibar right about the same time that billy's flight came in and we met him on the tarmac. much to my astonishment and sheer terror, billy walked right off a small tanzanair flight captained by a man who i recognized. if you havent put this together yet, his pilot was the official looking alcoholic whom i shared a bar with just an hour before. only in africa.

quite a relaxed first night on the island. we decided to take it easy and save up for nungwi.

this was a good decision. that first night, billy led us to yet another sunrise as we passed the night playing cards with two aussies and three girls from norway. the aussies were outrageous; two guys in their mid twenties, cashed up and ready to go at the drop of a hat. they made john belushi look like a weak drinker. the norweigan girls were everything you would want girls from norway to be, and a bit more; blonde, accented, attractive, interested in young american safari workers, etc.

they taught us all sorts of card games and entertained us and the aussies until just before sunset when everyone decided to call it a day.

the following afternoon at the beach was my last and our aussie friends had gotten wind of this. starting from about 4pm onwards, after we, along with the norweigans, made plans to meet for dinner, paul the aussie began telling everyone we met about my 'going away party'. this struck me as funny on many levels. for one, i barely knew paul and here he was getting ready for a throwdown to honor my departure. additionally, he was telling completely random people about this party, yet they seemed very intrigued. it doesnt take much to get a bunch of people on holiday together to drink.

after a quick dinner, we moved out party back over to our favorite beach bar, cholo's. by now, paul was promoting this new drinking event to nearly everyone. he would go around saying, 'well this bloke cam and oi are ear fer another fo' dayz, but this guy, grahhnt, its ez last noit....so lets ave a bia!' this never stopped, and it apparently never got old. he recruited all sorts of people for our little fiesta by the fire on the beach.

i soon started to realize i was in trouble. i had run out of cash some time ago, but upon realizing this paul simply took it upon himself to buy every single one of my drinks, as well as those for our new friends. i tried to protest, but the harder i fought, the more red bull and vodkas he thrust at me.

around 3am i tried to escape with the norweigans (they roomed next door), only to be caught by paul and cam who were returning from their room. by their new upbeat attitude and mile wide smiles, i had guessed they had found some sort of over the counter stimulant to help them press on through the night. cam pulled me aside and informed me that they had pseudophedrine tablets, and offered me some.

now i dont much about the whole speed business, but i do know that what they had was the active ingredient in meth, and being from where i am in texas, meth is big business. i respectfully declined, but thanked them for their generous offer. they then drug me back to the bar and said that if i wouldnt take the pills, then i needed another red bull.

somewhere around 530am i managed to escape. i thought id take a quick nap before catching my 6am cab. this of course did not happen. from what the neighbors told me, the cabbie tried persistently to get into my room and wake me, as did my roomate ashish. they say that i woke up at one point, began to pack, and the slipped back off to sleep. oh well.

this is when my miserable ride back to stone town began. i couldnt get in touch with any of the airlines to change tickets so i had to go down in person to the offices, about 1.5hrs away. the rest is history. i made it back, barely, and the changing of flights actually saved me $30.

on the way out of dar i met yet another foreign girl in the airport. she was russian, returning from travelling with her dad and friends around tanzania. now between her and the norweigan girls, ive started to realize something; american girls are for suckers, or australians.

i dont know what it is, but ive found foreign girls, and foreign people for that matter, much more fascinating lately. it may have something to do with the fact that they find what i do very interesting as well, which just makes for good conversation and probably a false sense of confidence. i think this novelty will probably wear off after i return to the states and realize that american girls are once again the best. but as for now, i think i need to go to russia...or scandinavia. both?

2007-08-02T01:16:00.000-07:00

lion eating/drinking a buffalo

aggressive baby elephant. this was another picture taken before the charge, even the kids didnt like me being there

a typical evening out when i have no clients. if were not too busy, patrick, johanna and i head out for a quick sundowner and see what we can find...

this time it was a leopard. not a bad day

a day in the life...

2007-08-01T03:20:00.000-07:00

after spending three weeks down in the mara doing everything from managing camps to guiding, ive compiled some pretty good stories and had some very interesting clients. but rather than drone on and on about the entire three weeks, ive taken the best stories from my time down there and condensed them into one day, set with some of the more obnoxious clients that i have had on safari. while the events are true, they did not all happen in the same day, but thats how im going to write it, so live with it. without further ado, i give you a day in the life of me, the safari guide, manager and general camp bitch

somewhere between 4am and 6am: yes, i know, its early and most of you that know me well enough know that i dont usually operate at this time of day, but things are different here and ive grown accustomed to it. so depending upon the plans for the day, this is when im getting up.

after an especially rough night around the campfire with clients and multiple bottles of wine, i find myself laying awake in my tent around 5:45. rather than wait for my usual wake up call at 6am, i decide to get out of bed and head to the kitchen tent for some coffee.

what usually happens is that an overly cheery masai man brings coffee to me in the morning and wakes me up with a nice 'jambo bwana', which he says at least 6 times before i can manage an answer, which is usually some sort of indecipherable grunt and a 'thanks.' while i always thank him, i secretly hate this guy for waking me up after what usually seems like only minutes of sleep.

as i walk down to the kitchen, slumped over, barely able to carry myself and only with coffee on my mind to kill the elephant sized headache that i know is coming, i notice that the masai are waving frantically at me and jumping around as if there was some sort of imminent danger looming ahead. but they werent making a sound, just flailing about...frolicking, almost, if you will.
too tired to do anything about it, i walk on towards them, very confused. when i finally get to them i realize what all the fuss is about. on the path parallel to the one i was walking on, about 10yds to my right, was a lioness crouched under a bush looking at me as if i was her next meal. i dont know why, but for some reason she decided, thankfully, not to snack on me. upon seeing her, i simaltaneously preform all my bodily functions from my nether regions and freeze with fear as she is now about 15yds away from us.

i grab a spear leaning against the tree that one of the guards had left from the previous night and debate what the hell i am going to do. in hindsight, i have no idea why i grabbed a spear. the only thing i would have done if the lion had charged would have been to turn, run, stumble and impale myself on my useless weapon and turn into a sort of human kebab for the lion to munch on as a nice apertif before before moving onto something more delicious, such as a baby buffalo, or perhaps the rest of the crew.

after regaining my senses we all back slowly into the kitchen tent and pray no other clients will walk out and become lion breakfast (although i later decide that i want to feed a client to a lion). she eventually left and walked out of camp. looking back on it, its a good thing i didnt see her when she was looking to eat me because, contrary to everything ive been taught about such situations, i would have panicked and probably tried to run. that would have made me look like a giant toy for her to chase, much like a house cat going after a mouse on a string. the only reason i can think that she didnt eat me was because i continued walking and at one point, i was walking right at her, which only served to confuse the hungry lioness. but alas, i am still alive and now i have a good story.

i head back to my tent to get ready for the morning and, more importantly, to grab a clean pair of boxers....

6:15am: the clients arrive at the mess tent for another cup of tea or coffee and we discuss the days plans. the ones on this particular day a group of 6 adults and 7 children, most of which work for the british high commission in nairobi. and yes, the fit the colonial stereotype perfectly.

one of the men shows up for the morning drive wearing the de rigeur safari gear of a 1950's big game hunter; hard brimmed sombrero-type hat, khaki shirt with enough pockets for a japanese toursits' entire camera kit and then some, khaki vest with everything short of bullets crammed into all the pockets, too-short shorts which show off a healthy set of milk-white thighs that havent seen the sun since the dissolution of the british empire and a pair of safari boots with knee high socks which still come a good meter short of the hem on his pair of ball-hugging shorts. his camera, which resmebles the Hubble telescope, looks as if it is more equipped to take close ups of the planet mars than be lugged around on a safari.

i nearly spit coffee out of my nose in a containted fit of laughter.

6:35am: the cars are loaded up with the clients and one of the pint-sized terrors, in a very thick british accent, informs me that last time she was here she saw three lions and then demanded that we see lions today.

'brilliant!' exclaims one of the men in the group, 'some lions would be jolly good, lets find them!'

'sure', i think, 'let me just phone up simba and the gang and well meet up on the ridge. and could they please bring something large to kill, like a buffalo, for the enjoyment of my guests.'

i decide then and there that the first lion i see will be fed one of the children as a quick morning snack since they didnt get their paws on me.

7:27am: 'an elephant, i see an elephant!' one of the kids yells from the back. i immediately realize its an ostrich, but youd be amazed at how often someone mistakes these 400lb birds for a 4 ton land mammal.

they insist that we go see the 'elephant' eventhough i have told them it is in fact a large bird. they dont believe me, so i drive on.

7:30am: holy shit, its an ostrich. is it too early for a beer?

8:45am: ive spotted a cheetah and after making quick tracks over to the animal, i field questions like 'when are we going to see the lions?' they are never happy, its never enough with these people.

not only is a cheetah an amazing sight, she seems to have been knocked up. so in a few weeks well have some little baby cheetah running around near camp so i can impress future clients with the little furballs.

although they are desperate for a lion, the kids seem to enjoy the cheetah, as any sane person should. they, despite my many attempts to shut them up, are bouncing around the car screaming with delight. they all tussle for a good spot on the roof until two of them break out into an explosive fight. it seems that nothing short of a UN resolution will stop this row and i simply resign myself to a day of this business.

i debate crushing up some of my adderall and throwing it in their lunchtime tea. whats the penalty for drugging children in kenya? seeing as how some parents feed their toddlers beer around lunch time so they can knock off to bed i think it cant be that bad, can it?

1,692 pictures later, were off again on a frantic search for the lions.

9:03am: i come across another safari truck headed down the road i am on. in typical fashion, i move to the side and let them pass on the narrow dirt excuse for a road. the car slows and the guide sees me behind the wheel. with a low slung astros hat, sunglasses and an addidas warm up jacket on (thanks anders), i do not look like the typical fourty-something white guides here in the mara.

the guide stares at me with a look thats says, 'dear lord, this tourist kid has managed to steal a safari truck and in the process has kidnapped a carload of clients.' we pass and he looks utterly confused by my presence.

9:15am: with anthony some miles ahead of me, im making tracks down to the kenya-tanzania border to see if we can pick up some of the wildebeest making their way in from the serengetti. im pretty confident that i know my way around now, and how hard can it be to find 1.5million noisy animals...

9:17am: its harder than you think. im lost. the clients are getting a bit suspicious and confidence in me is slipping with every turn and double-back i make.

'are you lost, grahhnt?' (thats how they say my name, and they insist that my own pronunciation is wrong. who am i to argue with the 'queen's english?')

'of course not', i lie. 'look over there, thats a verreaux's eagle owl.' again, a lie. its some random bird on top of a tree that i cant quite see very well but throwing out such an obscure name when they think im lost serves to restore confidence. once again, im pure gold.

this cycle of confidence continues throughout the day as i find myself lost every now and again. sometimes they have about as much faith in me as europe has in GW Bush. but i always manage to restore confidence by throwing out some nuggets of information and obscure facts about a nearby animal.

10:17am: i have regained my bearings and in the meantime ive managed to find some pretty good stuff, such as a herd of elephants. again, the children clambor for the best seat on the roof as we watch the elephants.

i field countless questions, most of which are about as intelligent as the sound of a fart. example: 'what do elephants eat?' not only is this widely known, we are at the moment watching them eat an acacia tree and grass. 'what are their tusks made of?' have you never heard of poaching for the precious substance that has brought death upon masses of elephants called ivory?

alas, i am unable to say my true thoughts and i answer in a calm, knowledgable and diplomatic fashion.

10:20am: the fight for roof real estate continues despite the fact that i have warned both the children and the parents as to the dangers of making such a racket near elephants, which although they appear peaceful, can be devastatingly aggressive creatures. they have been known to flip trucks and charge.

10:21am: the elephants have had enough. this picture was taken about 2 seconds before she charged. no pictures of the charge though, i thought it would be best to save my own life rather than document my own death.

10:57am: after fleeing for my life, which i am beginning to wish would come to an end before noon, i have found us the much sought after lion. however, it is a lone female and not the pride, complete with cubs, that they are after. nevermind the fact that this lion is scratching its back on my grill guard, the clients remain relatively unimpressed, except for a few which i have come to like

(note: the lion is so close that i have had to zoom out all the way and you can even see a bit of me in the rear view mirror)

the children are terrified now and no longer fighting for the roof. 'will she eat us? is it safe to be so close? should i roll up the window?' are all questions being fired at me right now but im much to busy watching this amazing sight to be bothered with such obnoxious inquiries

after some good lion action, we press on towards the border in search of the masses of wildebeest.

11:32am: i come across yet another safari truck but this time i know the guide. he is a masao friend of mine who works at naibor also. his english is limited so we exchange a few words in swahili as he tells me where the wildebeest herds can be found.

it is now the clients in his car that are looking at me with great confusion. their looks seem to say exactly what the lasts guides did but this time theres an added expression, which i gather to mean 'not only has the stolen a car and kidnapped clients, this young kid seems to know they language as well. perhaps its a modern day jungle book story in which his parents abandoned him in the bush and he was subsequently raised by a family of baboons. thats the only reason i can think he would be out here tutting away in swahili...'

12:00pm: after much searching, anthony and i have managed to locate the wildebeest, and not only this, they are crossing the sand river.

'why are they crossing the river?' asks one client.

i thought, given that they came to see the migration, as well as lions which they were still demanding me to find, that the answer to this question would be quite logical; its in thier way. but you can never give them too much credit. they are about as helpless as a lost puppy nipping away at the heels of some new found friend which they hope will take it home.

with the sight of the migration taken care of, we finally head back to camp for lunch.

12:34pm: once again anthony has charged ahead. im stopping at every tree and stump that the clients claim is a lion's head so my journey is taking a bit longer.

12:37pm: damnit, lost. again. but bullshit saves the day and the clients are doing just fine, and to top it all off, ive found a baby elephant down the road on which i took a wrong turn.

1:00pm: i think i see another elephant. upon closer inspection, it turns out to be an ostrick. karma is a bitch.

1:35pm: we arrive back in camp after i regain my sense of direction and much to my credit, i make no more wrong turns after the initial diorientation. (as a side note: getting lost was a phenomenon of my early days in guiding. i now pretty much know my way around our area of the park. but this particular group was the first i guided completely on my own with no masai in the car to back me up.)

after a quick lunch the clients head off for a siesta. not being too tired, despite a killer headache, a 545am wakeup and and 7 hours in a car listening to screaming children and demanding adults, i grab a chair and sit on the river with an ice cold fanta.

i begin to play a game. a hippo herd lives right on our bend of the river and at this particular time, floating down from upstream, are giant piles of hippo poo. these are roughly the size of new jersey, but only half as smelly. they are heading right for the herd of hippo in the river and my game consists of watching which one wil surface right under the masses of poop and receive a facefull of his brethrens waste.

soon a hippo pops his head out of the water. he slowly opens his eyes a giant pile heads right at him. he soon realizes the situation and, terrified, he lets out a loud bellow and tries to surface before the collision. but he does not. merde in the face. hippos 0 - me 1.

this is what happens when you spend three weeks without tv; you play games with shit.

2:22pm: as i walk back to my tent, i run into anthony who is off for a siesta.

'grahhnt, doesnt it bother you that your shorts are always around your ass?' he asks in his trademark kenyan accent.

'yes, as a matter of fact it does' i reply. but theres not much i can do about it. i debate explaining to him that its a fashion trend begun in urban areas by confused white males trying to immitate the hip-hop culture but seeing as how this does not apply to me, i pass on the explanation.

put simply, my backside is flat as a board, and shorts that used to fit, no longer stay up so well. despite my best efforts, im losing weight here. i cant understand how though; on safari youre always eating but never hungry. i pull on my double-d ring sailing belt and make a mental note to buy some new clothes.

4:36pm: after a very long morning drive, we get a late start on the afternoon. lions are the order of the day. during the night, i heard them roaring not too far away from camp so we decide to stick around the area and see if we cant find them.

5:15pm: less than a mile or two from camp i have found the lions. ive spotted them from about 300yds away and, brimming with confidence coming from a car full of satisfied clients, i charge across the grass towards the lions.

5:16pm: only its not grass. the lions have actually ensconced themeselves across a little bog on the side of a rocky hill. and that little bog now contains me and a car full of clients. im stuck.

i debate radioing to anthony to come pull me out but being that he is a few miles away, i decide to tackle the problem on my own. i radio to him that ive found lions and he is on the way but id rather him not see me stuck.

5:17pm: waiting for anthony is now totally out of the question. the lions are up and on the move towards the car. if they stop by the car, it might be hours before i can winch myself out from the nearest tree and if they happen to simply pass by, ill have a car full of very ornery brits who are wondering why i got stuck and ruined their chance at seeing a large pride.

i hop out of the car before they get too close and start unravelling the winch. the lions look at me with confusion and freeze. i think they are taking pity on me. i can almost hear them thinking, 'hey, isnt that the guy that our lady friend could have eaten this morning.'

i ask the clients if they could please keep an eye on them as i wrap the large wire around a nearby tree and try to unstick us before the lions set up shop near the car.

around the time that i have my back turned, a nearby male lets out a deafening, gut rumbling roar. i cant see him but i know that he is close, very close. the clients are amazed by my bravery...but thats just because they cant see my hands shaking and the pee running down my leg.

i turn around quickly and notice that i have not just found a few lions, but an entire pride numbering eighteen. fourteen more have emerged from a bush about 100yds away following the roar and are now on the way to meet up with the one making all the racket. so now i have an unseen male some distance away, 14 females walking towards my car (meaning that i am between them and the male) and another 3 lions coming at me from a different direction. i could not have picked a worse place to get stuck.

luckily they dont seem to keen on eating me and simply amble towards my distressed vehicle without much interest. but this doesnt do much to allay any fears that i have for my life.

5:20pm: were out. i quickly hop out and gather up with winch cable as the lions continue to close the distance. we drive over to the male, which we can now see, as the rest of the priding is heading in the same direction.

we watch the lions until sunset as the pride engages in all sorts of activity. they genearlly do whatever it is that lions do, such as....

yawning...

...and hanging out on top of termite mounds

6:47pm: the sun soon set on another great day in the mara and we headed for camp.

6:54pm: now its dark, im lost, so is anthony.

7:30pm: somehow weve managed to find our way back to camp in the night, which is about as easy as doing a rubik's cube with the lights off. i now find myself in the shower.

as i wash up, some water splashes onto the kerosene lamp perched just outside my outdoor shower tent (our guides tents, unlike the rest of the camp, do not have in-suite bathrooms. but when im at naibor its quite nice; in-suite bathrooms with flushing toilets, what a novelty.)

as soon as the water touches the super-heated glass, the glass around the lamp explodes, plunging me into total darkness and sending little bits of shards into my shower tent which i immediately step on. now with severly cut and bleeding feet and in total darkness im miserable.

i make my way back to my tent and withouth the benefit of a light to guide me, i manage to clothesline myself on one of the wires holding up the large legs of my tent. now i am cold, wet, wrapped only in a towel and bleeding all over myself as i lay in the grass around my tent. not only that, its grass and dirt, so now im filthy once again. i curse the cruel god that put me here.

i wish that lion would have killed me this morning.

8:00pm: dinner. the thought of more wine makes me want to stab myself.

9:30pm: finally, a rest. i head to my tent to get some sleep and hope for the premature depature of my clients as a result of some lion-related fatality.

3:37am: i wake up in my bed to the shrill alarm call of a dik-dik (yes, its a real animal). it sounds something like a dying bird and still being too tired to think, i dont give it much thought. but less than a minute later, i hear the unmistakable chatter of spur fowl. funny, i think. i dont usually start wishing for my shotgun or an avian genocide until around 530am when the birds really start to wake up.

it takes me a second, but i soon process the information; there is only one thing that can make these animals scared at this time of night. we have a leopard in camp, and judging by the sounds, its pretty close.

i quietly unzip the front of my tent to see if i can get a look at whats going on and take a seat in my chair. i sit still for about 3 or 4min until i see her.

in the glow of a haning kerosene lantern, about 20yds from my tent, i see the leopard plodding along through camp. the animals keep cackling away but shes not interested. shes heading for a drink in the nearby mara river and judging by how full she looks, food is the last thing on her mind.

i watch her for about a minute or so before she disappears, and it is by far the coolest moment from all my time here. she is walking through the trees light only by lanterns, her spotted yellow and black coat glistening a deep amber under the gas lights.

.....thats it, thats my day. i know it sounds like i complain a lot and the clients suck, but i love what im doing and i could not be happier here. as per the clients, most of them are lots of fun and eager to get out and see everything, but its no fun to write about those kinds of people.

tipsi for me?

2007-07-11T01:46:00.000-07:00

view of our beach from cholo's bar. not too bad....

around the same time that most of you were lighting your bbq pits, or running for cover from the rains in texas, i arrived in zanzibar, tanzania alone, with not a clue as to what i was doing. i had a place to stay for one night and knew that i was diving the next day, but other than that i was just going to see where the island took me.

i asked the desk guy at the baghani hotel to point me in the direction of a restaurant where i could grab a quick bite and he led me down a labyrinth of dark, narrow alleyways filled with the noise of beggars and street dealers trying to sell you everything from sex to a straw hat. i opted for neither. at the restaurant i ordered spring rolls which resembled, at least visually, fried cat turds. i promptly asked for a beer and the check.

on the way home i of course got lost and remembered the sign in my room that said do not walk alone at night in dark alleyways and streets. great, im going to die on night one. i was lost for about 5 minutes when a man started to yell at me with the familiar 'my friend, my friend'. fearing a robbery or the purchase of a souvenir t-shirt i hurried along and ignored him. after 25 more minutes of winding around i finally asked an armed police man where my hotel was and he pointed just around the corner. i again came across the man that yelled at me and it turned out that he was just trying to tell me that i was walking right past the front door of my hotel. i felt like an ass, but still trusted no one.

the next morning i awoke and tried to retrieve my passport, wallet and camera from the safe only find it wasnt working. the desk guy said that it had been broken (thanks for telling me) eventhough it was working when i tested it earlier, and that he would have to call someone. i told him i needed it right now, so he simply handed me a hammer and screwdriver. 20 minutes later i had my stuff, which left me with no faith in hotel safes.

after a dive off stone town with a japanese guy that fulfilled the stereotype to a 't' (he took no less than 147 pictures underwater and had all the grace of a beached whale) and two kids about my age from the states, i headed back to my hotel for a quick shower. i knew i wanted to go to nungwi, a beach town up north, but had no idea how to get there. upon emerging from the shower in the lobby, i noticed a slew of american looking backpacks and began to look at the name tags; they were all from jersey, awesome.

billy was the first guy i met and after a bit of small talk he invited me to join the dalla-dalla (sort of minibus) crew and head up to nungwi with him, 3 college buddies and a german couple that he knew from a year abroad. i happily accepted the invitation and this turned out to be the best decision i made all trip. i hopped into the bus and for the the first time in africa i was a passenger to a crazed african minibus driver, the motorists that i had come to fear so much from my time spent driving on the deadly roads of kenya. i passed the time with music conversation with my new friend greg and tried not to focus on the insanity of the drive, all 1.5hrs of it.

nungwi was beautiful with a great, young party scene and i knew immediately that i would like it. i had sort of picked a place to stay from my lonely planet book but before i knew it, billy informed me that i would be rooming with him and greg in a triple, with the rest of the crew staying in bungalows nestled around our little baraka beach hotel.

most of our time was spent at cholo's, our beachside bar (pictured above, note the door which we insisted on walking through everytime) and swimming in the ocean. octopus curry, the title of my small email from earlier, came from the bar where on the first night we ate the bbq buffet by the fire, and it was awesome. even the octopus curry.

night two: greg and i decided that it would be cheaper (we were paying about 3.50 for a drink and less than 2 for a beer) to grab a bottle of rum to mix with juice from the bar. we wandered around the dirt courtyard that was the town of nungwi only to find grocery stores and street hawkers. we finally asked a man where the liquor store was and after he told us, he insisted on leading us there against our strong opposition. it was about a 35 second walk and he of course followed us in, demanding a tip from the owner for finding and bringing him business. we assured the owner that we would have found the store regardless but the man hung around. after our purchase he looked at us with twisted, glazed and bloodshot eyes and asked 'tipsi for me?' greg responded in fantastic fashion; 'my friend, you already are tipsy' whcih was indeed the case. he stumbled no less than twice on our short walk and looked as if he had fallen headlong off the wagon and had no intention, ever, of getting back on.

we were up playing kings til about sunrise with our new friends, 3 candian girls and one american (jenny). sadly, billy, greg, scott, adam and the germans had to leave that day, which meant that i was stuck with three candian girls. at first they seemed very normal and lots of fun....i could not have been more wrong.

kate (pictured here with greg around 230am) and teresa were my age, or somewhere close to it, and when they found out my friends were leaving they invited me to join them, split the room and continue travelling. kate was nice, cute and seemed a little quiet. teresa, a very interesting character, seemed fun enough for me to tag along with. turns out she did enough talking in one hour for the whole of china. now i can talk with the best of them, but this girl out me to shame and she was always so 'oh my god! im so excited, i love my life.' after a day of this, i prayed to be shot. i enjoyed kates company but she was always overshadowed by the dominating teresa.

then came their 30yr old friend tracy, with whom they had volunteered at an orphanage with in arusha. again, frist impression told me she was nice enough...until i realized that she, a single woman returning to school to finish her undergrad at age 30 with no real income was trying to take home a tanzanian infant. she met him at the orphanage and about 5 days before i met her, decided to adopt and was convinced that she could have him on the plane home with her next saturday. i think she was on crack, or at least her mother smoked it while she was preggers.

from what ive heard, most adoptions, especially intl ones, can take years but she seemed to think that she could get it all done. while the tanzania side of the issue may be easy, i asked her about the canadian side. being socialist in many ways, im sure they are wont to simply let in foreign babies with single, immature and insane mothers. she responded; 'oh yeah, i just thought of that yesterday, my mom is working on it for me.' what did she expect. i can see the situation now in toronto:

customs: do you have anything to declare?
crazy tracy: yes. some t-shirts, a scarf and a 23 month old tanzanian boy.
customs: excuse me?
crazy tracy: you mean i cant just take him in and declare him?

not only this, the boy was more of an infatuation to her. she sounded like a child brining home a puppy from the pound with no idea of the responsibility that a human being, solely dependent on herself, would entail. all she could talk about was wanting to pinch his cheeks on the plane ride home. whatever happens to the boy, i feel terrible for him.

(a very excited me after the spice tour and the departure of the two crazy candians. kate could have stayed on with us, but she was worth the sacrifice to lose the other two)

so around the time i realized that canada was insane, i also realized that jenny (here with billy), my american friend, was also travelling alone and her friends had just left her as well. we agreed to room together for the night to cut costs and have company. she was one of the most interesting and fun people i have ever had the privilege of talking to and spending time with.

she had been in africa for the past two years and her experiences were incredible, me writing about them would not do any justice. we ended up travelling together for the next three nights, with one more at the beach and two in stone town. its weird when you meet people in far off places and travel with them; you develop a connection so fast and it feels like youre old college friends after just a day. when you have no one else to talk to, pretty much everything, from the very personal to the extremely trivial, is discussed in the first 24hrs.

i spent the next day around the beach and jenny went diving, which left me with the candians, so i drank to numb the pang of irritating company. by the time we were ready to head to stone town, i was about to shoot myself and welcomed the sight of jenny walking up the beach. we grabbed out bags, hopped in the bus (canadians and all) and headed back to the main town.

back in stone town, we checked out the fish markets (see picture) which were amazing; you could pick whatever you wanted and have it grilled up right in front of you for just a few bucks, and it was good, very good. no, im not sick...yet. after our spice tour on monday the candians took off only to realize that crazy teresa had run out of money. they ended up in stone town for one more night but jenny and i steered clear. our last night and day was spent wandering around the markets with the occasional beer (or twelve) and then a day on the beach.

on our final day we met an amazing 19yr old candian/swedish girl who had been travelling africa since school let out. she was looking for company and asked me to come with her to climb some volcanoes in rwanda in august. at first i thought she was insane but the more i talked to her, the more i wanted to go. so plans could be in the works for early august.

i said goodbye to jenny around 3 yesterday and headed for nairobi. i asked lincoln, the driver that came to collect me, if anything had happened while i was gone. he said no, but then i asked about the mungiki. he told me that 11 people had been shot dead by the police. they claimed they were all suspects, but no one ever knows for sure who is and who isnt. a surreal feeling washed over me as i realized i was starting to become numb to this sort of occurence; this is simply the was things are in nairobi. strange, i thought, but im back, and for now at least, this is home.

rugby day and children in africa

2007-07-02T03:03:00.000-07:00

saturday is rugby day in pretty much every countyry except the US, and rugby day, in the words of anthony, means its time to head to the rusty nail, get pissed and yell at people form new zealand (the match was AUS v NZL). now i dont know much about rugby, but all the information i needed was conveniently located in the many tuskers and vodka sodas that i sipped while watching, in utter confusion, as large scary men slammed into each other accompanied by the shouts, screams and occasional bottle toss from the crowd.

as the match ended and the crowd thinned, i found myself with about 14 other expats who were all friends of anthony's. i realized i had not paid for a single drink yet so as anthony left (i drove myself there) he said the easiest thing to do would be to buy a round for the group and then say my goodbyes.

three hours later....i now realize that the only way to escape a group of brits on the sauce is to say youre going to the bathroom and book it. they would now let me leave because i could provide no good reason for a departure other than that i had to stop drinking. to combat my arguments, they simply ordered rounds of toffee vodka shots (amazing). i finally stood up, with some deal of effort and informed the crowd i needed to use the bathroom. i was home in five. anthony assumed i was right behind and when i arrived at the house, i was quite the sight. he informed me that i needed to shower and then we were heading to meet his friend stew, the wine importer, for a few glasses before the night out....awesome

the night ended at an amazing italian restaurant outdoors with fire places and more wine to be shared by all....thats ok i thought, i can rest tomorrow

sunday. sunday is bbq day and no rest of the weary was in store. we headed down the road to a man named richard's house and i believe he could hear my head pounding throught my skull. 'you look like shit, mate' he said as he handed me the first of many tuskers. once again, i knew this would be a terrible day. the adults passed the time drinking and waiting for lunch to be served while the children ran wild. now here is where is really interesting; clothing is entirely optional, and is usually shed as the day goes on, and the drinking age is about

one and a half years old the half naked children scurried about the house, snagging the odd beer bottle and taking large sips until the parents finally laughed and said thats enough. this happened about 5 times per kid. the bbq went on until sundown, at which point all the adults were a bit sloppy and the children were all passed out on the trampoline. one parent remarked taht its the best way to get them to fall asleep early...

today has been busy, lots of errands to be run and now im off to go design new packing boxes with a carpenter and help him build them. while buying lumber at the hardware store a man tried to sell me his dairy cow, assuring me that she would produce milk for many years to come. i kindly replied that i was here only until october and he countered with the argument that i would surely need milk before october. i made no purchase however, im quite happy with milk cartons. golf is in store for the evening and knowing the men we are playing with, it could get very dangerous.

whats my number??

2007-06-30T02:43:00.000-07:00

a few quick and entertaining stories before pictures: as i left the house this morning in my new ride (ive opted for the small subaru over the enormous safari 4x4 because its much easier to get around town in) i stopped for a few at the stop sign to fix my ipod and get some tunes going. an attractive girl about my age rode up on a horse and began talking to me. i had to crane my neck out of the car to see her and this became very uncomfortable so essentially i felt like i was talking to a horse:

horse: i like what youre listening to, what is it?
me: ghostland observatory (or what frank likes to call 'ghostface embroidery')
horse: its good, i like american bands (horse was british). so are you new in town, i havent seen you around the neighborhood?
me: yes, im working for a safari guide for awhile. i take it you live around here?
horse: yes, just around the corner. so how long are you here for? i just got back from school and you should meet up with some of my friends and i.
me: until late october.
horse: great, whats your number and ill call you sometime when we go out.
me: 0720 2...shit, i have no idea. whats yours, ill put it in my phone? (i reach for my pocket only to realize i am phoneless.) actually i dont have mine, but whats yours ill remember it?

i forgot her number (cellphone numbers are 11 digits) as soon as i turned the corner. just my luck, but maybe ill run into that beautiful stallion again. but on the bright side, a french lady that anthony and fiona know has her niece coming in town with a friend of hers, so from what i gather were all being setup for tuesday night, which is great because then i leave for zanzibar the next day for five nights to go fish and dive....typical

in other news i got stuck in a roundabout (i like to call them circles of death) for about 6 laps on the way to teh travel agent to book my zanzibar flight. finally i got fed up, closed my eyes and jerked the wheel to the left. when i opened them, i was out of the circle of death but heading right for a herd of goats. no goats were harmed.

anyways, more pictures....

john and i above camp in the mara. hes pretty much the closest thing i have to a friend out there besides anthony and we usually spend the day when im not out with the clients talking and he teaches me swahili, which is coming along nicely. i can pretty much say anything that i need/needs to be done around camp thanks to john.

leopard in a tree with the remains of a warthog kill. she had a cub with her at first but when they heard the car, the cub bolted and i only got a chance to see it flying out of the tree and into a thicket. very rare sight.

black rhino. not a particularly good picture as it was taken right before the sun came up but i thought it was worth it because they are so rare. a very endangered species, there are only 12 in the mara and a few thousand in africa as a whole. we saw this one about 5min from camp and the last time anthony had seen one was over 5yrs ago.

anthony got stuck in a huge mudhole at one point, so guess who's job it was to hop out and find a place for our other car to cross so we could winch ourselves out...

one day this guy will be a killing machine

we were looking for this guy for about 30min around a river bend because we heard a mother had cubs last year in the area. just when we were about to give up, our other car began to frantically point behind us. the leopard came up out of the grass about 5yds away and then sat around and waited for its mother, which we never saw. some people come to the mara and never see a leopard; we were lucky and saw four different ones in as many days. unfortunately by the time i got my camera out she was kind of far away, but its better than nothing

a little less violent

2007-06-29T07:10:00.001-07:00

just so you know its not all blood and guts on safari, here a few tame pictures.

three young impala buck just doing whatever it is that impala do, whish is mostly just eating and getting eaten by other animals with the occasional fornication.

Amboseli and the Mara

2007-06-29T05:05:00.001-07:00

what follows are pictures from the four days in the masai mara. viewer discretion is advised as things are not always pretty when they die over here. but if it helps, just think of the lion king (which i have watch about 1,032 times with anthony's kids) and the elton john song 'the circle of life', at least thats what i told the clients with queasy stomachs to do. so here they are...

after picking up the clients at the airstrip, we headed for a small game drive back towards camp. riding up on the roof, i spotted about 6 thompsons gazelle in a full sprint coming over a hill about 150yds away. the clients thought 'oh how cute, they gazelle are playing.' knowing a little better, i said to them watch for the cheetah and about a half second later it exploded over the ridge in a full-out run and began to close the distance on the gazelle. i got out my binoculars just in time to see the take down. cheetah 1 - gazelle 0.

as the cheetah began to eat the adorable little antelope things started to get a little ugly...i chose not to post the worst of the pictures our of respect for my mother.

eventually, after eating almost the entire gazelle, a hyena caught wind of the kill because of circling vultures and moved in for the taking. cheetahs are esentially programmed not to get into fights and she quickly conceded the kill to the stronger animal. bastard...

we saw cheetah everyday in the mara, which is very uncommon as they are the most rare cat.

these are three brothers that we saw on a few separate occasions.

more cheetah, they could be my favorite. the clients for some reason thought it would be a good idea to pay $385 per person for a balloon ride over the mara. while this seemed absurd to me, it did yield a good find as they spotted a pride of lions feeding on a giraffe, which is an incredibly rare kill for a pride of lions.

there was one cub in the pride that was particularly active and he kept running off into the tall grass. his mother would become nervous with our two cars so close and she ran off many times to chase him down and carry him back. this happened about 4-5 times and from what i gathered, seeing something like this is pretty rare...the guides see it only once or twice every couple years.

more cub action. at one point, be climbed completely inside the hollowed out giraffe to have a look around. hes too young to eat meat yet, so instead he constantly cried for milk.

so i guess i can tell yall a bit about what im actually doing over here. as of right now, im moving the cars to and from camps for the safaris and in between, while clients are at the lodges, i return to nairobi for a resupply. while on safari, i ride on top of the car and act as a spotter and tell the clients about the animals as they bounce questions off of me. im essentially traning to be a guide on later safaris so tim and anthony stayed pretty quiet while i was talking to see how i was doing. as well as being taught about the animals im learning how to drive around them so as not to spook them and to set up the clients for the best possible shot. from what i gather, it sounds like i might start being a guide for safaris in august, and in the meantime i will be spending lots of time int he mara at our seasonal camp on the mara river. as well as hosting clients, i might be doing some driving and little guiding for them. posting these pictures and editing the blog takes a long time and ive spent about three hours on this alone today, so ill work more tomorrow and send and email when its all done.