The Lion Sleeps Tonight - Summer 2006

My son told me and his dad that we have “soured” international travel for him. He said that we go too often and it is grueling! His idea of a vacation is being cooped up in a hotel room and watching TV. However, he had no choice but come with us.

During his college visits last year, the first thing he would inquire about was the university’s study abroad program. I did not realize we traumatized him that much.

In this particular posting, I write about our trip to Africa, which was a very memorable trip that I need to put in writing before I become compost. First, it was my first trip to the African continent and my first safari. African sunsets I realized during this trip are to die for, albeit not in the claws of lions, thank you very much.

Armed with our safari color (no one goes on safari looking like the catalogs, ok!) clothes (khaki and olive slacks and muted earth colors, no Hawaiian shirts:) , we flew from Washigton, DC to Amsterdam, the Netherlands, and caught our connecting flight to Johannesburg, South Africa. From there, we flew to Dar Salaam, Tanzania. We then boarded a rather small plane that could carry only 18 passengers at the most. With us in the plane were eggs, fruits, vegetables, and other supplies. From our point of view, we could see animals grazing on the vast terra cotta earth below. We were dropped off, by group, at our corresponding camps.

We first stayed in CC Africa's Klein Camp in Tanzania, located at the heart of the Serengeti. The camp had a total of maybe 10 cottages. The cottages look out into the vast savannah where we could spot wild animals grazing. At night, the wind blew mightily while beasts and humans both rest for the night. It was surreal to wake up in the middle of the pitch black night, realizing that some wild animal might be lurking, and not necessarily just in my imagination.

Kris had his own cottage and his own private butler as we had ours. Every morning, the butler would come and wake us up with the sound of a bongo drum. We would get ourselves outfitted for our early morning game drive, where we would “hunt” for animals as they grazed.

It was not Disneyworld. Either you would see animals or not. It is highly possible that the animals were seeing us and camouflaging themselves so well that we could not see them. I discovered to my surprise and my husband’s delight that I was good in sighting animals.

Around noon, we would go back to camp for lunch. The chef would tell us what he had prepared for us and the sommelier would present the wine to accompany our lunch. When I would decide to go to the back of the camp for some sun by the pool, my butler would follow at an appointed time with a glass of fresh fruit juice. If I had asked him to turn the sun off, I would not be surprised if he did.

At three in the afternoon, we would be awakened by a gentle rustle of dried leaves and the pulsating sound of a conga. The butler would put the tray laden with tea and cakes on the table in the veranda. We would then, after tea, set out for our evening game drive.

By six, the skies would turn into intense fiery gold and at sunset, the horizon turns into spectacular magenta. Our guides would set a table and out there in a safe spot in the savannah, while the animals start to graze for the night, we would have our cocktails while the sun sets in a spectacular fashion. “Would Madam have a gin and tonic?” I would, and fell deeply in love with G&T.

We would enjoy the hour and continue to look for more animals late into the evening. When we were done, we would drive back into camp, driving through paths our guide knew by heart, with the “spotter” saying something that sounds like “bara barambya”. I researched later what that bara-bara meant: “the road is bad.” That would be accurate as they are hardly roads but trails made by the Land Rovers. With lights scanning the thickets, with eyes looking at us from behind the bushes, we could spot the animals and we delighted in watching them in their habitat. One of the most memorable “hunts” during one of the night drives was discovering a den of lion. As we approached, we all knew to keep very still and quiet. We were oriented as to how to behave around the animals. First, the animals view our Land Rover as an animal much bigger than they were and would not attack it. Because of this, any safari goer must stay inside the vehicle at all times.

We learned to do a quick pit stop and stay behind the vehicle, and not a foot farther away from it. We learned to state a code for a pit stop, which was “I want to check the tire.” Kris was not happy with the idea of doing his personal business knowing that there were other people just a breath away from him. One night, he started to walk away from the SUV and his Dad had to pull him back and told him that if he did what he was planning to do, chances are he would be mauled and killed by some wild animals lurking in the dark. One early evening, we encountered a male elephant on our way back to the camp, which lifted its front legs and hooted, showing us who was the boss. Not too far away from it, a male baby elephant did exactly the same thing, with the dust rising around it. The guide revved the engine in response. I was petrified. My son never again insisted on going behind the bushes. He hugged the hubcaps so to speak, when he would ask to “check the tires.”

Back from our evening game drive, we would go to the pavilion to have our dinner. The pavilion was heated with a huge fire pit in the center. We would go over the game we saw earlier and recall the highlights of our day. When we were ready to retire to our cabañas, a Masai tribesman, carrying a bow and arrow would accompany us. Waiting in our cabaña was a hot water bottle and a Coleman lantern. At precisely 11pm, the camp turned off its generator. The camp would be enveloped in total darkness. In the distance, some animal sounds could be heard. At some point, it sounded like murder was being committed nearby out in the savannah.

I worried each night that Kris would be eaten by a tiger or a lion but he survived. Each day, when I heard the gentle beating of the drums, I knew that he was fine and so were we. From Klein Camp, we travelled to different camps. We ate lunches in style and elegance in the most unlikely corners of the savannah.

We witnessed a wildebeest migration, a fascinating march to where the grass was greener. Thousands of wildebeest marching in a formation was one of the highlights of the trip.

It horrified me to ride a small plane, with only the three of us and the pilot and his copilot. I had visions of a plane crash, with animals devouring us. I did not know that part of this safari trip were to ride those small planes. And I prayed and offered a quid pro quo, to whom it may concern, that I would continue to do good and help others if we would survive this flight. We always did. The planes took off and landed on grassy clearings. I never saw a tower, only a bright colored wind flag and a guy waving at the pilot.

We left Klein Camp in Sarengeti to go to the Ngorongoro crater. It was an eight- hour long drive through the desolate Shara desert. From time to time, we would see movement of some color; a group of tribespeople looking for wood or food. The landscape looked unforgiving. It pained me to see how they desperately travel on foot to find kindling while we were riding a motorized beast to take us to our destination. We ate our packed lunch, prepared by the Klein chef, under a tree, surrounded by lava rocks, spewed by the volcanoes hundreds of years ago. We were covered by volcanic dust including our suitcases and our clothes by the time we arrived at the lodge.

NGORO-NGORO:
The crater has a "gate" guarded by tribesmen, complete with a bow and arrow. Our guide was met by one of them, a medium built Masai man with a huge hole in his ears and something that resembled a wooden bangle inside of the hole. I commented about that to my son, but I did not want Moses, our guide, to understand me so I said it in Spanish. Every time we saw something notable, I would say a phrase in Spanish.

The lodge we stayed in gave us a breathtaking view of the crater. The salt part of the lake shone like a big bowl of fire as it reflected the sun as it set. At night, it looked like a bed of snow, glistening and standing still in the distance. The crater had a zoo appeal; it was not difficult to spot the animals but it was still an exhilarating experience as the caldron like cavity covers one hundred miles. If you have never heard a lion roar, at night, then believe me it was terrifying. I thought he was in our terrace. He is the King of the Jungle, alright.

Moses drove us to Arusha for our trip out of Tanzania. During the trip, he struck a conversation that started with him saying, “Madam, I heard you speaking in Spanish…” I was dumbfounded. My son and I looked at each other. My brain was racing. Did I say anything that might have been offensive? Have I insulted him or his continent? I realized the things that I have said thus far would be innocuous things like “Look at his lip! Look at his ears!” “Look at this guy, the tribesman, did you see that? He is wearing a digital watch!” They were candid observations but then I remembered saying, “Is this guide mental or what? Why did he do that?” Maybe he did not know what “mental” meant, Ojala! I smiled and said “Moses, you speak Spanish?” He said, “Si Madam, tambien hablo French and Italian. I need to, I am a tour guide.” End of discussion. Lesson: When in Africa, speak Tagalog or shut up.

BOTSWANA :
We stayed at a camp in Chobe National Camp and later stayed at the Sandibe at the Okavango Delta in Botswana, with vivid memories of a water safari and a canoe ride on the river. The elephants visited at night. I could hear their giant hooves stepping on the leaves. We were told to keep our cabañas locked. Apparently, baboons love to play pillow fights and they like ransacking duffel bags for candies and other goodies. The Sandibe was voted as the number 2 resort in the world. If you ask me, I was not too enamored with it.
Everywhere we went, we were treated very well and kindly, fed with foods carefully chosen and cooked by chefs to delight even the most discriminating gastronomer. Africa had some interesting wineries. I also recall to this day the delicacy of the South African bream, poached to perfection and served under the beautiful canopy of stars that shone upon East Africa.

AFRICAN Community:
During our stay at our camp at Chobe, my son and I had the opportunity to visit an African vilIage. The huts they lived in was made of mud. All the members of this family were seated outside to welcome us. A kitchen, no more than a lean-to had a counter where chickens pecked on some grains left about. The ground felt like dry and hard. Some holes in the huts were packed with rags. They raise a few goats and cows. The bush was dry and the land arid. I wondered what they ate at all. It gets cold at night so I was wearing a thick black woolen sweater. I saw a teen-age girl who was eyeing me and who gave me a shy smile when I made eye contact. I took off my sweater and asked her if she would like it. She smiled shyly and nodded her head. Henceforth, I would beg or borrow my son’s or my husband’s sweatshirt to keep warm. To this day, my husband would tease me about my long pursuit of a nice sweater, finding one in San Francisco, CA, only to give it away in an instant to some teen-ager I did not even know in Africa. His exact words when I told him that I gave my sweater away: I admire your generosity but this one is just plain s#up!d!

Before we headed to Botswana, we took a two-day break to see the Victoria Falls so we headed to Livingstone, Zambia. From there, we took a half hour walk to Zimbabwe to find out that we had to pay something like $80 to get a visa to go in. Despite the fact that the falls have a spectacular view from Zimbabwe, our dislike for the policies of their president, Mugabe, forced us not to want to spend a penny to benefit his administration. Thus, we walked back into our lodge and that night, we feasted with other guests, bathed under the beautiful moon and serenaded by an African rock band. During this break, my son and my husband bartered with the merchants who set stalls some distance from the falls between Zimbabwe and Zambia. The two gringos bartered their sports shirts, tennis shoes, yes even ball point pens for woodwork. The came back shortly at our hotel to look for other things to barter. They said that when they went back to the market, everyone was wearing their shirts. They also teased them that Kris looked more like their son than my husband's. As you know, Kris like his Mom has almond skin color that turns deep raisin during the summer:-). I could not bear to see these negotiations so I bought what I liked and stayed in our room.

FORTY FIVE MINUTES OF TERROR:
The pilot asked me close the door of the tiny plane that picked us up from Sandibe, the last resort we stayed in at Botswana. I pulled the door and turned a lever absentmindely.

Our guides waved goodbye to us and as the plane ascended, I prayed that my family survive this flight. I made pacts with God in exchange for our safety. The plane glided and I could see villages hundreds of feet down below. My son, seated in the back of the plane was staring into the distance , so tiny and brave in his resolve not to show me his terror in being in this little claustrophobic plane. My husband was getting pale from being airsick. I had to be the brave one. I took photos of the savannah below us.

Then I was consumed by fear. I was worried that I did not lock the door properly. I could not believe that I did not protest when asked to do so. I wanted to hit the pilot on the head had it not for the possibility that first, I would definitely make the plane crash, and secondly, I would definitely be put in jail. I could just imagine—“Why did you hit the pilot on the head?” “Judge, the lazy ass asked me to lock the door of the plane? Hello, do I look like a flight attendant to you?” How lame was that?

I feared every heart beat that I took that I did not close it tightly enough and I would cause the plane to crash! I would be be blamed for killing my family and myself and the Bozo that was given the job title of "Pilot" and his blond airhead co-pilot. Ok, ok, I know I had to calm down.

When we landed, my husband was literally bent over from being airsick, my son was finally glaring at me because he hated every moment of it. When we got out of the plane, I asked the pilot as to why he asked me to lock the doors, was that not his duty and what if I did not lock it properly and made the plane crash? He told me that he checked what I did by looking into his “rearview mirror.” If I had the strength to punch the SOB, I would have done so but I was limp from my panic attack and just happy that we landed safely . I told him however in my "this is your Mom talking" manner, with my forefinger pointing at his chest, that he should never, ever ask that of any of his passengers.

We departed from Tambo (Johannesburg) International Airport at the conclusion of our trip. The people of Zambia, Tanzania, Botswana, and South Africa have been warm and hospitable to us; sharing the wealth of their jungles and the generosity of their spirit. Every place we went, I could not help but admire their industriousness, friendliness, and dignity. On our last day, my husband’s wish came true- we spotted a leopard in the Okavango, a graceful cat, agile, handsome, preciously playful (with and by himself), and wild!

--When my husband told me were going on safari, I was skeptical. “What do you mean I am going to look at animals for over five days? Are you kidding me? I will be bored.” At the conclusion of our safari, I told him that if any other vacation is a safari from hereon, I would be delighted to go. However, there is a caveat – I will never, ever, ever ride in a small plane where I could imagine the horror crashing into the middle of a lion's den and of being devoured by vultures. I may not be an African queen, but I can be a drama queen.

Hakuna Matata!