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Serengeti Safari – Tanzanian Memories and Miscommunications
The scene before me could not be matched anywhere else on earth. Dried yellow grass stretched before us as far as the eye could see – broken only by the occasional umbrella and a few hundred thousand migrating wildflowers forming a dusty, thin gray line on the horizon to the north. As the sun beat down overhead, vapors of heat rose from the ground. This was the Serengeti – a place like no other!
Nine days earlier, my six-year-old son, Jerry, and I had arrived in Arusha, a beautiful Tanzanian “metropolis” and the main starting point for those wishing to book a budget safari. As with all visitors, word of our arrival spread like wildfire. By dinner on the first night, three of the Arusha tour operators courted us. With breakfast our trip was closed.
Two days later we left. Nothing was left to chance. A jeep, guide, cook, tents, water (although I thought it best to bring my own) and parking permits, were to be provided for us as part of our safari package.
Five days of photographic paradise followed. The best of Tanzania: Lake Manyara, Ngorongoro Crater, Olduvai Gorge were all our playgrounds. Each was an oasis that offered its own unique landscape and unimaginably diverse wildlife. Finally, as I looked over the edge of Ngorongoro, I put my camera down. No photo could do it justice. Those who don’t venture there will simply never know! All this grandeur, and still the place of my calling, the Serengeti, lay ahead. This was the safari I had dreamed of.
An inconspicuous sign in the middle of nowhere marked our arrival at my 14,763 square kilometers. field of dreams. We had four days to spend in the Serengeti. However, within twenty minutes the giraffes galloped off in their slow-moving way. Playful zebras danced in dust storms of their own making. Nearby, lionesses lovingly groomed playful cubs. This long achieved fantasy was designed for our film to capture. What else did we need?
I know we needed a drink of water. I reached, I looked, I measured, one! There was only one bottle of water in his box. Then I added. Two people, six days out, three days left, 13 bottles of water gone. I suspected a design flaw. With little choice, I reluctantly handed over the last bottle of “good” water to my offspring. I would drink the dubious water provided by the safari operator the rest of the trip. Why not? After all, it was a safari.
An hour later, still baking in our jeep, we photographed an incredible golden lion lazing in the midday sun. This magnificent beast was apparently oblivious to our presence. His bed, a giant reddish-brown termite mound standing over three feet tall, could easily sleep two more.
Inspired and thirsty, it’s time to go forth with that lion’s courage and consume the mysterious water. Thomas, my guide, was a clean-cut, smartly dressed, visibly well-washed and well-watered fellow. As I approached he flashed his perfect smile and asked what I needed. Water I replied. Thomas looked “awkward.” “Ninataka maji ya kunywa” I tried. (attempting Swahili because I need drinking water) Ah, Thomas replied, “Maji hapana” (meaning no water). I tried English again. We still had no water.
I’m sure my body temperature rose five degrees as I tried to figure out why Thomas hadn’t brought water from camp that day. Then he went up another eight points while I tried to figure out why he didn’t need to drink anything. Well, soon we would be back at camp, where I would indulge in all the beige water I could ever hope for. I decided to tough it out. Se la vies We were on a safari.
As evening approached, we relaxed in the shade near a water hole. The sweet rush of cool water filled the air. The emerald green pool trembled ever so slightly with each nipping of a hippo’s ear. As the sun dipped low, the parched orange horizon beckoned for one last snapshot. It was time for our crew to head to camp.
Meanwhile, back at camp, our cook had dinner ready and waiting. Before the jeep stopped my door was open. I approached him dryly, “maji ya kunywa?” I said. He replied, “maji hapana”. “I mean water,” I regretted abruptly. “You must drink some!” Both Thomas and the cook shook their heads no and looked at me like I was crazy to think anyone would have water in the bush. I didn’t know I was on safari?
Not being parent of the year, I got my sons water – some of it anyway. We leave the rest for the morning.
SUMMARIZING THE SITUATION
I sat resentfully at dinner and watched my son, my guide, and my cook, all laughing together on the men’s side of the camp. As a zoologist, I knew they had to have water, right? How stupid did they think I was? Then the questions crossed my mind. How could we stay out here almost three days without any more water? What happened to the water that the Tour Company agreed to send? What did the cook cook with? How did Thomas stay so clean? If I killed my offspring and took his water, would I be extradited or tried in Tanzania? And how stupid did they think I was?
That night I sat by the fire under the most brilliantly lit sky I have ever seen. I sat talking to Thomas, explaining that Homo Sapiens consumed water. It was necessary! It was a fact! He didn’t buy it for a second. Finally, I gave up. I told my crew that we would have to return to Arusha the next day. If I were alone, I would risk dying of dehydration for another day, but the PTA frowns on such things. Obviously annoyed by my insane antics, the kids turned.
The rest of the night was spent reflecting on days gone by, on our incredible experiences, and on something else – something strange. The previous morning, while driving through a wave of dust, we had approached a Maasai warrior walking barefoot in the grasslands. Thomas approached to ask for cheetahs and such. As they talked, I looked at this wonderful man who leaned against the front of our jeep. His long, twisted hair was ocher red and draped elegantly down his perfectly built back. He wore the traditional red Maasai cloth that was slightly tattered. In his right hand he had a spear, pointed at both ends. In his left hand was the less traditional orange Fanta. Yes, I did a double take. One orange Fanta was left. Thinking back, I remembered droplets of condensation. I was sure it was cold. I couldn’t even come up with H2O, well enough a refreshing sugary drink. Was I hallucinating? Was I even on safari?
THEY DISAPPEAR THROUGH THE SMOKE
The sweltering heat of the morning soon came. Breakfast of thick milk, I completely missed the point and confirmed my decision to leave. The cook and I began to prepare for the camp. Jerry and Thomas (Tom and Jerry?) wandered off into the bush together long before the job was done – surprise! Whenever I started any project, the men tended to fade into the trees. In fact, upon completing the task, I realized that my moisture-retaining chef was gone. An hour later no one had returned.
I was guarding our bare possessions from a troop of mischievous baboons and couldn’t look for my three self-smelling delinquents. Besides, if the men died, it would prove to them my theory that they needed water to live. Ha! I would be right! Wealth would rule! So instead I sat down to film my new found primate friends. After all, was I still on safari?
Half an hour later the guys emerged from the bush, talking casually as they sipped on their strawberry Fantas. My mouth dropped. Jerry nonchalantly pointed behind them as he passed and asked, “Mom, why didn’t you join us at the refreshment stand? You could have at least gotten some bottled water.” I stood there in awe! Did they slide every time they disappeared? What was a soda doing in the middle of…? Why didn’t someone say it was…? A..; Was there a Denny’s in there too? How stupid of me to expect them to mention this. Awwwww! Didn’t realize I was on safari?
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#Serengeti #Safari #Tanzanian #Memories #Miscommunications