The Safari Camp
A tribute to Kenya’s world-class safari businesses
A tribute to Kenya’s world-class safari businesses. Let’s hope they are able to get back up on their feet soon…
The Camp Managers
Semi-retired Geoffrey and his wife Lynn sigh behind pasted- on smiles as they wave off a group of camera slung guests, leaving amid a flurry of dust in an open-sided Landcruiser. The vehicle is driven by Jonathan, one of the highly qualified Masai safari guides whose real name is Komeyicin.
Lynn wonders if the departing guests have noticed she’s engineered a very early transfer to the airstrip for their bush caravan flight. Time spent on a searing hot runway without shade is nothing to what she’s been put through over the past seventy-two hours.
What with the demands for a standard fan in the middle of the night, the wife who plugged in her hairdryer, blowing the electrics for the entire camp, one case of the dodgy tummy and the pièce de resistance; the guest who was convinced there was a leopard in her tent at 3 am, then screamed long and loud at the sight of Benson, the elderly night watchman, who came rushing to her rescue wearing a World War II trench coat, to find nothing more menacing than a rock hyrax under the bed.
There was the couple who hung around boozing all day saying they were too hot when good guests should be out for a minimum of nine hours on game drives per day. After all, isn’t that why they came?
The weekend before, the camp was plagued by a family with small children who, due to the absence of a swimming pool, were red-faced and bored by 11 am. Fortunately, Masai guide Jonathan stepped in to kill an hour or two, devising a spear making activity that involves a very long walk to find the requisite stick.
None of them could be persuaded to take an afternoon nap (the obvious antidote to an early morning game drive) so all were begging for the generator to be switched on at 2 pm to charge up devices, having clearly never heard of reading a book.
Geoff limps off quietly to lie on his bed in his tented room to snooze off the heat of the day. His back isn’t what it used to be after decades of off-road driving, not helped by an expanding waistline caused by consuming three huge meals a day with guests. Geoff finds all the polite talk exhausting and doesn’t know how Lynn does it.
He does, however, have his ‘top five’ stories that are reeled off to break the ice. Once the conversational ball is rolling, Geogg leans back to enjoy a bottomless glass of red wine while Lynn gesticulates, hawk-like, when the waiters slip up.
Once free of guests, Lynn heads straight to the kitchen to ask what happened to the six pounds of butter that inexplicably went missing last Saturday. The supply truck is not due for another 48 hours and the lack of butter is playing havoc with her menu planning. Quiche and sponge cakes are staple camp fare but with little butter, plus the added complication of dik-diks having raided the lettuces in the veggie garden, catering circumstances are reaching dire straits.
Lynn and Geoff are dreading the arrival of Nigel, a stockbroker from New York who has been firing off emails for more than a month, enquiring about internet connectivity and adequate mobile phone signal. Lynn has assured Nigel that by standing on one leg on the top of an anthill, he will be guaranteed at least one bar. Who needs the internet anyway when you are deep in the bush? Reading between the lines of his emailed response, he doesn’t seem impressed.
The ‘Exclusive Bush’ travel agent has just radioed in to say that the next guests’ luggage has failed to arrive at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, so the minivan will be stopping off at Mr. Price to pick up a supply of khaki shorts and shirts. Traffic is also havoc due to a new four-lane flyover being lowered into place by Chinese contractors en-route. This doesn’t bode well for the week ahead.
The Safari Guide — all in a day’s work.
It’s 6 am and still pitch dark but to enjoy prime game viewing, the vehicle should be on the road very soon. Jonathan, dressed in the branded uniform of khaki slacks and a matching fleece jacket, waits patiently. He checks his watch. At 6.50 am his clients, a motley family group, shamble toward the car half asleep, spilling cups of hot chocolate, wrapped in Masai blankets. Dad has a fancy camera, his son is armed with a smartphone and mum carries a heavily stuffed bag, sporting an incongruous broad-brimmed hat. The family climbs aboard. Little Sammy complains about having to sit at the back, so swaps with mum. The sun is now up and the radio message that Jonathan received an hour ago about a leopard sighting down by the river, a distant memory.
Jonathan smiles resignedly.
“Everybody set?”
He turns the ignition and the car rumbles to life amid a cloud of diesel fumes. Once out on the plain and mum has finished distributing packets of biscuits and extra warm layers from her bag with the professionalism of a Red Cross volunteer, Jonathan slows the car to point out some wildlife.
“A lilac-breasted roller,” he says, pointing to an iridescent bluebird perched on the branch of a tree.
“So when will we see the big stuff?” Dad asks, shifting forward in his seat. “The Big Five?”
Little Sammy does not look up from his digital game. Mum is moisturizing her arms with Nivea.
“There’s a place not far from here where we may spot a pride of lion if we are lucky,” Jonathan says.
“Right well if we could get over there ASAP, then that would be great.” Dad says, “I have an important call to take in an hour and Sammy will want breakfast.”
In order to stick to the schedule, Jonathan speeds past a pack of hunting dogs with their young, decides not to point out the rare Martial Eagle nor the herd of long-necked gerenuk.
“So Sammy, do you know what the correct collective noun for a herd of zebra is?” Jonathan says, trying to engage the family. No answer. “Anyone? Well, it’s a dazzle.”
“Oh, how fancy!” Mum says. “I like that.”
Dad mutters, “I’m not sure that’s right”.
The vehicle starts to pitch and roll as it heads off-road. Sammy complains because he can’t focus on his tiny screen. Jonathan spots a magnificent male lion on a grassy mound and edges the car as close as he dares. A lioness with three cubs approaching from behind a bush then settle down to doze next to the male while the young play. After an initial ripple of excitement from within the car, the visitors’ attention is not held for long.
“Are there more lions?” Asks Sammy before stating, “I’m hungry.”
With a clatter, Mum reaches into the onboard cool box, helping herself to two bottles of Fanta, removing the caps. The male lion lifts his head, fixing the car’s occupants with a steely, yellow stare. Jonathan indicates with his hand for the family to sit down quietly but it’s no use. Dad’s phone starts ringing.
“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” Dad says.
By now the male lion is on his feet and squaring up to the car. Jonathan turns on the engine and reverses back to safety.
“I think it’s probably time that we headed back anyway,” suggests Mum helpfully as Dad bellows into iPhone, shouting above the noise of the car engine.
Halfway home and Jonathan encounters a fellow safari guide driving a branded vehicle, heading in the opposite direction. The drivers pause to enjoy a short exchange in Maa.
“Looks like you have your hands full there mate,” says the guide. Passengers in both open-sided cars are eyeballing one another with more interest than they’ve shown in any of the wildlife so far.
“Definitely going to try to swerve the evening drive with this lot.” Says Jonathan, “Mum’s scaring the animals with her red hat, Dad’s rude, and that little one’s a handful.”
The other guide laughs. The vehicles go their separate ways.
“What did he say?” Asks Mum, “have they spotted a leopard or cheetah?”
“No,” says Jonathan, “he was looking for the lion so I told him where they were. But I think they’d spotted a family of buffoons.”
*The Camp Managers article first appeared in The Telegraph online and The Safari Guide in Nomad East Africa magazine.
Originally published at http://africaexpatwivesclub.wordpress.com on June 3, 2020.
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