Masai Mara

It’s 4am and I can’t sleep so I decided to write. Don’t you hate creamer? I’m writing this with one hand as the other hand pours tea down my throat then switches to hold my nose.

Shortly before 07h00 this morning, a monster Toyota Land Cruiser pulled into the compound of Kiiru’s home in Nairobi. David (my driver) and I had an early start to make it to our destination by lunchtime. It’s a 4-5 hour drive to the Masai Mara game reserve. I was awake at 05h00 like a child on Christmas morning. This has been on my to-do list ever since I could understand and appreciate what David Attenborough was telling me…undoubtedly the greatest living Briton.

Heading westwards out of Nairobi, we passed through the aptly named Westlands to pick one of the Trans African Highways in the direction of the Rift Valley. Trans-African Highway 8 (TAH 8) runs from Lagos-Mombasa and is worn down by the weight & numbers of trucks that plough along it every day ferrying goods from the Indian ocean ports to and from the land-locked countries of central African: The DRC (which David still refers to as Zaire), Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda etc.

David & I had met before when I first arrived here back in February. He had driven me up to Murang’a that time. The journey to Murang’a however is only and hour and half and for much of it I had slept, so keen to get better acquainted we struck up conversation. We chit-chatted about the usual subjects: Kenya & the UK, families & work, and then the question that always arises when blokes run out of other things talk about … “do you like football?”. Well that was it. As the wheels on the van went round and round, we talked about the World cup, the Champions League, we discussed the greatest ever players, we debated whether Messi can rightly already be considered one of the all time greats (it wasn’t much of debate seeing we both agreed).
I talked Liverpool, he talked Arsenal; and although a fan he was a strong critic of Wenger’s transfer policy, the shortcomings of their midfield (the lack of physical presence if you want to know), the over-reliance on youth etc.

So engrossed was I in the conversation, I almost didn’t notice where we were. Rounding a sweeping right bend in the road, I looked ahead and there before us stretching as far as the eye can see I had my first view of the Rift Valley. It’s phenomenal. Almost immediately a reverential silence settled over us; even the engine seemed quieter as if to it were aware of the importance of the moment. Just as I was thinking, if only we had a cup of tea, David swung the 4x4 into one of the lay-bys with a look out point and a café. Oh he’s good! He has all skills required of a game driver: knowledge, patience, a sunny disposition and the uncanny ability to read the passengers mind. David ordered us 2 cups and a slice of bread and butter as I took photos of the rift valley and the Logenot Crater, an inactive crater/volcano which dominates the valley floor this point.

Tea over and resisting the temptation to buy some traditional tom toms, we got the show back on the road. We began our descent of the eastern edge of the rift continuing along the TAH8, but after only a few kilometres more we turned left at the town of Hot Springs (Mai Mahiu, the literal translation is Hot Water). I smiled to myself as I thought for a second or two we were in Hot Water as we headed south east along the valley floor towards Narok, the largest town in the Masai.

As we sped across the base of the Rift Valley, David told me all about it. The Rift Valley, or le Rift Valley in French, stretches a massive 6,000km. It begins (or ends depending which way you’re going) in Syria, crosses the Red Sea in to Ethiopia, sweeps through Kenya and Tanzania; and on to Mozambique. In Africa, the valley divides into two, the Western Rift Valley and the Eastern Rift Valley. We were in the Eastern Rift Valley and at its deepest point. It was (and still is being) formed as the divergent plate boundaries which meet more or less in the red sea (where Somalia sneers at Yemen) move apart, splitting the African Plate into two new separate plates. Eventually, as the rift deepens and widens, Somalia will break away from Africa to form the new Somali Plate … can’t happen quick enough for some here!

As you cross the valley from east to west the vegetation gradually changes from large lush leafed trees to rolling fertile farmland to thorny trees & scrub and finally the classic grassland you’ve seen on the TV. The valley used to be the home of wild animals but less so now as they have been displaced and hunted out of there by man … don’t you just hate us?!

(The dawn chorus has just begun … and I’m now on my second cup of tea and creamer … it’s not getting any better)

We pulled into to Narok shortly before 10h40. Narok is the largest town in the Masai and last stop before the Masai Mara reserve. Already here there was a liberal dusting of traditionally dressed locals. Having learnt that the lodge I was booked into has a pool, I needed something to swim in. We ducked into the Tumaini Fashion Centre (which was having a back to school special) on the look out for some beautiful Hawaiian swimming shorts; not being able to find any I settled on some tartan boxers on which I proposed to sew up the fly. David graciously kept his thoughts to himself…another key driver quality. We pushed on.

About 30km after Narok the ministry of roads had run out of tarmac so the remainder of the journey was dirt track. I knew we must be getting close when my bottle of water was thrown from the dashboard and sure enough at 11h21 we pulled up to one of the Masai Mara gates. We passed through without a hitch and in a matter of minutes we arrived at the Sarova Mara Game Kamp.

Agreeing to meet David at 15h30 for our afternoon/evening safari drive, I swapped my bags with a Masai warrior for a hot mint scented face towel. As he escorted me to the reception, I wiped my neck and reflected on sad predictability of it all; how this proud Masai man, the latest in a long line of proud Masai men is now handing out towelettes to tourists. Indeed, they still refer to them as warriors here, although the only war I can see them fighting is the one to maintain their culture and resist our encroachment.

My room was still being prepared so I grabbed my book and keen to sample some of the “Refreshing African Hospitality” the camp promised, I settled down on the veranda of the bar overlooking the pool. Satisfied that no one else had the same swimming shorts as me, I ordered a beer from Peter who, incidentally comes from the town just north of Murang’a. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, it was there; a beer, but not just any beer, my first beer since January, my first beer in Kenya … ice cold with an ice cold glass. I took a photo of it and, disregarding the fact that I had no-one to share it all with, decided I wouldn’t call the king my uncle. I toasted absent friends.

At 15h30 as agreed, I met David and together we headed out into the reserve. Almost immediately we spotted Buffalo by the hundred maybe the thousand. There are so many, you can almost be excused for becoming blasé about them, but then on the horizon a familiar shape of which surely no one can ever tire.

There is something wonderfully moving about seeing an elephant. There is something in the way they move, something in their slow lumbering majesty that touches your soul. They are truly awesome. Before it was bastardised by a generation to describe anything and everything it was used to describe elephants; the word was invented to describe elephants.

A much better writer than me could no doubt put it into words. The big cats are unquestionably amazing in their speed, power and ferocity, but there is something more in an elephant. It’s their in the rhino and the whale too, and I am sure the mountain gorilla. The whole world looks back at you; everything you know to be good about the world and everything that is bad is reflected back in their eyes, it’s almost painful. Woe betide us should we drive them to extinction. Getting my soap box for a moment, if you don’t have a cause you should get yourself one, and you could do a lot worse than this.

As we moved on I turned to David - “I’m sure you never tire of this job”. “You’re right” he replied, “I could never work in an office”. “I hear you” and I promised myself never to again (we’ll see if that’s one I can keep!).

By 18h30 we had seen 4 of the big 5 (5 if you consider a Cheetah to be a Leopard in Cheetah’s clothing). We watched Rhino devouring bushes, Giraffe striding gracefully across the plain, Hyena menacingly circling Impala, Ostrich with their head in the sand, Gazelle bounding along faster than we were allowed to drive, and above everything Vultures circling. We watched a pride of lions sleeping on their backs with their feet in the air…they could almost mislead you into thinking they are placid.

I loved the Kruger Park but there is something more here, and it’s not just the quantity of animals. The landscape alone is simply breathtaking. It’s like driving through an endless wheat field; an ocean of gold punctuated only every now and then by a flat topped acacia tree. And the smell! Standing up in the back of the van with my head out of the roof I thought to myself that someone really needs to invent a camera that captures the smell at the same time. It’s everything you imagined and much much more. If you haven’t been come, if you have been, come back.