The Meaning of Safari

by Alison Westwood

Ambrose looked at the river in front of us, a faint expression of dismay on his sunny face. Yesterday he had driven us across it without a problem. Then it had only been a dry riverbed. Today it was a furious chocolate-coloured torrent.

"I don't think we can go across," he told us. Now it was our turn to look worried. Were we going to be stuck in Lake Manyara? Would we miss the Ngorongoro Crater? Ah well, at least we could go back to Lake Manyara Tree Lodge. The prospect of spending another night in the luxurious lodge took some of the sting out of being stuck.

We sat staring at the river a while longer. Another vehicle arrived, and its driver struck up an animated discussion in Swahili with Ambrose. "He says it's easy," laughed Ambrose, climbing back into the Land Cruiser and starting the engine. But we noticed the other driver hadn't offered to go first.

Our Land Cruiser bounced and sloshed through the churning water. We held on tight, wide-eyed and whooping as we reached firm ground again. Ten minutes later we were staring at another flooded river. This time seven drivers agreed: it was impossible to cross. The first river would also be impassable by now. Marooned between two rivers, we would have to wait until the water levels dropped. It started to rain again.[/i]

Tanzania beckons

Two days earlier, Joanne, Marina and I had arrived in Arusha, the safari hub of Tanzania. From Nairobi, we had flown past the twin behemoths of Mount Meru on our right and Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa's highest mountain, on our left.

Kili was clear that day. It rose straight up from the ground in a massive black cone, its snow-capped peak so high it seemed it might touch our wing tip. I thought about climbing it one day. The idea was both tantalizing and terrifying.

At Kilimanjaro International Airport, we were met by Ambrose, our safari guide for the next six days. We soon discovered that Ambrose was an accomplished driver and an expert guide. Both of these qualities would serve us well over the next six days.

Six days, five camps and four parks

In just six days, we were planning to do Tanzania's northern circuit, a journey that is more sensibly covered in at least two weeks. Our first destination was Tarangire National Park, a couple of hours from Arusha. We passed donkeys carrying water, a little boy watching his flock of cattle, goats herded by red-robed Maasai, groups of people hoeing fields, and teams of oxen on wooden yokes.

But the horizon swallowed up the scenery. Farms and villages were insignificant details. Small people walked under a big sky. Our vehicle sped over an endless treadmill of tarmac.

At Swala, in the remote western corner of the Tarangire National Park, we shrugged off 22 hours of travel and went on an afternoon game drive. We were accustomed to parks in southern Africa, where there are many routes for game drives, so it came as a surprise to discover that we were going back the way we had come. There was only one road.

Elephants, flamingos and tree-climbing lions

The singularity of roads was more than compensated for by the multitude of elephants. There were large breeding herds with babies of diminishing sizes like Russian dolls. There were old lone bulls and groups of frisky young bulls. The elephants of Tarangire were more numerous than impala usually are.

While elephants and giraffe browsed against a backdrop of baobabs under storm-grey clouds, we looked at birds. The birds in Tanzania are worth the attention, especially if you haven't been to East Africa before. Superb starlings strut their stuff, flamingos form pink ribbons around the alkaline edges of lakes, and eagles ride high in the thermals.

I was particularly looking forward to seeing flamingos. As we drove into Lake Manyara National Park the next morning, I craned for a glimpse of them. But before we saw any flamingoes, we stopped for something more remarkable.

Lake Manyara is famous for its tree-climbing lions. All lions can climb trees, but they seem to enjoy it at Lake Manyara more than anywhere else. Apparently they do it to escape the heat. I think they do it because the trees at Lake Manyara practically beg to be climbed.

Enormous mahogany trees, some of them suffocated by strangler figs, and sausage trees festooned with fruit like impromptu outdoors butcher-shops, mix with the ubiquitous acacia. Beyond them all, Lake Manyara shimmers; an oasis across an expanse of cracked mudflats.

We pulled up next to a vehicle whose occupants had their binoculars aimed at a tree, apparently watching birds. Birds with paws, I soon realized. After a readjustment of my perceptions (lions in trees just look wrong), I spent a long time marvelling at their ability to sleep in such uncomfortable positions.

Stuck in the mud

While we slept in our comfortable beds at Lake Manyara Tree Lodge that night, it started to rain. The next morning we found ourselves marooned between two rivers. "Don't worry," said Ambrose, "the water in this river drops quickly."

Sure enough, two hours later, the water was lower and slower. The first Land Cruiser ventured across and was soon out of sight. The second and third vehicles crossed, then we followed.... only to stop on the other side.

We were all stuck behind the first vehicle, which was stuck in black cotton soil just around the corner.

I won't go into the details of the next two hours. All 4x4 experts who have met their nemesis in black cotton soil will appreciate how long the drivers laboured, how mud-spattered they became, and how we all cheered when the vehicle finally broke free of the mud-trap. The three of us agreed it had been a terrific adventure. Ambrose wondered how he'd ever get the Cruiser clean again.

Animals everywhere

Luckily our 4x4ing exploits didn't prevent us from getting to Ngorongoro Crater Conservancy with enough time to descend into the crater for a game drive. The crater closes at 6pm, and any driver caught leaving later is heavily fined, or even banned from the crater.

When you stand on the rim of the Ngorongoro crater, you can see it all laid out below you - a small forest, a little stream, and even a lake, complete with flamingoes. From the rim of the crater, the animals are too tiny to see.

When you're standing inside the crater, the rest of the world vanishes behind its blue-green walls. Even the lodges that overlook the crater are hard to spot. But now the animals appear - everywhere.

Herds of buffalo, zebra, wildebeest, and Thompson's gazelle are spread generously over the undulating blanket of the crater floor. There is even a small population of black rhino, the most endangered of Africa's large mammals. The one animal you won't find, however, is giraffe. Tiny Lerai forest is too small to sustain their tree-munching lifestyle.

Ngorongoro is frequently called the 'Garden of Eden'. We saw lions rolling around like kittens among pretty white flowers while wildebeest grazed calmly around them, baby gazelle pronking like pogo sticks, hyena and buffalo wallowing happily in a mudbath together - but we also saw four hyenas try to snatch a baby buffalo from right under its mother's nose.

Unfortunately Ambrose had to tear us away from shouting instructions to the buffalo mother and insults at the herd of 200 buffalo doing absolutely nothing to help. Our time in the crater was far too short - make sure you spend at least a day there.

Siringitu: endless plain

We didn't complain that much about leaving the crater though, because we had the great plains to look forward to. The Ngorongoro Conservation Area and the Serengeti form a vast unfenced area where the animals are free to roam the endless rolling plains.

The main difference between the two is that in the Ngorongoro, the Maasai are free to roam too. It's quite something to see the wildebeest migration mingling with herds of Maasai cattle and their tall, thin lords and ladies.

On we drove, bounding along the short grass where the highway was only traces of mud left by other tyres. And all around us was the wildebeest migration. Stretching from horizon to horizon like a ridiculously magnified colony of ants.

We got lost on the way to the next camp. Instead of turning right at the huddle of vultures (for that was the only sign that we could see, and it didn't seem like a reliable one), we continued for half an hour before we met another vehicle and followed it back to the turn-off. The Serengeti is anything but crowded. Even the wildebeest migration doesn't make much impression on the emptiness.

Anything can happen

It was lunchtime by the time we found the right road, so we spread our scarlet Maasai blanket on the green grass, and had a picnic on a high hill under an eye-wateringly blue sky.

Ringed by far grey mountains and serenaded by the comical grunting of gnu, I looked around me and my heart ached. I had travelled so far to find this heaven. How could I leave it?

While the others were eating, I did some roaming of my own. I found an aardvark burrow, a vulture's feather and some purple flowers. I wondered if my friends would notice if I quietly walked off towards those grey mountains. But then I would miss out on tomorrow's adventures; on cheetahs and swamps, bucket showers and hippos.

And that's the meaning of safari in Tanzania. It's a journey where anything can happen - and frequently does. Plans and itineraries are only sketches for a canvas that will be richly coloured and textured with living memories when it is complete. You'll come back sunburned, dusty, and changed for good.

Article © Copyright 2006 Go2Africa.

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