21:29, Thursday, 4 August, 2011

Post-vultures, we came upon who may have been the M.J. Memorial Lion. He is one of the handsomest lions I have ever seen, not that I’ve met a lion whose stare I wasn’t fixated by. He was breathtakingly close, laying five meters away from our car so that Eli and Lia had their hands at the ready to roll up their windows should the need arise.

We had our Maasai dress on that evening, four whiteys as Benson had gone home (he will return tomorrow). When we stopped to ask a driver if he had been looking at a lion, the blonde lady in the backseat was apparently overcome by curiosity, and opened her window to start asking in a heavy accent if we were really Maasai (at least I think that’s what she said). We were able to avoid answering since she completely disregarded the fact that we were talking with the driver at the moment; the whole thing was really rather rude, but very funny. I laugh when I think of her just all of a sudden opening the window and babbling at no one in particular, desperate to know if we were truly Maasai. And what if we had been?

We saw some decent hyena interactions for the first time in a few days. I had forgotten how much I love watching them. One of my favorite moments of the night was coming upon Xenon and Radon, the brother and sister subadults who are nearly as inseparable as Pene and Ziti according to Brian. They were sacked out together under some bushes. Later at Aardwolf Den or thereabouts, the regular chaos of greets and giggles, squitters and aggressions abounded. I especially enjoyed watching Loki come up and push Gobi over with her nose while he was innocently chewing on a scrap. He squealed and tucked, but refused to move away, even when she started to bite at the scruff of his neck. Maybe he was paralyzed in fear, but she just kept rolling and biting him. In the end, he maintained his hold on the scrap. Good for Gobi!

That night I saw our bushbuck on the way to the choo, and I must say that I cannot blame Lia for freaking out the morning she first saw it. Momentarily I thought it was a lion or buffalo or something much bigger and more dangerous, and was delighted to discover it was only our beautiful bushbuck.

Tuesday morning brought more carnage. Almost thirty hyenas were feasting on a cow kill (ruh rohs, unhappy Maasai in the making). Giggles, squeals, and other vocalizations that together resembled a bunch of chimps going crazy filled the air. Tails stood bristled, and the hyenas were constantly on edge, the higher ranking ones in a clump around the main carcass. The lower rankers slunk around the edges, attempting an approach when they could. The importance of rank is most apparent at a kill. Cubs of high-ranking females chased full-grown adults off of food. The subadult Yellowstone caught the low-ranking adult male Mork (sp) running off with a large scrap, and merely had to catch up to him before he dropped it at his feet. My favorite demonstration of rank came when there were about ten hyenas surrounding the main carcass, and in comes Loki, one of Murphy’s daughters who is second or third in line to the thrown. She just up and picked up the whole thing, walked tripping away with this piece of cow carcass larger than she was, and no one gave her any guff at all! It was amazing; they stood around watching her lay down under some bushes and tear this thing to shreds, unwilling to attempt to regain their meal. Tiny little Zenny was the only one brave enough to come near, and she was rewarded because Loki was too busy eating to care when she started chewing on the edge. Several hyenas were painted in red blood under the lightening sky, and Lia pointed out what a strange chord it struck to see our cute cubs next to so much gore. For me it was like seeing the entire good and bad of a person, and trying to decide what to make of them.

Another surprising occurrence at the kill: an eagle flew in and stole away a sizeable chunk. It flew up into the air with the piece of meat dangling from its mouth, and ate in peace for much longer than one would expect before a hyena chased it off. The vultures that had been so tough at the impala kill, represented by only a couple individuals, kept a safe distance from the excited hyenas. One jackal (jackals are always trying for some crumbs) hung around the edges as well. And when things started to slow down, a topi stotted in, except it didn’t look like a normal stot. It bounded a bit, but then it did a high-step like a champion dressage horse. Had I been riding that topi, I could have won the blue ribbon.

We got out of the car to collect some paste once the hyenas had moved off, and I have to throw in a mention of the area where the kill scene took place. It was on a slanted part of the savanna with bushes in bordering clumps, but something about the way the slant rolled made it feel like we were riding the tilt of the earth. The only way I can think to explain it is that it felt like you would think standing on the earth should feel when looking at a globe, gravity holding you to its rounded surface at an angle. It was bizarre. Lia and I climbed on top of the car and looked around, standing with our arms out in the windy morning aire and then sitting to enjoy the view. Lia mentioned that we only have a week of this left, and suddenly I felt quite sad, and tried to drink in the moment all the more.

As though the morning had not been exciting enough, we found Super Mom and her six cubs on the prowl. This time they were surrounded by the usual million and two combis, but we watched as they disappeared into a clump of bushes, making turns on a dime as they chased one another. Soon it became apparent that one had caught a hare, and was running from its jealous siblings with the thing dangling from its mouth. As the cubs squabbled, Super Mom sat staring at some tommies in the distance. Maybe she was pretending not to notice because she was tired of disciplining them for the day.

We stopped in Talek for some groceries on the way back. I tried to feed a forlorn-looking dog a treat, but he just stared at it. Then I occupied myself by chasing a goat the color of an oreo blizzard away from a neglected pile of potatoes. He got a hold of one but couldn’t chew it, and it bulged between his lips for at least five minutes before he finally got it to go down the tube. Goats really will eat anything; Miss Oreo also started snacking on a pile of charcoal, and was especially happy when a little boy discarded a banana peel at her feet.

I was reminded of how small the world is when we went to Fig Tree Lodge to give a presentation on hyenas. All I knew was that it was going to be given to some group of study abroad students, and that the guy heading the program was the RA from sixteen years ago with the legendary girlfriend that Kay was so fond of. Apparently she got off the plane at the time thinking she had flown over the Andes to get here, and that Nelson Mandela was the president of Kenya. When we got there and met him, he was one of the nicest people ever, and introduced us to his wife (definitely not the former girlfriend, at whose mention he buried his head in his hands) and two very polite kids. I still wasn’t aware of where he was from, and then in walked Elie Durkee among the students! Elie grew up about two miles from me, and went to my high school. I was very taken aback, and we both yelled in surprise and ran to hug one another. Turns out the students were from Michigan State, and Gabe (the former RA) is a professor there. He invited us to eat lunch at the lodge, and we ate dessert for the first time since cheeseburger night in Serena (I think I’ve had dessert a total of about four times this whole trip, and am definitely going for an ice cream cone as soon as I get home). The talk went well, aside from the fact that a few of the students had a post-lunch coma and exhibited a bad case of the jerk-awake head bobs. I felt sorry for them, as I have been in that painful position many times (no comments from the Peanut Gallery, Dad).

Gabe and his family followed us in a combi back to Fisi Camp, because he wanted to see it and reminisce. At first he kept talking of how it was a different camp, and it was only when we went down to the river and he showed us where he used to bathe (the shower is new since his time) that he realized it’s exactly the same. Sixteen years of growth had disguised it from his eyes. The love he had in his voice while talking about his year here told me that he feels about this place how I do. And a very touching moment came when he realized that Joseph still works here. He and Old Joseph had become very good friends during the time he lived here, walking and talking every day, and crying the day he left because they never thought they’d never see one another again. The unexpected reunion had everyone teary-eyed; Gabe had to step aside for a moment because he was all choked up. It must have been surreal to see someone again after so long, and for Joseph to be introduced to the memory of yesterday’s wife and children.

The boys were relegated to the back seat for night obs as they insisted on having a Tusker. Lia drove, and I had the time of my life with the tracking headphones. It was so exciting when I picked up my first beep, and I scared the heck out of Lia by exclaiming in excitement. The radio was picking up Hendrix, and I spotted her shortly after the beep started, producing a strange sense of satisfying pride. Most people don’t like wearing the headphones because most of the time all you hear is static, but to me it was like fishing. You never know when that bobber is going to go down, or when that beep is going to sound, and the anticipation makes it exciting.

We returned to Fig Tree that night on invite, not to mention we had to retrieve Joseph, whom Gabe had stolen to introduce to his students and spend the afternoon with. We were treated to dinner yet again, sitting at our own private table with Gabe and his friend Matino (sp). Matino is one of the neatest people I have ever met; there seem to be so many of them around here. He was Muslim with a medium-length black beard and wearing a maroon turban. He radiated calm energy and joy, and was extremely unassuming. At one point he counseled us on the importance of stopping to breathe throughout the day to avoid life passing you by unawares. He spoke of keeping a diary as imperative to remembering the sights, smells, and sounds of such a wonderful place as this, and that he still remembers walking to Narock with Gabe as being one of the best experiences of his life. Matino said one of the things that stands out most in his memory is the smile of a young woman they met on that trip, because it was the purest smile he has ever seen. I took a lot away from Matino, and I’m so glad to have met him.

Speaking of smiles, one of our waiters had the biggest one I’ve ever seen. It spread across his entire face, making his cheeks into little balls and scrunching his eyes in a triumph of joy. Perhaps I shall never forget his smile, as Matino never forgot the woman’s.

The Maasai warriors danced through the room for us, sending shivers up my spine in a great swoop of culture. The cries in Maa and the deep throaty pulse kept by one of the men resounded throughout the room as they bobbed up and down in a single file line, ending up outside to jump to the night sky one by one in classic Maasai fashion. Gabe’s son looked like Little John joining in the Native American dance on Peter Pan, unexpectedly popping up in line with his arms crossed and then taking his turn jumping. :) Gabe and a guy on the study abroad also took a turn, but couldn’t quite measure up to the Maasai.

I talked in Swahili with Joseph the whole way home. He repeatedly commented on how good Lia’s driving was, and that we would have to send her to Talek to get groceries, which clearly flattered her when I told her. He then told me how he had known Robert Sapolsky, and had worked in the camp since before Kay in the time of Laurence Frank. I asked him which animal is his favorite, and he said he loves them all, because he himself is an animal. It was good to hear a Kenyan say that, since usually Kenyans tend to completely separate their lives from those of the many surrounding animals. I asked if he used to jump like the men at Fig Tree, and he smiled and said yes indeed, but of course he can’t any longer. He has killed three lions with a spear: one to become a warrior, and two to protect his livestock.

Arriving back at camp, we took a giraffe in the driveway to be a tree until we were about two feet from it and it started to move and grow spots. Gosh, I’ll miss all of this in a week.

No ducks flying backwards today!