10:14, Sunday, 23 December, 2012

It is absolutely KILLING me not to write, and I apologize profusely for my unexplained absence.  The bullet points are growing, and everything possible will be written about in due turn.  But I have been working on lists and ill with some stomach flu, and now that I'm well I have guests coming, so I will be silent for a two and a half weeks more.  But Africa is beautiful and amazing as ever; the sun is shining here making even Nairobi seem like a place of beauty, nearly succeeding in masking all of the colonial social class segregation that makes me sick.  I miss the Mara as I have been away for nearly ten days, but when my guests step off that plane I'm worried I should weep with joy, and so the time away from my beloved hyenas is worth it.  Until next time, Krismasi Njema (Merry Christmas) and Heri ya Sikukuu ya Kuzaliwa (Happy New Year) from Kenya!

13:42, Wednesday, 5 December, 2012

I feel incomplete when I cannot write, because it is my reflection, my way to examine my life and therefore perhaps, as Socrates would say, make it worthwhile.  This job is everything I could ever dream of, but in my quest to do well, my blog suffers.  It is one of the curses of science, losing a connection with the general population, tucking experiences and findings away where only a stressed-out student with a paper or dissertation to write will ever dig them up.  But science confined to conferences among researchers does no good, and I find that to be the discipline’s biggest failure: communication.  Things will not change without communication.  So amidst all of the proofreading and compiling of notes, creating lists of new and missing hyenas, typing up prey transect counts and new landmarks and clan lists, etc. etc. (it’s that time again – somehow three months have passed since the relief of finishing June-August summaries to send back to the lab), I have to take a breather and return to knocking off the bullet points I have been saving to share.  It’s good practice, even in the form of a most humble blog. 

We are going through a drought right now.  It hasn’t rained in a month, unusual for even the dry season.  Beneath the Equator sun things have been mercilessly fried.  It frightens me, staring out across the plains that used to be green and healthy browns to find dried up remnants of grass.  The plain closest to camp, in the Talek East clan territory that we drive through every morning and evening on our way to and from Talek West, is nearly a plain of nothing but dirt.  Thankfully the territories farther from human influence aren’t quite as parched-looking, but the change is still, quite frankly, a little terrifying.  Things get especially worse for our side of the park because there is pressure to allow the Maasai to graze cattle within its boundaries since the grass outside has become inadequate.  Our livestock count inside the park for the latter half of November, taken on one evening as a measure of anthropogenic influence, numbered over three thousand.  Drought and floods are things we are increasingly going to have to deal with in the future, and finding good ways to provide for both people and animals is going to be an enormous challenge, most especially as resources are limited and less than 1% of water on earth is fresh, less than thirty percent of that one percent accessible.

But while Dave finds profound evidence of declining numbers of ungulates in this part of the park over the years, as the elephants move out to Fig Tree and Prozac and Serena (hopefully only until we get some precipitation, something we cross our fingers for every day, especially in the former half of December as I selfishly pray that obs will be performable when my family arrives), the hyenas are booming.  Such adaptable creatures!  So many little cubs are present at Central Park Den, the current den of choice, and one located out on a lovely little peninsula wrapped by the drying river.  It’s lined with bushes that make observation an absolute bear, but it’s so charming I can hardly dislike that they’ve chosen to move there, especially given the numerous cinnamon-chested bee eaters, pair of dik-dik who have made their home (oddly) next to the hyena den, and baboons that hang out in the Fig Trees lining the river, their harsh barks offering a nice accent to an evening out.  Tilt did turn out to have a cub; his name is Blanket (famous people’s children lineage), and he immediately stole my heart with the quizzical look he gave us one of his first nights out from the bushes.  Carter is mom to Koopa Troopa and Princess Peach (Mario Cart), slightly older than Blanket but his main playmates who accept him into their sackout pile so that the three of them are often resting against one another in a clump of cute.  Koopa Troopa is a female, and the boldest of the three her age.  Princess Peach, to our chagrin (and I’m sure his too, were he to understand), is a male.  I was so excited to have a low-ranking adult female in the clan called Princess Peach – such a cute name – but alas!  He will end up emigrating to another clan after three or so years where no one will call him by his unfortunately assigned name.  The project umpire rules that three sightings of a pointed phallus, and you’re out!

Hydrogen and Helium were the little black cubs, now they’ve grown into what Satyr, Bata, Burger, et. all used to be.  Then Blanket, Princess Peach, and Koopa Troopa were the little black cubs, but their spots have sprouted beautifully, and they are growing at what seems to be an exponential rate.  Then Titicaca and Chile (places in South America) became the next-in-line to the thrown as Helios’s new litter.  But even their faces are beginning to whiten, and now Taupe and Amazon have the little black wonders, Taupe’s estimated at a mere three weeks.  Precious little tiny black balls with miniscule ears, eyes, and noses.  Taupe is a first-time mom, and she is very nervous when we are around, not taking her eyes from us for one second.  She sacks out right in the den, nursing her little ones so they are out of sight, protecting her precious secret.  We assigned her the lineage of Dr. Seuss, compliments of Julie, and her first litter is comprised of Cindy Lou Who (CLOU) and Grinch (GRCH).  With our luck, Cindy Lou Who will probably turn out to be male.  Although I suspect Amazon might have two cubs, we saw her carrying about and nursing one the only time we caught confirmation of her current motherhood.  Amazon seems to have a habit of misplacing her cub.  More than once we have watched her digging down in the den holes, dirt flying every which-way.  She will disappear completely into one hole, reemerge (possibly too big to travel underground) empty-handed and try another, then another.  Finally one time she came up with an itty-bitty cub hanging from her mouth, and carried it to where she plopped it down in front of her to nurse back in the bushes.  This cub, to my utter joy, we have name “Barnacle” (BNCL).  Amazon’s lineage is one of my favorites: marine invertebrates.  Poor Rotifer, the sole cub of her first litter, didn’t make it.  Better luck this time, we hope!

Artemis, Juno, Obama (Hail to the Chief!) and others have been hanging around the den as well, and I can only imagine the number of potential cubs hiding underground.  Cubs aren’t the only influx we’re having; males are coming from every which-way.  We have a new one that looks just like Juba, so we named it Khartoum, since both these cities are in Sudan.  One night we were almost certain Khartoum was Juba, only to have Juba pop out of a nearby bush and greet with Khartoum.  At that point we were referring to Khartoum as “Not Juba,” so the transcription was sounded “Not Juba ears-back head-bob greets with Juba.”  Another one looks just like Frisco, so we have name it Fresno.  And Dodoma, a very handsome male, light and small with striking dark spot patterns and a beautiful arrow on his left shoulder that makes IDing him a whiz, has joined the ranks.  Kisumu is a spotty thing that has a very endearing face, as yet slightly nervous of our presence.  And then there is a male waiting for his third sighting that we have seen in Fig Tree twice and Talek twice, with epic ear damage on one side.  Ear damage is always welcome, making the IDing of even a sacked-out hyena a cinch.  Kisumu and Fresno have already left us fecal gifts to scrape into RNA-later for DNA analysis in the lab.

And that is about all the time I have for today.  Everyone in camp is still well; we are a tight-knit family now.  We had a lovely Thanksgiving in Serena; Philimon and Jorji surprised us with an actual turkey, gravy, and sweet corn, and the Majis (Chris and Amanda) brought stuffing made in their little camp oven.  We stayed up late playing games and talking, a couple of us offering a bit of a show for the rest of us after a tad too much alcohol (I couldn’t stop laughing at the volume of some of the inebriated individuals’ voices, the poignancy of their statements, and one’s persistent rearrangement of chairs about the table for no reason).  My favorite thing was that the conversation late into the night was still sciencey and nerdy intelligent amongst the grad students, and they made perfect sense even when a bit tipsy.  Like going to Lyman Briggs at MSU – feels like you’re in an episode of “The Big Bang Theory” as a drunk guy on your floor slurs “Did you know they used to think that DNA was made up of a triple helix instead of a double helix?” before taking his next shot at beer pong.  Wilson is doing great becoming a research assistant; he has learned the hyenas very fast, and is coming along on behavior.  He, Benson, Charlie, and I have so much fun out on obs.  Joseph and Jackson, Stephen and Lasingo are all well.  Dave and Julia came on the first to stay for five weeks in Talek Camp.  I can’t believe how the time is flying.  Wilson said the date into his DVR as we left at 5:15 in the morning of December first:  “On December 1^st – Ooooo, Christmas! - BMP, CEK, JMP and WNK leave camp.”  Hilarious to see the realization hit him.

16:04, Sunday, 25 November, 2012

It’s a lovely sunny afternoon here in Fisi Camp.  It’s been hot and dry, and we could probably use some rain; Benson says a drought at home is making things hard for his crops.  Cow bells close by remind me of the comical day that I stepped out of the solar tent to find cattle EVERYWHERE in camp – they were along every path and mooed in what I assume was contentment as they munched on the bushes.  About twenty of them blocked the way to the choo, and I had to muscle my way through, luckily an easy job since they don’t much like to be touched.  Also not a dangerous job given the males are not bred like they are back home; a huge bull out here is as docile as any cow.  I patted an enormous bull in Talek one afternoon, who did nothing more than nod its head a bit.  Looking back about ten minutes later, I wondered what I was thinking – I mean, a recurring nightmare I used to have as a child involved a bull cornering me in a stall.  How could I forget they’re not to be messed with?  But I talked it over with Benson and Wilson, who assured me that the bulls out here aren’t at all like I described – the Kenyans have not targeted the same genes in their cattle that Americans and Spaniards have.  I like the genes here better; after all, who wants to be bred to be irritable?  But the cattle returned to camp for the next couple days; I’d be working in my tent, only to look up and see them munching noisily right next to me, soon to realize that I was surrounded.  Amusing, to say the least.  The cow patties they left behind, however, were less than amusing.

Probably my favorite thing to watch the hyenas do is interact with other species.  It’s a good feeling to see different species acknowledging one another in a non-violent way, not to mention it’s often hilarious.  The way my cat used to look at my dog when I was a little girl playing outside would make me giggle incessantly; there’s something about the way different species try to figure one another out and poke fun in the process that is endlessly fascinating.  For example, one morning Julia and I watched Buenos Aires, Pantanal, Atacama, Hydrogen, and Helium messing with a warthog at Pothole Den (no doubt the same warthog that had been randomly popping out of the den hole every now and again, causing Hydrogen and Helium – most often sacked out by the den hole – to go all bristle-tail and watch its every move).  These five would run in at it, it would turn to face them, they would cower away.  As soon as it turned a different direction they would jump back in to test it.  Eventually the warthog got tired of the game and, right in the middle of all those carnivores, got down on its knees and started to graze!  I was flabbergasted, as I have watched hyenas feeding on warthog faces more than once.  (Granted, given those tusks, to tackle a warthog is a very brave move.  And this warthog was much bigger than the ones I’ve seen being eaten.)  The hyenas kept walking bristle-tailed up to it and backing off, perhaps hoping to provoke it again, but it paid them no mind and eventually they got bored and moved away.  Another day Alice, Rebmann, and Foxtrot were wandering about together (making me wonder if hyenas can sense extended familial ties, as Foxtrot is Alice’s granddaughter and Rebmann’s aunt – Foxtrot doesn’t normally hang out with anyone else).  A bright pink, unsettled male ostrich wandered nearby.  All of a sudden, for no apparent reason, the ostrich poofed its wings out so it appeared to be an enormous galloping white-fringed black feather duster.  Then it charged right at the three, which gave them quite the scare as they startled and dashed away with ears back.  The ostrich didn’t stop after one chase, oh no; when one of the hyenas would stop to look back, it repeatedly moved after them, feathers flailing as it lolled from side to side, until they again cowered away, not even entertaining the idea of ruffling such oversized feathers.  So great to witness!  If they can help it, zebras and topi don’t tolerate hyenas testing them either.  Although I love hyenas to death and they are now one of my favorite animals (presuming I have such a thing), I can’t help but feel proud of zebras and topi who give it back to them.  It’s like the little guy standing up for his rights.  Buenos Aires, Crimson, and Atacama decided to give some zebras chase, incidentally the same morning as the warthog game, if I remember correctly.  Well, Crimson turned around and sprinted the other way as soon as one zebra decided it had had enough, and whirled around to give it back, reversing the chase.  I’ve seen the same thing happen in Prozac territory, except this time the unsuspecting hyena was doing nothing more than heading down to a water hole for a swim.  Two zebra worked together and got that swim started a little faster.  Topi have likewise stood their ground as a hyena walks amongst them, snorting and pairing or tripling up to harass a fisi until it lopes away.  (Or, like the Prozac male Mogadishu, the hyena might just ignore the excited behooved beasts and continue walking through them until it reaches the other side of the herd.  Smug.)  Young hyenas are often picked on, because prey animals seem to know they can do no harm.  Poor Yummly ran tail-between-legs into some bushes when some wildebeest went out of their way to give him chase.  My favorite interspecies interaction story, which I didn’t witness as it occurred in Serena, is when a little hyena walked right up to a female waterbuck.  The waterbuck merely lifted her head, and they stood about a foot away sniffing and looking one another for a several seconds, before the cub turned and romped back to the den.  I might have cried had I seen that, because I can hardly imagine watching something so beautiful.  Nora took a video of it back in June or July.

13:00, Tuesday, 27 November, 2012

While antelope might be able to chase the hyenas, other animals employ different strategies.  Such as the adult tortoise Lee was batting around.  It was beyond cute, even though I was worried for the tortoise, especially when she decided to chew on it.  Hyena jaws are arguably the most powerful in class Mammalia, and I don’t think a tortoise shell would stand much chance.  Other hyenas joined in, everyone so interested in this breathing rock with legs.  We stayed with the hyenas until they left the tortoise; miraculously, I think it was unharmed.

Carnivores interacting with other carnivores is a treat to watch as well.  I know I’ve written about it many times before, but jackals and hyenas seem to get along incredibly well.  I feel like a hyena could easily kill a jackal if it wanted to, although maybe I’m mistaken.  Just the other day, Bowtie (a male in Prozac) was sacked out, not paying anyone any mind.  A passing jackal walked right up to him and sniffed him, standing nearly on top of him, touching his nose to Bowtie.  Bowtie tolerated it for a bit before becoming seemingly annoyed, and mildly t2 lunged the jackal, who continued on its way.  A bat-earred fox jumped about Avarice a different day.  Its tail was fluffed out to its max, its back arched, and it just leaped sideways about her while she stood sniffing the ground, not paying it much mind.

And then there are the lions, who have been in a more innocent role than usual lately.  It’s crazy how lions and hyenas are naturally pitted against each other.  When Charlie and Benson were off in Nairobi and I was out transcribing by myself, I came upon a subadult lioness who sauntered in and sacked out in the road, minding her own business.  Pretty soon some nearby hyenas noticed her.  Did they leave her alone, even though she was doing nothing to provoke them, and no food was present?  Ha!  They coalitioned and bristle-tailed and went out of their way to poke the bear, approaching to within a couple meters.  Eventually she began to growl and lunge little bits, but who can blame her?  They just would not leave her alone.  Falafel came and sacked out right near her, getting up now and again to approach and stare all bristle-tailed.  I never pegged Falafel as the mischievous type, but there you go.  Some others behaved similarly.  After an hour or more of this, the subadult lioness finally moved off.  The thing is, she could have moved off earlier.  It’s almost like in some twisted way lions and hyenas enjoy being bothered by one another.  Such a statement is universes from being scientific, but if I were to put down the struggle against the human perception we are stuck with, that’s what I would say. 

And back to square one, although hyenas are more closely related to cats than dogs, I see lions looking at the hyenas like my cat used to look at my dog.  One morning two subadult lions were sacked out in the bushes, minding their own business, and the hyenas came in.  Our guys were interacting with one another, periodically going up to have a look at the lions, coalitioning and approaching within a few meters.  Well, Burger came about, and didn’t realize the lions were there.  Typical Burger, absorbed in the happenings of the royal circle, bumbling about Helios and her daughters and son, who had since moved away from the lions.  All of a sudden Burger startled a mile to the side as she saw the lions, and bristle-tail got into a position where her legs were stretched out behind her, whooping like a lunatic at least ten times and then popping about in investigation.  The way those lions looked at her; it took everything in me to keep transcribing as opposed to doubling over.  Then later, Magenta or someone was aggressing on Burger, who was giggling and scapegoat chasing Great Smokey, who was also giggling, and they all just ran in an absurd circle of giggling nonsense and obnoxious squeals.  The look in those lions’ eyes was just like “What the heck is wrong with these maniacs?”  The hyenas were giving them quite a show of behavior, and given the behavior of lions seems to have a much more limited (some would say “normal”) repertoire, I can’t imagine they could make much sense of what they were seeing.  Just another reason I love hyenas.  So complex, but when you don’t know what is going on, they do look a bit ludicrous.

Other lions aren’t so tolerant.  One lionesses at the Dip was horribly cranky with our fisi, emerging unannounced through some bushes and chasing them off from where they had been comfortably sacked out.  Her big male mate backed her up, and they lazily lounged in the place where the hyenas had been.  I mean, really.  There are plenty of other bushy areas about.  But what kind of lion can pass up a chance to bother a hyena, and (what has recently become clear to me), vice-versa?

12:50, 19 November, 2012

There were some lions in camp during the day one Sunday afternoon.  I was sitting in my tent doing some work, when all of a sudden I heard the roar and subsequent whuffing of a lion extraordinarily close to my tent.  Had I thought to unzip my window, I probably would have seen it through the brush on the fire break, where only minutes later Charlie and I went to look and found some enormous paw prints.  Literally 20 meters from my tent at most.  And during the day!  What kind of a lion is awake and moving around during the day?  We cautiously followed the prints for a bit, but although their pattern showed the lion had only been walking, it was nowhere to be seen.

Coming home from Fig Tree territory, we were fortunate enough to witness lion “whuffing,” as Joy Adamson has very appropriately termed it in her book Elsa.  A very large black-maned lion walked along the road, appearing very powerful in the surrounding darkness.  With each step he gave off a deep, resounding, gruff, whuffing breath, the type that typically follows a roar, and the sort of sound that would make me run deep into my den hole were I a hyena cub.  The darkness swallowed him sinisterly, and I shivered in thought of being an antelope in his path.  Although who am I kidding?  He’s a male lion.  Male lions hunt about 7% of their food...likely better to be an antelope than a hyena in its path, who might be senselessly killed and left uneaten.

Speaking of mighty jungle kings, there are three of the stockiest black-maned lions I have ever seen living in Prozac territory.  The other morning was apparently a male lion morning, as we saw two subadult males and one big male on our way to the territory, and then these three macho men to top it off.  They were striking, and one looked me right in the eyes as it walked past, something I that still makes me pause.  It’s one of my favorite things in the world to look into a lion’s eyes; one is immediately lost in their bottomless expression. 

But lions can be crazily cute too, not just mighty.  You watch them play like the subadult batting its oversized paw at a younger cub’s head I saw, and instantly love them despite all their misdeeds toward hyenas.  And it’s not just the young ones.  I love how big males sometimes sit.  A blondie a few afternoons ago sat with both his paws cupped toward him, making a circle out in front, and just sat there blinking up at the tourists beneath his luxurious mane with an expression like my cat sometimes gives me at home when content.  And lionesses will run and give “hugs” at times, wrapping their paws around one another, and I often see them rubbing heads.  It’s incredibly sweet.

One more thing on lions, before my job is retracted.  We saw Evacassidy and Script, two lionesses from Serena last summer, on this side of the river way back in July!  I finally got around to identifying some of the photos I’ve taken for Dave, and about fell over to find that they had crossed the river.  Something tumultuous must have taken place in the lion world, because the individuals from last year are spread all over the place.  I haven’t identified a single lion who is the same in Talek territory, Cascada and David Bowie either moved considerably east or have quite an enormous territory, and now Evacassidy and Script seem to have moved given the Mara River offers a natural territorial boundary (or so I assume).  Field work is fascinating!  It continually boggles my mind that animals live such fascinating lives, completely overlooked.  Our eye witness is not required for their lives to be complex and valuable in their own right, which is part of why I get frustrated with the view that field studies must contain some benefit for humans beyond increasing our understanding of other species.  They are incredible, and there is just so much we don’t know.

Babies babies everywhere!  Baby hyenas, baby lions, baby leopards, baby cheetahs.  We saw a mom with two baby cheetahs a couple nights ago, their hair everywhere, a sixties and seventies American dream.  Baby warthogs...if I haven’t mentioned these before, warthog piglets are TO DIE FOR adorable.  Miniature pumbas everywhere!  (I think I drive the guys nuts having to stop and take pictures every other time we see a family of warthogs...I hope some are still small when my family comes!)  Then there are baby topis and baby impala, baby zebra.  Baby topis are another thing that just kill me every time.  They look like sandy-colored miniature female moose, and are so dopey-looking as to be completely irresistible.  There were just oodles of gangly little guys all over the place a month ago (of which I also snapped a disproportionate amount of photos); now most of them are already popping little horns.  I wonder if getting horns hurts like teething does?  I also wonder when young topi become painted  the dark brown and black of their parents?  At least I will discover the answer to the second question.  Baby impala are graceful cuties – something like a deer fawn, but solidly colored and daintier if possible.  And baby zebra...ay yai!  Kicking their little legs up to the side and all their stripes squeezed together over their tiny faces, faces accented with eyes taking in as much as they can of this newly discovered life in a world that only just began to exist.  I will be sad when baby season is over with.  So will the wildebeest we saw yesterday morning, because she will be out of a job.  This wildebeest was off by herself away from all the other adults, lying down surrounded by seven or eight young wildebeest.  They all stood up when we drove by and walked off in a clump with her.  I’ve never seen such an argument for babysitting in nature!

Horses aren’t the only equines who enjoy a good roll.  Once I could not figure out what in the heck was happening at Camel Crossing as we drove close in the height of the dry season.  An enormous cloud of dust rose into the air, and I thought it must be terribly windy, or maybe there was a vehicle stirring things up that I couldn’t see.  But neither of those was the case; some zebra was rolling its heart out and sending this dust-devil wall into the air.  Since then I have seen them rolling in the middle of the road several times.  One near Suicide Crossing looked absolutely awesome as it galloped off, dust streaming off its back as though it had some turbo speed super power.

Finally saw some crocodiles in the Talek!!!!  Been waiting for what seems like forever.  Lasingo came to camp one morning and led Charlie and I to where he had spotted one.  He held his finger to his lips and pointed to the rock ledge on the other side, left of where we jump the river.  It was a youngish one, became frightened when it saw us and scrambled off.  I also saw a larger one sunning itself on a sandbank by where the river bends below Kay’s tent.  It had its mouth sitting wide open as it laid there with its eyes closed – it looked like the crocodile equivalent of women who lie back with cucumbers over their eyes.  Sometimes a hippo burps from the same area this crocodile was, making me smile if I’m working at the desk outside Kay’s tent.

Wednesday, 14 November, 2012

Today I’m feeling slightly forlorn, as the date marks six months since I arrived in Kenya.  Hump day, and I don’t want to start down the other side of the hill.  If only there were a tree to grab onto at the top I wouldn’t let go; yet even if there was, time shall not be outwitted, and would surely find a way to rotate the entire hill so that I’d end up at the bottom regardless.  I guess I’m just going to have to accept that half my time here has passed.

Just finished cleaning up a bunch of “Amigos,” the horrible cheetoh spin-offs that no one in camp can stand to eat.  They were stashed in the lab tent (perhaps we were hoping to discover another use), and some smart little vervet unzipped the tent!  It was open just to vervet height, and one leapt out as I approached.  But cheetohs had already been strewn everywhere outside, monkeys chomping on them, one coming up and grabbing handfuls, stuffing them in its mouth and grabbing more, glancing up at me and getting as much as it could before tearing off.  It clearly expected a reprimand, but really, they might as well eat the cheetohs-nobody else wants to.  However, my lunch is off limits.  Just after sitting down to eat I got up to put a chair in front of the tent, only to turn around and find a monkey on the table eating some of my cabbage salad!  That one I shooed away, before taking my lunch with me as I resumed fetching a chair.  Honestly, though, if I didn’t know how stupid it would be to feed a monkey, and if I wasn’t worried about the stomachaches that would ensue, I would have offered them the remaining three bags (two of which were opened).  As I sat back down to lunch, I noticed an approaching baboon.  He clearly had a more refined palate.  After scattering the vervets, he picked up a cheetoh, but that was the only one he ate before wandering off.

To move on to some large fauna accounts, before going back to the fisi we all know and love, there was one night out on obs when we were fortunate enough to view a leopard.  It wasn’t shy (unusual for the leopards around here!), and sat looking about while we photographed it.  Just as we were finishing up, Wilson calmly said, “Get ready, guys.”  I finished packing up my camera, and was about to ask him what he meant when I looked up to see an elephant charging us from about 500 meters away.  Not the sort of thing I expected based on Wilson’s inflection.  But he had waited for our cameras to be put away, cool as a cucumber, before tearing off, Benson dying of laughter at the ridiculousness of the elephant coming from so far away, ears out and comparatively puny tail pointed straight out from the middle of its huge bum as it lumbered speedily toward us, furiously trumpeting.  We made it away with plenty time to spare, all having started laughing hysterically as it charged by.  It kept going, now straight for the leopard.  The leopard just sat there as though a four ton mass wasn’t about to bowl it over; maybe it knew the elephant would do what it did and veer off at about 40 meters, merely to crash away through the lugga.  Poor thing though.  Wilson said it was surely one of the relocated forest elephants from a park where poaching is rampant.  It has every right to hate people, even when they are as far away as half a kilometer.

Continuing on with these two fantastic species, we pulled into camp after obs the night I returned from Nairobi, shortly to become the luckiest people alive.  Two small forms sat at the fork in our driveway, not thirty meters from camp.  I prepared myself to record the a genet sighting (we record all carnivore sightings).  As we pulled closer, I was surprised, because I thought they were hyena cubs and became very excited.  But that surprise was nothing when I saw what they really were: two tiny leopard cubs, not two months old.  I now know I can survive anything, because the amount of keeling over risk I endured at that moment is unheard of.  They were SO GORGEOUS and SO CUTE as to be indescribable, and what a thing to see! They bumbled about in the headlights, completely unafraid of the car.  One of them curiously approached it, preciously diminutive face in full view.  Their rosettes were perfectly miniaturized, just as beautiful as an adult’s.  I quickly called Charlie (who had remained back to drive Jack half of the remaining way to Serena), and he grabbed the guys before heading out, so everyone in camp got a look at them (minus Benson, who was sadly at home).  Joseph and Jackson were delighted; they had never seen such a thing.  It was a moment none of us will ever forget.  After about ten minutes of watching the cubs, we heard their mother calling and decided we should leave them be.  I have since heard her sawing voice during dinner or while in bed; to think that we have a family of leopards right in camp!  It’s too awesome to be real.  Leopards are the one animal in Africa that really and truly scared Jane Goodall; perhaps I should feel nervous, but pure delight is the only feeling I can find.

As for elephants, who have gratefully returned since the migration, there was a group of twenty or thirty over by Talek Lugga two nights ago.  I pointed in their direction as I often do (since I love elephants so much), and proclaimed that I thought there were probably a lot of hyenas in that direction.  But this time Wilson kindly obliged, and we drove over near the elephants.  I only hope the experience I had then happens when my mom is here, the way she loves elephants.  It was pure joy for me, sitting twenty to thirty meters from these elephants; it was every bit as though we were part of the group.  They pulled grass up from the ground with their long trunks, the sound of roots popping out of the ground deeply satisfying, rumbling their deep vibrato, babies wandering from one individual to the next.  It was as though we weren’t there, although I was pleased to observe that one elephant definitely took an interest in us.  She kept glancing in our direction, moving her trunk across the ground and up to her mouth without picking up any grass, as though she wanted us to think she was feeding.  One of the last ones to walk by had only one tusk.  It stopped to face us with its ears out – “Hey, where’d you come from?” I could imagine it saying; really I think it wanted to make sure we understood it is bigger than us.  But as it made no move to charge, I merely told it out loud that we are well aware of how big it is.  Then it moved on.  Finally, an elephant who speaks English!

We have had many incredible lion encounters over the past few months that have gone unmentioned.  One morning I had to stop and thank God for how blessed I am, because how many people get to sit right next to a group of lions feeding on a fresh zebra kill as the sun rises?  As it is the low season and was also very early, we were the only car watching them.  I photographed whisker patterns for Dave – one of the lionesses turned out to be Cascada from last summer!  The scar of an enormous gash across her left cheek makes her easy to distinguish.  Five other lionesses (most of them sacked out fit to burst stripes with the amount of zebra ingested) and one male cub were also present.  The male cub, who I presume may be Cascada’s given his behavior toward her, has one ear folded permanently back; he will likewise be easy to identify, and we have since come across the same group. 

I still can’t get over the interest that lions take in the hyena decals stuck to the side of the car.  I no longer have any doubt in my head that they recognize the shape, the number of times they stop to look at or even chase it about.  We found a group of ten young male lions (some actually quite big, but all oddly maneless) in Prozac territory one brilliantly sunny morning.  One of the males was restless, and suddenly approached the back of our car, eyes fixated square on the decal.  Eventually it walked past the car, and I returned to my futile attempt to photograph whiskers of these lazy loafs who a) refused to raise their heads (a common problem with IDing lions) and b) were obscured by bushy foliage.  Before long we began to slightly bounce, and looked back to see the same wandering male chewing on the back of our car!  I will admit to really enjoying the event, but we speedily drove forward and away; Kay doesn’t even allow hyena cubs to chew on the car.  I can’t imagine what she would have done to this lion, the rival of her favorite animal.  Then, driving back from picking up Jack before the Nairobi trip, we found a lioness with two of the most adorable cubs you can imagine, as well as the smallest lion cubs I have yet seen in the wild (probably about 1-2 months old like the leopard cubs),  walking along the road.  The cubs’ eyes were so endearingly disproportionate to their tiny bodies.  We stayed back to be polite to the two tour cars and looked through our binoculars, but those poor tourists.  The lion continued to walk conveniently down the road toward us.  When she was even with our car, originally walking all nonchalant, she suddenly startle-stopped.  She looked dead at the hyena decal and walked straight toward us; Jack swiftly rolled his window up (“just in case”).  She stared at the hyena from a foot away, and the strangest thing – her pupils very noticeably dilated and shrunk a couple times!  She might have stared longer had her cubs not mewed for her from the side of the road, and had we not decided that we should move as we were directly blocking the tourists.  Sorry guys - we’re just a wildlife magnet!

16:31, Monday, 5 November, 2012

Happy birthday to my cousin/sister Alison Warstler!  Love you very much!

Okay, just a few more primate stories.  These ones will be in the form of Karma, our bold little bushbaby.  We have trained her to come eat from the table, and she even has her own seat now; we put spaghetti on it and she’ll stay to snack on the noodles.  If ever we should fail to notice her approach (which in general is hard to do since her jumping onto the tent pole makes such a distinctive thump), she no longer just remains waiting on the side.  Rather, we look down to find her stuck to the side of our chair, great big orbs staring at us, enormous ears in a forward position that proclaims her utmost expectation.  If only she could know how much I love her, she might let me pick her up and hug her to pieces – as it is, I can only dream of a world in which attempting such a thing would be even remotely advisable.

One night we decided to see if Karma would crawl onto my back.  I lay down prostrate and Charlie set some garlic bread atop me.  The Milk Fairy (Julia) even shook a line of the powdered milk she uses in her box trials leading up to me.  Karma paid no attention to the milk, but she couldn’t resist that garlic bread.  It was so difficult to stifle my laughter when she approached, back arched like a cat, unsure of what to do.  The first time she leaned heavily and so avoided walking onto me, but we adjusted the bread so that it was further back for the next time.  When she returned I held my breath, and after much hesitation...she did it!  The gentle weight of her little hands pressed momentarily against my back before she jumped off with her prize.  Charlie, Julia, and Dave cheered.  The fun we have!

Our food is not the only thing Karma likes to eat.  One night I looked over to see a gorgeous, enormous black beetle.  I was super excited about it – it was a type I had never seen before, sectioned beautifully into a head and thorax, about three inches in length with long legs. But no sooner had I started to point it out to Charlie than Karma walked up out of nowhere, picked it up, and with a huge crunch the object of my fascination lived no more.  Although somewhat devastated, I couldn’t help but laugh as she held it in her hand and pointedly chewed, completely oblivious to our noticing her act, before jumping back off to the pole, from which we heard periodic hair-raising crunches. 

We also have a new bushbaby that comes around as well, much shier than Karma so that we have to distract her to slip the new one food.  This one’s eyes bug out more and it has several scars on its face.  I love it.  We have discussed names, but haven’t settled on anything that I can remember.

As far as the bushbabies’ rivals, Kelsey had me worried to the point where I was dreaming about her as she hadn’t showed up for about two months.  Then, one night after we had a discussion about her disappearance (Dave suggested maybe Foxtrot ate her...what a thing to suggest!), she suddenly slunked in out of nowhere!  I swear, the timing of things in accordance with our conversations is unreal.  Kelsey has grown lots and become more timid, running up to snatch things before quickly retreating back to the sidelines, but I know it’s her by her face and her response to the clucking sounds we taught her.  I cannot think where she would have gone, and don’t know enough about vervet biology to have a good guess.  If only we had GPS collars for vervets...

Verna is shy and sweet as ever, only becoming bold on the nights we have meat to offer.  She was my one dinner companion in early October when Charlie was away in Nairobi, and Dave and Julia on vacation.  I was so happy to see her after waiting in vain the first few nights for anyone to show up.  I couldn’t figure out where Karma had gone until I discovered the culprit: Joseph was slipping her food over by the kitchen tent!

The closest living relatives to the primate family = bats!  The fruit bats have been flapping about during the day as of late.  I love to see their forms suddenly swoop down over my head when I walk from my tent to the solar tent in order to charge my computer.  They disappear into the trees faster than you can get a good look at them, though.  The baboons are normally helpful in scattering them loose for longer periods when they come about.

The small Nycteridae bat species that live under the lab tent awning were flying around one afternoon as I worked at the table.  Dickson, Wilson’s younger half brother (who I met at his wedding) has come up to Talek for school, and was helping me out rewriting the boards and things.  He was really taken with the bats, so we took a break to watch them.  That’s when I noticed a tiny form nursing from the adult female, stuck to her belly like those baby-carrier things that some women strap to their fronts.  It was the sweetest thing!  The mother was more wary of us than usual, just like the hyenas when they have new little ones, and didn’t tolerate us watching her long before flapping off to the back of the tent.  You could tell it was a bit more difficult for her to fly with such precious cargo, but her agility was still quite impressive.  At the back of the tent she huddled up to one of the other bats, likely the previous kid we saw nursing during the summer since it was subadult-sized, and they made a cozy little sandwich around the infant.

A black mamba or two have made semi-recent appearances.  Perhaps one of them is Mamba Mia!  I heard a great crashing by the kitchen tent one afternoon.  Joseph dropped a dish – he claims it had nothing to do with the two and a half meter mamba he immediately afterward called to me to see.  By the time I heard him it was gone; he said it had slithered off quick as lightning when it saw him.  I didn’t have much chance to be disappointed at not getting a peek, because two days later I heard the distinctive sound that announces “snake!”, and soon thereafter spotted another one slithering about in the leaves next to the lab tent.  It was hard to tell its length due to the surrounding woodland debris, but it looked younger than the one Joseph described.  I was sure to warn the others of its whereabouts; Charlie was with me when I saw it, and all he said when I pointed it out was, “Well, that’s scary” before promptly returning to what he was doing.  I had to chuckle.

To conclude with the “medium sized” animals, we had a porcupine in our trash pit one night.  Julia announced it after discarding a poop bag, and we grabbed a flashlight and nearly bowled her over as we rushed to see it; I don’t think she was expecting such an enthusiastic reaction.  Caught a glimpse as it waddled off into the surrounding bush.  A slender mongoose and warthog have both shown up to stop their busy scouting and scrutinize me, temporarily alarmed before continuing about their business, the day I opted for a change and worked up at the desk outside Kay’s tent.  One fortuitous morning we saw a side-striped jackal out on obs– my first one!  I was surprised at how much it resembled a black-backed jackal, although it was more grayish and (go figure) had a side-stripe.  Saw a hare jump about two feet in the air for no apparent reason, same with a spring hare while we watched a group by Paul’s tree at night; they appear to be denning (assuming they den) in the hole where the bat-earred foxes lived when I first arrived.  Again, for no apparent reason, one suddenly leapt crazily high into the air before landing in the hole.  These animals are amusing in the simplest ways, which is why I never tire of watching them.  When I was a little girl my favorite company consisted of animals, partially because of the way they could make me laugh out of nowhere, no matter how heavily the circumstances of life sometimes weighed.  They are the grandest for that.  Just like the two male tommies who almost got their horns tangled as they sparred, before one turned tail and fled (I surrender!) as the other sprinted after it.  And the impala that we can hear burp-grunt running after females that I know I’ve written about – never gets old in its hilarity.  And the monitor lizard by the lab tent that again  crashed off in terror when I so much as glanced sideways at it.  Smiles all around.

Also, I seem to have forgotten to post this little tidbit:

11:01, October 31^st, 2012

As I sit here writing, it’s possible I have never felt more ridiculous in my entire life.  Folded duct tape is stuck over the top of my ears, my red-spotted Maasai kanga wrapped around my middle with a bunched up T-shirt underneath, a hand-held stick broom shoved between some spandex and shorts at my bum, and a smelly old hyena collar (which I didn’t have any chance to disinfect) hanging around my neck.  I am Alice the hyena, with her elf ears, reddish tint, general heftiness, a bristle-tail, complete with a fallen-off collar that we conveniently tracked a few days ago in Prozac (Lord only knows what sort of bacteria are crawling all over this thing.)  But, prodded by the costume guru Charlie, I couldn’t disregard the holiday that is so very hard to explain to Kenyans who have never heard of it before.  Happy Halloween from Africa!

20:48, 2 November, 2012

I cannot believe it’s November, and that I’ve been here almost six months.  It’s nothing less than outrageous!

Sitting here in Nairobi, the rain poundig the metal roof and the power out.  If only computers had infinite battery, I could write all night long.  But alas, I am reduced to the hour or so I have left.  Best to continue on with my animal stories at once.

The primates have been busy around camp.  One afternoon I was working in my tent, only to hear a great commotion atop the tent tarp next door.  Thinking it only vervets, I went back to typing.  However, the noise only continued to get more violent, so finally I went out to see what on earth they were doing that was so exceptionally rowdy.  I found a fully-grown male baboon atop the tent’s rain tarp, which sagged ridiculously beneath his weight.  It looked like the tent shouldn’t be standing at all!  It gave me one look before naughtily crashing across the tarp once more, clearly having fun in his mischievousness.  I didn’t have time to scold, however, because he hopped to the ground, perhaps in anticipation of my reaction.  Lucky for the tent he did!  I sat down and observed the troop for a while, individuals coming in from both sides.  For once, perhaps due to their large number, the baboons practically ignored my presence apart from the discontinued circus act.  It was marvelous to sit there vulnerably accepted, a humble feeling that puts one in awe of Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey’s courage, two women whose primates were much bigger than these.  A different male from the clowning tarp artist sat back on his bum, right leg bent up and the other lying forward with the knee curved slightly outward, right arm hung over his bent knee as he surveyed the world, a spitting image of Homo sapiens himself.  The enormous swollen pink bottom (a huge turn-on in the baboon world) of a female advertised her as being in season as she stopped to pick through the dirt, and an eager young male sauntered up and mounted her from behind.  I thought I would witness a baboon mating, but she resumed walking and he became discouraged.  One large subadult baboon sat across the log from a female, looked into her eyes briefly and then touched her hand.  Absorbed in all this, I turned my head to find that Clowny had moved up toward my tent.  I stood to rescue it; seeing my approach, he released my washbasin pitcher and made off with my bar of hand soap.  So that’s the origin of the bubble-burping baboon, if ever you should see him.  At least it was all-natural.

The vervets have been amazing.  The past couple of months have been baby vervet season, and I cannot get enough of watching them out my tent window and around camp.  The tiny little ones cling to their mothers’ bellies, tails wrapped upward around hers as she walks along, sometimes supporting the baby with one hand but most often acting as though no one is hanging from her belly.  She’ll sit back and allow the little one to nurse more comfortably from time to time.  Once I saw two mothers nursing side-by-side, and one reached out to rub the back of the other’s baby.  A third mother stopped nursing her kid, only to have it start throwing a fit.  She caved to the first fit, but the second one  she wouldn’t take anymore and lightly bit him, which shut him up.  Coming from a girl whose mother’s intolerance of fits saved an originally hopeless-seeming disposition, that monkey will thank her someday.  Sometimes the tiny ones venture off, but I’ve yet to meet an inattentive mother.  Walking along the camp path I startled a mother, and she instantly grabbed the tiny baby off to the side to her belly and made off, glancing nervously back over her shoulder.  The baby closed its eyes in what seemed to be a practiced response when she reached for him, maybe bracing himself for the run.  I have to stifle laughter watching the slightly larger little ones learn to climb out my tent window; they will attempt a jump from one stick to another, only to fail miserably at grasping the connecting twig and fall to the ground.  Thankfully they are quite unperturbed, and restart their journey upward, perfect pupils of the “never give up” philosophy.  The big kids then show off what they’ve learned, tight-roping across my tent ropes strung to the surrounding bush in full view of their younger counterparts.

The older vervets continue to offer entertainment as well.  One afternoon an exceptionally rude group shamelessly watched me shower.  About five individuals sat scattered about the tree that our shower is fixed to, staring at me the entire time, suddenly perfectly amused now that I didn’t have clothes on.  You have to wonder how they perceive clothes, because I can’t imagine my actions of taking a shower are any more captivating than some of the other things we do that they couldn’t care less about.  Perhaps they confuse them, or make us look like a different species given primates’ exceptional vision.  I can almost imagine the little wheels turning in their heads as they piece together that the same individual drastically changes color almost daily because we take off our fur and exchange it for other fur, something apparently so fascinating it renders staring acceptable.

One particular male is crazily bold, and walked right up to the little waste bin while Charlie was in a chair about five inches away, grabbing at a tea bag to chew before Charlie made him drop it.  Then he walked over to where I was and stood on all fours looking up at me before continuing on to try and enter the unzipped tent.  “Don’t go in there!” I proclaimed, to which he just looked quizzically up at me, back at the open tent, up at me and attempted to proceed before I reached out and held it closed.  This was repeated one more time before he accepted I was serious and walked off.  Another monkey’s slender black hands appeared at the tip of the lab tent’s roof one morning as we ate breakfast, and just its head peeked over the edge, making us chuckle.  Still another I have named Sharon – she is a subadult who frequents the kitchen, and is the only one who doesn’t run when we approach, but only moves up a bit further into the tree above the dishes to chew whatever scrap she’s found unconcernedly.  I quite like her.  But if I think that the crazily bold male and Sharon have no fear, they are nothing compared to the clever little female at Keekorok Lodge the other day.  We stopped by in hopes of some ice cream after picking Jack up at Cell Phone Tree for the Nairobi trip.  As we made to drive off, we saw that a vervet was atop our car, so I got out to try and scare it off.  I moved to stand out the door when she suddenly came charging at me.  I jumped backwards, terribly startled as she eyed me, crouched as though she would jump on my head.  She then jumped to a vehicle roof next door, closer to me, and made as though to jump on me again.  I’m still not sure she wouldn’t have, but I stifled my fascination and quickly reentered the vehicle and shut the door; better not to know and miss out on her sharp little vervet teeth.  How clever, though!  A monkey who has figured out that we are the real scaredy-cats.  She even had a red bump above her left eye that added to the effect of her rough and ready ways.  I have yet to come up with a good name for her.  What a smart little lady.

12:34, Thursday, 25 October, 2012

Okay, so I should have said “more stories keshokutwa.”  Keshokutwa means “the day after tomorrow” in Swahili.  Clever to have it condensed into one word!

Let’s see, thanks to Benson and Wilson, I can now identify more than just the secretary bird, kori bustard, lilac-breasted roller, paradise flycatcher, sacred ibis, robin chat, superb starling, helmeted guinea fowl, ring-necked dove, Maribou stork, greater flamingo, lesser flamingo and crowned crane.  I have added poppel granadia (sp), cinnamon-chested bee eater, yellow-throated sand grouse, yellow-throated long-claw, common fiscal shrike, rosy-breasted long-claw, red-winged lark, black-chested snake eagle, tawny eagle, marshall eagle, scaly francolin, Rupell’s (sp) starling, slate-colored boubou, common bulbul, Hildebrant’s starling, grasslands pippet, Lappet-faced vulture, white-backed vulture, hooded vulture, black-headed heron, white stork, crowned plover, fire finch, garden blue, spectacled weaver, pygmy kingfisher, Montagus (sp) harrier, saddle-backed stork, and banded starling to the growing list of birds I can identify.  I haven’t opened a book once – all I do is point to a bird we see while out on obs or in camp and Benson or Wilson rattle off what it is (in addition to its scientific name, which I fail to commit to memory).  It’s loads of fun!

I think my new favorite of the birds is the poppel granadia.  These little birds (roughly the size of a goldfinch) are beautiful, the males with a red head, bright blue tail, purple belly, brilliantly orange beak, and orangey brown overcast on their back.  The females are also very colorful, a gentler version of the males.  Poppel granadias hop fearlessly about, their claws making a delightfully satisfying sound to the rhythm of “do-do-do (pause), do-do-do” as they investigate.  They are generally unconcerned with the presence of humans.  There is a pair that hangs around the kitchen and lab tents quite often, and by sitting on the ground I have persuaded the female (whom I call Abaline) to eat from my hand.  It takes much patience, but the reward is phenomenally worth it.

Besides Abaline, we have two other regular visitors.  One is a robin chat with a broken leg named Tiny Tim.  Tiny Tim is shy and doesn’t come very close to the table, but I am always happy to see him jumping on one leg in the brush surrounding the lab tent, the other leg sticking out crookedly to the side.  In stark contrast to Tiny Tim, Gerald is the boldest bird I have ever met.  He is a bright yellow spectacled weaver, and periodically comes to sit on the edge of our plates and snatch bits of breakfast!  He unflinchingly hops about the table or sits on the tall silver tea canister, cocking his head at us.  I’m always overjoyed to see him; he makes me laugh in his complete disregard for our sizeable presence.  Charlie, not much a fan of birds, pretends to dislike Gerald.  However, I once caught him putting pieces of food in the middle of the table for him, an act he adamantly denies.

Two other absolutely gorgeous birds are the little cinnamon-chested bee-eater and the pygmy kingfisher.  The cinnamon-chested bee-eaters are a striking almost lime green with yellow bellies and a straight, pointed beak.  They like to hang out and build their nests along the river, and there is one pair that has recently moved into a tree overlooking my favorite outcrop.  Pygmy kingfishers are wonderful; they are just that – pygmy kingfishers, all the excitement of a kingfisher jammed into a pint-sized pipsqueak possessing a myriad of colors, most memorably blues and orange.  On rare days I catch one perched on the clothesline, and one morning when Wilson and I were staked out at Dave’s den trying to figure parentage one alighted in the bush right in front of us, staring cutely out at the world.  This was the same morning that a scaly francolin walked across the den right before the sacked out Hydrogen and Helium, who immediately lifted their heads and took interest in this strange specimen walking like a chicken about their home.

Ring-necked doves, so much like mourning doves but with a black ring around their neck and several streaks of purple and small spots of sheeny green, spots so radiant and perfectly alone that they remind me of Rainbowfish’s remaining scale in the books I used to read as a child, bob by me when I work at the desk outside of Kay’s tent.  Once I was given a start because an individual digging about in the leaves sounded like a slithering snake, and I could only see the shiny green scale feathers through the twigs, appearing to be the eye of a very close rock python!  I was equal parts relieved and disappointed when the dove bobbed out from beneath the brush.

The eagles are majestic – we’ve sat and watched Marshall and tawny eagles for prolonged periods: impressive animals, much like bald eagles back home.  One morning an enormous eagle swooped down to try and catch a guinea fowl (no small bird!) directly in front of the car, to which Julia and I simultaneously exclaimed “Whoa!”  Unfortunately it didn’t look like an eagle I had learned, and Benson and Wilson weren’t with us.  But the guinea fowl started crowing (sounding exactly as they do on The Lion King) and shot its balloon-self into the bushes along with the rest of its mates just in time.  The eagle pulled its talons back in and returned upward to sit perched high in a tree across the lugga, presumably still hungry.

Being a true ethologist, the thing that interests me most about birds is their behavior.  You wouldn’t think the behavior of a Rupell’s starling, for example, could be likened to that of a mammal, much less an animal so complex as a hyena.  But while feeding a small collection of birds by the kitchen tent one morning I witnessed a starlings came up to where another was eating, and it performed what I can only describe as a t2 lunge at the other bird, who immediately went into a starling’s version of a submissive posture.  The aggressed upon bird turned around crouched over with its wings slightly out to the side, head down and eyes closed for a brief moment until the other left it to go eat.  This was repeated several times when the submissive bird tried to eat, the exact same aggressive-submissive interaction, and if the submissive bird got too cheeky the dominant bird’s t2 lunge would progress into a t2 chase, during which the submissive bird would run in the same appeasing posture before stopping and crouching.  The crouch would then be honored as acceptable by the chaser, who left to continue eating.

Wilson has told me much about the behavior of vultures, which he used to study.  Vultures apparently have dominance hierarchies!  They can differentiate between individuals, and  I’ve seen them approach one another at a kill with their wings stretched and chests out in the ridiculous, apparently intimidating pose that Lia and I had so much fun mimicking last summer.  There is one point during the migration when apparently every vulture in Kenya flocks to the Mara area; tagged ones have flown amazing distances across the country.  Yet my favorite vulture fact remains the reason why they fly in tornado spirals above a kill after eating: post-gorging, they are too heavy to do anything other than glide along nearby currents!  Now if only I had currents to ride post-Thanksgiving...

15:12, Tuesday, 23 October, 2012

Let the wildlife stories commence!

For lack of a good way to organize things, I think I’ll go by size, starting with the littles.  One day after it had rained and we were stuck in camp, I took a short walk around the perimeter, and happened upon two little dung beetles rolling a rounded piece of fecal matter (A.K.A. poop).  Squatting down, I watched them for a long time.  Dung beetles are anything but graceful; they will often crash-land into the dinner table at night, and you wonder how they manage because they literally cannot get off their backs without help.  But seeing them do what they do best is a different story – grace certainly still isn’t the word, but their hustle is every basketball coach’s dream. These little guys are incredible!  Working together in a rough and tumble fashion, they zip right along while rolling something five times their size.  One pushes on one side while the other rolls from a different side, sometimes guiding it backwards, legs in non-stop motion.  All at once the main pusher will be swept up by the rotating mass and tumble down the other, but undeterred it immediately rights itself like a football player jumping back from the tackle.  At this time the other assumes the main pushing position, and the one who took the fall goes to the back or side.  Roll roll roll roll roll until eventually the momentum of the ball overtakes the main pusher and it’s lifted off its feet, but bruises ignored the two merely switch positions and keep going.  I was so fascinated that I went to get a stopwatch and some measuring tape.  I measured their distance for one minute and did a little math to discover that it would take them 33 hours to go 1 kilometer.  That might not sound impressive, but this is not accounting for all of the grass in the way that veered them off course or made them stumble extra times.  The fact that they are rolling something so much larger than they are should also be considered.  I’m impressed.  When Charlie discovered the calculations I had left on the table, I think he was under the impression that I had just defined a new level of nerdom, while Julia said that this is the sort of thing that happens when one is stuck in camp for too long due to rain.  

I had a fun time chasing a little frog around my tent on another day’s night; I think he entered while I was out brushing my teeth and had left the tent unzipped.  Fast little bugger!  I have also been having a case of the toads.  Stepping along in my tent, and I suddenly hear an odd chirrup.  Quickly remove my foot and feel where I had stepped; must have imagined the sound, clearly the lump is just another dirt clump beneath.  But later the same thing happens, and I investigate the lump more thoroughly until it starts moving.  I felt terrible for having stepped on whatever it was, and of course had to make sure it was alright, so I nudged it along beneath the canvas.  I couldn’t just go out and lift up the bottom of my tent since it might be a snake (although its shape was most un-snakelike, and I suspected a lizard of some sort), so I strategically kept nudging until it was pushed to where I could unzip my screen and raise the canvas edge from inside to see what was coming out.  An adorable pair of toad eyes looked quizzically up at me.  Well, I suppose beneath a human-inhabited tent is indeed a good hideout from predators, but I am going to have to be more careful where I step!  Just this morning I had two under there, and played matchmaker by nudging their little moving forms toward one another.  I don’t think there was much chemistry; they shortly moved apart. 

In fact, all of camp has been having a case of the toads.  There was one night I must have run into six or seven on my walk back from dinner, each a little heart attack waiting to happen as they don’t move until you are right upon them.  These are some sizable toads, and their eyes glow mysteriously beneath a flashlight.  A particularly large one gave me an immense start, but I was delighted to see what it was, and watched it hop about in the beam.  It ran smack into a large weed and was lifted off its back legs, nearly tumbling forward to do a somersault, and causing me to laugh out loud. Clumsy little fellow!  It landed back on its feet and gave one huge blink as though still processing what had just happened. 

That same night another was clamoring into the shoe I had left to block the hole where my zippers join.  I carefully moved the shoe aside so as not to scare him, and I think it provided a nice shelter for the night.

Charlie and I stayed long after dinner one night watching a bunch of tiny red ants moving little pieces of chapati about.  Their organized chaos is fascinating as they run this way and that and somehow end up working together.  Some of them are exceptionally lazy however, and end up riding atop the chapati like queens on those carried bed-whatevers.  A little black species also helps me clean my tent sometimes, swarming and eating dead bugs that have fallen to the ground.  Ants aren’t often cited in the category of decomposers, but they belong there!

I saw a millimeter worm!  Very probably a baby inch worm, but maybe even the worms are converting to the metric system (America, even nature’s doing it).  It was fascinating that this itty bitty measurer could as yet produce such a drastic little hillock while millimetering across my arm.

I’ve seen some gorgeous new species of butterfly lately.  One just like the cabbage butterflies back home, but about ten times the size, fluttering about above the river.  Another stunned me as it loop-de-looped like a miniature fluffy white bed-sheet with orange tips.  I didn’t get to enjoy its beauty long, however, because a paradise fly catcher with a gorgeously long tail swooped directly in front of my face to carry it off.  I watched it alight in the tree with the beauty sticking out of its mouth; lucky for the butterfly it must not have tasted very good, and soon was released to fly about as though nothing had happened.

I think that offers a nice lead into birds, which I have been learning so much about from Benson and Wilson.  I can now identify a fair few in this country leading in bird biodiversity.  More stories tomorrow.