Whiplash Safaris Ltd

After 2 weeks of doing very little here in Malindi, Kenya, and having passed a very pleasant week with Mum and Max in Maryam and David's house we thought we had better get off or arses and either find some work or do something other than watch the National Geographic channel and CNN all day. So after trapsing around 3 or 4 identical looking offices selling identical looking safari packages and then the usual protracted negotiations (why don't they just give you the "best price" at the beginning and save everyone a lot of time?) we plumbed for 2 days and a night in the Tsavo East game reserve, home of the famous maneaters of Kenya. Well, they're famous here anyway - and technically the lions are actually descendants of a pride of lions that ate a few dozen railway workers about 100 years ago. That said, I thought it still sounded like an ideal place to send, sorry, take the wife...
So off we trekked in a beaten up Nissan minibus at a ridiculous speed along a dirt road out of Malindi, North West towards the Tsavo game reserves. We clattered along at around 50 mph, the driver deftly riding the ridges at the edges of the deepest ruts in the road and strategically avoiding the larger potholes. He'd clearly driven the route a thousand times already and had decided to ease the boredom by scaring the living daylights out of his passengers. The other passengers in the minibus were a two brace of aged Italians who, while very friendly and jolly, were bouncing around at such a rate that visions of flying colostomy bags convinced us to stay at safe distance at the back of the bus. Everyone in Malindi is Italian, even the Africans sometimes. You are more likely to receive Ciao as a greeting than Jambo, and many of the locals speak Italian better than English. There are Italian restaurants everywhere and sometimes it's easier to get a cappuccino than a cup of mango juice. Apparently lots of Mafiosi types escaped from Italy to Malindi back in the 60s and the Kenyan government refused to send them back to face justice at home. Considering the amount of cash that they were obviously prepared to invest in the place, it's easy to understand Kenya's tolerant policy, whatever the source of the funds. Nowadays of course, there are far fewer overtly sinister types around, although it's not difficult to spot the odd gangster mumbling gruff orders to some minion after a large plate of pasta arrabiata at a low key street café or bar. The Malindi region is now facing the consequences by having to deal with the Italian interpretation of their fiscal policies and refusal to pay taxes.
But anyway, back to the safari - the kindly Italians in our group were not the sort of people that would leave a horse's head under anyone's duvet, in fact they would be more likely to leave you a pony in the garden as a birthday surprise. They were half blind, pretty unstable on their feet but clearly enjoying their retirement and making the most of it by "doing Africa", presumably before it's too late. They were good company, laughed at each other's jokes, put a brave face on nearly having their liver spots bounced off and didn't once ask for a toilet break. I can only assume that the colostomy bags had stayed intact after all.
Once at the park, there was a brief stop outside the gate at "Crocodile Bay" - a tourist trap and one last opportunity to but carvings and other tat before entering the park. After resisting the usual pressure selling from the ubiquitous stalls, we feigned surprise after being led down to the waters edge and presented with a selection of very lazy and very fat crocs that had patently never had to catch a meal in their lives. "Guides" appeared from all directions with assorted pieces of dead goat, that I presume even they wouldn't eat, which for our amusement, were thrown with theatrically hammed up caution to "Obama", the biggest and most obese of the crocs. If the disgusting offering fell more than 6 inches from it's snout, the beast clearly couldn't be arsed with it so despite the earnest warnings of the feeders we didn't really feel particularly nervous as we stood less that 3-4 meters away. All 4 of the crocodiles we could see had been given names, and I asked what they used to call Obama before the American election results. "Mac" came the immediate reply.

The wife, Obama and another crocodile. (Soz is the one in the middle)

Once our driver had paid for the entrance ticket, (about 50 Euros for the whole bus for 24 hours which I think works out slightly less than Longleat Safari Park), we took off into the park at a similar pace to our journey there, rattling past signs requesting that we respect the 40 Kmh speed limit which disappeared in a cloud of dust a second later. We had been told by the driver that if we wanted to see anything interesting, we had better keep our eyes open and not forget to look in the branches of trees if we were hoping to see any leopards - which, he assured us was extremely unlikely anyway. So on that optimistic note, I grabbed my trusty binoculars and stood up, sticking my head out of the open roof hatch like some kind of Panzer Tank Commander and narrowing my eyes against the flying dust stoically assumed the position of spotter. It must have been at least 5 minutes before I was forced to sit back down. Nostrils caked in the rich red dust of the Tsavo plains and eye sockets bruised from trying to hold the binoculars steady, I realised that if we were going to motor around this place for the next 24 hours, I might as well get comfy and "go with the flow" - hakuna matata and all that...

Gheee, we're on safari!

For the rest of the day we raced along the roads of the parks, and between multiple sightings of Buffalo, Warthogs and Impala, our driver would slam on the brakes at random intervals and stare attentively at a patch of foliage of undergrowth for 30 seconds, like Crocodile Dundee, suck air through gritted teeth and then tear off again without saying a word. Our fellow passengers seemed very understanding and took full responsibility for not seeing anything on these occasions and made of comments about how their eyes weren't what they used to be and did anyone know which direction the were supposed to be looking in. One of the old Italian wives, bless her, on sighting anything dark in colour and larger than a Warthog would exclaim "ELEFANTI!" and clap excitedly.  Her understanding husband would gently correct her most of the time, quietly suggesting that maybe they were actually buffalo and that yes, it is hard to tell when they are nearly 30 feet away. When she mistook a rocky outcrop for yet more "ELEFANTI" he gave up and resorted to the Italian equivalent of "yes dear" for the rest of the journey. My lasting memory of the couple will be of when we pulled up beside a group of 7 or 8 ostriches who were pecking about at the side of the road. They looked like a bunch of cabaret dancers, all legs and immodest feathery coverings over their backsides. Long eyelashes were batted at us as they regarded us with their heads turned side on for a  better view and I was stunned to see that most of them were at least as tall as the bus. They must have been no more than 6 feet away from us and clearly couldn't care less by the way they strolled along so peacefully. "Ostriches? What ostriches?" Was all the elephant spotter could say and at that point I gave up lending her the binoculars.

Bird watching

We saw the disappearing rear ends of most of the "big five" that day. On the rare occasions that our rally style arrival did not startle the animals into flight we were treated to the odd 30 seconds of seeing giraffes and elephants eating rather than escaping and by the end of the first day after suggesting to Colin McCrae more than once that we slow down a bit, I had well and truly established myself as the difficult customer at the back of the bus who "was here to actually see the animals as opposed to ticking a few boxes".

ELEFANTI!!!!

As we neared the exit towards the end of the day, the sight of a cluster of 13 identical minibuses bristling with camera touting tourists let us know that we were approaching something interesting. Sure enough, once we had picked our way through the gridlock and taken position amongst the herd of other Nissans we were treated to the sight of 4 - 5 lionesses babysitting a pair of the cutest cubs I have ever seen. Sozzle went completely gooey and started making some very odd noises, and for the second time in only a few months seemed to exhibit vaguely maternal instincts. To be fair, these cubs were pretty special - they were clearly siblings and very close as they sat in the shade together virtually on top of each other watching the spectacle of all the different minibuses jossling for position on the track in front of them. They even did a couple of yawns for us, to the elation of our Italian companions and much to the relief of our driver who visibly relaxed safe in the knowledge that he had just secured himself his tip for the day.
That night we stayed at Voi Lodge on the edge of the park where we were able to see elephants in the distance from our balcony as the sun went down. We sat in the bar after dinner watching the waterhole and we heard lions roaring in the distance. Apparently a lion's roar can be heard up to 5 miles away by the human ear so they may well have been some distance away. Nevertheless it was still quite thrilling to feel as if we were in the wilderness and relatively close to nature. We reflected a while on what it must have been like for the railway workers sleeping under the stars in the open air listening to the roars in the distance wondering which one of them was going to be picked off that night. Maybe next time, we'll do the camping safari thing - sounds like fun and is probably more exciting that watching the sun go down from an air conditioned room. The sunset is one I'll always remember though, and I'd recommend some kind of safari experience to anyone, though if you go for something cheap and cheerful, be sure to take a your neck brace.