From my previous posts, it may be evident that mzungu life for a fresher in Tanzania can be pretty intense. Way to relax and let down my curly hair? Hujambo S-A-F-A-R-I-!
Myself, Justine and our Croat-Dutch mate Damyan purchased 3 safari hats from the local market, downloaded a Lion King/Toto playlist, found an AUX cord compatible to our khaki Land Cruiser, and signed ourselves up for a four-day expedition to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater with a big game ex-hunter called Godson. Um. Yippee much?
People warn against having really high expectations, for fear of disappointment. Well. Sporting our safari hats, vests and binoculars, the three of us waved goodbye to Arusha in a state of euphoria that did not abate for a single moment of the following 96 hours. Imagine three goons waving their hands out of the popped roof of a 4WD, all to the crescendo of Elton John’s ‘Circle of Life,’ before we had even left the city limits. Poor Godson.
I must say, Godson actually coped with our love of cliché and ability to find our own company extremely hysterical very kindly. The relentless gags may have worked in our favour, as Godson discovered the only time we shut up was when he showed us some awesome animals. In a 48-hour period we saw the Big 5 (elephants, buffalos, rhinoceros, lions and leopards), cheetahs, a million zebras, gazelles, impalas, giraffes, hippos, topis, dik diks, warthogs (I once was a young warthoggg!), jackals, monkeys, flamingos, vultures/herons/stalks/ostriches/owls/too many other birds, dung beetles on dung, and wildebeest migrating. Yes that’s right, we saw some good, good, good, good migrationnnns!
Poor Godson.
As the afternoon sunlight began to fade on our last evening in the Serengeti, Godson must have been really fed up. Why? Because he thrashed our safari vehicle back to a lioness we had been tracking earlier in the day, and this time she was not alone. By not alone, I mean she had gone to pick up her twelve baby cubs to chaperone back to the main pride. May I repeat: TWELVE BABY LION CUBS. If there is anything in the entire universe that is cuter than twelve baby cubs scampering past you only metres away…I will change my name to Godson. Simba, Nala, and ten of their buddies. Right there. My life sort of peaked: I was breathless, melty, in raptures, intoxicated by baby animal.
After the ecstatic palpitations subsided, and the sky reddened behind the acacia trees, we headed back to camp high-fiving and exhilarated. The rice, curious stew, and squishy bananas had never tasted so good, and we crawled into our tents to a chorus of trumpeting elephants, cackling hyenas and lions roaring. Camping in the Serengeti doesn’t make for the best night’s sleep, but it’s certainly an experience. Godson has witnessed three deaths in his 13 years on safari (one 76 year old lady trampled by an elephant, one American tourist disembowelled by an elephant tusk, and one English hunter ripped apart by a buffalo), but all of these tragedies were due to various reckless behaviours. Inside your tents, the animals will not bother you. You just can’t take any food into your tent, go pee during the night, or get too close. The thought of an elephant outside stomping on my skull didn’t enter my mind more than 756 times. We whispered a lot of Hakuna Matatas to will ourselves into slumber.
After two nights of Bear Grylls’ style lodgings with the beasts in the Serengeti, we checked into a lodge at Ngorongoro Crater for our last eve of safari. Lodges in any of the decent game parks are cringey expensive, but hell worth every last dollar. That hot shower, leather sofa, and beverage on the balcony of the Crater rim were magic. Also knowing that there was nothing prowling by your sleeping head made for the best forty winks in the world. We blissed out.
Safari in Swahili means ‘trip.’ No kidding, We rafikis are still tripping about the week that was, and Damyan the baboon is still wearing his safari hat. Get thee to the Serengeti.
Myself, Justine and our Croat-Dutch mate Damyan purchased 3 safari hats from the local market, downloaded a Lion King/Toto playlist, found an AUX cord compatible to our khaki Land Cruiser, and signed ourselves up for a four-day expedition to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater with a big game ex-hunter called Godson. Um. Yippee much?
People warn against having really high expectations, for fear of disappointment. Well. Sporting our safari hats, vests and binoculars, the three of us waved goodbye to Arusha in a state of euphoria that did not abate for a single moment of the following 96 hours. Imagine three goons waving their hands out of the popped roof of a 4WD, all to the crescendo of Elton John’s ‘Circle of Life,’ before we had even left the city limits. Poor Godson.
I must say, Godson actually coped with our love of cliché and ability to find our own company extremely hysterical very kindly. The relentless gags may have worked in our favour, as Godson discovered the only time we shut up was when he showed us some awesome animals. In a 48-hour period we saw the Big 5 (elephants, buffalos, rhinoceros, lions and leopards), cheetahs, a million zebras, gazelles, impalas, giraffes, hippos, topis, dik diks, warthogs (I once was a young warthoggg!), jackals, monkeys, flamingos, vultures/herons/stalks/ostriches/owls/too many other birds, dung beetles on dung, and wildebeest migrating. Yes that’s right, we saw some good, good, good, good migrationnnns!
Poor Godson.
As the afternoon sunlight began to fade on our last evening in the Serengeti, Godson must have been really fed up. Why? Because he thrashed our safari vehicle back to a lioness we had been tracking earlier in the day, and this time she was not alone. By not alone, I mean she had gone to pick up her twelve baby cubs to chaperone back to the main pride. May I repeat: TWELVE BABY LION CUBS. If there is anything in the entire universe that is cuter than twelve baby cubs scampering past you only metres away…I will change my name to Godson. Simba, Nala, and ten of their buddies. Right there. My life sort of peaked: I was breathless, melty, in raptures, intoxicated by baby animal.
After the ecstatic palpitations subsided, and the sky reddened behind the acacia trees, we headed back to camp high-fiving and exhilarated. The rice, curious stew, and squishy bananas had never tasted so good, and we crawled into our tents to a chorus of trumpeting elephants, cackling hyenas and lions roaring. Camping in the Serengeti doesn’t make for the best night’s sleep, but it’s certainly an experience. Godson has witnessed three deaths in his 13 years on safari (one 76 year old lady trampled by an elephant, one American tourist disembowelled by an elephant tusk, and one English hunter ripped apart by a buffalo), but all of these tragedies were due to various reckless behaviours. Inside your tents, the animals will not bother you. You just can’t take any food into your tent, go pee during the night, or get too close. The thought of an elephant outside stomping on my skull didn’t enter my mind more than 756 times. We whispered a lot of Hakuna Matatas to will ourselves into slumber.
After two nights of Bear Grylls’ style lodgings with the beasts in the Serengeti, we checked into a lodge at Ngorongoro Crater for our last eve of safari. Lodges in any of the decent game parks are cringey expensive, but hell worth every last dollar. That hot shower, leather sofa, and beverage on the balcony of the Crater rim were magic. Also knowing that there was nothing prowling by your sleeping head made for the best forty winks in the world. We blissed out.
Safari in Swahili means ‘trip.’ No kidding, We rafikis are still tripping about the week that was, and Damyan the baboon is still wearing his safari hat. Get thee to the Serengeti.
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