Giraffic Park

Paula Calls it “Giraffic Park.”

Butcher birds. They skewer their bait on a thorn and save the kills to eat later.

Small thistle trees are thick on the side of a hill. The branches are short and packed with needles and dark hollow balls that house ant colonies. Moses pulls the jeep along side a tree. It’s barely as tall as the wheels and as Moses pulls on one of the long thorns, ants swarm out of the ball. Moses says they emit a nasty smell to keep animals away. The holes in the balls make a whistle when the wind passes bye. The giraffe are experts at eating the tiny leaves and don’t bother the ants.

Moses drives around the trees in a zig zag up the hill occasionally running over one of the smaller ones. They pop up defiantly behind us as we move up the hill.

Ah giraffe. It’s a family. They are vaguely curious about the small jeep but, without a natural predator, indifferent to us. With a slow glance, they return to feeding on the trees or move further up the hill.

We can see LeDoux, Annie, and the boys walking across the plain and all giraffe necks turn lazily to watch the low creatures make their way past.

We end the day with drinks in hand on one of the volcanic hills overlooking the valley. Nothing man-made can be seen forever. It’s a revelation.