Wattled Starlings—light grey with yellow around the eyes.
Bats have been reported in rooms, but so far, my roommate, Elena, and I haven’t been visited. Not true for Paula and Hilary. They share our house and had a bat this morning. Hilary’s named him George Clooney.
“You wouldn’t mind having him visit your bedroom,” she said.
After breakfast of papaya, mango, oranges, cereal, eggs, toast, muffins, sausage, bacon, coffee and tea, I talk with Wilson, the chef, and Isaac, who work in the kitchen.
He tells me that he thinks Al Gore is a good man.
“Yes,” I say, “He would have been a great president.”
Isaac, a guide, thinks that Gore can’t ever be the president because he lost an election, but I assure them that he could. He should.
I say, “We don’t like George Bush.” That’s probably not true of everyone on the trip, but I’m generalizing in Africa.
“How is your president?” I ask.
“He is a good man,” says Wilson. He explains that at least this Kenyan president spends some of the country’s development money on the people.
“Corruption is always a problem,” adds Isaac.
Sandor calls for a morning game drive.
We’re a little tired after an afternoon game drive under the African sun. Driving toward Kilimanjaro, Ron yelps as a butterfly flies into his face, searing his cheek. We’re looking at Ron when tiny specks in the distance suddenly grow. Our first herd of Zebra. And Gazelle. Wildebeest. Hartebeest. There were none and then there were many. I know Zebra from zoos and pictures. But they look more unnatural in the wild. Like black and white striped cartoon animals sticking out from the green. Moses points out the Wildebeest and Hartebeest before giving us a lesson.
Kongoni or Coke’s hartebeest can go up to two months without water. On the open plains we see two light brown and white rumps. The one with the bulging sides is pregnant. The other might be the mate. We like to think they are partners.
Zebra are non-ruminant animals like horses, and wildebeest are ruminants like cows. The animals graze together because they eat different parts of the grass. Their teeth grow in the opposite direction so they aren’t competing for the same food.
Zebras live in family groups with the stallions at the head. Their call of flight and call to gather the herd sounds like a donkey’s bray. At least the movie donkeys that I’m familiar with. Zebra stripes are like fingerprints. Moses says that the black stripes have fat underneath them that absorb heat and the white stripes repel heat so they regulate their temperature, making them drought resistant.
Africa is an evolution soup.
Bethlehem skies flood the plains as light filters through the clouds. We are surrounded by hundreds of Zebras. Two little ones wag their striped tales against their striped butts. We drive closer and a group of black and white heads looks up and walk toward us.
Everyone can’t help but squeak, “They’re so cute.”
Another mighty and goofy wildebeest shows up and bucks and twists as he runs. It’s a crazy, energy wasting way to move, more like be-wilder-beast, comic and outrageous. Legend has it that the wildebeest was the last of God’s creations so was made with the spare parts of other animals. Its head is a buffalo’s. The lump on its back is a cow’s. And it runs like a horse.
The herd is on the move as a low thunder of hooves surrounds us like wind would sound if it landed.
Moses tells us that the Burchell zebra, or common zebra, were named after the first naturalist to visit South Africa in the early 1800s, William John Burchell. The Grevy zebra was named after the President of France in 1882, Jules Grevy. I have lots of questions, but I let them go not wanting to break the spell the zebras have over me.
On our way to the lodge, back to the now-familiar trees of the Chyulu Hills, we see a bright blue roller and an orange bird with a long beak. Moses picks up a dung beetle for Ron.
From the elephant to the beetle, it’s as if the baffling worlds of cosmology and molecular biology surrounds and confounds us at every turn.
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.
Ron spies what he thinks is a small animal but turns out to be a pile of elephant dung. We stop the jeep and look down. Dung beetles are working on the pile rolling the dung into perfect balls. They use their back legs to push the balls of dung down the road until they find a good place to lay their eggs.
We approach another Land Rover and Moses talks to the driver who has seen elephants. After driving in small circles over bushes and trees trampled by an elephant and littered with dung near by, we turn a corner and stop short. 100 yards away stands an elephant. He raises his trunk in alarm and a trumpet of anger and warning comes our way.
I’m terrified. Moses turns off the engine.
Clare wants to know if the elephant is mad. In a loud whisper, Pamela tells Clare to be quiet. I’m thinking that if it’s like a dog, the elephant knows I’m scared. Will it charge? It’s so close and my heart is pounding so hard I think the jeep is rocking. Suddenly there is a rustling from a tree that I didn’t notice until it starts to make noise. Another elephant emerges aggressively rubbing the tree with his body. Once he clears the tree in front of us, he backs up and shits. Great, two elephants to attack us. I see two tusked elephants on the day of arrival and we’re tragically stampeded to death.
I’m thinking how ironic this is when the elephants start butting into each other.
Clare asking Pam in a loud whisper, “Are they playing or fighting?”
“Are they playing or fighting?”
“Are they playing or fighting?”
Pam says, “Fighting.”
They push their enormous bulk into each other, clashing tusks and flapping their ears. 
Their mighty legs push first in one direction and then another. Acacia trees tremble. Their movements are strangely quiet except for what Clare later describes as the hollow sound of tusks cracking together like baseball bats. Moses says they are adolescent males fighting for dominance. This becomes a theme during our trip.
We can’t take our eyes off the slow motion battle of bulk. One of the elephants grabs a chunk of tree and throws it.
Ron whispers, “He just threw a tree at him!”
My fear changes to excitement as the elephant battle moves further into the bush. When separated, their heads roll around, their ears flap and tusks rise and fall in circles in the air. The fight continues.
Moses starts the engine and we move closer.
Kenya, Africa.
My terror of flying was exhausted after 18 hours in the air, so I was almost calm on the 45-minute puddle jumper from Nairobi to ol donyo wuas in southern Kenya even with the wind taking fierce stabs at the plane.
Twenty-five hours to get here and what a here to be. Green and noisy with life: birds, bugs, green plains stretch out dotted with trees and then the hills. The pilot, James, says the hills are covered with green Acacia trees and bushes because of a steady cloud cover. Where the clouds end on the Chyulu Hills, the tree line ends abruptly and the plains begin. It’s nothing like I expected Africa to look. It’s the end of the rainy season and the earth is full.
Africa. The cradle of civilization. The mother of us all. With one exception, the dominance of Mount Kilimanjaro in the distance is Africa’s son (it’s in Tanzania).
