Traveling Africa

Street Surgery in Mozambique

2012-02-20T16:30:00.002-08:00

My Tent on Lake Malawi before the accident

I was on the tail end of a thirty day trip that took me from South Africa, through Botswana, parts of Zimbabwe, north through Zambia and all the way up to Malawi then back south via Mozambique which is where the accident happened. We were on our way to the market. I was in the back of the truck when I reached out with my left hand to grab the door handle so that I could close it. I was leaning on my right hand which was in the hinge of the door. Should I have grabbed the door handle myself to close the door I would have moved my right hand but that didn’t happen. My guide pushed, with all his might, the door closed not knowing my right hand was in the hinge. I tried to get my hand out of the way in time but failed. As I pulled my hand, the closing door ripped the skin back on my ring finger. I was shocked but tried not to cause a scene and walked quickly back to the lockers to retrieve my medical kit but soon realized what supplies I did had was not enough to handle the job at hand. Thankfully, also on that trip was a doctor. He knew something was wrong when the small bandage I had covered my right hand with became quickly covered in blood. Calmly, he got out his medical kit which was the real deal; large and filled with supplies.

The whole time this was going on in the back of the truck we were moving, my driver completely unaware of the situation in the back of his truck. Our destination was the market of Inhambane, Mozambique and it wasn’t until we reached that market that the guide realized the situation. By then, the doctor had assessed my hand. He got a needle out which he filled with a substance that he said was going to deaden my finger so that he can sew it back up but suggested we move to the street for better lighting.

I had no choice than to let him do what he deemed necessary. Looking around I was sure that his supplies were probably as good as, if not better than, any I would have found in a clinic in Imhambane. Once we got street side he gave me a shot in my finger then waited a few minutes before beginning to sew up the wound, telling me I was lucky not to have torn any tendons. I had just stripped back the skin of my right ring finger about an inch.

Street Side Scenery in Zambia

A couple of stitches into the twelve I ultimately received, I realized a crowd had formed; there must have been fifteen or twenty people, mostly kids, watching us. A translator related they figured we were doing some kind of magic or were miracle workers. They could not understand how I could take that pain without so much as flinching.

The doctor gave me a pill for pain. Between the adrenalin of being hurt and the pill I was not feeling anything. And since we were right there at this fabulous market, there was no reason to let the moment waste so I went in shopping after I was sewn up. The group of kids that watched my street surgery followed me around that market like I was a goddess. It made shopping a bit difficult but I did end up buying a nice handmade basket that I still cherish today. (I see you shaking your head. Surely you know, there isn't much that can keep a girl from her shopping..., even stitches!)

That night, camping on the beach of Mozambique, I saw my first ever shooting star. I made a wish that is yet to come true. Thinking back maybe it wasn’t a shooting star after all but the visions of a girl who had street surgery in Mozambique medicated by a tourist doctor. Regardless, every day I spend in Africa is a special day – even this one! It was a day I won’t forget and if I look hard to find it, I have a scar that will always remind me of the day I had surgery on the streets of Mozambique.

Kruger, My Backyard - Floods of 2012

2012-02-17T13:19:00.000-08:00

Lower Sabie Camp

I have had some of the most amazing times in Kruger National Park located in the Northwest corner of the country of South Africa. The park is about the size of the State of Massachusetts but the land – the wilderness area in which the animals roam – is much bigger expanding into the countries of Mozambique and Zimbabwe. My first visit to Kruger was short, only a night, during my first ever trip to Africa back in 2001. I was with a group that camped in Lower Sabie campsite. During that trip I had amazing animal encounters and fell in love with the beauty that was Africa. I was hooked on Africa for sure but particularly so on Kruger National Park.

A Flooded Roadway

When I went back to live in South Africa during my 2001/2002 sabbatical, I was intent on going back to Kruger and did just that. I hired a private driver/guide and stayed in several different camps. I saw much more of the park and had many more exhilarating animal encounters. On that trip I learned about the floods of 2000. There were several markers throughout the park that showed the levels the water reached during that disaster. Pictures of the high water and the damage the water did were framed and hung at camps throughout.

Since then, I have been back to Kruger five times more. Four of those trips I was completely on my own and on the fifth it was just Michael and I driving myself and ourselves amongst the great wildlife of Kruger. I have stayed at almost every camp in the park from north to south. South Africa is like a second home to me and Kruger like my backyard which is why in late January when the park suffered from torrential downpours resulting in devastating floods – some say worse than those of 2000 - I could not stay away from the Sanparks web site, Facebook page and various Twitter feeds on the subject to see photos and hear the latest news. Water in Lower Sabie camp was up to the windows of cars. Water at Skukuza camp was up to the restaurants’ deck rushing by carrying whole trees with it that the current had forced down. Tourists had to be rescued from flooded roadways. Tshokwane picnic site was terribly damaged. Roads were washed away. Bridge railings were taken by the power of the water. I wanted to go and help clean up my back yard but was useless from afar. All I could do was keep tuned to the latest news and be grateful for social media so that I felt close and informed.

The Aftermath at Tshokwane Picnic Site

I am thrilled to say that less than a month later the park has almost returned to normal. Water levels have receded albeit leaving much debris behind. All of the camps have reopened even though a few of the accommodations within the camps are unavailable to guests due to damage. The staff at Kruger has gone above and beyond to get things back to normal.

I guess there will be more official markers placed showing the water levels of the floods of 2012. I hope to see them and the park I love so much in person sometime soon. In the meantime I say thank you to the staff of Kruger for cleaning up my backyard. I wish I could have been there to help!

Up Close and Personal with Elephants

2012-02-05T12:14:00.000-08:00

Photo Curtesy of Dr. Andreas Frank

One of the reasons I went to Africa the first time was to see elephants in the wild. With eleven trips now under my belt, I have had the pleasure of many amazing elephant encounters. With elephants being the largest land mammal roaming the earth, people are surprised to discover they are not one of the most dangerous. That is because elephants speak to you. They let you know if they are in a good mood or bad. They tell you when you get within their comfort zone. They show you their baby and ask you politely not to get too close. You, as the tourist, the visitor into their world, have to know how to speak their language and interpret their signs.

On my recent trip to Botswana, we were on a game drive in an open vehicle when we came upon a breeding herd of elephants with babies in tow. Before getting too close, we stopped our truck and remained quiet and still. The elephants too stopped. They faced us then slowly and deliberately moved towards us. The herd parted, elephants walked on both sides of our vehicle. When they had us completely surrounded, many turned to face us.

Photo Curtesy of Dr. Andreas Frank

Regardless of how many times I have been this close to wild elephants, this encounter made my heart race; there were so many and they were so close. But I, as well as my guide, read their signals and looked for signs of aggression or anger. The elephants flapped their ears normally. Babies nursed. Some elephants ate from the bushes nearby. Many were completely uninterested and moved about on the exterior of the circle that surrounded us. Except for an occasional soft belly rumble, they were a quiet crowd. All indications showed they were not threatened by us at all; instead they were quite curious so we sat silently and watched.

On each side of our truck there was a young male elephant that showed us how brave they were by inching closer and closer to us. The one on the left reached out with his trunk and touched our guide. The one on the right – the side I was sitting on – reached out with his trunk but never touched, only smelled, trying to decipher what we were.

Photo Curtesy of Dr. Andreas Frank

It was discovered by Joyce Poole, an elephant researcher in Amboseli, Kenya, that elephants make a subsonic sound that is too low for us to hear. That must have been how this herd communicated it was time for them to move on because as suddenly as this great encounter started, it was over. They each packed up their trunks and moved on not even saying goodbye or nice to meet you.

I won’t soon forget this encounter realizing it was safe because the herd was peaceful and we properly read their signals. I look forward to the next opportunity to watch these amazing creatures. I will do so with the greatest of respect, curiosity and admiration for the largest land mammal roaming our earth.

Africa's people

2012-01-12T13:38:00.000-08:00

My Tanzanian Guide

Michael and I had a conversation with a local man at a lodge in Botswana. He was jovial with a big bold laugh and excited to chat with us about life in the United States verses life in Botswana. It was clear he loved his homeland. He recognized Botswana’s beauty and the rarity of the abundance of wildlife and wild land in his country. And although he knew financial opportunities were greater elsewhere in the world, he had no desires to leave or raise his children anywhere other than Botswana.

Just jumpin around with Maasai

I asked him about the education system in his country. He told me he must pay only a small amount per school term for his children to attend as long as his kids maintained passing grades. Should a child fail a grade, the parents then have to pay a much higher fee for the child to repeat that term and continue to pay that higher fee up until that child improves his or her grades. I was impressed. This system encourages parents to get involved with their child’s education since they literally have a vested interest.

In Zimbabwe, we conversed with a local fisherman who was born and raised there. He told us despite the struggles in his country; he had no intention of leaving as there was no better place to fish and no country in the world as beautiful as his.

Many believe the people of these “third world” countries would climb mountains and valleys, swim crocodile infested rivers to leave and come to a country such as the United States but that simply isn’t true. And many falsely think the people in a country like Zimbabwe - with its political turmoil and dictator president - are all miserable or can’t imagine that a country such as Botswana would have such an innovative approach to education.

Hanging with Himba

For the last ten years I have spent time in Africa; eleven trips now – thirteen countries. The reasons I continue to go back are the same reasons many people that live there have no desire to leave. Africa is diverse, wild and beautiful. African people – and I realize that is a very general term – are inspirational. They have had to find unique ways of dealing with day to day struggles. They fight hard to make sure their situations improve and that their children are educated. People have hope and are motivated like none other given an opportunity to improve their lives. African people are some of the most generous I have ever encountered – even if they have nothing to give, they still give; even if it is of their time, a smile or kind words. They are thrilled to chat; quick to smile, laugh often and don’t take life too seriously. And they love and are proud of their homelands.

Our Guide on the Namibia trip

Our media is guilty of showing only three things about Africa; war, famine and animals. Reality is there are so many more dimensions to these places and people. I am a better person today for having spent as much time in Africa as I have, encountering the people of her land. I could fill pages and pages of this blog going into detail about the many wonderful Africans I have had the pleasure of getting to know; black, white, rich, poor, educated and not – each offering me lessons in life I walk with every day. I hope - through this blog - I open your mind to a reality of Africa you didn’t realize existed; maybe even entice you to plan a trip so you can see the wonders of Africa for yourself.

African Five Steppers

2012-01-08T12:19:00.000-08:00

In Africa, there are many snakes that some call “five steppers” meaning you has five steps to take after being bitten before you die. It’s a bit extreme and perhaps exaggerated however there are indeed many snakes in Africa that will kill you, or, if not kill you, cause you great pain and harm. You have to stay aware of your surroundings while there.
Only four days into this recent trip, a camp mate had already seen a bush snake near the toilet and Michael and I an egg eating adder so snakes were on our minds but easily forgotten as the days drifted by and the relaxed environment of Africa began to flow through our veins.

At a camp in Maun, Botswana that seemed safe from wild animals, it had already been decided that we were going to sleep in the open without a tent so we put our mats and mattresses on the grass veld then proceeded to the makeshift bar for an evening cocktail; some scurried off to the showers.

Michael was already at the bar when I headed that way using my flashlight to light my steps when suddenly I froze. There, in my path, was a large snake coiled up enjoying the warmth of the rocks that lay defining the way to the bar. I remained still and calm but kept my light on the snake while calling for Michael and the bar man (who was managing this camp) to come and identify the snake. I called out only as loud as I needed to so as not to disturb the snake, “Michael. Snake.”

Both Michael and the bar man came rushing just as the snake slithered off towards the rocks nearby. The snake seemingly uncoiled for a long time revealing a long thick body. The guys arrived as the snake began to slither into a crack bewtween two large boulders. At first they thought it to be a black mamba which sent me into a bit of a panic because a black mamba is not only deadly but also very aggressive. A second look assured everyone this was a Mozambique spitting cobra instead; a venomous snake indeed but much less of a danger than a black mamba.

I felt somewhat privileged to see this snake peacefully in my path but silently was a bit nervous too. At the bar my camp mate expressed that she was quite worried about the fact that I just came across a venomous snake at night in the same vicinity that she was considering sleeping in the open without a tent. I assured her that Michael and I were still going to sleep in the open and that this snake would not bother her in the night…. In truth and honesty, I needed assuring too, but I had to believe what I had read and the studied that these snakes would simply crawl over you in the night as opposed to bite you while you are sleeping. They would only bite a human if threatened.

Africa – she’s a true test of your belief, will and mind power…. She takes over your being and makes you a stronger person whether you are in for it or not!!! If you are going to Africa, you had better be in for it.

I think I need a BIGGER Boat!

2012-01-02T13:44:00.000-08:00

On any visit to the Okavango Delta in Botswana - regardless of the kind of trip - you are likely to end up in a Mokoro, (a boat carved from a tree) in the flooded waterways. On our recent trip, we took a single engine Cessna from Maun over the amazing Okavango Delta; a flight lasting about forty five minutes to a village called Serongo, which is in the handle of this pan shaped flood plain. Once in Serongo, we boarded a truck that took us to a remote location where our Mokoro and polers awaited us. (A poler is a person who pushes the boat along with a long pole he or she shoves into the floor of the waterway.) Our polers grew up on this land and in these waters. They expertly balanced these boats making it seem easy but it isn’t – it is a talent for sure. These guys also knew the water and its inhabitants quite well including the one inhabitant I was scared to come in contact with; hippo!

Mine and Michael’s poler was Kendro. Right off the bat I made it clear to Kendro that I did not want to come close to hippo for a photo or any other reason. I made him aware I was very afraid of them and he did a great job of respecting that fear; keeping us as far away as possibly. Sometime it wasn’t possible to keep as far away as I wanted but Kendro tried, giving the hippo a wide berth when we came upon them.

We rode the mokoro to a remote camp where we stayed for several days enjoying the quaint, quiet beauty the Okavango offers. But soon it was time to board our mokoro again with all of our belongings to traverse the waterways back to Serongo. These boats, when going long distances in the shallow waters of the Delta, follow paths in the reeds made by hippo and elephant. We were following such a path when the lead poler began to shout, “Mr. Elephant. Hello. This is Tobias speaking. I respect that you are strong and dangerous but we need to get by.” The elephant that was in our path moved on. I was quite impressed with the communication between human and animal.

Photo Courtesy of Dr. Andreas Frank

We proceeded forth. The reeds became very tall where I could not see what was beyond the next curve. Suddenly the line of mokoro stopped and again Tobias began to shout, ‘Hello Mr. Elephant. This is Tobias. We need you to please move as we need to get by.” It worked once so I was expecting it to work again when suddenly all hell broke loose. I heard what sounded like a hundred elephants stomping in the water. The polers began to shove their poles into the floor of the waterway in reverse, each moving their mokoro quickly backward towards our mokoro. The elephant trumpeted. I had absolutely no time to even contemplate what was happening until it was over. We had been mock charged by this huge male elephant that by no means cared he was in our path or that Tobias was speaking to him; only that we were in his path and he was not happy about that fact.

He stopped charging and as quickly as it began, it was over and the elephant went about eating. At that point, I could hear the elephant splashing as he moved through the tall reeds but still could not see him. The polers, feeling the danger was averted, began again to proceed forth down the path. My heart raced and breathing stopped as we approached the bend in the reeds that was close to the giant mammal, me sitting two inches from the water level in this vulnerable wooden makeshift boat looking up at this huge elephant. It wasn’t until we were way past him that my heart slowed and I began to breathe again.

Humble pie is what I ate that day. In that situation I knew I was not in control of my destiny. Control was given to the poler, the elephant and the powers that be.

I have had several close calls now in the waters of Africa. I have said before that I was not going back in the African waterways with hippo and now I can say with elephant either, but I do seem to always end up back there. Now I believe I have truly pushed my luck. Maybe I will go in the water again with hippo and elephant but like in the movie Jaws; I think I need a BIGGER BOAT!!!!!

Welcome 2012!

2012-01-01T12:13:00.000-08:00

Maun Camp - New Year's Eve 2001

In many ways it seems like just yesterday that I was in Maun, Botswana at a camp celebrating the arrival of 2002 at a long table with travel mates from around the world drinking a spiked watermelon and listening to African music while watching a couple of drunk crazy people - at the stroke of midnight - jump into a potentially crocodile and hippopotamus infested river. That was ten years ago. Much has happened since then; I survived cancer, I have three cats and am a converted cat lover (bordering hoarder), I have two books on the market and my hair is much longer than back then when I had a whim to cut it all off before heading off into the African bush. Many things are the same too; my bichon TT is now sixteen but hanging tough, I still live in East Atlanta and my immediate family is still healthy and happy.

Michael and I were just at that very camp; the same camp of my December 31, 2001 New Year’s celebration. It has been updated and added on to, but is still very much the same camp still sitting on the edge of the Boteti River.

The Pier at Sunset December 31, 2001

Each of the now eleven trips I have taken to Africa; whether it is Kruger National Park in South Africa, Victoria Falls in Botswana, Antananarivo, Madagascar or simply that transient camp in Maun, I treat it as my last trip; my last time seeing that place. Ten years ago I could have never imagined I would be back at that riverside camp in Maun much less with a travel companion; my crazy and so lovable Michael. But there I was. The dock Michael fished off us on our recent trip was a bit more rickety; the grounds of the camp greener than I remembered. I am now ten years older and hopefully ten years wiser but having just as much fun as I did back on that New Year’s Eve 2001!

Michael Fishing at that same pier - Nov. 2011

The irony of being back to that camp in Botswana ten years later made me wonder where I will be when I ring in the New Year of 2022? Perhaps I will be running that camp. Perhaps I will have my own B&B in Africa, perhaps I will have won the lottery and have homes in many great destinations around the world. Perhaps I will still be right here in East Atlanta reminiscing about yet another great trip to Africa or some other amazing destination around the world. Maybe TT will have outlived all Bichons and still be with me at the ripe old age of twenty six hanging out with Boo, Caquita, Bella, Michael and I.

Who really knows what will transpire in the next ten years. All I can do is enjoy and appreciate each and every day that I get always progressing and learning and taking on new challenges that keep me motivated and excited about life; the one and only life I get.

Enjoy 2012. Happy New Year.

Sleeping Under the African Stars

2011-12-30T11:23:00.000-08:00

When I speak of sleeping in a tent in Africa amongst the wild animals, many think I have lost my mind. They really shake their heads when I tell them that several nights on my recent trip to Botswana I slept in the open with not even a tent.

Photo Courtesy of Dr. Andreas Frank

One such opportunity was in the Makgadikgadi Pans, a salt pan so large it is clearly visible from Google Earth or any other aerial shot over northern Botswana. I was told the only real danger in the area was of mosquito or ostrich visiting in the night. (Only occasionally does a lion or hyena wander by.) It was windy so mosquitos were grounded and as far as ostrich I learned that if I lay still on my stomach they cannot do much harm however may do the tango on my back.

There was a light breeze all night that kept the temperature perfect; a respite from the days extreme heat. I awoke several times, not because my sleep was disturbed, but because I wanted to take it all in. At midnight my eyes opened to a bright moon illuminating the blowing reeds. A few hours later I awoke again. The moon had set leaving a plethora of stars shining brilliantly and hanging low over my head like a chandelier from the heavens. By five in the morning the warm sun was beginning to rise in complete silence; I could almost hear the chill rushing off with the waning night. Fading stars and a faint horizon was all that was visible in every direction.

It was one of the most peaceful nights of my life. Nothing came; not even a buzzing mosquito or a dancing ostrich.

Did Mosquitos Save Wildlife?

2011-12-13T16:07:00.000-08:00

While sitting around camp during the heat of the day in the Seronga area of the Okavango Delta in Botswana, casually conversing with my guide, an interesting theory was proposed. Did malaria save the wildlife in areas such as the one we were in? At first blush it sounded like a far-fetched theory, but this guy was very knowledgeable and had piqued my interest enough by his proposal to cause me to sit up in my hammock and ask for more information.

The guide asked me, knowing my vast knowledge of Africa, if I had noticed that the areas with the most wildlife today are all in malaria areas; Maasai Mara in Kenya, Serengeti in Tanzania, Okavango Delta in Botswana and so many more in Africa and around the world. It was not a thought that had ever crossed my mind nor a theory every suggested to me. I had also never read anything of the sort in the many magazines or books on the subjects of Africa or African wildlife but was intrigued. He continued with his theory; me now on the edge of my hammock listening intently.

Hunters of days gone by, he explained, could only go into malaria areas for about one month a year; the coldest month, the only month without malaria carrying mosquitos during a time before Malaria prophylactics meaning if the hunters came any of the other months, it was like committing malaria suicide. Since these hunters were only killing animals for about one month a year, the animals had another eleven months to flourish and breed in peace therefore their numbers recovered easily and they thrived and still thrive today. During that time, the other eleven months of the year hunters went to areas where malaria was not prevalent. These areas were eventually hunted to the point of the depletion of all of the wildlife and still today do not contain animals unless the animals were reintroduced and the land is contained in some manner.

When explained in that fashion it seems completely possible that indeed mosquitos saved the wildlife in some of the most amazing places today to visit and observe the world’s most incredible animals in their natural environment.

Cheers to the mosquito! And thank you to my guide for introducing me to a theory I would have never contemplated.

Fishing with Hippos

2011-12-03T14:50:00.000-08:00

Fishing is a passion Michael and I share. Being around so much water in northern Botswana and Zimbabwe spurred the passion during this portion of our trip. With the help of a lovely woman at our Zimbabwean lodge, we found a man to take us fishing in Victoria Falls. We didn’t know who this guy was just that he came with excellent references. Neither did we know where he was going to take us fishing; just he would pick us up at seven in the morning. I was concerned. I have been on the water with hippo – the animal that kills more people than any other in Africa – way too many times during my African travels and I began to feel, years ago, that I was pushing my luck so, in the back of my mind, I hoped we were going fishing in a small hippo-less pond.

Our fishing guide arrived right on time that morning. He picked us up in a silver older model SUV. A man of few words in the beginning, we left the lodge and proceeded down the road, avoiding warthogs that were casually parading down the main road. After driving only a few miles, he turned off onto a lovely piece of property along a waterway that was a next to a private restaurant/bar. I knew the water I was looking at was the Zambezi River and I knew it contained hippo but I felt this man must, in all of his experience of fishing in Zimbabwe and on the Zambezi, know how to avoid the beasts that I feared so greatly!

He loaded us, a tackle box, several rods and reels, and a cooler onto a small motor boat and off we went down this very wide portion of the Zambezi River. Much to my delight there were no hippos in sight. Our guide stopped the boat at a beautiful spot where we learned his tricks for tiger fishing and cast our reels. We fished this spot for a while with no luck. After about thirty minutes the guide suggested we head to another spot in the opposite direction, passing the place where we began the journey.

Michael and I were sitting in the back of the boat in swivel seats facing the rear. The guide sped up and swerved to the left casually hugging a bank a bit. I noticed the pod of hippos that was now to our left, the bank on our right. Just as I noticed the hippos and not three seconds after we passed them, a huge male hippo – the biggest I have ever seen - catapulted out of the water in the wake of our boat, three quarters of his enormous body came completely out of the water. Michael and I both saw him. Simultaneously our mouths gaped open and we turned to look at one another in complete astonishment. (For me it was complete horror.) I knew this hippos’ intention was to get us out of his territory and he was going to do that by flipping our boat then biting the first one of us he came to in half. He was only three seconds too late in accomplishing his goal.

I was stunned dumb. We stopped further down the river and cast the lines out in this new location but I was not a relaxed fisherman. I had lost my ability to think about anything but hippo. There was another hippo not far; albeit a sleeping peaceful one. But I could not stop watching him. I watched him while casting my line but was more interested in him than fishing. Then our fishing guide went to start the motor of the boat to relocate us and the motor would not start. He did get it started after a few tries but that did me in. I had visions of us in a crippled boat floating into a hippo pod. I could even see the story appearing on the next episode of the show I Shouldn’t Be Alive, two American tourist boat capsized by a rouge hippo on the Zambezi River.

I turned to Michael and said, “I can’t find my spit and I need to pee.” I asked our guide to please take me back to shore which he did. I stayed up at the restaurant and read while he and Michael fished more.

That evening we went back to that same restaurant with some locals and enjoyed a wonderful braai (bar-b-q). I was telling the story of the hippo and said the only person I knew of that survived a hippo attack was that guy Paul who appeared on many shows telling his story. One of them said, “Yeah, that happened right out here,” Pointing to where we had been fishing that morning.

I think now I am truly done with hippo. Never say never, but I don’t think I will ever be in the water with hippo again. I have truly pushed my luck!

Back from Africa... and so distressed!

2011-11-29T13:59:00.000-08:00

A week ago I returned from my most recent trip to Africa. Normally when I return I am fired up to write, but this time it actually took me a couple of days to even go through the things I brought back or reminisce about the trip at all. I even refrained from walking my dog in fear of running into someone who would ask about the trip. For during that first forty-eight hours I was too distraught to answer the looming questions.

Did I have a horrible time? No. Was my life threatened while there? No. Was there a scary moment with an animal that this time I didn’t think I would survive – well actually yes, but that isn’t what was wrong. What was wrong – what was realized within an hour of getting home was that a memory card containing over nine hundred photos from all but the last four days of the trip was not where it was supposed to be. It was lost.

I knew immediately what had happened although I can’t be one hundred percent sure. I was aware of the placement of that chip each moment. As aware as I was of where my passport was or where my money was. Those were the three things of most importance but rising above them all was that memory card. Take anything else. Everything else was replaceable but the photos were not.

TSA does an additional screening at the Delta gate in Johannesburg. It’s thorough and appreciated knowing you are about to fly fifteen hours; mostly over water. But this TSA agent accidentally or on purpose failed to put back into my bag what meant the most to me at the moment; a small beige zippered pouch containing only that memory card. Okay, so there is a small chance that somewhere between the Drifter’s Lodge in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe and the Johannesburg, South Africa Drifter’s Lodge (via a British Airways flight) that it could have gone missing, but as close as I watched that memory card; feeling regularly of the bag to make double sure the card was still there, I find it hard to believe but acknowledge the possibility.

Oh the lost photos that at the moment I can only describe to you; our air mattress laying lonely in the vast openness of the Makgadikgadi Pans after a night of sleeping under the stars, standing at the end of the pier on the Boteti River proudly holding the bass I unexpectedly caught while holding the rod for Michael as he ran off for a second, the young leopard who we almost missed except he poked his head from a dried watering hole to see if we were something worth hunting, beautiful birds, and ahhh, believe it or not, three of the big five in one shot; lion, buffalo and elephant. I am sick to death.

In the last week, I have left a cookie crumb trail from Zimbabwe to Atlanta hoping beyond hope someone finds this and successfully reconnects it to me. It’s priceless. The photos are half the fun for me especially writing the stories that accompany them.

For now, you will have to wait to see the proof of the stories. I shall be forced to describe them in more detail so that you can see the scene in your mind’s eye as that is all we have. It may take a while, but I have to believe I will see that memory card again. When my memory of the trip is about to fade and my grief diminished over the loss, it will come back.

So let’s pray for a faded memory and diminished grief – I am ready to see the pictures!

Duke - Rest In Peace

2011-10-10T13:27:00.000-07:00

An Exhibit of an elephants' foot at Elephant Hall

An elephant named Duke held the title of Kruger National Parks’ biggest tusker for years until breaking off his second tusk in 2008. I looked for Duke time and time again while in the southern parts of Kruger where Duke was known to roam. I was lucky enough to see him in person only once and then from a distance but many discussed how magnificently handsome he was as well as how intimidatingly huge when one was lucky enough to get close to him. This enormous elephant had a very relaxed disposition and didn’t seem to mind tourist therefore became one of the most photographed elephants in Kruger National Park and perhaps the world. Duke was also one of Kruger’s oldest elephants known to be over fifty five years of age. He was named after Tom Duke who was a Kruger game ranger between 1903 and 1923 in the same area that was Dukes’ home range.

How Tusks and Skulls are Displayed

In 2010 Duke was radio collared so rangers could track his movements in his old age. A few days ago the rangers became worried due to the lack of movement and a search ensued. Duke’s body was found this past Wednesday, October 5th. It was estimated he died five days before.

His tusks were collected when they broke off over the years and I am sure his skull was collected upon his death. I hope the fine folks of Kruger National Park will put Dukes’ skull, tusks and his wonderful story on display at the great elephant hall in Lataba Camp. I - as well as many others, I am sure - would love to visit him and pay respects.

Just Now or Now Now

2011-10-07T15:54:00.000-07:00

I was heading back to camp from a watering hole where I was watching elephants have an evening drink and a cooling spray of water when I came across a fairly large and wicked looking spider. My South African guide was just around the bush putting logs on the camp fire. I yelled to him, “Hey, come tell me what kind of spider this is.”

He said, “I’m coming just now.”

Now is defined in the dictionary as “at the present time or moment”. I have always known the word now to mean just that – now; at the present time or moment. So when my guide said he was coming “just now” I thought he would be there within seconds. I waited a few minutes then peaked around the corner to see that he was still there poking at the fire.

“The spider is going to be gone by the time you get here. Are you coming?” I asked of the guide.

“I’m coming now, now,” he said. And he was there in a flash.

He identified the spider that he saw for only a moment before the spider crept into a hole then my guide and I proceeded back to camp where he continued to poke at the fire. I sat in a camp chair enjoying the warm flames of the now roaring fire on that chilly spring evening and pondered.

“So when you say just now what does it mean?” I asked my guide.

He said, “Oh you Americans are funny. Just now means I will come but I will finish what I am working on or doing first.”

Hmmm I thought. “So now, now really means now?” I asked.

“It depends on the situation,” he said without much contemplation.

I sat and watched the fire for a couple more minutes hearing lions roar in the near distance then asked, “So if I were to say there was a lion attacking me, would you come just now or now, now?”

He thought about it for a second then said, “What the hell good would I be if a lion was already attacking you? I don’t have a gun. I would run in the opposite direction,” he said, and then he added, “now, now.”

Hello Shelly from America

2011-10-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

Opuwo, Namibia is a town of only about 12,000 people but serves as a cultural center where many of this remote northern Namibians’ tribal people send their children to school and come to trade their wares. On our way up to Epupa Falls, which is right on the Angola border, we stopped in Opuwo to stock up on supplies. I was to keep watch over our truck while Michael and our guide went to shop at the local food store.

The back of our truck had a door which opened to reveal steps to the ground. I sat on those stairs and looked out onto the town where lots of people were scurrying; many in tribal dress, Himbas with their red ochre covered bodies and hair, animal skin skirt and beaded jewels as well as Damara woman in full colorful dresses and hats with what resembled horns honoring cattle . As soon as the boys left me I was surrounded by people wanting either a hand out or to sell me something. Had this been the first time I had encountered such a mob I would have been nervous and scared but it wasn’t and I knew they meant no harm, instead were just trying to take full advantage of an opportunity.

I made it clear I was not interested in buying anything, nor did I have anything to give them. (If you give anything in this environment you can get overwhelmed with an abundance of people who also want a handout.) Instead, I picked out one girl who seemed friendly and spoke good English and I began a conversation with her.

This girl was a Himba wearing her tribal costume. I asked about the HImba customs of dress. We talked about her children; their ages and names. We discussed the Namibian governments’ stance on educating Himba children and more. Then she asked me a few questions. Her first was where I was from. When I told her I was from America which was easier than saying the United States. She - with her world being so small, probably thought America was down the road or only a few hours away; another small town in Nambia perhaps - asked if I knew Shelly from the America. Seemingly another traveler from the States came through Opuwo and made an impression on this young girl. Since both Shelly and I were from the same place, it seemed reasonable to her that we might know one another.

I told the young girl that I did not know Shelly. She said if I ever met Shelly to tell her hello. So Shelly, from American, who at some point or another passed through Opuwo, Namibia, this is your hello from a bright young enthusiastic Himba girl.

Need an Injection of African Chill Please

2011-09-29T16:00:00.000-07:00

Airports, hotels, rental car facilities, hustle and bustle; it’s what one experiences when traveling in the States on a regular basis as I do; sometime week after week. The frustrations come frequently and the true comforts are rare. Some weeks it seems everything is a hassle.

Today, while rushing around in my rental car in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida I had a memory that made me smile. It was four years ago. I had flown from Atlanta, Georgia to Johannesburg, South Africa; a long flight then got a well needed night’s sleep at a lovely bed and breakfast. The next day, relaxed and feeling the laid back African way slowly injecting itself into my veins; I arrived back at the Johannesburg airport where I boarded a flight to Nelspruit, South Africa. From there I was to rent a car and drive into the Kruger National Park. Dean, my amazingly efficient booking agent who lives in South Africa and arranges all of my African travel, had sent me his usual vouchers showing I had prepaid for each activity, accommodation and transportation. (At that point, I had been traveling for over twenty four hours and was yet to get to my destination of Kruger National Park.) After landing among the lush hills of Nelspruit, I walked from the plane to the quaint airport smelling the recent rains and smiling knowing I was another step closer to Kruger.

Nelspruit Airport - South Africa

Once inside the airport I stepped up to the carrousel to claim my bag. After gathering my backpack I walked past security to the open area of the airport which reminded me of a train station; a wide and long passageway with tall rounded ceilings housing a couple of shops and restaurants and the rental car windows. I walked up to my rental car counter and greeted the gentleman behind the counter. (You see, unlike in the States, it is proper to acknowledge and properly greet people before proceeding with business – a tradition I have brought back with me to the States.) I handed him my voucher. He proceeded to punch some information into his computer then made mention that he didn’t show this reservation prepaid. My shoulders slumped as my high from being in Nelspruit, so close to Kruger, receded thinking I was about to face a “situation”. After commenting on that he took my driver’s license and punched a few more things into his computer then walked away from the counter. He came back to the counter with keys which he handed me and said, “Your car is in slot C7. I hope you will enjoy your stay in South Africa.” I was kind of stunned. I said, “What about the fact you don’t show my reservation prepaid?” The man said, “Miss Atkinson. You have given me your voucher. That concludes your responsibility. I shall take that matter up with your booking agent. Your only responsibility now is to relax and enjoy your holiday.” And with that I was dismissed.

I stood there for several minutes in complete astonishment; almost let down as I had prepared for a battle that didn’t take place. I had trained for the marathon I didn’t run. I had… oh you get the point. In the States that would have been a “situation” for sure. In South Africa, it was dealt with in South African fashion. It’s part of my great love for Africa. Things are just handled. Mountains aren’t made of mole hills. In Africa I am reminded to chill and leave all of my high strung ways of travel far behind and just take on my only responsibility of enjoying the day; enjoying my holiday.

It’s been a long busy year. I am only weeks away from my annual African retreat and boy do I need it. I need my annual injection of chill. I am ready to be reminded of how to relax and enjoy my holiday!

Gotta go - they are calling my flight....

Ten Years Past

2011-09-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

Ten years ago come October 5th my neighborhood in suburban Atlanta was having a community garage sale. It was significant for me because I was selling most everything I owned at that sale. I watched my material possessions get carried away by strangers; things I had worked so hard to obtain, but at that moment none of those things meant anything to me. I was about to leave everything I knew behind to embark on what ultimately became a life changing journey. (The entire story is told in my book, “Domestic Departures” if you want details.)

Today, I was remembering small lessons from that journey but maybe just as significant as the big lessons that came my way over that year. I had entered another world when I moved to Knysna, South Africa and was enjoying every second investigating that new world. Once I was settled into my one bedroom flat I needed groceries to fill my little refrigerator so I drove down the hill to the Spar grocery store where I got lost in the shelves filled with so many unknown items. It was at that grocery store I first discovered the small push carts you put your hand baskets in of the likes now seen at Whole Foods and other places in the States. I filled my little push cart with new veggies and fruits to try and this super thin seasoned meat I fried up that first night, (delicious). When I got to the condiments isle I grabbed a Hellman’s Mayonnaise. The women standing near me made the comment, “You are lucky to be able to afford that.” I wasn’t looking at any of the prices and that brought me right back to the reality of what I was doing. I was exiting my normal and that Hellman’s, which was a high priced import for the locals but cheap for me with the exchange rate, was my normal. I looked at that women and, as I put the Hellman’s back on the shelf, said, “I can’t afford it. I wasn’t thinking.” I bought the local brand instead.

The View From the Deck of my Flat

There were many of those kind of moments; some significant and others just fun. Another such was the first time I went to the Knysna Movie House in Pledge Square just down the hill from my flat. I was going to see Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone paying - with the exchange rate at the time - less than two US dollars. Knysna Movie House is quant and very personal certainly nothing like the big box movie-plexes we have in the States. The people working there seemed to know most everyone that came in. The small lobby housed comfy couches, fluffy chairs and reading material scattered on the coffee table where groups were sitting awaiting their movie. I bought my ticket from the man behind the counter who turned his computer screen around to me and asked where I would like to sit. I looked at the computer screen and there was a layout of the small theater with each seat numbered. It was common practice to sell seats by the number there. I choose a seat in the center that the screen showed available and then ordered popcorn from the same man. When he brought it to me he told me all the seasonings were on the table “over there”. I looked and saw an array of seasonings to sprinkle on my popcorn. That trend has now reached the States but the Knysna Movie House was the first place I saw it. Over the months I lived in Knysna I tried every flavor they offered.

I told myself over and over while I was on that journey to slow down and burn every little detail into my memory. There were a few moments that I wished for familiarity but I would tell myself to relax, enjoy and take it all in. I knew then what is certainly the truth today ten years later - that there would come many a day in my future when I wished myself back there. I wasted not a moment of that sabbatical. I regret not a day. I would wake in the morning and have to decide if I wanted to spend a few hours at the coffee shop and book store or perhaps grab a coffee and go to the beach for a walk to watch the dolphins frolic; dinner at Main Street Café, the Knysna Oyster catcher or maybe watch the sunset drinking a glass of South African wine at 34 degrees South on the bay. Those were the toughest decisions I faced.

The Basket Full of Memories

I left the States on October 30th 2001 for that extended journey; ten years ago next month. I have a big round basket I bought in Mozambique that sits today over my kitchen cabinets that contains memories from my South African sabbatical aka my Midlife Crisis Safari. I said when I packed that basket full of I can’t remember what that I would open it in ten years. Today it remains unopened. That basket is more important to me than anything I sold in that garage sale ten years ago. Sometime soon I will open it to see what the basket contains. I look forward to laughing and crying when the memories flood. I can’t wait, but for some reason I am doing just that; waiting. I guess I will know when the time is right.

Kruger's Big Tusker

2011-08-25T09:56:00.000-07:00

Before going to Kruger National Park in 2008 I read that Duke, the biggest tusked Elephant in the park, had broken off his only remaining tusk.

My first glance at the big guy - could it be?

While staying at Lataba camp I attended the Elephant Hall museum before setting out on an afternoon game drive. I asked the attendant at the museum what elephant now held the title of largest tusks in the park. The very informative person said the newly reigned elephant was named Hlanganani. She said I would recognize him not only by his huge tusks, but also by the fact his left ear was shaped a particular way; almost shorter than his right ear or ripped off at the bottom.

I left Lataba camp and headed north on the H1-6. Just north of camp there is a bridge where you can get out of your vehicle in between the yellow lines, (these lines supposedly give you enough time to get back in your car should a dangerous animal approach the bridge). I stopped, got out of my car with my binoculars and camera to see what I could see. After only a few minutes an elephant family came out of the trees heading for the river below. They had adorable babies in tow and I settled in to watch. As I watched and photographed these guys, out from the other side of the river came a huge male. I looked at him through my binoculars and saw amazingly large tusks; like I have only seen once before in the Ngorongoro Crater in Tanzania. As he came out into the clearing I could see, through my binoculars, his left ear and see that he was indeed Hlanganani. What a privilege. He was stunning. I could not believe how big he was and how long his tusks were nor could I believe my luck of seeing him after just being told about him minutes before.

It was indeed. What an amazing animal!

It wasn’t long after my return from that trip that I read somewhere, but have never been able to confirm, that Hlanganani was killed in a fight with another bull elephant. It’s super sad but I know that nature takes care of itself.

I wonder who the big tusker is today. Whoever you are I can’t wait to meet you! May your reign be long.

Seriously Speaking

2011-08-14T16:46:00.000-07:00

Kruger National Park 2007

Normally I like to blog about an exciting, scary or funny experience I have had in Africa, but today I’d like to talk about a serious subject. I’d like to talk about poaching; elephant poaching to be exact. You see, it was elephants that took me to Africa in the first place; my desire to see one in the wild.

Kynsna Elehpant Park 2001

As a little girl, my parents and I watched Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom with Marlin Perkins. If memory serves me correctly the series came on Sunday nights showing on our black and white big piece of furniture looking thing we then called a TV . (The show must have aired sometime between Laugh-In and Hee Haw.) The episode I remember the most was about elephants. I don’t remember the details, but I do remember Marlin Perkins telling my parents and me that elephants were thought to be very intelligent mammals. Watching that episode was one of those moments that crept into my brain and is as embedded as my eye or hair color. I was glued to the television.

I was five years old when I saw that show. It took me another thirty five years to actually get to Africa and see an elephant in the wild. That magical day was August 20, 2001. I was on a sunrise game drive in Kruger National Park in South Africa on a Monday unlike any other Monday I have had in my life. That elephant encounter, as well as many other things, affected me greatly; so much so that I ended up moving to Africa shortly after.

David Sheldrick Foundation Nairobi, Kenya

Ten years ago -before I had my close encounter - I would have never imagined that elephant poaching could still be going on. Since then, I have learned that poaching is today still completely out of control. There was peak in poaching in the seventy’s and eighty’s but it seemingly got under control and elephant populations began to maintain and even grow. A huge statement was made in 1989 when then Kenyan President Daniel arap Moi, at the encouragement of Richard Leaky, burned Kenya’s’ entire stockpile of ivory in a stance to stop poaching and the trading of ivory. But today elephant poaching is still out of control. By some calculations one hundred elephants a day are being poached in Africa. That’s one hundred a day; almost thirty seven thousand elephants a year.

Okavango Delta, Botswana

Much of the market for ivory is due to a demand in China. I would love to believe much of the Chinese’s desire for elephant ivory is cultural ignorance not realizing that an elephant dies for that tusk. Some that have interviewed these Chinese ivory carvers and dealers of ivory have reported these people believe the elephant tusk is like a tooth and grows back. But it doesn’t. The elephant dies! Being that the matriarch is the oldest and likely to have the largest tusks it is likely she will be the target of poachers. If killed, her entire family could also parish without her extensive knowledge, guidance and leadership.

I have never come upon an elephant carcass that was poached, (although I think I have passed a couple of poachers on the lone roads of Africa) but I have seen the pictures of them with their faces hacked off. I can’t imagine anyone killing such a majestic animal. If you are in Africa or China or any other country in the world, don’t buy ivory regardless of how the shop dealers say the ivory was acquired or how beautiful the piece or intricate the carving. If the demand declines, the poaching declines; it’s as simple as that.

Wouldn’t you love for elephants to be here for future generations who desire to have an encounter with them in the wild? It’s a worthy ambition.

Self Portraits in Kruger

2011-07-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

The elephant was in the perfect place just off the road on my, the driver’s side of the car. I was attempting to get my annual Kruger National Park self-portrait with an elephant in the background, after all it was my desire to see elephants in the wild that took me to Africa in the first place so many years and trips ago, (although a plethora of things draw me back again and again).

2007 - The Sneaky One!

This particular elephant was a large lone male. He is peacefully grazing, making the perfect backdrop for a photo. I positioned the car just ahead of the elephant and left the motor running and the car in drive…, just in case. I pulled out my camera. With my left arm extended and the camera pointed hopefully at me with the elephant in the background, I snapped a shot then reviewed it but it was not good enough so I deleted it. It’s just me in the car so I can take and retake the shot until I am satisfied.

2008 From a Safer Distance

The elephant moved a bit so I repositioned the car and tried it again; smile and click and review and delete. Once again I repositioned the car for the optimal shot and this time clicked several shots in a row before reviewing. I was deep in thought analyzing the photos one by one when all of a sudden there was a loud trumpet that vibrated my car. I jerked my head towards the noise to find the elephant right at my window; he too looking at the photos and probably not liking what he saw because he was not happy with this photographer. Without a moment to spare, I hit the gas and was out of there - my heart beating out of my chest. I drove for a while; until my heartbeat slowed then pulled off onto a dirt road and sat. I looked all around me to make sure there were no animals, (particularly elephants) around before reviewing the photos again; one of them would have to do….

I still take the same shot each year, but now I look for an elephant that is a bit further in the distance.

2009 - Still keeping a Safe Distance...

Lion, Rhino and Wildbeest giving birth; Oh My!

2011-07-19T13:17:00.000-07:00

Tuesday December 16, 2008 – Berg-en-Dal Camp – Guest House #35

I checked into camp last night after seeing three of the big five on the drive from Malelane gate to Berg-en-Dal which is not very far at all. I already knew it was going to be another amazing journey to Kruger National park; one of my favorite places on Earth. What a pleasure it is to be back.

Although my accommodations were wonderful, I slept little last night due to the excitement of the days ahead; that and the fact I wanted to be out of the gates when they opened this morning at four thirty to see what I could see. At four twenty I was in my car waiting for the guard to open the gate with a thermos of coffee in hand and a smile on my face.

Just down from the gate lying on the road were two female lions; one a sub adult and two nursing cubs with the greenest eyes I have ever seen. I pulled my car fairly close, turned off the engine and watched them silently in the dawn of this already brilliant day. Eventually they rose from the warm asphalt and started walking, leaving one cub slightly behind; he was intrigued by my vehicle. As the cub got a bit closer, he opened his mouth. I was expecting a little peep from the tiny lion but what I heard was no peep but instead quite a large meow for such a small fellow.

I had now seen four of the big five in less than twenty four hours. Should I see leopard, my big five check list is already complete.

I turned north of the H-3 and drove slowly as the sun began to rise. The morning was a bit cool with a slight breeze blowing in through my open car windows.

Only a short distance down the H-3 I saw a very large hyena ahead running straight for me then past in a great hurry. He must have been late for something.

I drove only another mile or so when I came upon white rhino; my second sighting of white rhino in less than twenty four hours. There were nine that I could see. But that wasn’t even the most amazing part! As I watched the rhino, something caught my attention to my left in the distant field. As I scanned to see what I heard, I saw a wildebeest and the moment I looked at her I saw her give birth. My mouth fell open in disbelief. I regained my lost composure and aimed the camera on her within a minute as the baby began its attempt to stand on wobbly virgin legs; the after birth still coming out of her mom. It was only six forty five in the morning and I knew this day could not possibly get any better so I turned around and went back to camp….

Mom Wildebeest and Her Newborn Calf

Squirrely Monkeys

2011-07-15T13:27:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have kept up with this blog and my wanderings in Africa, you know that I am afraid of monkeys after an attack at Lataba Camp in the Kruger National Park in South Africa. While in Kruger now, I am always on high alert for those cheeky creatures, but I was on special high alert when I wrote this journal entry since it was my first time back at Lataba since the attack!

Wednesday December 17, 2008 - 8:00 in the morning – Lataba Camp

I was sitting on the porch of my wonderful fixed tent #1 minding my own business, deep into my book and drinking a mimosa when I heard the repetitive grunts of an animal coming from right over my shoulder. I froze. My mind told me a monkey had snuck up on me and I was waiting for him to pounce. I closed my book and slowly turned in the direction of the noise. To my great relief it was only a squirrel. He sat on the railing of my tent looking me in the eyes very politely asking if I had anything to share; anything at all, his eyes questioned. Once I gathered my senses back and took a deep breath relieved not to see a monkey, I – out loud – said, “No sweet face. I cannot give you anything because if I do and the monkeys find out they will come too, but they will not be as polite as you are.” An expression of aggravation appeared on his tiny face as if to say, “Damn monkeys. They ruin everything.” And off he went.

Drunken Spider

2011-07-12T12:44:00.000-07:00

Journal Entry December 19, 2008 – Olifants Camp

I am a girl and I am here in Africa alone in a hut in the Kruger National Park in South Africa. But I am also somewhat of a girly girl too and the girly girl comes out when I have to pee but can’t because in the bathroom of my hut on the wall just above the toilet is a big spider. How can I pee with him on the wall? What the heck am I going to do?

I crept back in there to see if he was still on the wall and indeed he was. I don’t know if I would feel better if he weren’t because then I would wonder where the heck he went. ARGH!

I looked for something to kill him with; a flyswatter or something but I had nothing but my shoe and I didn’t want him on my shoe…. So I went into my cool box and opened a beer thinking I could just pour it on him and drown him in alcohol. It didn’t work. He’s still on the wall and the beer is poured out all over the floor. I cracked open another beer and tried to drown my fears in alcohol but that did nothing but make me have to pee more.

I went back in and he is still right there. I look around the bathroom and spot a toilet brush. That’s the weapon! I took that toilet brush and beat that spider into a hundred pieces then threw the brush and the spider bits on the floor where they are all now floating in beer. Whew. Finally I got to pee.

2 hours later…

I ran into a girl who was doing research in the park. After describing my spider to her she said it was a harmless spider they call a flattie. I didn’t bother to tell her that my spider was definitely harmless since it was in my hut, if not dead, super drunk!

You know your in africa when...

2011-07-08T13:12:00.000-07:00

Hadada Ibis

I awake in the B&B in Johannesburg, South Africa after a long day and night of flying. I am refreshed and ready to head back to the airport and to my final destination of Kruger National Park. But so far it feels like only a dream that I am in Africa as seemingly only yesterday I was in my office working. As I sit down for a cup of coffee at the table on a covered outdoor patio, I hear the hadada ibis; a bird said to be afraid of flying thus he screams while he is soaring a loud shriek and at this moment it is the most beautiful shriek I can wish to hear because it means I am back in Africa and I take a deep breath and smile.

The first indication I have arrived back on this beautiful continent is always the birds sitting in the distinctly African trees. I was never a bird watcher prior to Africa but one can't help be amazed by the colorful and exotic array of feathered friends here. Which ones are my favorites, you might ask? Is it the yellow billed hornbill that comically hops around your picnic lunch hoping for a handout? Or maybe the hoopoe with his wonderful black tipped head crest who always seems to be hurriedly pecking at the ground for his next meal as if starvation is just around the tree trunk? The distinct call of the fish eagle puts him in the running along with the beauty of the many kingfishers; giant, malachite and pied.

Hoopoe

But I have to say the one I do enjoy the most is the marabou stork. I am not sure why but they always bring joy when I see them with their gangly appearance. They are huge; many getting as much as five feet tall weighing as much as twenty pounds and many would say they are quite ugly. Ugly because they have bare heads and necks - no feathers! Their beaks seem to be speckled with ugly spots. To me though, the marabou represents Africa and whether this giant bird is awkwardly perched in a tree, digging in a carcass for dinner or walking along the path minding his own business, he, along with all of the other great birds I see before me when I am here, are Africa!

The Gangly Marabou Stork

Back by Popular Demand: Slimy Bastards

2011-06-23T10:27:00.000-07:00

For much of my life I have been completely afraid of frogs. The fear was passed to me from my mother. As a young teen I watched her nearly break her neck on the cement patio when a small green frog jumped onto her shoulder. I was sure by her reaction that frogs must be as venomous as snakes with teeth as plentiful as a shark. As she flailed her body across the patio straight into a wall - knees first then she kissed the brick - I prayed she would get the animal off of her in time. The frog finally jumped from Mom's shoulder onto the glass patio door which my mother was desperately trying to open to join me in the living room safe from the killer. She finally made it inside, closed the door tightly and locked it to keep the monster out. Then she tried quickly to recompose herself in front of her young impressionable daughter. Her hair was a mess and she was bleeding from her chin and both knees. I don’t remember her saying anything she just walked towards the bathroom I assumed to clean up. She came back into the living room and sat on the couch with me as she opened and applied band aids to the wounds. Just as she finished, she looked up and saw that dangerous green frog on the glass – staring at her. I recall my mother saying, “I’ll show you”. She got up with a fury and retrieved the broom from the kitchen. When the glass door slung open the frog went flying but my mother found him. I’m not going to tell you what happened next, it’s too gruesome for me to repeat.

Okavango Delta - Botswana

During my very first adventure to Africa I learned that not only are mammals in plentiful quantities and a wide varity of species there, Africa also has over a hundred species of frogs. I began to get kind of used to them being around especially at night when they would migrate towards the light of my tent or hut to eat bugs. My guides assured me they were neither venomous nor deadly. But as any girly girl will tell you, it’s hard to come to grips with a frog.

I was forced to get that feeling under control during an otherwise peaceful boat ride in the Okavango Delta. My guide and I were slithering along the shallow waters of the floodplain in a mokoro – carved out tree trunk boat - cutting through reeds along the way to nowhere in particular when from the sky fell a tiny green frog that struck and stuck to my bare forearm facing me. I froze. I couldn’t run from him. I was in a precarious boat floating on crocodile and hippopotamus infested water. I couldn’t yell. What if lion were right around the corner? My only option was to face him and make peace.

On my hut at Skukuza Camp, Kruger National Park

He was positioned facing me with his back end towards my hand staring me straight in the eyes. I said; out loud, “You are welcome to sit there but please don’t jump in my face.” As if I were the frog whisperer and he understood what I said, he turned around - scooted around really. It took him several little steps on my arm to get himself situation just right, facing the front of the boat then he kind of sat down. I could feel his chest against my arm. He was cold feeling but I don’t think he was wet. And he wasn’t slimy I was surprised to find out after hearing my mother call her attacker a slimy bastard.

After a while I forgot the little frog was on my arm until much later when I guess he reached his destination. He readied himself for the jump raising his chest from my arm. And without so much as thank you for the ride or even a glance back, he jumped off. I actually missed him after he was gone.

Today I am still surprised when I see a frog, but try to enjoy them a bit realizing now that the real harm in frogs comes from trying to get away from them not the actual frog himself. I took a photo of this striking little fellow that came to hang out on my hut last year. But let’s not kid ourselves. If he would have jumped onto me while I was getting this shot, I promise you I too would have called him a slimy bastard and had to clean my wounds from the escape. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Words from my Journal

2011-06-22T12:22:00.000-07:00

I go back and read my journals written while in Africa from time to time to spur on thoughts, blogs and new writings. Most of the time, I take my thoughts from these journals and re-write them into something that is a bit more coherent; not just the excited ramblings that much of my journal entries can be. But today I came across two entries that I had to share verbatim for your reading pleasure, (it's okay to laugh - I did!!)

December 19, 2007 8:09am - Day two – Kruger National Park

"Africa makes me a stronger person but first she breaks me down to the core as she began to do last night as I sat on the veranda of my hut overlooking the Olifants River. The tears I shed here in Africa are like flushing the toilet of life to rid myself of the wastes. The unnecessary worries, thoughts and stresses go flushing down the drain and only good happy thoughts remain."

December 22, 2007 5:04am – Day five – Kruger National Park

"There is always some elephant on the road of life that you just can’t go around; that you must face. Today it’s the real deal – not a metaphor. And he is a huge bull elephant with no intention of moving off of this road. I will just wait…, and wait…, and wait some more. It's an hour later and I'm still waiting all alone here on this road..., just me and this big ass elephant. Another thirty minutes have passed - what is he doing, sleeping?"

Bones From a Kill

2011-06-20T13:14:00.000-07:00

In 2009 I visited Kruger National Park for what I just realized was my seventh time. I am astonished that I have become so familiar with Kruger that, on occasion, I stop roadside and realize the very sight I am seeing, I remember distinctly from a past visit. To be as amazed as I you have to know this park covers 7,332 square miles!

2007

In 2007 I came upon a beautiful pond that was overflowing because of recent rains that left the sky a dull blue making the colors of the ground and trees stand out even more than usual. I was struck by the sight and took a few photos. In 2009, I was back in the park and stopped to look at a pond using my binoculars to see if any animals were present. I put down my binoculars and really looked at this place and took a few photos because I knew deep inside it was the same pond I had been so stuck with before and wanted to compare when I got home to make sure my memory wasn’t playing tricks. It indeed was the same pond.

2009

In 2009 I went to Punda Maria camp in the far north of the park. It was my third visit to this camp; the first back in 2002 for lunch, the second in 2008 to stay in hut number one for two glorious nights and the third in 2009 staying in a fixed tent which was the ultimate visit to this camp. When I was there in 2008 I had the good fortune of watching a male lion eat on a buffalo carcass. For two days I drove to the location and sat for hours watching him devour that carcass keeping it from awaiting vultures, jackals and hyena. He had it stashed inside a mound of thorn bushes to protect it when he was napping. In 2009, exactly a year later, on the drive up to Punda Maria on the H13-1 main road I was remembering this event from the year before when, to my great astonishment, I came upon the bones from that kill. Again, I took photos not believing it could be true, but when I returned home to my computer it was indeed the same location and those were without doubt the bones from that buffalo.

Lion (left under the green shrub) with kill 2008

I love Kruger National Park so much. Kruger is a gift to South Africans and a gift to us too who happen to live on the other side of the world but get the great privilege to visit time and time again.

Bones from the kill 2009

I can’t wait until the next time to see what I can see new and again!

Reading the Ground

2011-06-16T09:33:00.000-07:00

While on safari in Botswana’s Okavango Delta, I witnessed what I had read time and time again; that a good guide can read the bush like most read a book. While staying at a tented fly-in camp, I was assigned a guide born and raised all his years on this land. On my first morning he and I set out for a bush walk. Before leaving camp he asked what I wanted to see. I didn’t have a particular list but I wanted to track something. I told him I wanted to experience finding the track of an animal and following the tracks until I found the animal they belonged to. He, a man of few words, mumbled “hmmmph” then loaded me into his mokoro (a tree trunk carved into a canoe shaped boat) and we took off. I wondered silently if I had asked too much.

After floating the amazing waterways of the Okavango Delta -filled with huge crocodile and dangerous hippopotamus - for about an hour, the guide pushed us up onto a bank and pulled the mokoro out of the water then said for me to follow him. He and I walked amongst hidden inherent dangers; me following him in silence. We stopped at a sandy spot. My guide studied the ground then said, “Two lion slept here last night. They went that way early this morning.” He then, without fanfare, walked on while I was still staring at the ground trying to see just where it said that in the dirt. We walked for several more minutes then he stopped again and studied the ground with great intent and said, “Just wildebeest.” Again after searching the ground for words, I saw nothing then hurriedly caught up with him and continued to follow.

We walked around massive termite mounds, under numerous enormous trees, occasionally I was enveloped in the smell of wild sage in this pristine environment. We passed the bones of an impala then the skull and horns of buffalo. As I was watching a troop of baboons in the distance while walking, the guide stopped again and studied the sandy floor. This time he pointed to a huge imprint and said, “Two elephant left here only minutes before.” He looked off to our left and pointed. “They went that way. We can track them. Is good?” He asked as if to see if that met with my tracking desires. I said okay and off we went. I was smiling broadly as my heart raced. I was thrilled to truly track an animal but nervous too.

We walked a bit then would stop as the guide studied the ground. He showed me the tracks and how he could tell which way they were going by the shape and the indentions of the track and how fresh the track was. I felt like Jungle Jane.

After hoofing the ground for another thirty minutes, occasionally stopping to study the ground, my guide pointed into the distance. “They are there.” He said very matter-of-factly. In a clearing (not far enough away) stood two massive bull elephants. “Did you enjoy tracking?” my guide asked. I did enjoy tracking very much but at that moment as I stood looking at those two massive bull elephants who were looking back at the two of us on foot with no gun nor even a radio, I wondered why I hadn’t specified that I wanted to track an impala or a spring hare or something a bit less menacing….

Lost in Madagascar

2011-06-13T12:04:00.000-07:00

I always take reading material with me when I depart for Africa but I also like to buy books there written by local authors about local subjects or novels that take place in Africa. On one trip I was going to Kruger National Park for a few days then over to Madagascar for two weeks. I took only one book with me that was getting rave reviews in the States. Many were saying you just couldn’t put it down but I did just that. After almost a week of trying unsuccessfully to get into that book, I put it down next to the bed at my last accommodation in Kruger refusing to pick it back up to read another word. My plan then was to buy some books at the airport in Antananarivo, Madagascar upon arrival there sure I would find a selection of local reads.
From Kruger, I drove to the Nelspruit Airport where I bought a newspaper for the short flight to the Johannesburg airport. During that short layover I bought two local magazines to read during my flight over to Madagascar anticipating the book I was going to buy at the airport in Antananarivo but much to my dismay there was no magazine or book store or anything of the sort in that airport.

I was picked up and transported to my hotel which was in center city. Madagascar, unlike most of the African countries I have traveled to, is not an English speaking country and there was a language barrier for sure while I was asking the guy at the front desk if there were any book stores near but I soon learned that all stores were closed already at that hour but he said the hotel had a “reading room”. I went to this “reading room” and found a shelf next to the bar with some materials but everything was in other languages. I scanned photos of a few picture books but was left starving for words.

My Hotel

Very early the next day I was transferred to another part of the country for my first week. It was a holiday and nothing was open so once again I had no luck finding a book store. Where we went was so remote that again – no store – no book! After a week, I was transported back to the same hotel in center city Antananarivo. I found a person working there who spoke some English and explained successfully that I was in need (now it was a need, not a desire as I was starving for words) of a book. She gave me walking directions to the nearest book store. As I always do, I took one of the hotels business cards and put it in my pocket then set off on foot with confidence and glee to find this store. It was noon and there were a ton of people everywhere. I took a left and walked for the directed three blocks then a right and before I knew it I was completely lost. The streets and buildings all looked alike. Several roads would come together at an intersection and turn off in odd directions. The names on the road signs were not of the streets mentioned in my directions. I was being bumped and banged by the hurriedly passing people as I stood trying to get my bearings.

My heart began to pound. I began to feel very anxious. The city began closing in on me. I noticed no other females alone, no other white people, no other tourists; just locals scrambling like ants in a disturbed ant bed. Instead of going into a panic I walked up to a store window and looked in as if I were interested in what was shown in the window. As I stared at nothing, I gathered my wits and began to regain my composure. It suddenly dawned on me I had the hotels card in my pocket. I also knew most taxis were yellow 1950’s Citroen cars. I decided to walk until I saw one of those, wave him down, and give him the hotels’ card for the driver to take me there. It’s exactly what I did. I could not have been more relieved to see my hotel. I paid the taxi driver and tipped him well for what seemed like a lifesaving ride then walked into the hotel. The girl that gave me the directions asked if I found the book store. I said no but thank you anyway and went to my hotel room via the bar where I grabbed two local beers.

I sat on the bed in my room reprimanding myself - as I guzzled the first beer - for getting lost and for almost panicking, then praised myself for grabbing the hotel business card, which ultimately set things right. The next day I was picked up and transported again to a remote part of the island where there was no opportunity to find reading material. I have never looked at more free handouts and leaflets. I read – or looked at, if it was in another language – sale papers, hotel menus, absolutely anything for my final week. I read that newspaper and those two magazines from the first two flights over and over again; every word, every advertisement, every article; many two and three times.

I never leave the States now without several books. I buy more books in the Johannesburg airport or wherever my first stop is and whenever I pass a store never leaving it to chance that I will find something where I am ultimately going. I also still always pick up a hotel business card when I am leaving a hotel even in the States; you just never know when it will come in handy or even – seemingly – save your life.

To Spit or Not to Spit

2011-05-18T08:56:00.000-07:00

It was our last day in Kruger National Park; the last day of Michael's first trip to Africa so we were probably on a bit of a high because it was such a great trip and also a bit of a low because we were leaving the next day to return to the States. Michael and I had survived over two weeks in Kruger facing off herds of Buffalo, monkey thieves, rhino stand offs, lion sightings and more so we may have been a bit cocky too by this point.

We were in Skukuza camp on this last night walking on the winding sidewalk along the river that is just inside the fences of the camp. I was a bit uptight about the plethora of monkeys in this camp (for reasons you know if you read the blog Smiling at Monkeys) so I was carrying our small squirting water gun as a monkey weapon while we walked.

Strolling casually we rounded one bend and in the same second that we realized a snake was in our path he was gone into the reeds. I identified the snake as a Mozambique spitting cobra but only got a quick glance and wanted to find it to see if I was right so we leaned over the railing looking closely for this snake even squirting water from our guns into the reeds trying to get it to move. Being that this was my tenth trip to Africa with a vast knowledge of the wildlife now stored up in my brain Michael was looking to me for safety throughout the trip. I said to him, "Don't worry. A spitting cobra has to hood up to spit so as long as we don't see him hood up we will be fine." We didn't see the snake again and eventually we went on about our business.

A few weeks after we got home, we were watching a wildlife show on snakes when the narrator stated that a spitting cobra doesn't necessarily have to be hooded up to spit. Michael and I quickly turned to look at each other, our mouths dropped open and Michael said, "Hmmm. What else didn't you know for sure?"

TRAVELING AFRICA, A WOMAN'S GUIDE

2011-05-05T11:36:00.000-07:00

Available now to download onto your Nook or Nook app, Kindle or Kindle app, my latest book.

"Traveling Africa" is a book that should be read in its entirety prior to reading the guide book on the specific location in Africa for which you choose to travel. The more prepared you are for your trip and the more you know about the options available for your expedition, the better the odds of booking an amazing journey without the minor or major headaches so many African travelers go through. This book is focused on woman traveling Africa, but will also benefit men heading to the continent and will help all choose the perfect safari especially suited to meet their needs, desires and tolerance levels. You will learn everything you need to know from what to pack – or not to pack – to how to calculate needed funds.

E-Book now ready for downloading!

2011-04-04T16:02:00.000-07:00

I know. I have not blogged in a while. But I have been busy prepping my book "Domestic Departures - A Midlife Crisis Safari" for e-publishing and working on number two.

Download your copy of "Domestic Departures" today on your Nook, Nook app, Kindle or Kindle app for your IPod or IPad for only $6.99. Search by the title or by my name. Enjoy the read!

Soon again on her soil!

2010-10-18T18:13:00.000-07:00

Ahhhh. When a trip to Africa is looming I start to not only smell the familiar smells of Africa and see her beauty in the distant horizon but I also feel her in every bone; the tingling in my nerves seem to know I will soon be back in her serene arms being held snugly by her hands of calm and peace. It’s an anxiety of a sort only familiar when I am bound for her borders.

On my upcoming trip I will be exploring Namibia. Once again I will be graced with the company of Michael. And on this trip we are both experiencing new and exciting things. We are, together going to see what Africa has to show us; our eyes open; our arms open; our minds open.

We are ready!

NINE YEARS PAST

2010-09-08T17:43:00.000-07:00

I just watched the movie "Eat, Pray, Love" and cried like a baby because I can relate so well to Liz Gilbert's self discovery journey. Nine years ago to the day; September 8, 2001 I made a similar decision as she but under slightly different circumstances. On the eighth of September 2001 I had been back from a three week safari in South Africa only three days. It was a monumental trip because I was a self imposed workaholic and had quit my job prior to; quite abruptly. I didn’t go for the purpose of taking a life break but that is certainly how it turned out.

Nine years ago today – three days after returning from that safari – I was at my parents house telling them I was moving to Africa. I, like Liz Gilbert, was on a journey to discover me. I recall many days sitting on my deck in Knysna, South Africa staring at the ocean peacefully with no obligations whatsoever. I had to job to report to, no man to be accountable to, no pets to take care of, nothing at all to be concerned with except me.

The intention of the trip was to come out the other side with a clearer understanding of who I was and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Today, thanks to that journey, which was both spiritual and physical, I am a better version of me. The last nine years – and it is super hard to believe it’s been nine years – have been enhanced greatly due to that journey.

Soon I will depart on my eleventh trip to Africa; a place of great introspective for me. Michael - for the second time - will join me. This time we are heading to Namibia to see what that country and her people have to teach us and what we can learn from each other by being on her soil.

I thank God I found the fortitude to do what I did nine years ago. I was moved tonight by Liz Gilbert’s courageous decision to take a life break. I encourage all who have the opportunity to do the same to do so. Life waits for when you return from such an adventure. The pieces can be picked back up in better form than before. And I will lay money on the fact that you will never regret it.

It's New Every Time

2010-03-30T10:01:00.000-07:00

"You're going back to Africa again", I hear from so many - sometime with what sounds like disgust - when I tell them of an upcoming trip. Going to Africa again and again is not like going to Italy every year. If I were to go back to Italy again the coliseum in Rome would be the same. The Leaning Tower of Pisa would still be leaning. The Vatican would still be opulent. Trevi fountain would still be full of coins. But in Africa each and every trip differs from the one before even if you return to the very same place.

For example, I have been to Sunset Dam outside of Lower Sabie Camp in South Africa many times. But on my last visit I witnessed an eagle raiding Weaver birds' nests. The eagle went from hanging nest to hanging nest seeking baby weaver chicks all the while mama weavers were dive bombing the eagle from every angle. When the eagle finally found a baby, he grabbed it with his talons and flew off to eat his meal. In all of my trips to Africa, I've not seen such before.

On a journey from one camp to another we saw a male and female ostrich; not an uncommon sight. After closer inspection though we realized they had over thirty babies which the adults struggled to keep in a tight bunch fearing the eagle overhead who had his eyes on a baby ostrich as a prize meal. Further research explained that ostriches lay eggs in a communal nest with the high ranking couple taking care of the young; in this case all thirty of them! I had never seen baby ostriches before much less thirty of them.

One night while sleeping in a tent we heard a kill that the next day we set out to find. Three large male lion had taken down a buffalo. Michael and I sat there and watched the lion gorge on their meal then they lay down around the buffalo to digest their food. This I had seen before but it is still a mesmerizing sight. As we sat there, a female lion walked slowly up to the area. By the way the males were reacting she was not a part of their pride. (These were three bachelor males that did not yet have their own pride.) The big males stalked and surrounded her. We thought they were going to kill her right in front of us. The female was breathing hard and she was very skinny; obviously sick. She must have done everything right though because the males backed down after about twenty minutes of tension and allowed her to eat off of their meal for a short while then asked her politely to leave. It was exhilarating and certainly something I have never seen before. (In this photo you can see the female on the left and one of the males on the right.)

So when asked why I choose to go back to Africa again and again. It's simple really. Africa is new each and every time I go. I can't wait to see what she chooses to show me the next time; and there will be a next time!

Monkey Thieves

2010-01-15T11:38:00.000-08:00

Each return to Africa since the monkey attack has been an experiment in how to avoid the next attack. Last year I took an air horn with me to scare the monkeys away but it was somewhat large and awkward and since it was bright red and yellow, hard to be nonchalant about. Nonetheless it went every step of the way with me on that trip.

In November, I took two rubber snakes with me to Africa after learning that monkeys are afraid of snakes. It was not my intention to carry the snakes around with me as that would be sillier than carrying the air horn. I really didn't think I needed anything to carry as a "weapon" though since this year I had Michael with me who had agreed to be my monkey guard but I am not sure he knew what the job entailed. I assured Michael the monkeys were more respectful of men than women and the job was safe.

The first couple of camps we were in were void of monkeys and Michael and I became somewhat lax about our prevention techniques. We would unpack the rubber snakes but didn't necessarily have them in the right location; near our food or outside the tent or hut door. The snakes were doing a great job of keeping the grounds and house keepers away though. At one camp we drove up to get gas and the attendant said, "You are the ones with the snakes".

So after many days and nights with no significant monkey encounters we arrived in Punda Maria; a small camp in the northeastern most part of South Africa. It had been a long day of driving. Upon arrival we met and socialized, (over many beers) with some new friends near the camps reception area. Once we got unpacked we started cooking and chilling in our wonderful tent that had an outdoor kitchen overlooking the vast wilderness. The Jack and Ginger poured and when we retired for the night, saying goodnight to our - by then - really good friends Jack and Ginger, we weren't thinking about monkeys and rubber snakes.

At five thirty in the morning I awoke to loud noises. I screamed "MONKEYS". Michael and I jumped out of the bed and stood inside the tent door where we watched an entire troop of monkeys raid our food. Spices were spilling, cans were dropping, bags of nuts were being ripped to bits. It was utter chaos just inches away from us with only a mesh tent door seperating us from the savage beasts.

The rubber snakes were being avoided but they were draped on the railing exactly where they landed upon being unpacked; not near the food or our door where they should have been. The fear ripped through my body. My heart raced. Memories of the attack two years ago by this very species flooded my mind. I silently settled on the fact I was going to let them eat what they may then go away but Michael decided otherwise and charged out the door to shoo them away yelling loudly.

There were monkeys on the roof, on the railing, under the tent platform, coming from the walkway towards us; they were everywhere running around and fighting with each other over their food prizes. I wasn't going to let Michael face them alone. So for the next few minutes Michael and I faced them down. We would jump at them and they would jump back. We would run back into the tent in fear then run back out in brief moments of bravery until finally they moved along.

We were lucky. We lost a loaf of bread and some nuts and had a mess to clean up but that was all. This is a photo of one of the males stuffing his face with bread as we watched.

This was only day one of four at this camp and I knew we would face this troop of monkeys each day as they went on their morning forage so off we went to the tiny camp shop to see what "weapon" we could find. And that is where we discovered the cheap plastic child's water gun that became the best monkey weapon ever. We couldn't wait until the next morning. We sat on the porch at dawn sipping coffee waiting for the vermin to come. And sure as the sun rises they came. Michael and I turned into quick draw McGraw with our fully loaded weapons. We would shoot. They would duck behind a tree their heads peering out from behind on occasion only to get squirted. It was like a paint ball match with water as weapons and monkeys as opponents. It became such a fun routine each morning we were sad to leave that camp secretly hoping for another troop at the next camp to keep up our target practice.

Next year I think I will take a super soaker.

The Bad

2009-12-30T15:26:00.000-08:00

As I have said prior, when discussing traveling Africa many want to tell you the bad. Someone told Michael he had better watch his luggage as thieves will grab it and run in the Jo'burg airport which, of course, is not the case. But I understand the fear and the discussion. Listen or read the news of Africa and most of it is the bad. So few people, for example, have heard of the country of Botswana because it rarely makes the news. Botswana is a stable country that is well run with very little crime or corruption so why would one have heard of it?

For those of you thinking of traveling to Africa though, there is a bad side and one that you must be aware of. It's rare that I speak of that side but here I go..., for your benefit!

When Michael and I were planning our trip I debated on whether to grocery shop on the way to the park or inside the park. I decided on the ladder due to the fact that we would have all of our belongings on us as we entered the part and might be easily identified as tourist therefore marking ourselves to potential crooks who might be looking for an easy target.

During the time Michael and I were in Kruger National Park in South Africa there were four tourists that didn't take such precautions and paid the price. They left Kruger Park at gate closing time therefore driving outside the park at night. Soon after, they stopped at a gas station to fill up speaking among themselves in accents that identified them as tourists. I have read they rummaged through luggage which make all in the viewing area know they had everything they brought to South Africa with them not to mention I would lay money on the fact they were wearing all new khaki safari outfits. Thieves picked up on their trail at the gas station, followed them, forced them off the road with bullets and stole everything including their rental car. I'm sure it was a frightening experience but one that could have been avoided. Never identify yourself as a tourist and never drive at night. Two rules in any part of Africa that will serve you well.

Then there is the rule of always being prepared for the worst. I am sure at first Michael thought I was going a bit overboard when I insisted that when we left our hut/tent to go out into the wild we had water, food and flashlights with us; no exception, although he never said anything and always packed up happily.

At Punda Maria camp we met and socialized with a lovely couple from Durban who had practically saved an elderly couple whom they came upon only because their GPS told them to turn down a particular dirt road to get to their destination. The elderly couple whose vehicle was severly stuck in the mud had driven down that dirt road - that had been closed due to rains making the road unsafe – the day before. They were there for almost twenty-four hours when our new friends came upon them. The couple had no provisions with them. All night they sat in their car in the dark listening to lion, hyena and more all around them in the black of night hungry and scared.

Our only incident where we needed - or wanted - our provisions was the day of the million buffalo march, as we now call it. We left camp at four thirty in the morning; just before sunrise. After a few hours driving we were headed back to the camp when we came upon a massive herd of buffalo in the road walking towards us. We had to back up (time a time again) and wait for them to clear the road, which took forever.... Luckily we had breakfast with us. We chilled and ate breakfast while watching the march proceed.

The majority of Africa is safe to travel but you can not let your guard down. You must always be prepared and be smart using your best judgment in every situation. That is not to say bad things can’t happen but bad things can happen at your home tonight. When traveling Africa if you are smart and prepared your journey is likely to be safe and trouble free.

Decisions

2009-12-16T16:50:00.000-08:00

Sometime I make spur of the moment decisions without a ton of thought or research prior but most always the result is good. That is the case with me asking Michael only five weeks prior to my trip to South Africa to go with. Although I had officially known him for a year, I had only spent a limited amount of time with him when I asked him to join me. Once I invited and he accepted though I never looked back or questioned my decision. Five weeks later, we were on a plane headed seven thousand miles away to spend the following seventeen days together; all day, every day.

This spontaneous decision was a good one indeed. Michael and I had an absolute ball on our African journey. For seventeen days we explored, drove, saw, experienced and chilled with the ease of those who had spent their entire lives together. After packing up and moving camp a couple of times we even developed an unspoken routine of who does what and when on the load in and load out. I was amused and amazed.

The trip was certainly different then if I had gone alone but it was a welcome difference. I saw Africa again for the first time through Michael's eyes. The things that had become routine to me such as an elephant crossing the road suddenly became a spectacle of magical proportions. The sounds of the night that were my lullaby were untold nocturnal bedtime stories to Michael.

Laughter; both nervous and funny were in abundance. Knowledge I had long since thought commonplace quenched the thirst of Michael’s questions of the animals and political situations and history of the country we were traveling.

Spontaneity acted upon in this case will never be regretted. It has been said that when you have moments in life that you will never forget such as those Michael and I shared in Africa; you are gathering wood for your old age fire. Regardless of where we are in our futures I am sure I will always smell and see his fire burning bright as he recalls those fond memories.

And we're off...

2009-11-14T10:53:00.000-08:00

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. I know I will giving thanks that I am spending it in Africa. We are otta here. Be back too soon with some delicious new stories to tell.

Counting Down

2009-10-31T10:14:00.000-07:00

I knew when my final business trip was over the reality of the upcoming African holiday would firmly take hold. I had been working too hard and traveling too much while waiting for this day; anticipating the feeling of having the craziness behind me. The plane from San Diego to Atlanta began its decent last night. I could almost smell Africa; hear the roar of the lion and the call of the fish eagle. The trip was near.

The added bonus was sitting across the table from Michael last night enjoying sushi and sharing the excitement with him. I was asked this week if I regretted inviting him. Not in the least. First, I don't live by regrets. The feeling is a waste of time and energy. But more importantly, I am really enjoying sharing the build up for the trip with him; seeing him prep and get excited for the adventure that awaits us both.

I am seeing a big difference in prepping for this trip already though. On previous trips I was - as a friend called it - on a solo disconnect. That being so, I packed light and didn't worry about outfits, make up, hair and such; it was part of the appeal. Now I want to look cute.... And I already know I am going to pack too much but what the hell. I know I've said it before but I can't wait to see African again for the first time through someone else's eyes; Michaels as the case may be. And if I pack a bit more and primp a bit more, so be it.

My next flight is not to Cleveland, New York, Chicago or San Diego. My next flight is to Johannesburg, South Africa. We leave in two weeks or fourteen days and six hours or three hundred and thirty hours or nineteen thousand eight hundred and fifty three minutes.

Oh jeeez. I need to get off this blog and start checking things off the list.

Introducing Africa

2009-10-17T17:11:00.000-07:00

Over the last eight years I have taken nine trips to Africa, traveling thirteen of her countries alone. I would have to take the time to count to be exact, but I have been fortunate enough to spend about three hundred nights on African soil. I remember in the fall of 2001 when I was going on my first trip I didn't even know there was a country called South Africa. I knew little about the African animals other than what I knew from frequent zoo visits and wildlife shows. If you would have said I was going to see tigers in Africa, I may have believed you.

After I booked my first trip, I went to the travel clinic to get the recommended vaccinations and malaria prophylactic. The doctor made it sound like I was going to the far reaches of the earth and very well may not return; I was certainly not to return - according to her - if I did not get a plethora of shots. I think all of her precautions about traveling to and in South Africa made me more nervous than reading about lions and leopards.

Now I have read every book I can get my hands on about the politics, people, culture and certainly the animals. I no longer get shots before I go nor do I take malaria preventatives while I am there. Going to Africa for me now is like boarding a plane to head home on my annual visit to catch up with a dear friend. This year, I am taking someone home with me to introduce to Africa. Michael has never been and may not have ever even considered going to Africa until a couple of weeks ago when I began to think he might be the perfect person to take and questioning him, probably not to subtly.

When we began to discuss the possibility of him going I laid out my concerns. He read the blog posted below. I told him of the health issues that may present themselves. And yet he was still enthusiastic to go. I was quite afraid the morning after we agreed and he booked his flights that I would regret the decision; quite the opposite. I awoke giddy. His excitement is contagious. I find myself as excited as if this too were my very first visit.

Now that it is all set, I am trying not to talk too much about the trip when I see him as I don't want to bore him to tears with Africa talk. And I have cautioned myself to not be an obnoxious guide when there constantly spitting out facts and figures about the animals we may be viewing to the point Michael may want to feed me to the lion that weighs about five hundred pounds and lives in a pride lead by one or more large males and sleeps about twenty hours a day....

Four weeks from today Michael and I will be on a plane headed to Africa. At four weeks out I start to feel the excitement build; making lists and laying out things to take; cleaning the camera and such. The only difference this time is I see that excitement build in someone else too.

It's going to be wonderful to introduce Africa to Michael. I think they will get along just fine.

Seeing Africa Again for the First Time

2009-10-07T13:40:00.000-07:00

In a matter of weeks I head back to Africa. The debate I always have with myself is should I invite someone to go with me or not. I know it's a little late in the game now but if they had the time and could come up with the funds for flights - one international and one domestic - pretty much all else is already paid for so it would be a relatively inexpensive sixteen night African expedition for that person.

It would be exhilarating to see African again for the first time through someone else's eyes. To witness the reaction when a first timer comes face to face with a lion, elephant or baboon would be fascinating. I remember the first time I saw a tree full of vervet monkeys. I had to be pried away it was so magical. And the first impala that ever meandered by me had his picture taken from every possible angle; an animal that is absolutely everywhere. The thrill of introducing that to another would be amazing.

However, I have it in my head that this person stands just as good of a chance ruining my trip as enhancing it. You see Africa can be filled with many not so pleasant things too like bugs, snakes, bats and intensive heat -sleeping in a tent with no air conditioning. Mind you I don't find these things irritating but some might. And then there are days on end where I think this person may be bored. The trip I am going on this time is totally about chilling, seeing and photographing wildlife. So there will be days when I just sit and read or write while I see what animal crosses my path.

It would be nice though, at the end of an amazing day with lion roaring in the distance under the brilliant stars of the African night, to share an evening meal cooked on an open fire with an interesting person enjoying tantalizing conversation.

So, if you are open to bugs, snakes, bats, heat, and potential boredom with the thrill of seeing amazing wildlife and eating campfire cooking under the African sky and have the ability to take a last minute trip, come on. Go with me. I'll take the chance that you will be totally enhanced by what Africa has to offer if you realize that the opportunity to sit at a watering hole with the potential of a leopard coming by is worth the hours of nothing but nature while we talk and read.

Any takers?
Yes.
I'm talking to you.

Prescription: Africa

2009-09-28T15:49:00.000-07:00

Atlanta to New York. New York to Johannesburg. One night in a hotel in the hustle and bustle of one of Africa's largest cities then my last leg to Maun, Botswana. Exhausted. Anxious. Stressed.

I'm up early by the clock in my head and ready to get back to the airport. The time finally arrives for the shuttle driver to pick me up. I have already been waiting twenty minutes. He's late. (Inject the needle into the vein now please.) He finally shows up. We are on our way to the airport but now the driver has to stop for gas. (Start the drip.) The Air Botswana flight is also late by twenty five minutes. Oh well, it's not like the elephants won't wait for me. (Ah there is the first drip. I breathe deep and feel it enter my bloodstream.)

From my window seat I can see Johannesburg drift away and rural Africa come into view with few road and villages of thatched roof huts. (The drug is entering my bloodstream.) One more flight; a single engine plane to an airstrip near the camp. I'm nervous. I don't like small planes. I see my backpack get loaded then I get into the back seat and buckle up. My palms are sweating. (Ratchet up the dosage please.)

We take off and I see the wonders of nature; elephants crossing the flooded plains of the Okavango Delta; saddle billed storks on the wing. Below me is the most pristine land imaginable. It doesn't matter the plane is jolting in the hot air. (Ahh, now I feel it infiltrate every vein in my body.) As we descend I see the dirt landing strip. An elephant stands at the end of strip amongst a troop of baboons. The pilot tells me we have to do a swoop over the runway first to get the animals to move then we will come back around and land. I have no fear, just excitement and joy. (The drug is fully involved now controlling all senses.)

As I get out of the plane I feel like a new person. The one I come back to Africa to find each and every year. All stresses are gone and the wonders of nature are before me. This is the absolute truest version of me.

Refill: once a year or as needed.
Side affects: you may do things you would not normally do. Causes relaxed state of mind. May make you throw caution to the wind. Could make you find a side of you that has never been seen before. Some side effects can not be anticipated.

Slimy Bastards

2009-09-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

For so much of my life I have been completely afraid of frogs. The fear was passed to me from my mother. As a young teen I watched her nearly break her neck on the cement patio when a small green frog jumped onto her shoulder. I was sure by her reaction that frogs must be as venomous as snakes with teeth as plentiful as a shark. As she flailed her body across the patio straight into a wall - knees first then she kissed the brick - I prayed she would get the animal off of her in time. The frog finally jumped from Mom's shoulder onto the glass patio door which my mother was desperately trying to open to join me in the living room safe from the killer. She finally made it inside, closed the door tightly and locked it to keep the monster out. Then she tried quickly to recompose herself in front of her young impressionable daughter. Her hair was a mess and she was bleeding from her chin and both knees. I don’t remember her saying anything she just walked towards the bathroom I assumed to clean up. She came back into the living room and sat on the couch with me as she opened and applied band aids to the wounds. Just as she finished she looked up and saw that dangerous green frog on the glass – staring at her. I recall my mother saying, “I’ll show you”. She got up with a fury and retrieved the broom from the kitchen. When the glass door slung open the frog went flying but my mother found him. I’m not going to tell you what happened next, it’s too gruesome for me to repeat.

I was forced to get that feeling under control during an otherwise peaceful boat ride in the Okavango Delta. My guide and I were slithering along the shallow waters of the floodplain in a mokoro – carved out tree trunk boat - cutting through reeds along the way to nowhere in particular when from the sky fell a tiny green frog that struck and stuck to my bare forearm facing me. I froze. I couldn’t run from him. I was in a precarious boat floating on crocodile and hippopotamus infested water. I couldn’t yell. What if lion were right around the corner? My only option was to face him and make peace.

After a while I forgot the little frog was on my arm until much later when I guess he reached his destination. He readied himself for the jump raising his chest from my arm. And without so much as thank you for the ride or even a glance back he jumped off. I actually missed him after he was gone.

Today I am still surprised when I see a frog but try to enjoy them a bit realizing now that the real harm in frogs comes from trying to get away from them not the actual frog himself. I took a photo of this striking little fellow that came to hang out on my hut last year. But let’s not kid ourselves. If he would have jumped onto me while I was getting this shot I promise you I too would have called him a slimy bastard and had to clean my wounds from the escape. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Morning Lion Tracks

2009-09-18T17:28:00.000-07:00

There aren’t many moments of my past that I can put myself back into completely - sight, sound and smell – just by closing my eyes except for memories of experiences in Africa. Today I was telling my hairdresser about a morning in Zambia when I heard talking outside my tent. I opened my eyes and rolled over to where I could see out my tent door. I saw my two guides pointing to the sandy floor of our riverside camp.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, then sat up and tried to focus on the guides. One was a South African who had journeyed to Zambia with me. The other was a local Zambian river guide. Both were walking slowly around camp pointing at the ground.

I yelled out, “What are you two looking at?”

My South African guide, as casual as if he were telling me he spilled his bottled water, said, “A pride of lion were in camp last night. Looks to be about ten of them.” He walked closer to my tent and then said with a devilish smile, “Check the tracks just there outside your tent before you come out.”

I scooted up next to my mesh tent door and looked out at the sandy floor. The tracks were unmistakable. They were huge cat tracks, and there were several of them only inches from my tent. I lay back down on my sleeping bag with a plop shaking my head smiling. I had a strange feeling of silly self indulgent satisfaction and bone chilling fright.

Today I closed my eyes in my hair stylist's chair and breathed in deeply. I smelled the fresh morning river air impregnated with brief whiffs of a fire from the nearby village. I saw my guides against the hot, summer, morning sun walking with the soundtrack of fish eagles and hippos calling in the background.

Are my memories of Africa so easy to recall because they are truly spectacular moments or because Africa is the one place where I have absolutely no obligations, so I get to slow down, take it all in and burn the detailed images in my mind? Both. The memories of Africa are immensley spectacular and I get to take hours - should I decide - to imprint them deeply in the memory bank. Each to be withdrawn as needed.

Breast Fed Cheetahs

2009-09-11T20:01:00.000-07:00

I had the privilidge recently of flying next to a wonderful black women named Hester, both of us traveling back to Atlanta from Ohio. She was near eighty years old; raised in the United States in Mississippi back in the 1930's and 40's. I was completely intriquied by her magnificent stories of her share cropper father and being raised in that day in time. She had married young and has several children right away then her young husband went off to war and never made it home she told me.

During the conversation she told me how much she enjoyed sitting at her house watching birds and squirrels coming to her many feeders. She said she could do that for hours. I told her of my travels to Africa and that sitting and watching the animals there was my favorite past-time.

Eventually we were looking at some of my Africa photos. When I came to the one of the cheetah in my lap Hester said, "Girl, what in the world is that thing in your lap for?" I told her the cheetah had been hand raised. As quick as lightenting she said, "I don't care if he had been breast fed." I laughed out loud.

I will never look at that photo again, one of my favorites, without thinking of Hester.

Update: Sadly I learned the cheetah in this photo was killed by a lion in December of 2009. What a great privilidge to have been so close to her.

Walking with Lion

2009-09-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

Sometime I think I watch too many wildlife shows; Untamed and Uncut, Worlds Most Dangerous Animals, Caught on Tape, Africa's Deadly Dozen.... I do so to try to gain as much knowledge as possible but too much of what I watch are drama shows of what can happen or has happened to the unlucky few.

On my 2005 Africa trip I visited a fabulous private wildlife preserve in South Africa that rehabilitates and releases - on their own property - injured and orphaned animals. At the time I was there they had a two year old lion cub which they hand raised with a yellow lab; yes a domestic dog - they were best buds.  I was to go on a sunrise bush walk with two guides, the lion and the dog the following morning.

I met the guides at the predetermined time and location that brisk morning, coffee in hand as the sun peeped over the horizon. I was still groggy as the two guides began to give me the list of rules of which to obey while in the company of this lion; don't stoop down, don't separate yourself from the guides, don't make sudden movements, if he should rub up against you don't react, and whatever happens don't run.... I assure you that when they finished I was wide awake and feeling like if I swallowed another drop of coffee it would surely come back up.  Taking notes was considered.  As I rehersed the rules in my head out came both the lion and the dog bounding for our small group.

The lion ambled straight up to me and rubbed on my leg to scent me according to the guide. He was so strong he almost pushed me to the ground and God knows I did not want to go to the ground after hearing the rules. At that moment I recalled the image of a show of just such an event; a walk with a lion who suddenly grabbed a female tourist by the head. The outcome was not pleasant.

But this lion did no such thing. We had a nice hour long sunrise walk. I smiled the entire way watching this lion and dog interact; smelling the young cat and listenting to his grumbling and low roars. But there was never a moment that I was not fully aware that a large predator was in my company and that at any moment should I make the wrong move he could easily kill me. At the end of the walk, the guide asked if I would like to stand behind the lion for a photo. The smart side of me was thinking isn't that considered seperating myself from the group. But the brave side of me I seem to find only in Africa said sure, yes, why not. The lion was laying down in the grass. I handed my camera to the guide and strolled casually behind the lion. Just as the guide was about to snap the photo the lion yawned. His movement alone had my full attention but when he began to show me his impressive K-9's I thought I might be in trouble. The expression in my face, if you can see it, tells the story better than words....

You may be asking why I would put myself in such a fearful situation. It is these types of events that allow me to not only stretch as a human but also to feel more alive than ever. My only fault is indeed watching too many wildlife shows.

Punda Maria

2009-09-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

There is a camp in the far northern section of Kruger National Park near the borders of Zimbabwe and Mozambique called Punda Maria; originally established in 1913 from which to catch smugglers and poachers who came for the large herds of elephant, the elusive nyala antelope and other prized animal trophies. In the 1930's Punda Maria became the first rest camp in Kruger National Park. The area, in the far northern parts of South Africa is rich in history including the recently discovered Thulamela ruins of a stone walled city built and occupied 1250 to 1700 AD. The plethora of birds around the Punda Maria camp will turn even the least likely of birdwatchers into true twitters.

I was fortunate enough to spend two nights in this camp last year in hut #1. These original thatched roof and mud walled huts were built in 1933 giving this small camp the feel of Africa gone by. I sat on that porch sipping a glass of South African wine and thought Punda Maria must be similar to what the first European settlers saw when they arrived at a small village deep into the heart of the Dark Continent. The air was fresh from pollution but impregnated with the sounds of Africa's wild. As darkness overtook the bush land the lions roar traveled far in the clear night air then echoed back on itself.

When the sun fell fully beyond Africa's sky I stepped out from the thatched overhang and looked up. Tears flood my eyes as I think of it now. With no pollution to cloud the way and no unnatural light to dim them the stars hung bright seemingly right over my head; millions and millions of them. I think I actually reached up to see if I could touch one. I ran my hands through the gasses of the Milky Way.

During my one full day in this part of Kruger I packed drinks and lunch and drove to a watering hole about three kilometers down a dirt road a half an hour drive from camp where I sat under a sycamore fig tree and watched nothing in particular for hours upon hours. Many animals wandered by; vervet monkeys, giraffe, buffalo, warthog and even a leopard. I lounged in the passenger seat of my car binoculars and camera at the ready while I read "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy. Back at camp I sat outside my hut waiting for the stars. They appeared the same time as the close sound of a hyena call. That was one of my many best days in Africa and in life.

Before leaving Punda Maria I scouted about and found they had several fixed tents along the fenced perimeter of the camp. Imagine a real bed and bath under canvas with a full kitchen outside on the porch that overlooks the wilds of Africa. That is where I will be spending a full week on my next trip to Africa; booked and paid for. It'll take four nights to gradually work my way up there and another four nights to gradually work my way back south but will be worth every effort. There are only three things I want to do during my stay at Punda Maria; sit on my porch for a full day, sit at that same watering hole for a full day and stare at the stars from my tent each night before I fall asleep. One week and that is all I have on the agenda. I call that living.

Fences and Guns

2009-08-29T17:09:00.000-07:00

I'm asked often if I am armed when I am in Africa. I am not. And in all my days there I have only been around guns on a few organized night drives in open-air Jeeps. I learned long ago that either having the knowledge yourself or having a guide with the knowledge to avoid confrontation with the wildlife is safer than having a weapon because ultimately it is the ability to avoid confrontation that is the key to survival, not the ability to get out of trouble once it begins.

You must pay attention and interpret what the animals are communicating to you through their body language as well as their vocalizations. When you come across a lion or an elephant in the wild there may not be a fence separating you but there is a definite boundary. If you cross that boundary the animals will let let know; there is a whisper before the shout. Usually only those who don't hear the whisper get to hear the shout as trouble begins.

And everyone knows that trouble is not what you want to be in, in Africa.

Dancing Along the Light of Day

2009-08-23T07:20:00.000-07:00

I was walking my dog in the park this beautiful fall like morning when Train's song Drops of Jupitor came over my Ipod; with it floods of memories from my six month long trip to Africa rushed into my mind; Specifically a moment in Malawi sitting alone under a thatched roof umbrella . Tears flowed down my cheek when I realized my return flight to the States was only a couple weeks away.

Drops of Jupitor was getting heavy play on the radio before I left in the fall of 2001. It was one of the few songs I knew the lyrics to. As I sat there on the shore of Lake Malawi two short haired big mixed breed dogs came wondering up wagging their tails in hopes of affection. I moved from the chair to the sandy floor a dog on either side and I sang - badly may I add - Drops of Jupitor to them.

I was forty years old and going through a drastic mid-life crisis. Up until the point when I sold everything and moved to Africa - I said drastic - I was a workaholic, stuffy, determined and yeah, probably boring person. But for the months before that Malawi sunset I had found a me that had been deeply buried in Franklin Covery day planners and how to be better at business books. The newly discovered me was canoeing down the Zambezi with hippos; wild camping amongst lions and leopards; guarding my vehicle from thiefing baboons at the border post into Zambia; flying in single engine planes over the Kalahari desert and singing to stray dogs on the shores of Lake Malawi.

The same angels who sat on my shoulder giving me the strength and courage to follow my dream to head to Africa in the first place were the very angels feeding me the lyrics to Drops of Jupitor at the end of my journey. "But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day and head back to the Milky Way? And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star? One without a permanent scar and then you missed me while you were looking for yourself out there?"

The beach of Lake Malawi was the perfect beach. I was singing the perfect song with the perfect companions. In the time I was in Africa she gave me a great gift; a better version of me. I found me out there in the light of the African day as the winds of Lake Malawi swept me off my feet and I saw my first ever shooting star.

From now on I will dance along the light of every day.

Flashbacks

2009-08-07T16:19:00.001-07:00

As I watch footage of the recent shootings here in the States; one witness speaking of what she saw and how she will never forget it, I think about events in my life that I can recall as if they happened yesterday; some good, some not so good.

My biggest concern going on my trip to Kenya was Somali bandits on the road from Isiolo to Samburu which in my book of concerns is a big one but I had read that the situation had gotten better in recent years. It wasn't the bandits at all though that cause me flashbacks today. That event happened on a drive to Nairobi on the A109 roadway; a two lane tarred road. Many roads in Kenya are either not tarred or are pitted with pot holes which made people have to drive very slow. When they hit a good stretch of road people tended to drive very fast.

I hadn't noticed any speed limit signs or traffic cops just a plethora of cars zooming around us and by us on that Sunday morning. Our plan was to get to Nairobi by noon for lunch then drive the balance of the hundred miles to Treetops Lodge in the Abedare forest - the lodge where Princes Elizabeth on February 6, 1952 went up the stairs to her room a princess and came down them a queen because her father passed away in the night. For me the lodge was certainly interesting and historic but also a stop over point on my way to my final destination of Samburu another four hour drive the next day.

We were about twenty minutes from the city of Nairobi. There was one car in front of us on the two lane road. I remember distinctly we were discussing the Mau Mau revolution that took place in Kenya in the mid 1950's when a car passed us then passed the car in front of us and sped quickly out of sight. Only slightly further down the road another car passed us. Two minutes later he pulled out to pass the car in front of him but did so at the crest of a hill. And the worst happened.

It looked like the car that passed us turned toward the sky. The two cars that hit head on went flying straight up metal came off and flew away at warp speed and yet I can still see it today in slow motion. Twisted metal scraps that were once vital pieces of a car landed all around us. My driver stopped the van and jumped out to help. Other cars stopped. Farmers from the field came running. A couple of Maasai men ran up in full dress; shuka and beads. I sat in the van stunned and shaking.

I haven't wanted to remember what I am about to write but I see it again and again in my head; a young girl got out of the rumpled metal bleeding from everywhere. She attempted to walk but her legs were crushed so she fell to the ground. She didn't move again.

My driver came back to the van. "There's really no one to help," he said somewhat matter of fact I am sure out of shock. Both cars were filled with people many if not all died in that wreck that day. We drove on. I said nothing. I couldn't believe what I had witnessed. Subconsciously I was sitting with my legs Indian style. Every muscle in my body was tense. I flinched as cars passed.

Not far down the road the first car that passed us was pulled over. A man was out of the car with a beer in his hand waving us down. I came back to reality when my driver pulled over. After an exchange in Swahili the man threw his beer bottle on the road breaking it to bits, obviously drunk. My driver told me the man asked him if he had seen his friends car. My driver told him they had been in a wreck and that he should go back to them. The two cars were traveling from a wedding that Sunday morning.

I was so adversely affected by witnessing the wreck that I almost asked the driver to take me to the airport in Nairobi so I could come home. But I didn't and I am glad I didn't. The rest of the journey was amazing but the incident replays in my head often.

I later learned that Kenya has the highest rate of road accidents in the world. If I had known that fact going in I would not have planned as much driving as I did in that country. Instead I had read about the Somali bandits whom thank God I never saw.

Brave House Cat

2009-08-02T09:25:00.000-07:00

You may not think of a house cat as particularly brave but I know one little kitty in Africa who gives meaning to the word and exemplifies the kind of courage I try to muster up when I am there amongst the wildlife.

I was getting dressed after a nice shower in my room of the Maasai Mara Sopa Lodge late one evening when I heard hyena making their signature hoooo whop sound not far away. They had gathered for the nightly feeding by the lodge of food scraps; an event that had been conducted each evening for years. I wanted to witness the feeding but to do so I alone had to walk from my room to the viewing platform that overlooked the clearing where the food was to be placed. It took nerve knowing how many predators were out there but I didn't want to miss the opportunity so I took a deep brave breath and hurried out of my room down a barely lit pathway into the black of night.

The viewing location was a cement patio built on a hill that overlooked a grass clearing below. The grass was edged by trees that lead into thick bush in every direction. A bright spotlight was aimed at the center of the clearing where they would put the food. The spotlight occasionally illuminated the eyes of the predators that had gathered. More and more sounds came from the bush; moaning and scrambling. I couldn't actually see anything but I could hear them and the instinct that I use in Africa like nowhere else told me there were many species of animals out there watching me watch them. It was mesmerizing; making the hair on my arms stand at attention; every sense I had was being tested like a life saving decision could be right around the corner.

I had arrived a bit early. The only other person on the patio worked for the lodge. I asked him who actually took the food down there. He said he did. "Jobs are hard to come by in Kenya," he joked. More people and more animals gathered as time drew near. Then two men emerged from below. The small crowd hushed; everyone got lined up on the edge of the patio for prime viewing. The men walked towards the center of the clearing carrying a bucket. I was intrigued by the fact that one had pinned a red cloth around him. The animals of this area have a great respect for the Maasai people who wear red. I don't think this guy was a Maasai but this was his defense, so to speak, against the animals gathered for this feast.

Once the food was poured onto the ground the guys moved off. From the circle of forest hesitantly came hyena and black backed jackal but none would come all the way to the food. They would come out in the open hear or see one of us get spooked and run back then creep forward again none brave enough to come all the way at first. This went on for a while. Then, from the lodge, out from under the ledge we were all standing on came the bravest house cat ever. He walked very casually towards the food. I think everyone thought as I did that this cat was about to get eaten. We all forgot to breath except for the cat who really didn't think this was a big deal at all. Seemingly it took this little guy thirty minutes to reach the food but when he did he simply picked a chicken leg from the pile then proceeded to walk back towards us with his free meal dangling from his mouth. It was as if the hyena said, "Shoot. If he can do it so can I." And they all came running for the food.

Hyena get their nick name - laughing hyena - from the sound they make when they are in a feeding frenzy. It's a high pitched hehehehehe. The sound was overwhelmingly loud while all of the animals greedily grabbed food from the pile and from each other. The food and the animals were gone in a matter of a few minutes. Suddenly it was deathly quiet..., except for the faint sound of bones crunching. I looked down and there was the brave kitten enjoying every last morsel of his prized dinner.

The Key

2009-07-27T17:31:00.000-07:00

I want to find the key to waking up every day as happy and care free as I am in Africa; smiling with great anticipation of what the day holds. Even my saddest days in Africa turn out to be brilliant days, all day long.

Each day I awake in Africa is reason to celebrate so I start the day with a mimosa.

Hey. Maybe that is the key....

Comfortable or Careless

2009-07-26T18:15:00.000-07:00

During my last trip to Africa I did the most careless thing I have yet to do there. I almost ran out of gas in a national park amongst a plethora of wildlife. I have yet to decide if it's good that I was so chilled and comfortable in Africa that I didn't think of such a basic thing which is so unlike me, or if it was bad to be so comfortable that I got careless which in Africa could be a matter of life or death.

The plan was to stop in the next camp and grab something cold to drink, get gas then proceed south towards the camp I was staying in that night. The temperature was between ninety and one hundred degrees and it was very humid. Not long before reaching camp I spotted two cheetah sitting in thick shrub under a tree cooling off in the shade. I stayed there for longer than I should have knowing how much driving I had yet to do before reaching camp. I was super hot, dripping in sweat sitting in the car with the engine off and no air conditioning while I waited for the cheetah to come out for a better view which they never did.

There were more people in the camp than I cared to be around at the time so I hurried to get a couple of cold bottles of waters and off I went. I stopped along the way to my camp for a zebra and her foal and several sightings of beautiful birds. I spotted a young eagle perched on the bend of a branch and sat watching him for a while. I glanced down at the dashboard of the car to see what time it was and saw a big red low gas light on and I gasped.

"Oh my God," I said out loud. "I forgot to get gas." How could I have forgotten to get gas?

My questions to my self were where was I and was I closer to the camp I was headed toward or to the one I had left. I pulled the car off the road a bit and got out my map but I couldn't tell exactly where I was since there were no cross street or signs within sight. I was on a two lane tarred road in the middle of the bush; that I knew for sure.

I had also stopped many times over bridges and at sightings so how long I had been driving was not a good indication of how far I had driven. I remember feeling completely intense and super serious about making a good decision then remembered a cross road not too far back. A father of a good friend used to tell him, better the known than the unknown. So I turned around and drove believing all I had heard that if you roll up the windows and turn off the air and radio and any ancillary power usage your gas will last longer. I came to the cross road and found it on my map then decided it was closer to go back to the camp I had left so I kept driving a steady pace at the speed limit. I was so tense my fingers started tingling from holding the steering wheel in a death grip and I was sweating profusely.

When I finaly reached the gates of the camp forty five very long minutes later I felt myself take a life giving breath then I smiled and shook my head. I pulled my camera from the passenger seat and took this photo. I guess I wanted to remind myself each time I look at my pictures to chill into the days, take in each moment and do be comfortable but not careless. I won't let that happen again. But I am sure I will again do something stupid which I am sure you will read about it in a future blog....

Comfort Zone

2009-07-26T06:03:00.000-07:00

I lived daily in a tightly wound comfort zone; doing things that were strictly within my norm. But that was before my first trip to Africa. After that first trip I found myself without any boundaries at all, with only the word yes coming out of mouth when an opportunity to stretch my limits came my way. One such opportunity came in May of 2004. I found myself with twelve days on my hands and nothing on the agenda so I contacted Dean at African Bundu Safaris in Durban, South Africa who I had used before to book trips. He suggested I go to a camp called Oddballs in the Okavango Delta in Botswana. The Okavango Delta is a beautiful oasis; a giant water hole for the thirsty wildlife of the Kalahari desert.

To get there I took two international flights then a single engine plane that landed on a dirt airstrip a short hike away from the camp. The couple running the camp introduced them self to me then gathered the supplies the plane had brought and off we went down a dirt trail; baboons in the trees scurried as we passed.

I was shown down a sandy trail that I was told was raked before bed to better track the creatures that might came in the night. My tent was perched on a platform about four feet off the ground overlooking a channel of water filled with wildlife. There were no fences around the camp. It was completely open to any animals that cared to wander by and there is an abundance of them in the Okavango.

All meals at this camp were included with my fee as well as a local guide who I was told would take me out in a mokoro - a hand carved canoe - two times a day; morning and late afternoon for wildlife viewing on the river. I am deathly afraid of hippo. The river was filled with them. From the moment I arrived I heard their unmistakable grunts not far away. In the morning I was to be in the water with them on my first ride.

That night, under a clear night sky filled with a gazillion stars, I heard lion huff their territorial call and baboon males bark their sound of warning, then I was off in a deep sleep exhausted after my long journey. I was awakened by the dawn call of an African fish eagle perched high on a tree just across the river. I threw my hair in a pony tail, put on some clothes and walked down the sandy path to the kitchen for a quick cup of coffee where I met up with GB.

GB was a local man I guessed in his early sixties. He was born and raised on that land and knew it well; every tree, every bend of the river. I had no choice but to put my full trust in him. GB had no gun and no radio which I almost let bother me but I had to let go; calm into the event and take it one minute at a time. I sat in the front of the canoe which sat low in the water. GB stood in the back with a long pole that he used to push the bottom of the river to propel us forward. In the delta there are deep channels which we were avoiding instead we were traversing shallow waters thick with reeds which we quietly parted and slid through. GB explained that in the shallows he would be able to see and avoid hippo. On occasion we would have to cross the deep channel. GB would push us just to the edge of the deep water where we would sit for a while. I later learned he intentionally positioned our crossing at a sandy bottom channels to better see hippo that can stay hidden under water for up to five minutes. Once GB was sure there were no hippo we would quickly float across to the other side, back in the shallows, then proceed.

After about an hour he pushed our canoe up on a river bank and told me to get out. Around us was nothing man made; just pristine land. The distinct smell of wild sage filled my nostrils. GB motioned for me to follow him to where I did not know. We walked, me stepping quietly in his footsteps around huge ancient trees, down animal paths and around termite mounds until GB came to a stop and pointed to some tracks in the sand. "Two lion slept here last night." He said then pointed into the distance. "They went that way." He was reading the ground like most read a book. I was amazed. Then he pointed to a giant footprint. "Big male elephant. We will find him." And we were off tracking elephant. Yes I was scared. I had thoughts of being attacked by the lion he mentioned or what if GB had a heart attack. How would I find the boat? I even looked at the trees and the position of the sun and tried to keep my bearings during the trek so I would be able to find the boat myself should I need to.

We came upon wildebeest, impala, a black momba (a deadly African snake), and finally our big male elephant grazing peacefully in a clearing. GB said as he stared at the elephant getting a read on his temperament, "If he charges we run that way." He pointed to a thick patch of shrub and trees to our right. I was amazed at the fact I had just tracked an elephant. I was scared of the thought he might charge. I felt peaceful and yet filled with a fear that instead of making me want to run and hide made me feel more alive than I had ever felt. Every nerve in my body was on edge and ever sense I had was in full use.

We left the elephant, me again following in my guides footsteps. He was a man of few words when we were out in the bush so I just kept quiet too and followed. So much for me thinking I knew where our canoe was because suddenly it was in front of us. If it were up to me to find them I would have taken us in a completely different direction.

I looked so forward each day to my outings with GB. He taught me so much about the Okavango, the people of Botswana and the animals which had been his neighbors all his life. It was an experience that taught me to trust in another and just be along for the ride and take in all the ride has to offer. A ride completely outside of my comfort zone.

Home in Africa

2009-07-21T18:23:00.001-07:00

Anderson Cooper interviewed President Obama in Africa as Obama visited Ghana. Anderson asked the President why African-Americans who visited Africa felt like they were home and wanted to return again and again. Mr. Obama said that it wasn't just African-Americans who visited Africa that felt that way and he was so right. I'm as white as they come and yet I remember the very first time I touched African soil I was moved from deep inside of me as if I had just returned to my long lost homeland about to visit ancestors from twenty generations ago. It is still the feeling I get today when I am standing firmly on her ground. I breath in a deep life giving breath then exhale all of the stresses of life and I leave them behind right there on the tarmac as I embark on yet another African journey.

The feeling continues to overcome me as the first few days unfold. Last year I arrived in Johannesburg too late to catch my final flight to Nelspruit. After a night at a bed and breakfast back at the Jo'berg airport I met up with one of my favorite guides from previous trips for coffee then caught my final flight. I rented a car in Nelspruit and embarked on the short drive; less than an hour to Kruger. Surprising, even to me, driving on the wrong side of the car and road seems to come natural right away. My only issue is remembering which side of the car to actually get into.

The drive takes me east on the N4 which winds through lush farm land. Hundreds of locals walk the side of the street on paths made for pedestrian traffic which is much more prevalent than anywhere in the States. There are picnic spots along the way just off the road; wooden picnic tables sit under big beautiful old shade trees. The tables are usually full of people enjoying a snack or a meal. (In the States we don't bother to pull over, we eat and drive. What is our big hurry?) It is as if every one in Africa uses a different, slower clock than we do. They call it being on African time. After twenty minutes or so the land becomes rocky and hilly then mountainous; the scenery majestic and breath taking. The sign points left for Kruger. On that short stretch of road street vendors are set up on tables with carvings and fruits for sale trying to attract the tourist before they enter the park. I stock up. The fruits on these stands have come straight from the local farms and are some of the best I have tasted.

At the Malelane gate to Kruger Park I get out of my car and enter the reception area of the gate to check in. Only a certain number of people can enter the park daily so you need a reservation at one of the many camps within the park. They do let day visitors in but if the park is full there are no guarantees you will get in. Once I am set and receive my paperwork to enter the park I get back to my car and rearrange my personal items. I get my camera, lenses and binoculars out and get ready for what faces me ahead.

Very soon after I enter, the guard waving me ahead, I come upon two elephants - young males - wrestling each other with their trunks. I stop and watch them for a long time. As I sit, tears flow down my cheek. I don't fully understand it myself but it happens every time I am in front of my first wildlife sighting or at my first amazing African scenery. It is as if Africa needs to break me down before she can show me just how tremendous life can be during my stay. And she does just that; show me life's truly amazing traits. There are nights I am with no lights, no book, no TV, no Internet or computer and no Ipod in my ears with only the sounds of Africa. I sit and listen and look up at the brilliant star studded night so clear you can see satellites orbit the earth. Tears freely flow down my cheeks.

I have heard it said that when you are where no one knows you, you are the truest version of yourself. I certainly am the truest version of me when I am in Africa. I'm the best version of me when I am in Africa and I like that version of me so much. That's why I go back time and time again.

Mister Crocodile

2009-07-18T04:07:00.000-07:00

I always try to be aware of what is around me when in Africa among the wildlife. Animals of all kind are assuredly lurking waiting for an opportunity of one kind or another. I don't want to be that opportunity. But sometime I lose myself in my book, journal, in the scenery or just in nothingness.

One late afternoon after a brilliant day in Samburu, Kenya at the Samburu Lodge I was sitting on a lower level patio filled with chairs and tables watching day turn to night. There was a metal railing about three feet high around the dining area. I was sitting facing the river that was flowing by which meant to my right was the location of the nightly crocodile feeding where the biggest crocodile I had ever seen had been waiting now for hours for the feeding as I am told he does daily. There was a sign on the railing just in front of him that said “Beware of Crocodile”. (I later saw the other side of that sign from the crocodiles view. It said “Beware of Humans”.)

I ordered a cocktail and a snack and got lost writing in my journal. Suddenly in my peripheral vision I saw movement under my table just as I was about to take a sip of my drink. In the blink of an eye I saw a curled up tail and realized there was a cat under my table. My mind thought the worst; leopard or lion. I jumped up in fear and tripped over my chair. My hand continued its grip on my glass but the contents went flying toward and splashing onto the crocodiles face. My noise and the drink caused the crocodile to begin to move. Now I had a pissed off croc on my right – with a railing in between – and some kind of cat nearby.

The cat turned out to be a genet; a small fox like creature. He was harmless. If I had been a bit more vigilant I would have seen him enter the area and chilled watching him. Now I was out one drink, a little embarrassed and completely apologetic to Mister Crocodile.

Heed the Warnings or There is Always One!!

2009-07-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

If he or she is worth their weigh in salt, your guide will give you instructions and warnings throughout your African safari. You should heed these warnings. Other tourists, you will probably witness, will not heed warnings instead will flex their macho muscle which can lead to some good entertainment. One such event was down in the Nogorongoro crater in Tanzania - an amazing caldera ten miles in circumference filled with wildlife. My guide and I had packed a lunch for our long day of wildlife spotting. Around noon we headed for a fresh water lake in the crater where you can get out of your car to use the restroom and enjoy the scenery. Many people stop here for lunch as my guide and I had done.

We pulled up to a spot with the lake in front of us just off in the near distance. To the right was a huge tree that shaded parts of both the bank and the lake. My guide informed me I was welcome to take a walk but when I was ready to eat I should come back to the car. Birds, yellow billed kites to be specific, realized long ago humans equal food and they swarmed the sky above the safari vehicles and sat perched in the branches of the aforementioned tree. My guide rolled down his window and pulled out his boxed lunch. I did the same. While I chewed on my chicken leg a Range Rover pulled up beside us. We heard that driver give his passenger the same warning my guide had given me. But this tourist – a bald big bellied middle aged man – decided for himself it would be okay to sit under the tree to eat so off he waddled with his Styrofoam container in hand.

My guide smiled knowing the show was about to begin. He said, “Watch this”. The big man struggled to sit down on the thick tree root. The very second he opened that container he was attacked from all sides. A war took place on his head, in his lap, on his arms and his legs; it was a battle of the birds to see who could take the most of his food. Blood came from a cut on his forehead caused by a birds’ talon. He was slinging his arms trying to keep them away from his face but before this man could even gather his composure and really make himself aware of what was happening, his food was all gone and the Styrofoam container was shredded to bits. I heard my guide laughing hysterically from deep in his chest. I took my eyes off the entertainment under the tree to look over at my guide. He and the fat mans driver in the truck beside ours were doubled over in sheer pain from laughing so hard.

My guide, who’s English is somewhat broken, chose the perfect words. He said, “There is always one”.

This picture was taken after the fact but under the very tree....

OMG A Warthog!

2009-07-14T06:15:00.000-07:00

This morning I was thinking back to one of my first trips to Africa years ago. I was in Mkuze Game Reserve in South Africa; one of the first non-fenced camps I stayed in. After we pitched tents and got situatuated I asked my guide if it were okay to walk around a bit. I wanted to see primates of any kind. My guide pointed to a path saying that I could walk that path but to stay alert and to come right back and I was off.

The path was a dirt winding trail that never ventured too far from camp but meandered around some large trees and termite mounds within shouting distance of where my tent was. The trail curved a bit and when I came out of the curve I saw a family of warthogs in my path staring at me with these large upturned tusks that I imagined would be usefull while they were ripping my calves open. I froze. They froze. It was a stand off. I was completely still except for my heart visably pounding out of my chest. Do I scream? Do I run? Are they going to charge? I had no idea what to do nor did I have much information about warthogs from which to base my decision.

After what seemed like enough time passed to watch a full length movie I decided to go way around them and stepped cautiously off the path still headed in their general direction. I bravely kept a steady pace around them. Only their heads moved keeping me in their direct line of sight. As I got back on the path behind them they just trotted off in the direction they had originally intended.

I realized then and there that I needed more information if I intended to spend more time in Africa. I needed to know what to be afraid of and what to do should I encounter a dangerous animal.

I never saw any primates. I quickly forgot that was the purpose of the walk.

Pigeons

2009-07-04T15:37:00.000-07:00

I was just so consumed watching a male pigeon determined to win the affection of the female he was so relentlessly chasing that I forgot where I was until the person behind me honked his horn to advise me the traffic light I was sitting at was green. It was so green the four cars that were in front of me were no longer in my sight.

It reminded me of why I like sitting in the wilds of Africa so much. I get lost; so totally consumed by the wildlife I forget about all else. Sitting watching the pregnant hyena escaping the heat by laying in a small rare puddle of water while prey animals come and go none with the fortitude to drink while she was there; instead they walk away in thirst. Watching the kingfisher fly to and from the amazing sycamore fig tree and the stream until he finally made a catch so big it took him as long to swallow the fish as it did for him to catch it. Then he sat as long as I did digesting the massive meal.

But no one was behind me to honk there. No one brought be back to reality. I wonder if the pigeon won his prize this evening. Damn horns....

Smiling at Monkeys

2009-07-04T08:03:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I was completely comfortable getting down on the ground in front of a vervet monkey taking photos then following him or her to take more. I have several close photos to prove that there was a time I did not fear primates.

That all changed during a trip to Africa in 2007. I was staying at a fenced camp and walking mid day from my hut to the perimeter of the camp to sit on a bench to read carrying only my camera - I go nowhere in Africa without it - a can of local beer and a book. Being that I am alone I am always aware even in a fenced camp. After all, if primates could use the trees to get in camp so could leopards in my opinion. And if the occasional impala can wander past the gate guard I imagine a lion could too.

I looked ahead to see what was around and noticed a man sitting on a bench eating lunch reading the paper. There was a bench to his left that was empty which is where I was heading when I noticed the troop of vervet monkeys playing in the low hanging branches of the trees between the bench and myself. I was strolling for the bench when one of the monkeys dropped out of a branch ahead and to my left. The balance of the troop was to my right. As I was passing the monkey on my left I looked down at him and smiled. That's when everything very suddenly changed.

The monkey smiled back - I later learned smiling or showing your teeth is a sign of aggression in monkey lingo - then he screeched a sound I shall not soon forget and came for me. I was wearing loose fitting khaki pants. He was running for me reaching out towards my ankles trying to grab my leg. If he would get close his mouth would open. It was obvious he was trying to bite me. I began to dance a jig that if filmed would have won America's Got Talent or more likely Worlds Funniest Videos while screaming a girl scream I didn't know I had. (By the way I was also slinging beer on him but to no avail.) The scream got the attention of the man eating lunch on the nearby bench who dropped his lunch and came running towards me. I ran for him as well and when we met I began to use him as a shield between me and the monkey who was still intent on getting to me until another monkey discovered the man had dropped food. Thank God that diverted my attackers attention and he too went for the food stopping his attack.

The man, my hero, was a ranger. As we walked to the cafeteria where I bought him a replacement lunch he told me what I did wrong. First, I parted this male from his troop. Then I looked the monkey in the eyes and smiled; both are signs of aggression. It is said that if you do get attacked by something in Africa you probably did something wrong to deserve it. I don't know about deserving it but I definitely did wrong and I almost paid the ultimate price of being bitten.

I still today pay a price though. The price I pay is a new found fear of primates. I have a hard time coming out of my hut or tent if primates are in the area. I stay in my car if monkeys are nearby waiting for the troop to move on before coming out. It's a learned behavior that I am making an effort to unlearn. Before this experience I was in their face with no issue on several occasions. One bad event can change everything. Can it be changed back?

Blending In

2009-07-02T14:11:00.000-07:00

I hear so many bad stories about Africa when people discover my adventures there; anything from skin infesting larva to death by malaria and more. I could tell you a few of my own like the time... no, no. That kind of stuff you hear enough about. I want to tell you some good stories.

During one trip I was trying to get from Nairobi, Kenya to Arusha, Tanzania. There was a tourist shuttle one agent told me then another. It's cheap and efficient I was told. The ride is about eight or nine hours allowing time for drop offs and the border crossing and the cost is only twenty something dollars and completely safe was the rumor. So I booked it.

I arrived on my international flight very late the evening before. The same driver who drove me from the airport to the hotel also picked me up that morning promptly at ten o'clock from the luxurous Stanley hotel; a place that brought me directly into the pages of so many books I had read on the early explorers, safari goers and operators. The hotel opened its doors in 1902. One could almost hear the walls speak of the history the hotel had witnessed. I had a leisurely breakfast at the Thorn Tree restaurant sitting in the same location where perhaps Denys Fintch Hatton, Lord Delamere or Karen Blixon herself had taken tea.

We proceeded straight from historic luxury to a mud filled Nairobi back street lined with mini vans. My driver walked me to the one that I was to catch. There were a couple of local gentlemen already inside the van sitting quietly. My driver loaded my backpack in the hatch and directed me to get in and wait and he left.... More local black men loaded into the van some in suits others in jeans. One Maasai got in wearing all of his beads and shuka, (red draped cloth). All was quiet on the outside but inside my mind raced, screamed, cursed; what the hell are you doing I was asked myself.

Finally when the van was full to the brim a driver showed up and asked if we were all traveling to Arusha. That was the first time I heard anyone of the group speak. But when the van was cranked at eleven fifty - on time by Africas' standards - it was as if life was cranked into these passengers too. They began to chat and laugh; one began to hum. I tried to act as if I was completely comfortable and belonged in that van just as much as anyone else on it. But truthfully I was the only female and the only white person standing out like a red rose in the snow and well aware of this fact.

This shuttle was to drop each person off at their final destination in Arusha not at a bus terminal or drop point. I was being dropped at the Novotel Mount Meru Hotel. We were due to arrive at five thirty, just before dark.

Well, let's see now. I remember specifically breaking down three times but it may have been four or even five as I became numb after awhile and although I still faked serenity on the outside I shook my head back and forth inside and wondered what the hell I had done and if I were going to survive this experience. When the van puttered to a stop the driver would lift a compartment between him and the front seat passenger whereby the engine was accessable - I have never seen such before or after - and work on the problem for ages then the van would crank and we would be on our way again. Some time we stayed in the van; other times we got out and stood by the road. Keep in mind we are in africa; lions, leopards and all of the usual cast of Lion King characters were out there with us.... The other passengers acted as if this were absolutely no big deal and I played along - on the outside.

We finally arrived at the Kenya/Tanzania border post with another one hundred and sixty seven miles to go. Border crossings are a place where human predators come out in droves and this one was no exception. We all had to disembark the van and stand in line to get our passport inspected and stamped. As I stood outside in the swealtering heat, my backpack thrown over my shoulder, a scruffy frightening looking man - who appeared high staggering and stammering -began to approach me. Before he could reach me a man who was on my same van that I had barely noticed before stepped between me and this stranger. He spoke in Swahili in a tone I took to be powerful. The scruffy man yelled at my van mate threw up his hands and walked away. My van mate never looked at me but shadowed me the entire time we were at the border and out of the van and did not get back into the van until after I did. I know he was protecting me. It was actually quite astonishing.

Luckly as it got dark we did not breakdown again however we came very close to hitting a wild dog which is an endangered predator in Africa (aka painted dog). I peered out the front windshield for the next close encounter to be an elephant or hippo or something else dark in color and hard to see at night that would be crossing the road in front of us; but no.

Finally at eleven thirty, three hours late, I was dropped off at my hotel. As I got out I looked at the man who assisted me at the border and said thank you. He just nodded his head once and looked away. My Tanzanian driver/guide was waiting in the lobby for me with a fresh glass of cold juice. (I have no idea how he knew when I was arriving to have the cold glass poured in advance.... I was just damn glad he was there.)

I got to my room and at first was mad at myself for doing such a dangerous and stupid thing of booking that van. Then I became proud. I was proud and grateful of the man who watched over me. And I was proud of a new sence of trust that overcame me and that stays with me today. In general most people are good, honest, trustworthy and only want the best for their fellow man; or fellow white female tourist, as the case may be.

It's very easy to assume the worst in people. However if you give people a chance they will teach you to assume the best instead especially in Africa where the human spirit is alive and well.

(Note there are no photos of this van or anything along the route as I was tourist enough without pulling out my camera!)

The Frightening Warrior

2009-06-28T14:25:00.000-07:00

I was admired yesterday for what I believe this person thought was bravery for traveling Africa alone. "If it bleeds, it leads" is the old media insiders slogan. With that slogan fear is instilled in many about the continent of Africa. And in fact I appreciate that fear as I too have shared it in the past. How could you not when the majority of what is broadcast about Africa is war, corruption, famine and crime.

Before traveling to Kenya I had read about the Mau Mau revolution that was so violent and deadly. I, of course, had watched the scene in Out of Africa when Baroness Karen Blixon was delivering paraffin and tinned food down to the border near Lake Natron across bush country to her husband. They watched in fear and reservation as ten Massai in full dress carrying shealds and spears marched past their caravan. Due to intense media coverage, I was also well aware of the 1998 bombing of the American Embassy in Nairobi and the shoulder mounted rocket aimed at an Israeli airliner in 2002. So many preconceived bad notions....

Besides the amazing wildlife I really knew nothing good about Kenya but I was determined to go. My first stop was Amboseli; a reserve in southeastern Kenya with grand views of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I arrived at the lovely Amboseli Sernea Lodge in the heat of the afternoon. After I checked into my beautifully appointed room I went to sit poolside and write. Very soon after my drink arrived a local man in full Maasai dress; red drapped cloth, beads, spear, headress and the works appeared and stood just behind me as I sat at my table.

I was uncomfortable to say the least. I said to myself, "This was not going to be good". I looked around. There were only two other people in view and they were a good distance away. I could be conked over the head, speared and dragged away before they would know it. I was completely side tracked from enjoying my beverage, from the abundance of wildlife around and from the glorious view of the famous mountain before me. My full attention was devoted to this frightening figure behind me. But I tried to act the opposite as if I were just going about my business.

I couldn't keep it up. I needed to break the tention so I turned around and said hello. He remained very serious, no smile. I asked him if I could take his picture. I had brought a Poloroid camera to Kenya with the idea of trading the local tribes people a photo for them for a photo for me. He shook his head but I didn't think he understood so I pulled out the Poloroid and took his picture and gave it to him. As you know, at first all you see is a blank page. He was confused. I did my best, without words, to convey that he should just keep watching.

Suddenly a vervet monkey jumped from an overhanging tree branch onto my table, grabbed the fruit off my drink, spilling the drink all over the place. The Maasai jumped into action and scaried the monkey back into the tree. The waiter rushed over after hearing the commotion. He expained that the local Maasai were hired to keep the wildlife from the grounds. I laughed inside. Here I thought the worst. I was sure I would be the next bad Africa headline, "Stupid blond American tourist traveling solo gets taken and killed by Maasai." But no. And I had distracted him from his duties causing monkey mania on my table.

After the commotion, another drink on my table, I turned back to the Maasai who had returned to his duty of standing guard but now with this Poloroid piece of paper in the same hand he was holding the spear. I motioned him to look at it but kept a close watch on my drink. When he looked at the paper his eyes lit up like the African sun. During my stay I then became the lady with the magic camera. Maasai were coming up to me constantly to ask if I could take their photo. Finally I found one tribe member who spoke good English and made a trade; a talk about their culture and introduction to their tribe (yes and jumping lessons as illustrated in the photo) for a photo of each member.

The moment that stands out the most though was right before I was to leave Amboseli. One of the tribe members came up to thank me for the photos of his tribe. He said he wanted to give me something and held out the Poloroid I had taken of him. I knew they prized those photos. These are nomadic peoples with very little to no possessions. For him to give me his photo was the most generous gesture he could have made.

So much for the preconceived notions.

Sunset Expectations

2009-06-27T13:31:00.000-07:00

I don't know why, perhaps I am just lucky - one guide said it was because I don't have any expectations - that so many and such a wide variety of animals cross my path during my trips to Africa.

From under a group of trees where we had cleared the land enough to pitch our tents for our stay in the Okavango Delta, my guide and I boarded our vehicle and set out a dirt path for a sunset drive; destination unknown. I only wanted to get a nice sunset photo. I had no other expectations of the drive especially since my guide had already stated that the last tourist he had taken into the Delta saw very little wildlife but by then, just on the way to the camp, we had seen a breeding herd of elephant and three lumbering giraffe along with impala and baboons.

The temperature cooled quickly as the sun raced for the horizon. A welcome breeze was in my face as I stood with my head out of the opening of the top of the vehicle. Disney's imagineers might have created the perfect scenery in front of me as a vision of what Africa was supposed to look like; dirt paths leading around clumps of acacia thorn trees with five feet tall termite mounts dotting the landscape. We rounded a corner with a bank on our right leading down to a river where a pod of hippos grunted; one opened his mouth wide to show me all of his long sharp teeth. Then into view came a pride of lion - we counted seven - just waking from their day long nap.

We couldn't meandor long as we needed to be back at camp before the black of night brought out the evenings predators. So we stayed only a minute at the lions then drove on around a curve only to be astonished by a herd of over five hundred cape buffalo that blocked the path. And among the buffalo were several giraffe with a baby in tow.

My guide too was speachless. Sitting around the fire later I smiled in complete joy and thrill of the excellent sunset shot I managed to get. All of the animal sightings were my bonus. Luck, maybe. Or was I just meant to be exactly where I was that day? Or did they show because their were no expectations for them to do so?

Soap Opera of the Night

2009-06-27T06:30:00.000-07:00

Last night I met a friend of a friend who asked what the nights were like in Africa. It is yet the best question I have been asked about Africa. You see nights in the so called civilized world can be scary because the human predators come out. Turn on any city news in the morning and you hear who was robbed, killed, car jacked, stabbed, shot and more the night before.

When sun sets in the Okavango Delta, Kruger National Park, or the Serengeti the predators also come out, predators of a different kind entirely. Nothing is more welcome than the huffing sound of a pride of lions defining their territory vocally to any other wandering feline as the sun sets. Or in pitch black hearing the distinct short changing pitch of a hum, if you will, coming from hyena calling reinforcements to a potential meal. And once you get familiar with the sounds you can sit and hear them knowing what soap opera is playing out in front of you like a blind man reading braille.

The scene is dead quiet except for the cooing of a dove in the near tree and the crackling of what's left of the fire you cooked your meal on. A short distance away a baboon barks in warning to his troop but not in time. The baboon who has been caught by the leopard is screaming in death. Then scrambling noises as the balance of the troop struggle with the knowledge and fear of a troop member being killed. To the left of the original struggle the sound of heavy claws on bark as the leopard takes his kill up into a tree to keep it safe. It's quiet for a moment but I know the leopard has begun to eat the primate; first plucking the hair which falls to the base of the tree leaving clues. What are the rest of the baboons doing? The night does not divuldge their fear and longing for their troop mate. It is only imagined.

The local clan of hyena have heard the comotion and now smell the blood of the dead baboon. They call in a very distinct hum that starts at one pitch and ends in another. The sound travels great distances in the night. They could be very far but your imagination hears them only an arms length away. Hyenas from miles around stop what they were doing and head to the scene to help. At the thought of a meal mother hyenas put their babies safely back into the dens and move off hurridly. If you listen close you can hear them coming from many directions. As they gather, they attempt to gang up on the leopard. But hyena don't climb and leopards' aren't easily intimidated so the kill is safe. All goes quiet again.

What drama will play out next in this dark night with more stars shining down on the scene than I ever thought exsisted? It's the mystery of the African night. And even though these very same predators could include you in their meal plan, the thought is not as scary as the human predators of the night in the civilized world.

Simba the Humbler

2009-06-25T11:45:00.000-07:00

I am asked frequently why I choose Africa as my destination of choice. Africa has a way to bring me back to the reality of life each and every time I go. The minute I touch her soil she begins to humble me.

Like the first time I faced a lion alone. It was very early in the morning, dusk just sipping the morning road when I saw an ambling figure up ahead but couldn't make it out. I stopped and poked my head out the window slightly to get a better view. The animal was intentionally but slowly coming closer. Like Poloroid film coming into focus I suddenly realized it was a big male lion who, if he kept his pace and direction, was going to walk right beside my car within seconds. It was that moment I understood the saying of your blood running cold. A chill ran through my body. The hair on the back of my neck and arms rose up like the neck hair of a dog before it fights. The only thing of me that moved were my eyes as I watched him proceed without wavering his path. When he got just beside my car, two arms lengths away from me he moved only his head towards me keeping his gate and looked me in the eyes.

In the very second he looked at me I was not scared. Instead I was humbled. Humbled by his size and anticipated strength. Humbled by the knowledge that in an instant he could have decided to take my life. (Humbled that he didn't.) Humbled in the fact that his ancestors had roamed that land for longer than man.

I felt small, insignificant, and yet so privilidged to be in this moment. That feeling is the answer to why I come back to Africa time and time again; I come for that feeling I had in front of the lion that morning; the feeling that makes me realize just how alive I am.