TANZANIA
The Trip
In June and July of 2003, my sister Betty and I spent 5 weeks traveling in Tanzania. We were looking for an adventure, and we definitely found it in one named Eddie Frank, an experienced Africa guide and founder of Tusker Trail, a company that conducts African safaris and treks up Mount Kilimanjaro. Eddie was putting together a one-of-a-kind expedition to explore parts of Tanzania way off the beaten path; places where most travelers don’t venture, and even places where no foreigner has ever been. This was the exact kind of experience Betty and I were looking for. Because of the lack of an itinerary and the hardship of this type of travel, Eddie interviewed each person interested in joining the expedition, and then hand-picked 10 folks. How Betty and I made it as part of this group is a mystery, but we were never-the-less very excited to be chosen. The other members of our expedition were:
· Eddie, our expedition leader, a white African currently living in the U.S., who has led several expeditions through Africa in the past;
· Derrold, a scientist and computer guru who was second in command and keeper of the computerized GPS maps;
· Gail, Derrold’s wife and our resident nurse (should we need one);
· John, our outstanding camp cook from Kenya;
· Christy, thirty-something and the youngest member of our group who joined the expedition after having just spent the previous week climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro;
· Matt, an attorney from New York and quite the lush;
· Debbie, who had participated on a previous expedition with Eddie and was hoping to get something going with him on this one; and
· Susan, a bizarre-looking blond from California who looked as if she had overdone it just a bit with the plastic surgery.
The day finally came when Betty and I boarded our plane from the U.S.; traveled to London, where we met our sister, Susan, who came over from Germany, and spent the next 12 hours traveling the English countryside; visiting and lunching with Richard Adams of “Watership Down” fame (he is a good friend of Susan’s) and his wife at their home in Whitchurch; then reboarded our plane; and at last arrived in Tanzania to start our expedition.
· Eddie, our expedition leader, a white African currently living in the U.S., who has led several expeditions through Africa in the past;
· Derrold, a scientist and computer guru who was second in command and keeper of the computerized GPS maps;
· Gail, Derrold’s wife and our resident nurse (should we need one);
· John, our outstanding camp cook from Kenya;
· Christy, thirty-something and the youngest member of our group who joined the expedition after having just spent the previous week climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro;
· Matt, an attorney from New York and quite the lush;
· Debbie, who had participated on a previous expedition with Eddie and was hoping to get something going with him on this one; and
· Susan, a bizarre-looking blond from California who looked as if she had overdone it just a bit with the plastic surgery.
The day finally came when Betty and I boarded our plane from the U.S.; traveled to London, where we met our sister, Susan, who came over from Germany, and spent the next 12 hours traveling the English countryside; visiting and lunching with Richard Adams of “Watership Down” fame (he is a good friend of Susan’s) and his wife at their home in Whitchurch; then reboarded our plane; and at last arrived in Tanzania to start our expedition.
Flexibility on our Tanzanian expedition was imperative because we had no itinerary, and it could last a minimum of 3 weeks or up to 4 weeks or longer. With no specific plan, we set out in two vehicles: a Land Rover that Eddie had customized into the perfect overland transport, and an equally superb large truck that transported most of our gear and served as our “chuck wagon.” When we were on the move, Derrold drove the truck and carried 1 passenger (we took turns riding with him), and the rest of us rode in the Land Rover with Eddie at the wheel.
We had no itinerary, except that we were going to travel through the western portion of Tanzania, where very few folks journey. (Almost all visitors to the country go north to the Serengeti, Ngorongoro, or Mt. Kilimanjaro, or visit the island of Zanaibar.) We decided that we wanted to visit Katavi National Park, Ruaha National Park, and Mahale Mountains National Park, and to get there we would be driving through untamed African bush, over remote and rough roads, and through tiny villages where a white face might never have been seen before. Were we up for it? Definitely!
Of course, because of the type of expedition we were on, our plans changed constantly. For instance, at one point we were in our vehicles just getting ready to leave the ranger station in Katavi and drive 3 days on an unnamed dirt trail to the Mahale Mountains. Literally seconds before we were to pull out, a man named Roland Purcell, a transplanted white American who operates a camp in Mahale, approached us. He had just flown in from Mahale via his single-engine Piper and had somehow heard that we were going to drive to Mahale, which was almost unheard of (nearly all people fly into Mahale). He wanted to warn us that the road we were going to attempt to use had recently become very dangerous. It seemed that, according to Roland, the Hutus and Tutsis were fighting in this particular area and had just killed 2 U.N. peacekeepers. With this new bit of information, our group piled out of the vehicles and discussed what to do. We could fly in – and out – of Mahale, which would cost several hundred dollars, or we could go someplace else. We reluctantly decided to skip Mahale and instead, after visiting Ruaha, spend time in Mikumi National Park, which was not part of our original plan. As it turned out, it was a great change of plans and we all had an excellent time in Mikumi camping in the bush.
After four weeks with Eddie and the gang, our expedition was over. It was better than anything I could ever have imagined. Not only did I experience spectacular landscapes, view unbelievable wildlife, and meet some incredible people, I had also grown tremendously as a person and learned much about myself. It was a bittersweet “good-bye” to my traveling companions, with whom I had just spent a month living intimately 24 hours a day. Betty and I then spent the next week back in Mikumi, though this time around we stayed at two different luxury tented safari camps, both run by the Fox family. The days we spent at Foxes Safari Camp was definitely one of the highlights of my trip, as it was quintessential Africa at its very best!
Before we knew it, it was time for me and Betty to leave Africa and return home, though it turned out to be not that simple. We flew from Dar es Salaam to London, where we had a 3-hour layover. Unfortunately, British Airways baggage handlers at Heathrow had literally just gone on strike, and all BA flights into and out of Heathrow were cancelled until the strike was over. With thousands of people already lined up at the BA ticket counters trying to reschedule their flights, Betty and I left the airport and managed to check ourselves into a hotel (a story for another day!). Someone had given me a “secret” phone number to British Airlines and as soon as I got to my hotel room, I called it and got right through to reservations. Even so, the earliest flight Betty and I could get was in 3 days, and that was on a United Airlines flight to Frankfurt, Germany, where we would catch a BA flight back to the U.S. We booked the flight and spent the next few days – and a couple thousand dollars – sightseeing in London.
We finally returned home – exhausted, but none-the-worse for the wear!
Traveling by Train
After staying in the beautiful Bahari Beach Hotel on the Indian Ocean in Dar es Salaam for a few days, my sister, Betty, and I headed to the train station for the overnight trip to Mbeya, where we were to continue on our 5-week journey through western Tanzania. We had first class tickets for the train (which is a story in itself!), and after we got settled in our cabin, I felt nature call. With toilet paper in hand (each first class passenger received their own personal roll from the train conductor), I walked down the hall to the one lavatory that the entire first class car was to share.
As I entered the loo, I was pleasantly pleased to see that it was clean and contained a Western-style stainless steel toilet. Upon further inspection, however, I discovered that it was seatless and flushless. After balancing myself over the toilet bowl – which is quite a feat in a moving train – I did my business and "flushed" it away with a cupful of fetid water from a red bucket that was conveniently placed next to the toilet.
As darkness fell, I again had to "go." Because the train was traveling through many small villages and towns, I thought it best to close the lavatory window, which had frosted glass panes, before I dropped my drawers. Well, forget that idea – the window wouldn't budge. That was okay, because I would just turn out the light. Except for one little problem: there was no light switch. I had to quickly lose my modesty.
As the night wore on, I had to go again and hastily slipped on my sneakers without tying them. As I stepped into the lavatory, the smell of urine was overpowering! I heard "squish-squish," and looked down to see that I was standing on a urine-soaked floor (it could have been worse!), and I was disgusted to see that my shoelaces were drenched with pee – and not my own. Next door, there was a washroom with a couple sinks, so I thought I would try to rinse my shoelaces. However, the stench in the washroom was worse than in the lavatory. There was no running water and, worse that that, train passengers had been using the sinks as toilets! Upon returning to my cabin, I removed my shoelaces from my sneakers and sealed them in a zip-lock baggie. I decided that I would NOT have to use the toilet again the rest of that train ride.
We arrived in Mbeya the next morning, and with my bladder about ready to explode, I made my way out of my cabin to depart the train. As I walked past the wretched lavatory, now reeking of stale urine, I couldn't resist glancing in. To my surprise (well, not really), the small room was piled high with sacks of potatoes!
As I entered the loo, I was pleasantly pleased to see that it was clean and contained a Western-style stainless steel toilet. Upon further inspection, however, I discovered that it was seatless and flushless. After balancing myself over the toilet bowl – which is quite a feat in a moving train – I did my business and "flushed" it away with a cupful of fetid water from a red bucket that was conveniently placed next to the toilet.
As darkness fell, I again had to "go." Because the train was traveling through many small villages and towns, I thought it best to close the lavatory window, which had frosted glass panes, before I dropped my drawers. Well, forget that idea – the window wouldn't budge. That was okay, because I would just turn out the light. Except for one little problem: there was no light switch. I had to quickly lose my modesty.
As the night wore on, I had to go again and hastily slipped on my sneakers without tying them. As I stepped into the lavatory, the smell of urine was overpowering! I heard "squish-squish," and looked down to see that I was standing on a urine-soaked floor (it could have been worse!), and I was disgusted to see that my shoelaces were drenched with pee – and not my own. Next door, there was a washroom with a couple sinks, so I thought I would try to rinse my shoelaces. However, the stench in the washroom was worse than in the lavatory. There was no running water and, worse that that, train passengers had been using the sinks as toilets! Upon returning to my cabin, I removed my shoelaces from my sneakers and sealed them in a zip-lock baggie. I decided that I would NOT have to use the toilet again the rest of that train ride.
We arrived in Mbeya the next morning, and with my bladder about ready to explode, I made my way out of my cabin to depart the train. As I walked past the wretched lavatory, now reeking of stale urine, I couldn't resist glancing in. To my surprise (well, not really), the small room was piled high with sacks of potatoes!
First Encounter with Wildlife
My sister and I had just recently arrived in Tanzania for a 5-week adventure, and after spending a few days in Dar es Salaam, we took the overnight train to Mbeya, where we met up with the rest of our traveling companions. We were staying one night at the Mt. Livingstone Hotel in Mbeya before embarking on a 3+ week camping expedition way “off the beaten path” in western Tanzania.
As we were getting ready to leave our hotel in Mbeya to start our journey to Katavi National Park, we had a short pow-wow outside our Land Rover with our expedition leader, Eddie. He wanted us to know that all any of us had to do was indicate to him that we wanted to stop for any reason – bathroom break, photo op, sick call, etc. – and he would stop. Well, that made me feel a lot better because I have a bladder the size of a walnut.
About 90 minutes down the road, my bladder was starting to feel a little full. However, I did not want to be the first one to request a stop, so I tried to distract myself by taking in the surrounding landscape. By now we were in the forest and away from any sign of human life. As my bladder got fuller and fuller, I thought to myself that I was going to have to say something. At just that moment, though, Debbie, one of my fellow travelers, announced that she needed a pee break.
Eddie pulled over to the side of the dirt road. We all (thank you, Debbie) piled out of our vehicle and headed off in different directions into the trees. Despite it being winter and the dry season, the underbrush was thick, and I didn’t have to venture too far before I found a suitable tree to squat behind and do my business. I finished, stuffed my now somewhat soggy toilet paper into my pants pocket for future use (it’s amazing how many times one can use the same piece of TP before it completely disintegrates), zipped up my pants, and exited the woods. As I approached the Land Rover I happened to look down and noticed that a large, white seed pod about the size and shape of a mango was stuck to the thigh portion of my pants. I started to brush it off, when all of a sudden it started moving in a hundred different directions!
It was then that I realized the “seed pod” was actually a nest of baby spiders. It looked like thousands of sesame seed-sized, light gray, 8-legged creatures. They were crawling over me in all directions. I continued to attempt to brush off the nest, but my actions just further dispersed the babies to more portions of my body.
One of my traveling companions grabbed a can of permethrin, a topical insecticide used as a mosquito repellant, and turned it on me like a fire extinguisher. Baby spiders started dropping like flies – or, in this case, spiders – from my body as I gagged on the chemical cloud that now enveloped my entire self. I wasn’t sure what was worse: being covered by thousands of teeny, tiny arachnids or death by insecticide vapor. Finally, after a cursory inspection determined that I was no longer inhabited by spiders, the permethrin was put away, I climbed back into the Land Rover, and we continued on our way.
Nonetheless, we did end up with some stowaways as I continued that day to find tiny, sesame seed-sized, light gray, 8-legged creatures appearing now and then crawling on my leg, arm, neck, hand…
As we were getting ready to leave our hotel in Mbeya to start our journey to Katavi National Park, we had a short pow-wow outside our Land Rover with our expedition leader, Eddie. He wanted us to know that all any of us had to do was indicate to him that we wanted to stop for any reason – bathroom break, photo op, sick call, etc. – and he would stop. Well, that made me feel a lot better because I have a bladder the size of a walnut.
About 90 minutes down the road, my bladder was starting to feel a little full. However, I did not want to be the first one to request a stop, so I tried to distract myself by taking in the surrounding landscape. By now we were in the forest and away from any sign of human life. As my bladder got fuller and fuller, I thought to myself that I was going to have to say something. At just that moment, though, Debbie, one of my fellow travelers, announced that she needed a pee break.
Eddie pulled over to the side of the dirt road. We all (thank you, Debbie) piled out of our vehicle and headed off in different directions into the trees. Despite it being winter and the dry season, the underbrush was thick, and I didn’t have to venture too far before I found a suitable tree to squat behind and do my business. I finished, stuffed my now somewhat soggy toilet paper into my pants pocket for future use (it’s amazing how many times one can use the same piece of TP before it completely disintegrates), zipped up my pants, and exited the woods. As I approached the Land Rover I happened to look down and noticed that a large, white seed pod about the size and shape of a mango was stuck to the thigh portion of my pants. I started to brush it off, when all of a sudden it started moving in a hundred different directions!
It was then that I realized the “seed pod” was actually a nest of baby spiders. It looked like thousands of sesame seed-sized, light gray, 8-legged creatures. They were crawling over me in all directions. I continued to attempt to brush off the nest, but my actions just further dispersed the babies to more portions of my body.
One of my traveling companions grabbed a can of permethrin, a topical insecticide used as a mosquito repellant, and turned it on me like a fire extinguisher. Baby spiders started dropping like flies – or, in this case, spiders – from my body as I gagged on the chemical cloud that now enveloped my entire self. I wasn’t sure what was worse: being covered by thousands of teeny, tiny arachnids or death by insecticide vapor. Finally, after a cursory inspection determined that I was no longer inhabited by spiders, the permethrin was put away, I climbed back into the Land Rover, and we continued on our way.
Nonetheless, we did end up with some stowaways as I continued that day to find tiny, sesame seed-sized, light gray, 8-legged creatures appearing now and then crawling on my leg, arm, neck, hand…
Sleeping – Or Not – In the Bush
We had just left Mbeya, and for the next five weeks, we were going to be sleeping outdoors in tents. We were heading for Katavi National Park, about 400 miles north of Mbeya, a 2-day drive.
We traveled about 200 miles on our first day of driving, stopping overnight in Sumbawanga at the Forestway Country Club, which was anything but. We got up early the next morning, packed the vehicles and left for Katavi, arriving mid-afternoon. We were the only guests in the entire 1,700 square mile national park, which had seen only about 25 visitors in the past 6 months. Because Tanzania is almost smack-dab on the equator, sunset is around 6:30 p.m. year-round (likewise, sunrise is at 6:30 a.m.), so we quickly set up our camp. This was going to be my first night in the bush, and I couldn’t wait.
Each person in our expedition group was provided their own tent, and with the campsite being so large – covering several acres – everyone pitched their canvas homes far away from each other. This was slightly worrisome to me because back in Dar es Salaam, fellow traveler Gail, who has camped in Africa before, regaled us with stories of how wild animals sometimes come into camp during the night while everyone is sleeping. She said that as long as everyone stays calm, any uninvited visitors won’t bother anyone in their tent. So, while everyone else had lots of breathing room, I begged my sister, Betty, to let me erect my tent right next to hers, which I did.
That evening, after a delicious dinner of fried fish, cauliflower and boiled potatoes with homemade tomato sauce, followed by a nighttime game drive, we all sat around the campfire and listened to stories of the bush. It was so exciting to hear Eddie and the others talk about their experiences in Africa (even though Betty and I have traveled quite a bit, it turned out that were the least-traveled of our traveling companions), and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow when I, too, would start accruing my own stories. As the campfire died down, Eddie told us what to expect our first night in the bush. Since we were camping within the park’s boundaries and right on the edge of the flood plain, it was likely that wildlife would wander into our camp during the night. Eddie warned us that if a hippo or elephant entered camp, we must stay very still in our tents so that the animal does not get spooked and run amuck through camp, crashing through tents and crushing bodies. Then he advised us that if a lion wandered into camp we should yell loudly so that Ricoh, our guard who was traveling with us armed with an AK-47, would be awakened and – hopefully – save us. As if to reinforce what Eddie was telling us, a female elephant with her baby suddenly sauntered into camp and trumpeted. As quickly as they appeared, however, they retreated.
Okay, so now I was totally freaked out. What had I gotten myself into! Why did I sign onto this expedition! As I zipped myself into my sleeping bag that first night, I started praying that God would keep all animals away from our camp and that He would protect me from any crazed creatures that might happen to explore among our tents during the night. Despite my fear, I soon fell asleep.
I was jolted awake by a sound. I lay perfectly still in the pitch black waiting for another sound. There it was again. Swish,swish, crunch, snort. I couldn’t tell if it was a hippo or an elephant, but I knew that it was one of the two. It was very near my tent, eating the vegetation. Swish, swish, crunch, snort. I was petrified.
“Do not move a muscle,” I said to myself. “Lie very still.”
Then, “Breathe,” I silently said as I became aware that I was holding my breath.
The sounds continued for what seemed like forever. Finally, I heard them no more, but I was positive that whatever produced them was still nearby. I was terrified to move for fear that I would spook the intruder and end up mincemeat. So I continued to lay there in my tent, frozen in my sleeping bag, wide awake.
After awhile, my bladder was calling me to empty it. I ignored these pleadings until it became impossible. I had no idea what I was going to do. The latrine that we dug when we were setting up camp was located about 100 yards from my tent, and I was sure that the hippo/elephant – and who knows what else – was still lurking someplace in camp. As my bladder was getting ready to burst, I had to come up with some kind of “pee plan.”
I had no other choice if I wanted to survive. Bit by little bit, I unzipped my sleeping bag. I next very slowly unzipped my duffle bag containing all my gear. I cautiously started rummaging through my duffle bag until I found one of the zip-lock bags I had – thankfully – packed. I pulled it out and very gingerly opened it. I quietly got on my knees and slowly pulled down my pajama bottoms and undies. I then took the zip-lock bag and placed it between my legs to form an airtight seal so that I could pee in the bag. As if my bladder had a mind of its own, it immediately let loose.
Well, the airtight seal was not so airtight. As urine was pouring from me like a spigot onto my sleepwear and sleeping bag, I tried stop the flow, but I was beyond the point of no return. I desperately tried to position the zip-lock bag to catch at least something, but was met with failure. Not to mention that I was making all kinds of noises, thereby attracting whatever beast(s) were lurking in camp waiting to crush, kill and destroy.
When my bladder had finally emptied itself, I felt the damage: soaking wet bedclothes and sleeping bag. For fear that now – for sure – a curious lion was going to be attracted by the smell of human urine, there was only one thing to do. I put my wet pajama bottoms and undies in the zip-lock bag and sealed it, turned my sleeping bag over to the dry side (it eventually leaked through), lay – naked – flat on my back without making a sound, and waited for the sun to come up. Oh, and prayed that I would survive till morning.
We traveled about 200 miles on our first day of driving, stopping overnight in Sumbawanga at the Forestway Country Club, which was anything but. We got up early the next morning, packed the vehicles and left for Katavi, arriving mid-afternoon. We were the only guests in the entire 1,700 square mile national park, which had seen only about 25 visitors in the past 6 months. Because Tanzania is almost smack-dab on the equator, sunset is around 6:30 p.m. year-round (likewise, sunrise is at 6:30 a.m.), so we quickly set up our camp. This was going to be my first night in the bush, and I couldn’t wait.
Each person in our expedition group was provided their own tent, and with the campsite being so large – covering several acres – everyone pitched their canvas homes far away from each other. This was slightly worrisome to me because back in Dar es Salaam, fellow traveler Gail, who has camped in Africa before, regaled us with stories of how wild animals sometimes come into camp during the night while everyone is sleeping. She said that as long as everyone stays calm, any uninvited visitors won’t bother anyone in their tent. So, while everyone else had lots of breathing room, I begged my sister, Betty, to let me erect my tent right next to hers, which I did.
That evening, after a delicious dinner of fried fish, cauliflower and boiled potatoes with homemade tomato sauce, followed by a nighttime game drive, we all sat around the campfire and listened to stories of the bush. It was so exciting to hear Eddie and the others talk about their experiences in Africa (even though Betty and I have traveled quite a bit, it turned out that were the least-traveled of our traveling companions), and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow when I, too, would start accruing my own stories. As the campfire died down, Eddie told us what to expect our first night in the bush. Since we were camping within the park’s boundaries and right on the edge of the flood plain, it was likely that wildlife would wander into our camp during the night. Eddie warned us that if a hippo or elephant entered camp, we must stay very still in our tents so that the animal does not get spooked and run amuck through camp, crashing through tents and crushing bodies. Then he advised us that if a lion wandered into camp we should yell loudly so that Ricoh, our guard who was traveling with us armed with an AK-47, would be awakened and – hopefully – save us. As if to reinforce what Eddie was telling us, a female elephant with her baby suddenly sauntered into camp and trumpeted. As quickly as they appeared, however, they retreated.
Okay, so now I was totally freaked out. What had I gotten myself into! Why did I sign onto this expedition! As I zipped myself into my sleeping bag that first night, I started praying that God would keep all animals away from our camp and that He would protect me from any crazed creatures that might happen to explore among our tents during the night. Despite my fear, I soon fell asleep.
I was jolted awake by a sound. I lay perfectly still in the pitch black waiting for another sound. There it was again. Swish,swish, crunch, snort. I couldn’t tell if it was a hippo or an elephant, but I knew that it was one of the two. It was very near my tent, eating the vegetation. Swish, swish, crunch, snort. I was petrified.
“Do not move a muscle,” I said to myself. “Lie very still.”
Then, “Breathe,” I silently said as I became aware that I was holding my breath.
The sounds continued for what seemed like forever. Finally, I heard them no more, but I was positive that whatever produced them was still nearby. I was terrified to move for fear that I would spook the intruder and end up mincemeat. So I continued to lay there in my tent, frozen in my sleeping bag, wide awake.
After awhile, my bladder was calling me to empty it. I ignored these pleadings until it became impossible. I had no idea what I was going to do. The latrine that we dug when we were setting up camp was located about 100 yards from my tent, and I was sure that the hippo/elephant – and who knows what else – was still lurking someplace in camp. As my bladder was getting ready to burst, I had to come up with some kind of “pee plan.”
I had no other choice if I wanted to survive. Bit by little bit, I unzipped my sleeping bag. I next very slowly unzipped my duffle bag containing all my gear. I cautiously started rummaging through my duffle bag until I found one of the zip-lock bags I had – thankfully – packed. I pulled it out and very gingerly opened it. I quietly got on my knees and slowly pulled down my pajama bottoms and undies. I then took the zip-lock bag and placed it between my legs to form an airtight seal so that I could pee in the bag. As if my bladder had a mind of its own, it immediately let loose.
Well, the airtight seal was not so airtight. As urine was pouring from me like a spigot onto my sleepwear and sleeping bag, I tried stop the flow, but I was beyond the point of no return. I desperately tried to position the zip-lock bag to catch at least something, but was met with failure. Not to mention that I was making all kinds of noises, thereby attracting whatever beast(s) were lurking in camp waiting to crush, kill and destroy.
When my bladder had finally emptied itself, I felt the damage: soaking wet bedclothes and sleeping bag. For fear that now – for sure – a curious lion was going to be attracted by the smell of human urine, there was only one thing to do. I put my wet pajama bottoms and undies in the zip-lock bag and sealed it, turned my sleeping bag over to the dry side (it eventually leaked through), lay – naked – flat on my back without making a sound, and waited for the sun to come up. Oh, and prayed that I would survive till morning.
CHARGE!
Have you ever been charged by an elephant? You know, one of those 7-ton gray beasts, with huge floppy ears, a long trunk, two curving tusks, and a little swishy tail. Well, I have. And let me tell you, it was pretty darn THRILLING!
My sister Betty and I had just started a five-week expedition in Tanzania, Africa, with a hand-picked group of six guests, plus the expedition leader, a scientist, a nurse, a cook, and a couple armed guards. Each guest had to be interviewed prior to being invited to join the expedition, and how Betty and I were selected was a mystery to us. Nevertheless, we were thrilled to be making this trip of a lifetime.
This was a camping expedition, and we were roughing it in the broadest sense of the word – sleeping in small, single-person tents, no toilets, no showers, cooking over a camp fire, collecting wood for the fire.
We were in Katavi National Park, which is a magnificent place way off the beaten path. Because of that, the park had had less than 25 visitors during the past six months. I decided to set up my little green tent in a clearing near the edge of the floodplain, which in June was very dry. The only water was in a narrow creek that meandered through the tall golden grasses.
As I looked out over the flood plain, I was excited to see a large bull elephant on the other side of the creek. My first elephant of the trip! I grabbed my camera and started shooting as he moseyed toward the creek, crossed over it to my side, and then disappeared behind some shrubbery near our campsite.
Now, most people have a misconception about male elephants. They believe that the males are kicked out of the herd, which is always matriarch-headed, and that is why a herd consists of only babies, young males and females, and older females. It is true that you won’t find a mature male elephant living with the herd, but it’s not because the big guy has been evicted. Males instinctively leave the herd when they reach puberty, which occurs around 13 to 17 years old.
When a male elephant leaves the herd, he roams as a solitary bull. Sometimes, a group of males will form a loose bachelor herd for a short time. When a male reaches sexual maturity, around the age of 30, he will start breeding with females, and will temporarily wander from one herd to another in order to mate.
About 10 minutes after the elephant left my sight and as I was helping to set up our camp kitchen, I heard some loud rustling noises coming from the dense undergrowth behind me. As I turned around, the same bull elephant I had recently watched cross the creek came sauntering into camp right toward me. My fellow travelers and I stopped what we were doing and stood still. The only sounds you could hear were the clicks of camera shutters and the elephant trampling through the bushes.
The elephant continued toward me and stopped when he was about 30 feet away. I was so ecstatic that my hands were shaking as I clicked off shot after shot! Next thing I heard was our armed guard, Ricoh, say in a soft, but firm, voice, “People, this is NOT the time to be taking pictures.”
At that moment, the elephant started wildly flapping his ears and shaking his head, raised his trunk, and emitted a series of deafening trumpets. Suddenly, he bolted forward, right toward me! I turned and ran a few steps, and then I hurled myself, along with Betty, into our chuck wagon, hiding behind a small box of vegetables. I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast in my life – before or since then. As I peered over the box, I could see the elephant turn and slowly walk out of our camp. After a few more moments, Betty and I exited the chuck wagon, and the only people we saw were one other guest and our camp cook, who had jumped on top of the roof of the chuck wagon, where they still stood. Slowly, everyone else appeared, and all were safe.
We had just been charged by an elephant! Eddie, our expedition leader, informed us that while it was a somewhat tense encounter, it was only a mock charge; not a REAL charge. Nonetheless, it was VERY thrilling, and was to be the first of three elephant charges I have encountered in my life – two mock charges and one real charge!
Now, you’re probably wondering what the difference is between a mock charge and a real charge.
In a mock charge, the elephant starts with a lot of ear flapping and head shaking, its tail is stiff and straight out, and there is loud trumpeting. The elephant will then run toward you with its ears out to the side and his head held high; sometimes there will be trumpeting. At this point, DO NOT MOVE! Stand your ground! I know this will be VERY hard to do, but you must maintain your position. Everything in your being will tell you to RUN AWAY, RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN! However, you must be brave and stand there without moving. When it appears that you are about to be made mincemeat, the elephant will stop short, turn away from you, and walk away. If you can’t control yourself and you decide to turn and run, a mock charge may turn into a real charge, which you definitely do not want.
A real charge, thankfully, is rare, and is usually only triggered by an injured elephant, a cow protecting a calve, an elephant that perceives you as a major threat, or a male in musth, which is when a bull is ready to mate, and his testosterone level is ten times higher than usual, causing extreme aggression. During a real charge, the elephant’s ears will be back against its head, its head will be down, the trunk tucked under its chin, and very little, if any, trumpeting. If you see an elephant running toward you with this posture, you have two choices: 1) stand there and be trampled to death, or 2) hightail it out of there as quickly as possible and hope you are faster than the elephant!
In conclusion, if you ever go on an African safari, you will most likely encounter elephants, and you may even be charged by one! All I can tell you is that it will be very THRILLING!
To watch an actual mock charge, click here.
My sister Betty and I had just started a five-week expedition in Tanzania, Africa, with a hand-picked group of six guests, plus the expedition leader, a scientist, a nurse, a cook, and a couple armed guards. Each guest had to be interviewed prior to being invited to join the expedition, and how Betty and I were selected was a mystery to us. Nevertheless, we were thrilled to be making this trip of a lifetime.
This was a camping expedition, and we were roughing it in the broadest sense of the word – sleeping in small, single-person tents, no toilets, no showers, cooking over a camp fire, collecting wood for the fire.
We were in Katavi National Park, which is a magnificent place way off the beaten path. Because of that, the park had had less than 25 visitors during the past six months. I decided to set up my little green tent in a clearing near the edge of the floodplain, which in June was very dry. The only water was in a narrow creek that meandered through the tall golden grasses.
As I looked out over the flood plain, I was excited to see a large bull elephant on the other side of the creek. My first elephant of the trip! I grabbed my camera and started shooting as he moseyed toward the creek, crossed over it to my side, and then disappeared behind some shrubbery near our campsite.
Now, most people have a misconception about male elephants. They believe that the males are kicked out of the herd, which is always matriarch-headed, and that is why a herd consists of only babies, young males and females, and older females. It is true that you won’t find a mature male elephant living with the herd, but it’s not because the big guy has been evicted. Males instinctively leave the herd when they reach puberty, which occurs around 13 to 17 years old.
When a male elephant leaves the herd, he roams as a solitary bull. Sometimes, a group of males will form a loose bachelor herd for a short time. When a male reaches sexual maturity, around the age of 30, he will start breeding with females, and will temporarily wander from one herd to another in order to mate.
About 10 minutes after the elephant left my sight and as I was helping to set up our camp kitchen, I heard some loud rustling noises coming from the dense undergrowth behind me. As I turned around, the same bull elephant I had recently watched cross the creek came sauntering into camp right toward me. My fellow travelers and I stopped what we were doing and stood still. The only sounds you could hear were the clicks of camera shutters and the elephant trampling through the bushes.
The elephant continued toward me and stopped when he was about 30 feet away. I was so ecstatic that my hands were shaking as I clicked off shot after shot! Next thing I heard was our armed guard, Ricoh, say in a soft, but firm, voice, “People, this is NOT the time to be taking pictures.”
At that moment, the elephant started wildly flapping his ears and shaking his head, raised his trunk, and emitted a series of deafening trumpets. Suddenly, he bolted forward, right toward me! I turned and ran a few steps, and then I hurled myself, along with Betty, into our chuck wagon, hiding behind a small box of vegetables. I don’t think I’ve ever moved that fast in my life – before or since then. As I peered over the box, I could see the elephant turn and slowly walk out of our camp. After a few more moments, Betty and I exited the chuck wagon, and the only people we saw were one other guest and our camp cook, who had jumped on top of the roof of the chuck wagon, where they still stood. Slowly, everyone else appeared, and all were safe.
We had just been charged by an elephant! Eddie, our expedition leader, informed us that while it was a somewhat tense encounter, it was only a mock charge; not a REAL charge. Nonetheless, it was VERY thrilling, and was to be the first of three elephant charges I have encountered in my life – two mock charges and one real charge!
Now, you’re probably wondering what the difference is between a mock charge and a real charge.
In a mock charge, the elephant starts with a lot of ear flapping and head shaking, its tail is stiff and straight out, and there is loud trumpeting. The elephant will then run toward you with its ears out to the side and his head held high; sometimes there will be trumpeting. At this point, DO NOT MOVE! Stand your ground! I know this will be VERY hard to do, but you must maintain your position. Everything in your being will tell you to RUN AWAY, RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN! However, you must be brave and stand there without moving. When it appears that you are about to be made mincemeat, the elephant will stop short, turn away from you, and walk away. If you can’t control yourself and you decide to turn and run, a mock charge may turn into a real charge, which you definitely do not want.
A real charge, thankfully, is rare, and is usually only triggered by an injured elephant, a cow protecting a calve, an elephant that perceives you as a major threat, or a male in musth, which is when a bull is ready to mate, and his testosterone level is ten times higher than usual, causing extreme aggression. During a real charge, the elephant’s ears will be back against its head, its head will be down, the trunk tucked under its chin, and very little, if any, trumpeting. If you see an elephant running toward you with this posture, you have two choices: 1) stand there and be trampled to death, or 2) hightail it out of there as quickly as possible and hope you are faster than the elephant!
In conclusion, if you ever go on an African safari, you will most likely encounter elephants, and you may even be charged by one! All I can tell you is that it will be very THRILLING!
To watch an actual mock charge, click here.
Oh, S**t!
During our expedition, we all had taken great precautions to avoid getting sick (i.e., traveler’s diarrhea). We washed our hands with a mixture of bleach and Dettol, an antiseptic germicidal, before eating and after going to the bathroom; drank water obtained only from village bore holes, which negated the necessity of boiling drinking water; washed our cooking and eating utensils in non-contaminated water; and did not eat any fruits or vegetables unless they were peeled or cooked. We had been fortunate that so far our efforts had worked.
Now, after spending a week in Ruaha National Park, several members of our expedition were abandoning us. Debbie was unhappy because Eddie seemed to be more interested in Susan, who always wore makeup and flowing chiffon wrap-arounds as skirts, than in her. Though Susan was oblivious to all this (later in the trip, she denied that anything ever took place between her and Eddie), I could see a catfight – and not the four-legged, furry kind found on the savannah – in the making. Debbie, to cut her losses and save her pride, decided to leave our group and take a puddle-jumper to Zanzibar to finish out her portion of the trip.
Young, cute Christy was completely spent (as in “exhausted, drained”), which was reasonable and expected after having spent a week climbing Mount Kilimanjaro immediately preceding the expedition. To be honest, though, she looked like death warmed over. Christy, like Debbie, decided to go to Zanzibar, where she could spend the rest of her time recovering and relaxing. Matt, who was perpetually beet red (not sure if that’s because he was such a boozer or because he was a fair-skinned redhead), was in “lust” with Christy (at least 15 years his junior) and chose to follow her – like a little puppy dog with its tongue hanging out and tail wagging – to Zanzibar.
So, it was with much sadness and tears that those of us remaining behind said good-bye to those leaving. And, off they went.
Now, after spending a week in Ruaha National Park, several members of our expedition were abandoning us. Debbie was unhappy because Eddie seemed to be more interested in Susan, who always wore makeup and flowing chiffon wrap-arounds as skirts, than in her. Though Susan was oblivious to all this (later in the trip, she denied that anything ever took place between her and Eddie), I could see a catfight – and not the four-legged, furry kind found on the savannah – in the making. Debbie, to cut her losses and save her pride, decided to leave our group and take a puddle-jumper to Zanzibar to finish out her portion of the trip.
Young, cute Christy was completely spent (as in “exhausted, drained”), which was reasonable and expected after having spent a week climbing Mount Kilimanjaro immediately preceding the expedition. To be honest, though, she looked like death warmed over. Christy, like Debbie, decided to go to Zanzibar, where she could spend the rest of her time recovering and relaxing. Matt, who was perpetually beet red (not sure if that’s because he was such a boozer or because he was a fair-skinned redhead), was in “lust” with Christy (at least 15 years his junior) and chose to follow her – like a little puppy dog with its tongue hanging out and tail wagging – to Zanzibar.
So, it was with much sadness and tears that those of us remaining behind said good-bye to those leaving. And, off they went.
It was now time for the 7 of us left to continue on our expedition. We left Ruaha and started the journey to Mikumi. After a long day of driving, we arrived at Mbyuni, pulled off the so-called road (really just a dirt track) and drove through the bush until we came to what Eddie called a “Baobab forest.” What a wonderful place! Betty and I went hiking among the huge trees, and we shortly heard the tinkling of bells. We soon found ourselves in the midst of a herd of very skinny, long-horned cattle walking through the trees. We followed the cattle back to camp, which they nonchalantly sauntered through on their way to wherever they were going. Eddie informed us that we were in Maasai country and that the cattle belonged to them. A little while later, a Maasai man walked into our camp. He was dressed in a purple Shúkà, the traditional cloth sheet that is worn by the Maasai. He told us that he would bring his family by in the morning to meet us.
And, he did. Early the next morning, the Maasai man’s entire family – about 20 of them – entered our camp. They had with them the most gorgeous beaded jewelry, which they wanted to sell to us. We quickly bought up everything they had brought – plus some they even wore themselves – and took a bunch of photographs. After they left, we packed up camp, climbed back into our vehicles, and continued our drive to Mikumi.
And, he did. Early the next morning, the Maasai man’s entire family – about 20 of them – entered our camp. They had with them the most gorgeous beaded jewelry, which they wanted to sell to us. We quickly bought up everything they had brought – plus some they even wore themselves – and took a bunch of photographs. After they left, we packed up camp, climbed back into our vehicles, and continued our drive to Mikumi.
Around 1 p.m., we stopped for lunch. Eddie and Derrold weren’t looking too well, so we quickly designated an area for the latrine far from where we were eating. One after the other, Eddie and Derrold each made a lengthy trip to the latrine, and we all knew that our "luck" had finally run out.
We were finishing up lunch and I decided to make a trip to the latrine to pee before we continued on our way to Mikumi. Before I headed over to the “designated area,” I asked the guys if they had properly disposed of their business. (Because, as everyone knows, when a person is not feeling well, they can tend to be sloppy in what they do.) They each assured me that they had buried their business.
As I stepped behind the clump of bushes that shielded the latrine from the view of my traveling companions, I felt something mushy under my left foot. Before I had the opportunity to look down and see what I had stepped in, the smell hit me. "Crap!" I literally and figuratively yelled. I had stepped into one of those lying moron’s runny, gooey s**t! As I gagged, I looked at the bottom of my hiking boot. There was s**t all stuck deep within the lugs of the sole.
As I hobbled back to camp shaking my head from side to side, I could see the expression of dread on the faces of Eddie and Derrold. They knew immediately what had happened, though neither one of them would confess that the s**t belonged to him. I told them that I wasn’t about to clean their crap – whoever it belonged to – from the sole of my boot; they better figure out which one of them was going to do it for me.
So, for the next 20 minutes, both Eddie and Derrold dug out the crap from my boot with sticks they had found. They then used water to remove any last traces of s**t. At this point, the whole incident became quite hilarious, and today it makes a good story. I hope, however, that this has taught Eddie and Derrold to watch where they s**t!
A Close Call
In Katavi National Park, my traveling companions and I were driving along a dirt trail when we spotted a solitary large bull elephant with a set of impressive tusks in the bush walking diagonally in the direction of the route on which we were traveling. We all whipped out our cameras and started shooting, keeping pace with the elephant as he slowly made his way toward the trail and us.
As he got closer, we could tell he was getting agitated since our Land Rover was blocking his ability to cross the trail. Finally, when he was about 20 feet from our vehicle, he trumpeted loudly, pinned back his ears, lowered his head, and then raced toward the Land Rover. Eddie, our excellent guide and driver, quickly stepped on the gas. However, being on a dirt trail, our wheels just started spinning. I was sitting at the back of the vehicle with the large window wide open as I saw one of the elephant’s long, white tusks about to spear me when the wheels at last “caught” and the vehicle suddenly lurched forward. I opened my eyes, which I had clenched shut when I thought death by impalement of an elephant tusk was imminent, just in time to look behind me out the rear window to see the elephant bolt across the trail only inches from the back of our vehicle. Whew! Death averted, this time at least!
We were finishing up lunch and I decided to make a trip to the latrine to pee before we continued on our way to Mikumi. Before I headed over to the “designated area,” I asked the guys if they had properly disposed of their business. (Because, as everyone knows, when a person is not feeling well, they can tend to be sloppy in what they do.) They each assured me that they had buried their business.
As I stepped behind the clump of bushes that shielded the latrine from the view of my traveling companions, I felt something mushy under my left foot. Before I had the opportunity to look down and see what I had stepped in, the smell hit me. "Crap!" I literally and figuratively yelled. I had stepped into one of those lying moron’s runny, gooey s**t! As I gagged, I looked at the bottom of my hiking boot. There was s**t all stuck deep within the lugs of the sole.
As I hobbled back to camp shaking my head from side to side, I could see the expression of dread on the faces of Eddie and Derrold. They knew immediately what had happened, though neither one of them would confess that the s**t belonged to him. I told them that I wasn’t about to clean their crap – whoever it belonged to – from the sole of my boot; they better figure out which one of them was going to do it for me.
So, for the next 20 minutes, both Eddie and Derrold dug out the crap from my boot with sticks they had found. They then used water to remove any last traces of s**t. At this point, the whole incident became quite hilarious, and today it makes a good story. I hope, however, that this has taught Eddie and Derrold to watch where they s**t!
A Close Call
In Katavi National Park, my traveling companions and I were driving along a dirt trail when we spotted a solitary large bull elephant with a set of impressive tusks in the bush walking diagonally in the direction of the route on which we were traveling. We all whipped out our cameras and started shooting, keeping pace with the elephant as he slowly made his way toward the trail and us.
As he got closer, we could tell he was getting agitated since our Land Rover was blocking his ability to cross the trail. Finally, when he was about 20 feet from our vehicle, he trumpeted loudly, pinned back his ears, lowered his head, and then raced toward the Land Rover. Eddie, our excellent guide and driver, quickly stepped on the gas. However, being on a dirt trail, our wheels just started spinning. I was sitting at the back of the vehicle with the large window wide open as I saw one of the elephant’s long, white tusks about to spear me when the wheels at last “caught” and the vehicle suddenly lurched forward. I opened my eyes, which I had clenched shut when I thought death by impalement of an elephant tusk was imminent, just in time to look behind me out the rear window to see the elephant bolt across the trail only inches from the back of our vehicle. Whew! Death averted, this time at least!