A dream comes true

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The circumstances for this trip were a bit unusual. I had always had these romanticised dreams about Africa in general, and safaris in particular. I had been reading the ads in the newspapers for quite some time, but it was not until I came across a special priced group tour to Kenya and the Masai Mara that I finally decided to act and booked myself a seat. Having done that my boss suddenly decided that I should go on a month long biz trip across the pond to Denver, Colorado in September, talk about lousy timing. Fortunately my plan was already set and booking made, so I managed to get a decent compromise. I got to spend two weeks in Denver and then fly home for the weekend, do the laundry, pack the bag and go on my holiday, return home the next weekend, do the laundry and pack the bag for two more weeks in the U.S. Disorientating but exciting in its own way.

The trip to Nairobi goes from Copenhagen and is operated by a Kenyan Airways A310. After the overnight flight I wake up somewhere above Northern Africa staring down into the rift valley landscape below. Brown mountains, ridges and brush give a rather gloomy impression, and the first sight of the worn bulidings of the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport surprise me a bit. I don't really know what I did expect, but I did not expect this. Immigration is simple enough and soon we are rounded up by our accompanying guides. Apart from our guide Jens Wahlstedt, renowned ornithologist, the local guide is a young and friendly guy called Lenny.

We are taken to a private house in Nairobi where a small welcome ceremony and meal takes place. I take the opportunity to spot some yellow weaver birds in the bushes and can't wait to get out of here and into the wilderness. I didn't travel this far to attend some cocktail party! When we finally get going we board a couple of minibuses and start the drive to the southwestern corner of the country. Our destination is the Dream Camp, which lies just at the edge of the Masai Mara reserve, close to a Masai village. The journey takes us through the depressing Nairobi slums, and it is an overhelming sight for me, having never seen anything like it. Small shacks of corrugated steel line the road and have signs like "Bar" or "Hotel" at the entrance. Some of the shacks are painted red or blue in the colours of a well known soft drink company, pretty much acting as big billboards.

The congested roads are full of old and often scarred vehicles, some obviously having seen a lot of bumper to bumper action. Besides the colourful matatu minibuses I remember the old and battered Stagecoach buses, which were flying the exact same colours like the express buses back home in Sweden, but that's where the similarities stop. Old trucks are spewing out jet black clouds that blur the vision ahead and in all this mayhem street vendors are standing around waving a loaf of blackened corn in their hands or displaying a stand with black-tinted green apples. It is a depressing sight.

Leaving Nairobi we head out on the highway where traffic eases a bit. We pass some scenic spots through the rift valley. These places are infested with extremely persistent souvenir sellers constantly sticking little carved wooden rhinos in your face. At a gas stop I find the small shop stocking two extremely useful guide books to the birds and mammals of East Africa, perfect for my trip although they make a big dent in my limited travel budget. The books have continued to serve me well up to this day. Some children are around us at all times begging for trinkets and money. They are obviously quite used to tourists. Pressing on into the wilderness the road turns into dirt and pothole country, and we get plenty of massage. The landscape is dry and open, sometimes tumbleweed will roll out in front of the car, and at times, in the middle of nowhere we drive past lonely figures walking the wasteland, where they are headed we have no idea.

As we are nearing the place our spirits are lifting as we begin to have some chance encounters with animals quickly scrambling out of sight. We arrive at the Dream Camp which consists of a number of bungalows suspended on poles maybe half a metre above the ground. These are not actual bungalows, but tents placed under a wooden roof and on a wooden floor, and with a private if primitive shower and bathroom facility attached in the back. The front side has a small porch where you can relax in the shadow and just listen to the sounds of the dry season. There are maybe 10-12 bungalows in this fashion in a semicircle around the central building which doubles as a small bar and restaurant. The place is run by a pair of Swedes with the help of locals from the nearby villages, including Masai guardsmen walking the beat round the tents in the evening.

It is late afternoon when we arrive, and there will be no safari trip today, instead we settle into our little huts and have a welcome dinner at the restaurant. The group pretty much exclusively consists of middle aged and old couples, and again I get this cocktail party style feelings rather than being out in the brush. Still, the sounds of the night are all around us and it is pitch black outside of the huts. There is a special feeling lying down to sleep and hearing the distant screems and sounds of the night. Everything from persistent frogs sitting by the stream nearby to the distant roars of unknown predators can be heard, and my curiousity makes it difficult to relax and sleep.

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Comments

[globalnomads]

Great read
Enjoyed reading your travelogue---very well written. Almost made me feel like I was there.