My night after the goat intestine soup was a rough one. I lost count of how times I hit the toilets and blew my chips in the bushes. Ma’we came out once and asked, “You want to go to hospital?”
I shook my head.
“I’ve only been to the hospital once in my life. At birth. I’ll be fine.”
Dawn came with the preacher man ranting in tongues across the valley and my stomach was raging with revulsion. I emerged from my tent to another visit to the WC.
Jubbah, Jackman, and Larry were waiting outside.
“Are you okay,” asked Larry.
“I’m fine. Just an upset stomach.”
“No, M’zee, you sounded like a sick lion all night,” Jubbah commented with a smile. “Better a sick lion than a hungry lion.”
The word ‘sick’ spurred my guts and I ran back inside.
I walked up to the dining room filled with trepidation.
JM said, “We are going to do the safari today.”
“I might stay here.” I buttered toast and poured a sugary milky tea. I knew better than to try anything else.
“No, you should come. Everyone comes to Kenya to go on safari.”
“Or the WC.”
“That too, but I’ll make sure you are okay. Just drink water and everything will be good.”
The Nile explorer Richard Burton was unable to walk on their second trek to the great lakes of Africa. Speke was blind due to an ear infection. Both men lose weight. I had been suffered from intestinal parasites in the Himalayas and the Yucatan, but nothing like this.
I fortified my body and soul with two Guinness on the advice of David, the Kibo Slopes bartender.
“You are Irishman. Guinness is good for you.”
That was the truth and I joined the 2019 Kili Initiative 2019 team for the safari. The sky overhead was clear of clouds. I was going on safari and got in a van chanting, “Lions, tigers and bears.”
No one got it.
“The Wizard of Oz.”
Old films for young people don’t exist before 2005 and I recounted Dorothy’s adventures in Oz on the thirty minute drive to Ambroseli National Park.
We stopped at the entrance. The team checked out the souvenirs, while I visited the WC. When I emerged, JM said, “There will be no getting out of the vans in the park. No tigers or bears, but there are lions.”
“Will we see a pride?”
“If we are lucky.”
The first European to penetrated the area heard the feared tribesmen call the plain Empusel or ‘salty, dusty place’. Ambroseli is larger than Rhode Island or Delaware. The dry lakebed is watered by several large swamps, creating a home for the African bush elephant, Cape buffalo, impala, lion, cheetah, spotted hyena, Masai giraffe, Grant’s zebra, and blue wildebeest.
Our first sighting was a giraffe.
Zebras.
And then there were elephants.
Lots of elephants.
With little babies napping in the dusty sun.
Natalia ahhed their cuteness.
“I just want to go out and pet them.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
I knew elephants from Thailand.
Old Yai was my good friend.
He loved my mango tree more than me.
“Best for you not to leave the van,” warned JM.
I agreed and told the team in our van about Peter Beard getting gored by an elephant in Kenya.
Peter Beard had recounted the incident to a movie star. “So anyway, there was an amazing gaping hole and there was no blood coming out of it by the way, but I couldn’t see it. I got splintered hips. I didn’t get speared, ’cause I couldn’t see the thing.”
“I’m not getting out of the van,” answered Natalia.
We passed a lone Gnu.
I always liked Gnus. They were an easy score in Scrabble, but I asked, “You know what is between the toes of elephants?”
“What?” asked Jubbah.
“Slow running people.” Elephants have a top speed of 25 MPH, although the pachyderms don’t corner well.
“No one is getting out of the van.” JM repeated his mantra.
Roads led off the safari guest lodges.
People with money stayed there.
My stomach was in turmoil.
I wanted so badly to relieve myself with a nice WC.
A tusker shook his head. I held my fluids.
Damned goat intestine soup.
The road ran straight.
I checked my nausea.
Jubbah pointed out a pride of lions.
“The cubs are so cute. I want to pet them,” said Natalia.
“No leaving the van,” admonished JM. He lived in Loitokitok. He understood the danger of lions. “They are not pets.”
Humans were more dangerous, but I said nothing, however I didn’t think any animal wanted to eat someone as sick as me.
Elephants meandered toward the swamp.
Water was life.
For everyone everywhere.
I spotted a big tusker.
“His name is Tim,” explained Ma’we. “His tusks are over five feet long.”
He wouldn’t have lasted a day outside the park.
Poachers loved tuskers.
Tim wandered away from the road.
The lakebed was as flat as Kansas.
We stopped at a rest area. The hill gave a great view of the plains. I spent most of the time in the WC.
Vanessa asked if I was better.
“I lied and said, “Much better.”
All I wanted was to lie down in bed or be in a toilet.
The vista pavilion offered a 360 degree view of the park.
The team was happy to be here. They were all friends now. I was a friend too. M’zee. Very old, very sick, but one of the team.
Daima or always.
Fast Steve said it was time to go.
I was the first person in the van.
Even with a stop at the WC.
I had had enough of lions, elephants, giraffes, and baboons.
Sadly, not not enough of WCs.
They were my best friend.
