ÓJoseph Wyatt 1988

Tom was the first of the other six safari members I met in the lobby of the Nairobi Hilton. One by one all the others arrived. I met Carol and Sarah from Lexington, Kentucky. Next came Bert and Maidie from Bradley Beach, New Jersey. Lastly, an indomitable New Yorker, by the name of Jay, meandered into our presence and the introductions were complete. This little diverse group of seven would become an ephemeral “family” for the next two weeks.

After a brief safari meeting with Kathy Porter, an attractive escort of British descent, we were free to roam about Nairobi and get into trouble, which I promptly did. I was taken in by a smooth-talking con artist and quickly relieved of a few of my newly acquired Kenya shillings. However, I was happy to escape that awkward situation for the cost of just one hundred shillings, roughly six dollars at that time.

That afternoon, our guide took us on a tour of Nairobi and we became acquainted with its unique sights and sounds and smells. Most poignant of all were the fetid odors that assailed my olfactory organs and left me with a nauseous feeling. Fortunately, in just a short time I adapted to these new scents and paid them little mind.  

After that first flaming African sunset, we bargained with a taxi driver to drive us to the Norfolk Hotel for dinner. The competition was so fierce for patrons the taxi drivers almost came to blows trying to decide whom should get the fare. But, what a ride! Those were not normal taxis, they were refugees from the junkyard! Somehow we survived that jolting ordeal and the next morning found us on the road to Mombasa.  

I was happy to leave Nairobi and head out into the parks and reserves. After all, this was the reason I had come to Kenya. I had come to see its colorful people, its abundant wildlife, and its rugged landscapes. But, merely seeing Kenya was not enough. I had come to paint Kenya. My plan called for one hundred watercolor paintings of Kenya’s animals and people. I had hoped to make photographic slides of potential subjects that I would use to compose the paintings upon my return home. Therefore, it was much to my chagrin when I learned that certain areas strictly forbade photographs of its people. But, for only a few shillings, some enterprising locals would discard old taboos and superstitions and allow photos.  

The road to Mombasa provided my first glimpse of rural Kenya. Impalas could be seen grazing alongside domestic cattle on fenced grasslands. Apparently, the fences provided no substantial barrier to the high-leaping antelopes. Slender black people walked in well-defined footpaths on each side of the road. At times, young boys escorting their herds of goats and cattle across the road trammeled our forward progress.  

Back at the parking area, a group of drivers listened intently to a soccer game blaring on a portable radio. In the surrounding trees, noisy weaverbirds labored on their unusual nests. They create whole communities of such nests and it is not uncommon to see hundreds of nests hanging daintily from the boughs of an acacia tree.  

After leaving the lodge and traveling some distance, we made a stop at the Shetani lava flow. This gave us the opportunity to inspect the somewhat recent lava flow while stretching our legs. Leaving Shetani, we headed toward the Amboseli National Park and Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest mountain. I first caught sight of Kilimanjaro while we were over one hundred miles away. It was awesome! Rising majestically not far from the equator, its snow-clad summit towered 19,340 feet over the African savannah. I was overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of Kilimanjaro as we neared the Amboseli Serena Lodge. I felt I could now die happy since I had seen Africa’s most famous mountain. Kilimanjaro was the single most important sight I wanted to see on my visit to Africa.  I was not disappointed!  

As a porter was taking my luggage to my room other lodge employees greeted me with cheerful “Jambos”, our equivalent of “Hello”. We had gone just a short distance when a ludicrous scene unfolded, adding a little levity to my day. A vervet monkey had apparently stolen something and was fleeing for its life. Giving a hardy chase, and I might say a rather hopeless one, was an angry lodge employee shouting in Swahili. The mischievous monkey sped for the nearest tree and quickly disappeared into its verdant foliage, leaving the frustrated employee swearing vile Swahili oaths. The remainder of the way was without incident.  

On our journey to Amboseli, we had passed many villages. Each of these villages contained a plethora of potential paintings. There were old Masai men sitting stoically under the spreading umbrage of the ubiquitous acacia tree. Bare-breasted Masai girls, laden with multicolored layers of beads, lazily strolled barefooted on hot, dusty roads. Lithe young Masai boys led their herds of black and white cattle across the primitive landscape. But, always came the stern warning of Joseph, “No photos!” Joseph said the Masai would throw spears at us if we photographed them. My artistic juices were flowing to the full as I deeply lamented the loss of such wonderful subjects. Apologetically, Joseph promised we would visit a Masai village that permitted photos. That was little consolation compared to what I was leaving behind.  

In the afternoon we boarded the Nissan for our first game drive in Amboseli. Just minutes later, we had our first close-up encounter with elephants. Joseph switched off the engine as the old matriarch elephant ambled across the road in front of us. She was about twenty feet away, when suddenly she whirled about, flared her enormous ears, and sniffed the air with her raised serpentine trunk.  

“Sssssh! No photos!” whispered Joseph as he reached for the ignition switch. Total quietness befell the Nissan as those uneasy moments slowly passed. In that deafening silence, the entire herd lazily crossed the road under the watchful eye of the old caring matriarch. Only after the last member of the herd was safely across did she turn away from us and continue her foraging. We were now able to breathe again and realized the matriarch was just protecting her family from that ugly, dusty mini-bus filled with “man-things”. We found that it is a disquieting thing to be vis-à-vis with an angry elephant some twenty feet away.  

There are five African animals that comprise the “Big Five” category, which all tourists in Africa want to see.  We photographed four of these five on the game drives in Amboseli. Joseph deftly pointed out elephants, rhinos, buffaloes, and lions. But, sadly to our dismay, the elusive leopard remained just that, elusive.  

We were up and dressed by 6:00 a.m. the next morning as waiters greeted us with a cup of rich Kenyan coffee. A little stronger than the coffee at home, this Kenyan coffee had a way of growing on us. A few members of the group complained a bit about having to rise so early. For me, rising early was no problem. The very early morning was always my favorite time of the day. Besides, I had not come to Africa for convenience. I had come to see the land and its colorful people.  

Kilimanjaro was splendid until the morning clouds obscured its snow-capped summit. It provided a majestic backdrop for the elephants, giraffes, impalas, wildebeests, vervet monkeys, yellow baboons, and cheetahs. Unfortunately, there was no leopard. We returned to the lodge slightly disappointed. After a late breakfast, we departed Amboseli.  

As we left, several old Masai men with weary eyes watched our departure. Always, there were the Masai in Amboseli. Always, the old men would be sitting quietly in the shade of a convenient acacia tree. Always, they would watch as we passed by. But, today I also watched. I watched painfully as Kilimanjaro receded in the distance. With lingering glances, I watched until its cloudy peak melted into the hazy African horizon. The rugged road to Nairobi supplied spectacular panoramas of the Kenyan landscape that abounded with giraffes, wart hogs, and antelopes. The lilac-breasted roller and an unbelievable array of other colorful birds brightened our bumpy return.  

After lunch in Nairobi, we traveled north toward Nyeri. The Mountain Lodge was nestled high in the Aberdare Mountains at an altitude of 7,200 feet. It was built high above the ground for the purpose of overlooking a waterhole. We were a bit behind schedule and just settled in as the sun was casting its last rays on Mount Kenya. In the waning light, I could see the maribou storks taking roost in the treetops. Shortly I discovered that an old female buffalo had become trapped in the mud near the edge of the waterhole. A crew of men, numbering twenty or more, approached the struggling bovine. Hoping to extricate her, one of them threw a rope around her horns. With synchronized effort, the men slowly pulled her to firmer ground. She immediately began to thrash about. This motion sent the whole crew into instant flight with each man out to save himself. They scattered like a covey of southern quail and I could not restrain myself from laughing out loud.  

Sadly, in a few minutes, the old buffalo had writhed her way back into the quagmire and quickly sank to her shoulders. I wanted to help, but I realized there was nothing I could do to remedy the situation. Also, darkness was falling quickly. With nightfall came the strange and wondrous sounds endemic to the nocturnal world and I became entranced by their savage rhythms. I was aroused by some primal instinct. Somehow, I felt a deep kinship with these exotic creatures of the rainforest. As the jungle symphony continued into the late evening, the unfolding drama below held my keen interest. Stealing in from the left of the waterhole was a spotted hyena, whose furtive movements caused me to cringe. A lodge employee assured me that the hyena would not attack if the buffalo could move about occasionally. For added assurance, a guard with a spear was posted for the remainder of the night.

I was up and about long before sunrise. Much to my great dismay, I learned that the old buffalo had quietly died during the night. Although saddened, I quickly turned to more positive thoughts, like wondering if the lodge would serve buffalo steaks for the next few weeks. Enough about the buffalo, I had work to do. The eastern sun was shining its first warm rays upon the snow-capped peaks of Mount Kenya and my camera was ready to do its job. Mount Kenya was resplendent that morning, being framed by the festooning vines and overhanging boughs of the equatorial rainforest.

After breakfast the morning was still cool and crisp as Joseph loaded our luggage for the journey to Isiolo. Passing through Isiolo we drove to the Samburu National Reserve, home of the Samburu people. The name Samburu means, “butterfly”. The Samburu consider themselves to be as beautiful as butterflies. With their razor-edged spears in hand, I was not about to take issue with that belief. The temperature was sweltering when we reached the Samburu Serena Lodge. The lodge was built upon the banks of the Uaso Nyiro River, whose muddy water flowed lazily through the arid terrain of Samburu.  

We arrived just in time to witness Samburu tribesmen performing ritual dances. At long last, I was permitted to photograph people! After their performance, the dancers were warm and friendly, allowing all the photos we wanted. Obviously, their friendliness was influenced by the shillings we placed in the bucket that was clearly labeled, “tip can”.

 
On the afternoon game drive, I noticed that the terrain was decidedly different from the lush areas of Tsavo and Amboseli. Samburu bore the image of Africa I had expected to find. It was hot, it was dusty, and it was dry. We often had to cover out mouths with handkerchiefs just to breathe. However, we were excited to be in Samburu. Joseph soon located a cheetah that had just made a kill. The big cats are always interesting and this cheetah was no exception. But as usual, the leopard continued to be elusive. Because of our bad luck in finding a leopard, we learned a new Swahili term, “hakuna chui”, which means, “no leopard”. I was destined to leave Kenya with those words burning in my ears. I would have to be content with seeing only four of the “big five”.  

With the morning game drive behind us, we were off to Nanyuki and the world famous Mount Kenya Safari Club. The club was located on the equator at an altitude of 7,500 feet. This high altitude caused the evenings to be quite cool. Visitors to the club were treated to a grand view of Mount Kenya, the second highest mountain in Africa. Elegance personified every aspect of this beautiful retreat. The afternoon was free to do whatever we wished. Bert, Maidie, Sarah, Carol, and I chose to stroll about the immaculate grounds and visit the two gift shops. Stately maribou storks and sacred ibis freely roamed about and readily nibbled tidbits from our hands.  

Joseph spent the night in Nanyuki and arrived a few minutes late the following morning. We jokingly checked our watches as he stepped from the bus. Unfortunately, he failed to see the humor in our gesture. More rough roads brought us to Thomson Falls, where we rested and traded for a few trinkets. Later in the day we arrived at Lion Hill Lodge, which overlooked Lake Nakuru. The lake and most of its countless thousands of flamingos had disappeared into the heat of the dry season, leaving us very disappointed. Only a few thousand flamingos remained to squabble over the exiguous water left by the unrelenting African sun. The game drives were uneventful and the only good photos I made were of a pair of waterbucks grazing on a grassy hillside.  

As we left Lake Nakuru, we were thinking of the most plentiful game reserve in all of Kenya. For in the Masai Mara, great herds of ruminants graze the rolling savannah, followed by prides of well-fed lions. The Masai Mara was the last stop on safari. Obviously, the safari company had saved the best for last.  

When we neared this lush reserve, Joseph came to a sudden stop and quickly reversed. Although his serendipity had failed to produce a leopard, it succeeded in finding a pack of wild hunting dogs on the prowl. Joseph had not seen wild hunting dogs for over three years and he was quite excited by this good fortune. Maybe he felt that finding the wild dogs would compensate us for missing the leopard. Joseph tried his best to keep us happy. No doubt, he realized our happiness would reward him with a larger tip, which he would receive at safari’s end. With shutters clicking and motor drives humming, we documented these rare hunting dogs of east Africa. After tiring of the dogs, we bounced on toward the Masai Mara, teeming with its vast multitudes of predators and prey.  

Our home for the last two days on safari was the Mara Sopa Lodge, a seventy-two-unit lodge. The Mara Sopa Lodge was built on a native village motif, complete with roofs of authentic thatch. The game drives here were far more fruitful than in any of the other reserves. Although all the major game animals were in profusion, we were still unable to locate a leopard. We did, however, find the carcass of an antelope dangling from the branches of an acacia tree. No doubt a leopard had left it there and that was our closest encounter with the “silent hunter of the night”.  

On our last game drive in the Masai Mara, Joseph drove us to a Masai Village located in the reserve. This was my reason for being in Africa, this was why I had traveled half a world, and I was very excited! I was about to meet the noble Masai of song and legend! For the paltry sum of two hundred shillings, I was allowed to enter the esoteric world of the celebrated Masai. The village was built in the shape of a square and surrounded entirely by a thornbush fence. The low squatty buildings were constructed of sticks and grass. The outside was covered with a generous plastering of mud and cow dung, which had long since dried into a mosaic of rambling cracks. These huts are designed without windows and were entered through a very narrow doorway. They had a very familiar scent, which was strangely reminiscent of an American barnyard.  

I met the lordly chief of the village and a few of his six wives and twenty-one children. Shortly, I was shocked to learn that two of his wives were actually two of his own offspring. Apparently, incest was common among these Masai. I had come to Africa to see my concept of a proud and noble people, and in their own way, perhaps they were. Although in my eyes, the veneer has been stripped away and revealed a poor and backward people. Yet, paradoxically, they appeared to be happy and content.  

After exposing numerous rolls of film, I returned with a fallen countenance to the Nissan and asked my fellow travelers, “Why do I want to paint these people?” I was sadly disillusioned. However, there were definite traits of pride in these Masai and I have chosen to remember the positive characteristics and preserve them in my paintings. I’ll leave the negative aspect to someone else.  

With the exception of the leopard, I had now seen and photographed most of the subjects I wanted to record. I was homesick and ready to return to my home in Alabama. On that last evening in the Masai Mara, my newfound friends surprised me with a birthday party at the lodge. Twelve Masai dancers entertained us with tribal chants and dances, providing a very climatic conclusion to our excursion into the wilds of the Kenyan bush.  

Soon after sunrise, we were on the road to Nairobi. We arrived in Nairobi in time for lunch at the Amboseli Grill. Rounding out the afternoon was a visit to Giraffe Manor, which was preceded by an interesting visit to the home of writer Karen Blixen. The safari company held a farewell party for us that evening at the Carnivore Restaurant. Afterwards, we were taxied to the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport for our midnight flight back to Frankfurt. Tom, Jay, and I departed at this time. The others extended their stay at Mombasa and the Seychelles.  

After being hand-searched at the airport, we were finally allowed to board our flight. Moments after take-off as the A-310 Airbus gently banked to the left, I turned back for one last glimpse of Nairobi and thought, “I’m glad to leave this place.” But, in my eagerness to leave, I failed to realize that I had left something behind on the roads and savannahs of Kenya. Something, I must someday return to retrieve. That something was my heart.  

[ Up ]