Wanting it Both Ways

One of the biggest inner conflicts I have experienced out here has been with tourists and tour vehicles. On the one hand, tourists help fund the existence of the park, and it's largely because of them that this land has been set aside as a protected area. On a larger scale, tourism is the Kenyan economy's largest source of income. Clearly, Kenya NEEDS tourists, and the Mara is arguably the most popular destination. Furthermore, it's wonderful to see people interested in and excited about wildlife, and wanting to shoot photos instead of bullets. These are all good things.

On the other hand, it can be very frustrating to watch tour vehicles violate the park "rules" (and I use that word loosely because like a tree toppling in a forest, is a rule really a rule if no one ever enforces it?) over and over again. On a daily basis, we see tour vehicles driving off-road, approaching animals to very close distances, making a lot of noise, and occasionally littering. The more in-demand animals like cheetahs and lions routinely get surrounded by tour vehicles. Below is a photo depicting only a portion of the thirty-one vehicles that encircled three adult cheetahs attempting to hunt.


As you can imagine, it's pretty difficult to sneak up on your prey when you've got thirty+ vehicles on your tail, so on this particular evening these cheetahs were unsuccessful. Better luck next time.

It ain't easy being Maasai

With my measly 5’5” height, my aversion to hot weather, and my personal dislike for red clothing, I knew I wasn’t born to be Maasai.

But hey, in the interest of cultural immersion, why not dip a toe into the local way of life? At Dupoto Forest, a gorgeous conservation area north of the Mara, we got some lessons on traditional Maasai activities.

And – as expected - it turns out I’m definitely not cut out to be Maasai. In fact, in everyone’s best interest, I should probably stay away from most of these activities. Bow-and-arrow shooting resulted in some humorous results. Needless to say, my arrows didn’t hit the target (or come even close). Luckily, I think my clever guides anticipated my ineptitude and gave me a particularly wide berth.


In an attempt to not burn down the largest intact forest in the Trans-Mara area, I left the next activity, fire-making, to the professionals. They have a very precise method: a smooth stick (made of wood from a fig tree) is inserted into a hole in a flat piece of wood (which must be African olive). After a mere minute of quick rotation, small shavings from the olive wood start smoking.



The shavings are dropped onto dry moss, and, with a few puffs of air, the moss catches aflame. Elegant, quick, simple (as long as you’re Maasai).


However, I am happy to say that I’m beginning to get the hang of one skill at which the Maasai excel: weather forecasting. Philomen can predict - to the nearest half-hour - if and when it will rain. Who needs weather.com when you have an expert around?

Anyway, in the midst of the rainy season, we’ve had a lucky streak of sunny weather. Yesterday, something just felt off, and I told Philomen it was going to rain. Lo and behold, my predicted downpour arrived, right on time.

I may not ever become a Maasai warrior, but if I pick up any of their amazing talents while I’m here, I’ll feel lucky.

99.75%

Uganda. In a word, in a color: green.

Green like a wave, green like a storm. No calm seas, no lucid pools. A torrent of green, an assault.

Last night, in our private tree house, I wake up to, “Joey!” Not entirely unusual as that is my name. It was one of those yell-whispers where you start out with the intention of being quiet, but end up being louder than if you had just spoken.

“What?!” I yell-whisper back, trying desperately to actually whisper, “I am already awake!” for some reason her not noticing that I had awoken one second before she said my name bothers me at this hour. She doesn’t really need to explain herself as outside the masticating has reached a serious volume.

Our tree house in Kibale Forest, Uganda is about fifty or sixty feet off the ground. Gazeebo like in its simplicity there are two mattresses, two mosquito nets and a three hundred and sixty degree view. It is located perhaps three-quarters of a kilometer from the nearest building, the very expensive Primate Lodge, which is the sole building for several hundred square kilometers of forest.

“We request our visitors to retire to their tree house before 7:30,” the lodge tells us. Send those scum to their tree house! We have a good laugh at this until we do the twenty minute hike to our isolated moss-covered aerial platform. (No one to hear you scream). The sun is just coming down as we arrive and the forest comes alive. Cliché jungle noises abound. So cliché that you realize it’s not cliché, it never has been. It’s very much real. Vines wrap the surrounding canopy in a shaded haze. Monkeys call in the distance. To the west a large clearing filled with long long grass, the sun’s apical tip just visible through the opening’s granted horizon.

The air is a-hum with the insect life just out of sight. What sounds like cicadas. A cricket? It sounds enormous. A bat flies over catching up invisible aerial hexapoda. I wonder more at what we don’t hear than what we don’t see.

The equatorial sun sets in a flash of vibrant color so short it is hard to believe it is real. To paraphrase: you feel like you are losing your mind. In the fog of the tropical forest the air lights up like neon and the colors you thought you knew now throb and pulse with new life. Even the staunchest of scientists will stop and gawk.

Kibale Forest is located in south-western Uganda. It is 776 square kilometers, it has 13 primate species, 325 bird species, 144 butterfly species, and the annual rain fall is… more inane facts like these can be found on the internet. Suffice to say that this forest isn’t lacking in biodiversity. Most important park asset for a visit: wild chimpanzees.

Getting here was no small endeavor as traveling was done entirely by rooster infested matatu. I’m under the impression that the impending Easter weekend had a direct correlation to the mobile rooster population. However, perhaps Uganda always has high ration of roosters to people in its matatus. Despite the copious cocks it took about twenty hours all together to get from Shompole to Kibale. And that’s just the travel time. This doesn’t include mental stress induced by banana eating slobber monster children that insist on groping me while I try and sleep. This also doesn’t include days of down time in Kakamega, Kampala, and Fort Portal while en route.

Green hills of glossy tea leaves roll and roll. We pass the river Nile at around halfway. Non-descript trees with enormous fruits border the roadside. Wait a bit… that fruit is enormous. Like seriously enormous. What the f--?. I soon get a chance to allay my curiosity at the backpacker hostel.

The “Jack Fruit” is both the largest and heaviest fruit in the world. This is evident without anyone telling you it. No Magritte-esque tricks of perception needed here, this fruit is much bigger than your head. The fruit I pull off weighs maybe thirty pounds, it’s ovular, green, and has a strange checkered pattern on the skin. After separating it from its host the “stem” (the point at which I severed this alien cocoon’s life blood) begins to poor out milky white latex… all on its own. This is most unsettling. Contents under pressure. My preliminary examination ends here in disgust and lack of proper surgical instruments.

Wikipedia tells us that the jackfruit was cultivated in India six thousand years ago, I presume as some sort of catapult ammunition. The fruits can reach eighty pounds and three feet in length! Don’t believe me? Look! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:JackfruitLift.JPG

And for those wondering, it tastes sort of like pineapple when prepared right (or so they tell me).

Meanwhile it’s 3AM and the leaf-crunching is deafening. Luckily it is a full moon and the clearing, the “wallow,” is bright with silver light. An entire herd of forest elephants is foraging in zeal in eleven shades of white and gray. They make no sound as they move excepting the noise of their chewing. Incredible that such a large animal can move so silently and chomp so loud. As the moonlight glistens on my dumbfounded facial expression I realize, this is the closest I have ever been to an elephant. Awesome.

Being the excellent behaviorist and observer that I am I succeeded very well in failing to note any characteristics of the group besides the fact that they were elephants and were eating some sort of plant-like material. I can, however, relate to you some things about forest elephants. Immediate questions include: what makes the forest elephant different than the bush elephant? Why are they considered different?

Most people will tell you the forest elephant is smaller than the bush elephant. They would be right. What is also true is that the forest elephant has slightly more rounded ears, straighter and more downward pointing tusks, and five toenails instead of the usual four on the forefoot. As per usual the genetic evidence shows that the differences in these two species are greater than previously thought… or perhaps the difference is smaller than previously thought? The debate continues, but as far as I know the forest elephant is considered a separate species by most. Personally I was too busy staring to see anything.

The next day they begin the chimp walk with a few warnings: you might not see the chimps, we might have to walk three hours to find them, you might die, etc. I wasn’t really paying attention. Chimpanzees in the wild? Not something easily passed on. We found the group within an hour and a half. They pant-hooted from a half kilometer off and we zeroed in on their location. We examined broken branches, footprints, and other evidence of ape appearance. Just to be sure our guide radioed the guy that was with the chimps that day to find out exactly where they were (romance = gone).

One of the most aggravating things about studying monkeys in Costa Rica was when the monkeys found a fruiting fig tree. The figs fruit at random times and only for a few days. This means that when they find one they tend to camp on it for days. Chimpanzees are apparently no different.

Do not get hopes up. There is nothing more underwhelming than staring crane-necked at some apes which are barely discernible from the surrounding foliage. No Sistine Chapel moments of gazing longingly and finger touching with our closest genetic relatives at a three foot range. I would have loved to written here that I had some dawning moment, some epiphany, of the intelligence of these nearest and dearest. No such moments, only fig-chomping.

I left after my allotted one hour of viewing depressed and drained. I felt like I was sliding down the other side of my curve. What’s there to look forward to now? Mope, mope, mope, whine, etc. etc. I think it took a few hours to finally gain some perspective.

Stepping back I see my error. The active effect of time and memory is usually one of processing, filtering, and summary. I won’t remember being disappointed. No one bothers with a sore toe, a lost shoe. I will remember the sounds, the route, the euphoria of waking up and expecting the world.

Uganda at its most romantic: a glimpse of something special. The life, the green, the throb and pulse. Arms wide and fingers spread. The space between and the space without.

(I had a good vacation).

Tales (tails?) from the seashore, part 2

When I learned that I could swim with dolphins at Kizingo, I thought I knew what to expect, since I “swam” with dolphins in the Bahamas about 10 years ago (and by “swam,” I mean I stood in a shallow enclosure with a bored captive dolphin and got my photo taken). But the dolphins around Kizingo were wild, interactive, and totally captivating…I had no idea what I was in for.

Our first two outings were thwarted by the elusive dolphins, which were nowhere to be seen. On the bright side, we snorkeled among stingrays, octopuses, whitetip sharks, and thousands of gorgeous tropical fish. We took a mid-day break on a rocky island where we had hermit crab races, marveled at giant clams, and dined on fresh oysters we cracked off the rocks. We returned only a bit frustrated by the dolphins’ absence....if I know anything about wild animals, it’s that they’re completely unpredictable. I held out hope.

I gave the dolphins another chance on my last morning at Kizingo. Less than 20 minutes off the beach, we spotted a group of 5 playing in the waves. Success! At that point, I knew I would encounter at least one dolphin on my trip, and that was enough. We quickly donned our fins and snorkels and took the plunge.


All of a sudden, it became clear that the dolphins weren’t the spectacle here…we were. In order to get – and keep - the dolphins’ attention, we were the performers. Since Kizingo doesn’t feed or attract the dolphins in any way (yay for responsible tourism), we had to rely on our creativity, and their curiosity, to bring them to us. We did flips, blew bubbles, and dove as deep as we could to engage them.

The dolphins really varied in their interest in us. Some groups were tremendously curious about these strange, snorkel-bearing interlopers. To others, we were about as exciting as a bunch of barnacles. The better we got at entertaining them, however, the more playful they became. They approached - sometimes just inches away - and peered at us, they swam alongside us, and they gracefully mimicked our awkward antics.

At one point, we were surrounded by about 30 dolphins from a few different pods. They were impossible to keep track of, since they were so much more agile underwater than we clumsy terrestrial mammals were, even with our fins and snorkels. Different groups would come in and out of sight, chasing each other, diving all the way to the bottom, then breaking the surface right next to us. You’d be playing “Simon Says” with one dolphin, and suddenly a group of four or five would swim up from behind and surround you.


Let me tell you, swimming with these guys isn’t an activity for wimps. It turns out being a dolphin (or at least pretending to) is UNBELIEVABLY hard work. A few times, I was breathing so hard – through a snorkel, mind you – that I thought I might have a heart attack. (But, what a way to go, right?) We kept getting in the boat, completely spent, then seeing a newly-arrived group and diving right back in. No matter how exhausted I was, I just couldn’t stay out of the water. I returned to Kizingo unbelievably sunburned, covered in flipper-blisters, and worn out to the point of comatose. But I still can’t stop smiling.


**Photos courtesy of Kizingo. Thanks!!

Tales (tails?) from the seashore, part 1

You know you’re a hopeless animal geek when, on a beach vacation in paradise, you STILL manage to spend your time enthralled with the local fauna.

I spent the last week at Kizingo, an indescribably gorgeous resort on the Kenyan coast. My friend Sarah works there, and she invited me to come forget about animals for a bit. Somehow, we still ended up with some amazing critter encounters.
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Chapter 1:

“Hello…Kate?” I woke up to someone calling my name. I groggily determined that it was WAY before my morning wake-up call, when fresh coffee would miraculously appear on my verandah. In fact, it was just after 4am.

As visions of horrible family emergencies swept through my mind and my body began to enter total panic mode, Sarah’s voice whispered through my window, “There’s a sea turtle laying eggs out here. Would you like to watch?”

Um…YES. Yes, I would.

Since Kizingo is right on the beach, I assumed we’d just saunter onto the sand and there would be the miracle of life, happening right in front of my adorable thatched hut. However, I suppose you’ve got to work a bit to witness such a miracle, since this particular turtle had chosen a lovely little spot waaaaaay down the beach. After a sweat-inducing half-hour power walk, we arrived. The turtle was several feet above the high-tide line, digging furiously into the sand.


Now, I knew green turtles were large, but this thing was huge. Like growth-hormone-fed, bad-horror-movie enormous. She was over three feet long and must have weighed several hundred pounds. Louis (one of Kizingo’s owners and the resident sea turtle expert) said she wasn’t much above average, but I certainly hadn't been expecting something outweighing a linebacker.

Not long after we arrived, she finished digging and started depositing her eggs into the freshly-dug nest. At this point in the process, laying females aren’t disturbed by human presence, so we could get up-close and personal. Since she was positioned over the hole, we couldn’t actually see the eggs, but Louis estimated that she likely laid over 80.

Then, the covering process began. She began flinging large amounts of sand over her back, onto her head, into onlookers’ eyes, and everywhere else within a few meters. I don’t know if this turtle had particularly poor coordination, or if evolution just hasn’t been kind to sea turtles in the sand-flinging department, but it seemed like a pretty inefficient process. I guess it’s all about tradeoffs; any animal that can outswim a fishing trawler probably won’t be particularly adept at moving large amounts of sand.

The female was finally satisfied with her nest, but by this time she had actually dug herself into a sand dune. Once she’d managed to excavate herself and turn around, she slid - surprisingly nimbly - down the shore and into the sea. The waves knocked her back a few times, then she submerged gracefully and was gone.


That was SO worth waking up early for.

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At 4am, I didn't really have the presence of mind to bring a camera along. Luckily, someone else was better prepared. If these photos are yours, let me know and I'll give you photo credit!

Philomen and family!

Yesterday, Audrey, Sean, and I went on an adventure to Kilgoris, a town a few hours north of the Mara, where Philomen lives with his family (that is, when he’s not being a fantastic cook, an impeccable housekeeper, and an all-around great guy here at Serena). Two weeks ago, Philomen’s wife Judith gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl named Silandoi, so we went to visit the family and meet its newest member.

Philomen’s house is simple, well-constructed, and amazingly cool in the midst of the equatorial heat. Here in Kenya, there’s a huge emphasis on family life, so brothers, sisters, parents, and other relatives often live in very close proximity. It was hard to tell who lived on the property, who was visiting, and who just showed up to hang around. Not that it really mattered, since everyone seemed quite at home!

In the spirit of generous Kenyan hospitality, Philomen prepared and served (on a silver platter, no less!) a huge meal for us. Afterwards, he poured endless cups of steaming chai until I finally learned how to say “I’m full” in Kiswahili (for future reference, it’s "Nimeshiba"). It’s a handy phrase to use when you’re the guest in a Kenyan home…otherwise, food and drink will continue to appear in front of you until you end up in a massive food coma.

Finally, we were introduced to dozens of family members, friends, and local kids. Since “wazungu,” or foreigners, are a bit of a curiosity here, it seemed like everyone in town had showed up to meet us and wish us well. Everyone was fantastically friendly, and we finally said our gracious goodbyes after several hours of hand-shaking, chai-drinking, and picture-taking.

Oh, and, with a gift from MSU, Audrey created possibly the cutest little Spartans fan ever. In a few years, Philomen's daughter Nola may be the newest FisiCamp recruit!

Just Plane Awful

After a fantastic visit to the States, I chose to schedule my British Airlines flight back to Kenya on a rather ill-fated day. More specifically, it was the snowiest day London had experienced in 18 years. Just my luck.

However, I was one of the more fortunate ones; I made it back to Kenya a mere day-and-a-half later than planned. Based on what I saw, I wouldn’t be surprised if other people were still stranded right now, almost a week later. People were either waiting in never-ending lines or sleeping on whatever surface was available – on counters, under chairs, even in the bathrooms. Some people even slept in the lines, since they barely moved.

Airline officials were handing out bottled water, toothpaste, blankets, and yoga mats. Wait, yoga mats? While at first I thought they were encouraging cranky passengers to meditate, I can only assume the mats were supposed to be used as mattresses.

However, meditation might have been a good idea for some incensed passengers. I’ve never heard so many people yelling in so many different languages. Others took it more in stride; I saw a German guy making an impromptu documentary with the videocamera on his cellphone. He was laughing, so either he was making the best of a bad situation, or he was thanking his lucky stars he wasn’t still stuck in line. Either way, he got some pretty nasty looks from those who were waiting endlessly.

When I finally arrived safely in Nairobi, my luggage was nowhere to be found. One day, two days, five days went by, and I really wanted some clean socks. After six days of partying with unruly suitcases from all corners of the globe and evading Heathrow luggage handlers, my bags finally arrived back in Kenya.

It’s good to be home.

I should have been a cowboy

In my travels over the past several years I have found two of the best ways to really get to know a place to is travel on foot and to get your information from the locals, rather than a tourist destination. One goal of my research, and the Hyena Research Project in general, is to understand the local ecosystem as thoroughly as possible and answer questions associated with the ecology of the park. There is no substitute for first hand information, especially from people that have lived in the area their entire life. I would classify someone that can walk 20 kilometers in the dark, much of the time without a flashlight on, as someone that really knows the lay of the land. For this reason, I asked some of the local Maasai cow herders if I could accompany them herding cattle one night. I also thought it would be a sweet adventure, so this certainly was not a purely scientific expedition.

The night of February 4th, a local herder stopped by to meet me and we walked to join his fellow cowboys. The herders said the herd we were tending that night was 500 cows, but I would estimate it was closer to 250. We had seven real Maasai herders and one mzungu (white guy) wannabe herder for the job. Four other Maasai acquaintances of mine actually showed up to see if I was actually going to go through with my plan. They said hello, laughed a bit at my unusual attire (sunglasses, backpack, no jacket, lack of a spear, etc...) then headed back to their manyatta.

The cattle herd



Three of the seven cowboys for the night (there is eight if you count me, but I was quite useless except for having several flashlights)


For the past two weeks it has rained nearly everyday and I expected this night would be no exception. Soon after we began, it was clear we were in for rain. The worst of the rain was to the West and to the Southeast, but we got out share. By 7:05 we had our first bullfight of the night. Two of the dominant bulls in the herd locked horns and set the tone for the night. A young cowboy told me the black bull was his father's and the white bull was another manyatta. We crowded around to watch the fights with much excitement. It looked to me like Andrew's bull was getting the best of Fred's, but Fred insisted his bull was the bravest. This was later verified, as this large bull continued to throw his weight around the entire night. At one point nearly driving another bull to the ground.

My inexperience in cattle herding in the Mara first became apparent when I stuck my herding stick down into a termite mound. I have heard many stories of people eating termites and I was thinking of having a snack. I let go of the stick and it dropped nearly one meter into the hole! I thought I had lost my herding stick for a second. A few laughs from the crew and we were moving again.


Bullfight #1 between two heavyweights



Rain looming on the horizon



Around 9pm, we had our first talk of lions in the area. As a rookie in the cattle herding game, I would not have noticed, but Fred told me that when the cattle stop grazing and sniff the ground or the air, they have probably caught the scent of a lion. In this case, a group of cattle was sniffing the ground, so the herders went to inspect. The grass was matted down and they managed to find a hair they said was from a lion. The cattle remained wary and at one point there was commotion on the right side of the herd. Most of the herders took off running towards the commotion thinking a lion may be attacking, but it turned out to be another battle of the bulls. Crisis averted. The cows continued to pick up the scent of lions and I was told at one point there were probably lions in the bushes nearby, but they never materialized.

At 11:30pm, the cattle were showing signs of fatigue, so it was time to rest. We rested in the wet grass for a little over an hour. Most of the cattle did the same. It was getting cold by this point, so some of the herders used each other to conserve body heat. Around 12:30am we were moving again the sky broke open again and soaked anything that may have dried in the previous two hours. My shoes were soaked and it felt like there was a tack stuck in my toe, but most of the guys were expecting me to not make it through the night, so I kept this to myself and trudged on, still in good spirits. I had realized early in the night that it felt warmer when I was near a large part of the herd. The body heat generated by these large mammals pushed a wave of warm air in front of them, followed closely by a smell common to any barn or ranch I have been to in the states.


Earlier in the evening, between the thunderstorms, the moon had illuminated the landscape. The latest rains had blotted the moon out of the sky and its almost totally dark and I was at times clueless as to our location. Some of these guys had been herding cattle since they were 4 years old, so they could have found there way with their eyes closed. On a couple of occasions I did actually see them walking slowly with their eyes closed. We found one guy sleeping standing up. He was totally out, but still standing straight up, which amazed me. One of the herders was about 10 years old and he was given the most difficult duty of bringing up the rear and chasing the stray cows back into the group. I stayed with one of the senior guys while he walked ahead to look for lions, buffalo, elephants or whatever might be lurking in the darkness. After verifying there was no danger, he would often lay down for a little snooze. I refrained from napping because I had heard that cowboys occasionally get left behind when the herd moves on while they are asleep. My eyes were closed a couple times, but I would debate whether it was sleep or not.

Cowboys dozing in the wet grass with their spears and cattle nearby


By 4am, the cattle were apparently full. Many of them were just walking or standing and not grazing, which apparently means they have eaten their fill. I was happy to hear this, since this meant we would be moving towards home at a faster pace. My foot was throbbing and there was not a dry spot on my body, so the thought of a warm bed was attractive. We had walked about 13 kilometers by this point, but we had about 4 more kilometers to walk yet, and most of the distance had become one large puddle during the night.

We slipped and slid towards the manyattas where the cattle and herders lived and warm chai and fresh milk straight from the cow awaited, but when we got close, the cell phones began ringing and news came that the Talek River was too high to cross. Three of the herders then split with the group and walked me back to camp. The others waited at the river's edge for the water to subside. Back in camp, the group settled in for warm chai. The first drink most of the herders had had since leaving their manyattas more that 12 hours and 17 kilometers ago. Not only do they not bring water for the night, they don't bring food. After carrying my backpack the entire night and having my shoulders ache, I have decided that not carrying food or water may be a good idea. Around 7am the herders headed back to the cattle and I headed to bed. After plucking a few ticks from myself and tearing at several siafu (biting ants) out of my legs and arms, I was ready for sleep after being awake for more than 24 straight hours.

Cute and cuddly

Many people do not think of elephants, rhinos and giraffes as cute and cuddly. Most people that know me are aware that I don't usually get too excited about things being cute and cuddly. In fact, I usually cheer for predator when they are chasing a baby gazelle. However, twice in the past few weeks I have been to the Elephant Orphanage in Nairobi, and there are some really cute animals their with some really sad stories. I have also visited the Giraffe Center was slipped the tongue by a 15 foot tall female giraffe.

At the Elephant Orphanage, they have about 10 young elephants, most them orphaned because their mothers were killed by poachers. They also a few rhinos, including one that was only a few days old on my first visit.

In the first picture, my friend Jesse Matter feeds one of the lovely ladies at the Giraffe Center. Jesse and his wife Cheryl, who recently completed her Ph.D. at UCLA, were visiting Kenya for two weeks. Unfortunately, the picture of Jesse kissing the giraffe were only on Cheryl's camera and not on mine. In the second picture is the baby rhino, with unknown kids used for scale. In the third picture, visiting Fish and Wildlife Ph.D. student Emily Johnston is pictured with the baby elephants parading by. The final picture is me with my "adopted" 3 year old blind rhino, named Maxwell. If you are ever in Nairobi make sure to visit the Elephant Orphanage and the Giraffe Center!



Jesse and giraffe



Baby rhino of infinite cuteness



Emily and the elephant parade



Andy and his adopted rhino

Most Responsible Safari Guide 2008

Over the last month, Audrey and I have been working undercover.

The Mara Triangle, in conjunction with the Travel Foundation, is holding a contest to find the “Most Responsible Safari Guide” here in the Western Mara. Exemplary guides from several nearby lodges were nominated, and Audrey and I were asked to judge each of them. Do the guides follow park rules? Do they maintain appropriate distances while watching animals? Do they inform their guests about more than just the “Big 5?” In order to run a fair contest, we needed each of the guides to think we were tourists, so we had to go incognito and pretend to be ordinary guests at each lodge.


After living in the bush for so long, passing as tourists didn’t necessarily come easily to us. Audrey had to give her feet a good scrubbing and actually put on a pair of shoes, and I was forced to trade in my grungy sweatpants and vest for something a little more socially acceptable.

When we agreed to help out, it didn’t occur to us that some perks would go along with the job…but we quickly realized that some fun was in store for us. African safari lodges offer unbelievable luxury, and as “tourists,” we got to experience it all. Audrey and I are what you might call “low-maintenance” (I guess you’d have to be to spend as much time in a tent as we do), so the opulence came as a definite surprise to us. Out here, you don’t just get wake-up calls like you do in normal hotels…you get tea, coffee, and biscuits brought to your bedside at the appointed hour. Your giant, fluffy bed isn’t merely turned down at night…a hot water bottle is placed between the sheets so it’s toasty-warm and ready for you. During the course of the contest, we’ve been treated to fantastic gourmet meals, personal butler service, and private Jacuzzis overlooking the Mara.


Anyway, back to the matter at hand; all the guides were fantastic, and it was a pleasure to evaluate them. Each and every one was very friendly, knowledgeable, and “responsible,” so it was really difficult ranking them. The winner will be announced by Christmas, but congratulations in advance to all the guides. And, thanks to the Mara Conservancy and the Travel Foundation for running such an important contest and letting us be a part of it all!