Sawa, sawa! Maape!

 

The man behind the Immigrations and Customs counter at Chicago O'Hare asked the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, "Who is this gentleman with you?"

"Who? Him? That's my husband, Knucklehead."

"I'm sorry ma'am," the 'Denied Entry' stamp grasped menacingly in his bureaucratic fist.  "What did you just call me?"

"Oh, no! Not you! That's my husband.  I call him 'Knucklehead' because, well..."  Miss Brenda rolled her eyes in the Colonel's direction.

A quick glance at the Colonel standing slack jawed and bleary eyed behind her in line explained the appellation.

"I see. And where did you take your husband?"

"We've been on safari in Kenya for two weeks."

"Okay. Anything to declare?"

The comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda channeled Scarlet O'Hare, "I do declare that we had the most wonderful time!"

The man behind the counter blinked twice and looked at the Colonel, who, stupefied by 16 hours of air travel in the cheap seats, could only muster a shoulder shrug. 

"Ma'am, I mean any goods purchased. Any trophies?"

"Oh. No, just lots of pictures."

Counter Man stamped the passports, "Welcome, home."

The Colonel and Miss Brenda weren't exactly "home" yet.  But before she could launch into an explanation of where home really was, the Colonel grasped Miss Brenda's elbow and guide her away with a "Thank you, sir." to Counter Man.

Home was still a three-hour flight and a one-hour drive away.  But it was good to be back in the good ole U.S. of A. 

The previous two weeks had been a whirlwind of bucket list checking for the Colonel, Miss Brenda, her twin sister Linda, and the Colonel's brother-in-law Bruce (not to be confused with his other brother, Bruce). After flights from Memphis to Dallas to London to Nairobi, the stay in Kenya began with an 18-hour jet-lag recovery in the Eka Hotel.  The next morning a guide picked up the Mississippi Four (as they later became known) and drove them to the regional airport that services domestic flights. They boarded a 12-passenger Cessna 208 and were quickly airborne over the wilds of Kenya, headed for Porini Maji, the first of four Porini Camps sited on Nature Conservancies. 

After an hour flight, the Cessna landed on a dirt strip in the absolute middle of nowhere and the pilot announced, "Welcome to Selenkay International Airport."

The Selenkay Conservancy was the first unfenced private property established in Kenya as a not-for-profit organization to both preserve wildlife and benefit local tribes.  In Kenya, the conservancy model provides land on the periphery for indigenous tribes.  The conservancy is managed by a board in cooperation with the local village elders, with the agreement that a portion of the conservancy is allocated for grazing of the village's cattle and goat herds, the remaining majority set aside and protected for wildlife.  Partnerships with private companies hosting limited tent camp non-hunting safaris provide employment for the local villagers -- a ten-tent camp hosting a maximum of 20 guests at any one time employs nearly three dozen staff (hospitality and game-drive guides).  Selenkay became the model for several more like conservancies with safari company partnerships.  The Mississippi Four stayed at four of them over the course of 12 days, with flights between adjacent dirt strips.

The company with which the Colonel's group stayed for ten total nights is Porini, which means "in the wild" in Swahili.  Accommodations can best be described as luxury camping.  Some might argue with the "luxury" tag, but the Colonel has slept in a lot of tent camps over the years that didn't have floored tents with flush toilets, showers (albeit by bucket), and electricity; not to mention turn down service including a hot water bottle that perfectly warmed the bed for the rather cool nights.  Game drives started early each morning, preceded by a wake-up call by an attendant with a tray of coffee, tea, and biscuits, as well as a pitcher of hot water for shaving.  Most breakfasts were picnics on the plains after a couple of hours of viewing wildlife from specially modified vehicles.

Each vehicle sat no more than six guests and included a driver and guide who expertly located the animals the guest particularly wanted to photograph, as well as pointing out all manner of flora and fauna along the way.  As the vehicle slowly traversed the terrain, mammal and bird life was often not much further than a stone's throw away, and sometimes even disconcertingly closer, as was the case with lion prides at fresh kills, bull cape buffalo fights, and long-tusked bull elephants in musth.  The guides taught guests the Swahili words for "okay; let's go" -- "sawa, sawa; maape," which indicated that the photographers in the group had their shots, and it was time to go find something else at which to marvel.

   

After a six-hour morning game drive guests were returned to camp to freshen up before lunch.  When not picnicking, meals were served in a luxury mess tent.  Again, one might argue with the term "luxury", but the Colonel has eaten many meals in camp over the years that didn't include tablecloths, three courses, and drinks of choice. Lunch was always followed by a three-hour afternoon rest.  

At around four each afternoon a short "time of tea" prepared guests for the evening game drive.  And, as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the guides would find a spot to watch the sun set.  This "sundowner" was complete with a table set for snacks and drinks.  And nearly always the atmosphere provided the ingredients for spectacular animal-silhouetting sunsets.  At dark, guests were returned to camp to freshen up for dinner.

Chairs around a campfire provided perfect perches for performing after action reviews of the day, and then dinner was served sharply at eight. Meals included fare familiar to western palates, but also included samplings of local foods.  The Colonel found the goat preparations particularly interesting, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda not so much.

Nights in camp were not quiet. Wildebeest males guarded their mating sites with incessant grunting, the occasional lion roared in much too close proximity, and, in one camp, hippos left a nearby river pool to snort complaints and munch grass surrounding the tents. Hippos kill more people in Africa than any other animal, so the Colonel will admit that having nothing but canvass separating bed and tusks was a bit disconcerting. The Colonel is happy to report that no tourists were eaten, trampled, or otherwise harmed in the making of this trip.

Following introductions with the other guest parties, the Colonel's party quickly became known to the other guests as the "Mississippi Four."  One lady originally from Switzerland would greet us accordingly and the Colonel would respond with "Swiss Family Robinson!"  High hilarity, that.

Escape from Nairobi 

Of course, no long-distance, long-endurance trip by the Colonel and the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda is complete without some drama entailing sickness, missed or delayed flights, or a combination of the two.  Miss Brenda's silent migraine (no pain, just dizziness) decided that the last two days of the trip would be a boffo time to present itself.  She was a trooper, though, and kept to the rigorous game drive schedule with the help of the Colonel's arm.

By the time we arrived at the airport in Nairobi to catch the first of three flight legs home to the Sip, the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda was flat wore out.  Seeing the very long lines at check in and security, and seeing Miss Brenda eyeing the situation warily, a wheelchair was requested.

What ensued was the makings of a potential travel nightmare.

The supervisor at the check-in counter wanted to know why Miss Brenda was in a wheelchair.  When told she was experiencing migraine symptoms, he determined that she was not well enough to make the nine-hour flight to London.  A call in to the medical bureaucracy resulted in the recommendation that Miss Brenda spend a few more days in Nairobi, rest and hydrate, and get a doctor's clearance to fly.

As much as we had enjoyed the previous two weeks in Kenya, spending a few more days at the whim of faceless bureaucrats was, in the Colonel's not-so-humble opinion, unacceptable, and he made that forcefully (but just under the threshold requiring the intervention of security) known.  We were given the option of appealing the bureaucrat's decision to the captain of the flight when he arrived to board. Turns out British Airways captains -- at least this particular one -- are possessed with extraordinary common sense as well as command skill, and the Mississippi Four were soon aboard the flight.

Most every trip the Colonel has ever been on has provided a lasting lesson learned on which to reflect and rely on future trips.  

This one?

If someone in an airport asked you if you need a wheelchair..., SAY: NO!

For those of you wondering about the health and welfare of the comely and kind-hearted Miss Brenda, fear not.  She was home executing her farm chore responsibilities within 36 hours.