Safari Part 1

January 9, 2007

We finally arrived in Kilimanjaro on January 9, 2007, exhausted and relieved to be off of airplanes. We were greeted warmly by Mrosso, our safari guide. Mrosso is from the Chaga Tribe, which historically was from the Kilimanjaro region. There are over 100 tribes in Tanzania, each with its own language, of which very few have written expression. The dominant languages are Swahili and English. Tanzania, until its independence in 1961, had been colonized by both the Germans and the British. The British influence, however, seems to dominate.

Mrosso immediately took us to Mt. Meru Game lodge, where, upon arrival, we were greeted by a small herd of zebra and an ostrich. We were then briefed by Mia, the Swedish tour operator, about our upcoming safari and had a lovely lunch—our first meal that wasn’t plane food or potato chips in an airport lounge. After lunch, we piled into the car with our pared down but seemingly still overwhelming amount of luggage and drove to our first stop-Kirurumu Tented Camp. Adam and I fought to stay away awake as we took our first real drive into Tanzania, through Arusha and other areas. However, completely overcome by exhaustion, we were unsuccessful and simply missed our first exposure to an African city. Eventually, we made it to the camp—dazed, exhausted and a bit smelly, but happy. These tented camps are amazing—simple, but large tents, with attached bathrooms. Thus far, we have stayed in three tented camps and all three have also come with wonderful and different views. We all took long awaited showers and tried hard to stay awake through dinner. Emma was practically asleep in her soup, but we made it until 8:30 and went straight to bed. The kids were somewhat freaked by the deafening animal sounds and complete and utter darkness that surrounded us, but I know they will get used to it as the days go by.

January 10, 2007

We awoke the next day, had a delicious breakfast and took a long journey over a road so bumpy we had to use all of our muscles to hold our vital organs in place. It was well worth the trip—we arrived at Kisma Ndgeda Tented camp—an extraordinarily beautiful camp on the side of a lake with wonderfully warm and welcoming people, delicious food and beautiful tents. It is owned by a white couple, Christian, who was born in Tanzania, but was educated in Kenya and Germany and his wife, Nonnie, who is Argentinean. Our sense was that Christian’s family originally came from Germany as a vestige of German colonization. They clearly owned a significant amount of land in Tanzania. When Christian’s father died, Christian inherited approximately 150 acres of land on Lake Eyasi, where he and Nonnie then built the camp, planted crops and built homes for the local villagers who work for them. Adam and I have both had significant discomfort in that the Safari industry is so evocative of colonialism, white dominance and the unmistakable disparity that still exists between the significant wealth of the white visitors (long and short term) and the poverty and lack of real opportunity of the black Tanzanians. While it is clear that the safari industry in Tanzania is a vital aspect of the economy, it is still uncomfortable. Christian clearly is the local benevolent duke or lord of the area. He and his family are obviously kind and warm, care about the well being of the dozens of families who work for him, and take pains to create a beautiful retreat with minimal impact on the natural environment. They seem to be genuinely very much in love with Tanzania and its people. Despite this, his stature as the area sovereign is well ensconced and, seemingly, unquestioned. We thought it interesting that when we asked about tipping, Christian said that the amount was up to us, but that we would pay it at the end and that they would make sure that a member of the staff was present so that the tipping transaction would be entirely transparent to the staff.

We had lunch, rested, read and generally relaxed. We went swimming in the “pool” which was a local natural spring around which they built a fence, accompanied by Tilapia and other fish. Later, we took a wonderful walk led by a local guide, Sad, and Mrosso through the surrounding area, ending at the top of a beautiful peak to watch a glorious sunset over Lake Eyasi. Emma had hit the wall hard by this point--still upside down from the long trip and time change—but she persevered and actually enjoyed the view, particularly when I started taking bets on when the sun would set—appealing to Emma’s ever present competitive streak.

January 11, 2007

The purpose of this first part of our safari was more cultural than natural. We left early (the kids were not pleased at having to get up while it was still dark) for a visit with members of the Hadzapi Tribe. It was both odd and unbelievably intriguing. At first, it felt almost insulting to be watching these people as though we were viewing animals in the zoo. But we were assured by Mrosso and Sad, our local guide, that this was not the case and indeed, they were extremely welcoming. Clearly, this has become a symbiotic economic relationship in that afterwards, our guide paid them some money and we bought some of their wares. This seems to be an established part of cultural commerce in Tanzania. When we arrived, the men, dressed only in grimy shorts, were sitting around a fire smoking tobacco out of a make shift pipe (that they clearly did not need as evidenced by the accompanying hacking coughs), while the women were dressed in pieces of traditional Tanzania fabrics tied around them reasonably haphazardly. To call their living environment sparse would be a gross understatement. They essentially lived under a lean-to, made of grass and sticks—probably no more than 20 square feet. Inside were two straw mats—no bigger than beach towels, on which the entire family of 8 or 10 people slept, with the women sleeping “inside” and the men sleeping outside. Nothing else—no plates or pots or clothes or anything. Initially, the men showed us how they made a fire, without matches. It had a little bit of the feel of a boy scout demonstration.

After an opportunity to observe and ask many questions, we accompanied the men on a hunt. Apparently we brought them luck as they quickly found and killed, with a bow and arrow, a dik dik, the smallest (and sadly, cutest) of the East African antelopes. It was both thrilling and a bit horrifying. We walked with them back to camp as the family patriarch with a pronounced limp and hacking cough, had slung the dik dik over his shoulders with blood dripping from the small animal’s mouth. We then watched as they quickly skinned the animal, placed it over the fire for less than a minute and immediately ate the organs and innards (the youngest kids were either treated to, or were stuck with, the brain)--dik dik tartare, as we have taken to calling it. Now whenever we see a dik dik, we refer to it as breakfast. The carcass was placed in the roof of their hut, presumably being saved for lunch. The kids sat in the car during the disembowelment, understandably slightly aghast (yet not judgmental) over the somewhat gruesome (and unfamiliar) scene. Indeed, it was hard for me to control the gag reflex and remain appropriately respectful in the face of such a scene, particularly in my jet lagged condition (though I doubt it would have felt much different if we were well rested). The kids emerged from the car, whereupon Emma, as the apparent source of good luck, was offered the practically still beating heart. Surprisingly, she declined, as did Adam when he was offered him some meat. According to Mrosso, no part of the animal will go to waste—and even he was slightly aghast at the scene, particularly the “rareness” of the meat. Neighbors joined in the feast.

Then, the dance—some sort of victory celebration that reminded us of the hora—clearly an expression of joy and thankfulness for their good fortune. It seems that the lives of the Hadzapi Tribe have not changed dramatically since the beginning of time-we read that they have been in this area of Tanzania for 10,000 years. We bought jewelry from them that reminded each of us of my mom and went back to the welcome familiarity of Kisma Ndgeda and a more conventional breakfast.

Later that day, we went on our next cultural tour to visit that Tatoga Tribe. This tribe has, over time, developed skills in metal work made from whatever scrap metal they could find and melt. It was pretty fascinating watching them work. That day, they were melting down an ordinary lock (similar to ones we see every day). They had a small fire going, with one person behind the fire with a bellows of sorts, keeping the fire as hot as possible. The tribal leader would then melt down the lock and pour it into molds, where it would ultimately be shaped into bracelets. At the same time, his son was making incredibly intricate metal arrows. Apparently, the Tatoga would trade the arrows to the Hadzapi for honey and other items. After watching the metal work, they brought us to their living area. This tribe is a bit more advanced in that they live in enclosed huts. Yet the conditions are still pretty meager. In some ways it seems more desperate because there is a semblance, albeit small, of modernity. They wore clothes that looked like rejects from Salvation Army donations, had flies covering their bodies, particularly in the eyes of the unbelievably adorable children and their huts were probably 100 sq ft and are made up of grass, mud, and dung, with the accompanying smell. All of this, and the leader had a cell phone. They brought the girls and I into one of the huts, where we were given a demonstration of how the woman grind the maize into cornmeal. I was given a chance to give it a shot—more of a photo op than anything else. It was difficult and somewhat intimidating to be in such a cramped area with all the smells, but was still a fascinating experience.