Monday 7 September 2015

The Naughty Buffalo

Naughty Cape buffalo near our camp.


The first day at Ol Kinyei camp, we arrived around 12:30, with lunch at 1 pm, not as good as Kenyan Air but still good:  lovely cucumber salad, beef patties—with fellow safari-ites Alice, Maria and Michael – then a rest, then our evening drive.


Topi

Impala
As with the drive from the airstrip, we saw a gazillion wildebeest, zebras, Thompson’s gazelle, Grant’s gazelle, impala, and a scattering of warthogs, eland, topi, and waterbucks.  First out of the camp there were two giraffe on the right—then four more on the left—then, as we got closer, and they got more curious, a whole crowd of them, up to 25 total, from half-grown adolescents to large bulls with their bushy top horns.  Jackson explained that, although the antelope and other ungulates can lose their horns with no damage to their health, a giraffe’s horn is part of its skull; if it gets cut off, the giraffe will die.


Thompson's gazelles

 They towered over us in our Toyota Landcruiser, heads swaying, their inquisitive eyes seeming to meet ours.  Though we’re obviously no threat, when the Landcruiser got too close to an individual, he or she would duck head and canter gracefully a few metres, just keeping the distance between us.  More curious than angry or afraid, they watched until Jackson said, “good?” and drove us away.



The wildebeest with their long, dramatic masks, always look so indignant; front legs spread, they challenged us for coming into their territory.  Warthogs are pugnacious, but run away, their skinny tails standing straight up like antennae on compact cars.  Zebras seem sarcastic, giraffes rather benevolent, and the few Cape buffalo ready for a fight.

Indignant wildebeest.
Benevolent giraffe.
Not my photo-- didn't catch one running.






Bull elephant in "musth".
One elephant, in “musth”, halted his tusked attack on a black acacia and turned to us, eyes blazing, as Jackson got us the hell out of there before he could charge.  But a later herd—or memory, as they can also be called—of bulls paid us absolutely no attention as they devastated a stand of trees to consume.  Their utter destruction of the landscape prompts me to change the phrase, “like a tornado came through” to “like a herd of elephants was here”.
Back at the camp as I waited for dinner, I went to walk the vehicle track that extends about 50 metres out front.  Sylvester—his long, elegant frame clad in deep reds and maroons—stopped me.  “There is naughty buffalo,” he told me.  “He hides in bush to surprise.  Do not go outside …” and he indicated the inner circle where the guides would be able to keep an eye out.

I acquiesced easily, worn out from the long day and eager to chow down on the delicious selection of fresh vegetables, grilled pork chop and scalloped potatoes, with a lovely chocolate mousse to follow.

I sat for a brief time around the fire, where the Maasai staff spoke softly to each other in their native language; we all retired early, knowing we had to be up at 6 am the next day. After ablutions in my own rustic but quite adequate bathroom (porcelain flush toilet) at the back of my tent, I quickly fell asleep between the folds of my rented sleeping bag with the thick, soft woolen blanket, provided, on top.



I was jerked awake in the middle of the night, perhaps 3 am, by a crashing-crunching-snorting that sounded right outside my tent.  I lay there for a moment, paralysed:  Would this be the end of my safari, as an elephant crashed through and trampled me?  Was Alice, in her tent next door, still alive?  Should I call out or would that just piss it off, whatever it was?  I had joked to friends about getting eaten by a lion or trampled by an elephant, but now, my first night on safari, was such a thing really about to happen?

After perhaps 10 minutes of lying there, clutching the bedclothes to my chin, I decided to get up and look.  It was actually a quite rhythmic sound—slap-slap, crunch-crunch—and I finally figured out that it was some large beast tearing up foliage and chewing it.  The crashing was its huge body moving through the brush.  Softly, I unzipped the tent.  Silently, I crept to the boma fence—such a flimsy thing, made of reed or young bamboo—and peered through a gap.

With the cloud cover, it was nearly pitch black.  After a moment, though, the absolute black softened to a thick grey, with shapes.  My eyes adjusted and I made out an enormous black bulk about five metres away, its head deep in the brush.  Again, I thought it must be an elephant—but then realised it wasn’t tall enough, unless it was a young elephant, and if so, where was Mom?  At that chilling thought, the hairs rose on the back of my neck—but then the bulky mass stepped back and I saw the unmistakable judge-wig horns of the Cape buffalo.

Cape Buffalo are in fact one of the “Big Five”—eg, one of the five most dangerous animals in Africa.  Despite seeing fearless Steve Irwin lie down and roll on the ground right up to a herd in one of his documentaries, the hair on my neck not only remained risen, it froze.  As did I.

The grass-matting boma fence looked, and felt, about as protective as tissue paper.  I was barefooted on a rocky path, with a centimeter of rigid grass between me and one of the continent’s biggest killers. 

The buffalo, oblivious to either me or my dilemma, continued to eat, shuffle and snort.  I wondered if I should go wake up Alice to show her.  Then I thought, hell no, I’m getting the hell out of here.  My leg, cramped from my rigidity, half crumpled and I stumbled backwards with a little cracking-shuffling sound. 


The buffalo’s head came up immediately and it went utterly silent.  Its eyes looked right at the boma where I stood and seemed to see me.  Any sort of courage I may have had deserted me, and I made a dash for the tent.  As I got inside and frantically groped for the zipper (I don’t know how I thought that was going to save me, zipping up the tent), I heard an equally panicked rush outside the boma, and the sound of hooves galloping away.

Apparently, I scared the buffalo too.  I guess the unknown is always scary, no matter how big you are or how bad your reputation.  


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