Seeing the Forest and the Trees.

Looking like an Ewok, a Blue monkey snacks.

Kakamege, Kenya – The sky repeatedly cleared its throat, but the drops did not reach us as we set out through the heavy canopy of the Kakamega forest this afternoon.

Only the sun’s rays and shrill cries of birds filtered through the more than 150 species of plant in Kenya’s last remnant of the Guineo-Congolian rainforest that used to blanket the entire continent. Colobus and Blue monkeys swished through the leaves, sounding as though they were sweeping their porches, and a nearby bird whistled like ascending fireworks.

Spiders wove their looms across pathways carved between centuries-old trees – many of which are endemic here – and 40 types of snake lurked, unseen. Shy vipers, cobras and mambas remained hidden in the vibrant palette of green, which was soon washed by heavy drops.

This turn of weather has wreaked havoc on the bumpy red clay roads that are to carry us toward Kisumu – the ditch seems to be welcoming us as a respite from the slippery clay, but we have maintained traction at the last minute each time.

I love passing the nearby villages at dusk, though, as smoke from countless kitchens carries with it delicious smells before hanging in the valleys like foggy ghosts.

Kerosene lamps, meanwhile, begin to flicker like fireflies and I’m left to marvel at life here.

An Abridged Version.

Giraffes watch us as we spin out, stuck on a hill.

Lake Naivasha, Kenya – As dusk settled in like a smudge of heavy eyeshadow, a curious giraffe elongated its neck toward us at the side of the road.

It was close enough we could see its eyelashes, batting like fans.

Despite the pacifist nature of our newfound friend, this was not the best time of day to be stranded in a field of wild African animals.


No, ever-dangerous hippopotamus would soon begin stretching from a day spent staying cool in the water, and foraging with mouths studded by tusk-like teeth. Despite being herbivores, they can be indiscriminate in their violence.

And yet, there we were, tipped sideways in the car, hanging precipitously over the edge of a hill in the riparian area behind the house, the vehicle's belly grounded against a crumbling stone bridge. As we tried to lift the vehicle back onto the road, the tires spun, cloaking us in a cloud of vaporized rubber.

It would not budge.

Yup, we were pretty stuck.

We had already had to change a punctured tire on a dusty hill in Karagita earlier in the day – an event that had attracted other curious onlookers as we attempted to loosen bolts in the middle of a roughly hewn, angular road, amidst homes fabricated of mud and sticks.

With a series of guttural cries, we wedged our hands under the front bumper and tried to raise the vehicle onto the dirt path. By mistakenly spreading the fingers of my right hand onto the spinning tire, I soon learned the car was front-wheel drive.

And I wondered if my now-erased prints would qualify me for a future career in the secret service.

Standing in a bush of thorns, we repeatedly heaved the car upward while awkwardly leveraging ourselves against the side of the hill. Still, the car teetered and we remained fearful it would roll down the hill – on top of us, no less. With the help of a couple locals, though, we eventually wedged a large chunk of the bridge that had become dislodged under the tire.

Traction. At last.

Nonplussed, the giraffe continued snacking on its live salad of nettles as we pulled out through a growing number of wildebeest, zebra and waterbuck.

I'm on a Boat.

Hungry, hungry hippos, looking for the marble.

Lake Naivasha, Kenya – Hippos cloaked by papyrus snorted like pigs with megaphones and leapt toward the boat with a seismic splash.

Our captain had backed into the area for this very reason.

With a quick crank of the throttle, the nose of our boat lifted from the water and pulled free of the reeds, which it spat into the air like confetti.

Nearby, three families of hippopotamus lay submerged, their eyebrows shrugging and nostrils flaring as they loudly sprayed water in disgust. Fish eagles swooped by with curved swords extended, plucking fish from the lake with a cry as piercing as their talons, before climbing back into the trees.

I was touring the lake with Western’s Ecosystem Health – Africa Initiative, where we conducted interviews to better understand the relationship between the growing community, the billion-dollar flower industry and the health of both individuals and the ecosystem.

Up one hill lays a sprawling, unplanned village without a sanitation program. Its refuse ends up in the lake. The entire slum works for one specific rose grower in the region and, in direct contrast, the owner lives in a white, castle-like home a farther up the lake. These manufactured communities provide their own schooling, healthcare, housing and daycare for employees.

The industry is big business, employing a quarter of the 450,000 residents around the lake, many of whom came to the area during the 1990s when the population was only 20,000. The environmental impact of both human migration and from the flower businesses has been tremendous on Lake Naivasha.

As one local described it: “The flower companies are the mother of Naivasha – a cruel mother.”

In the Backyard.

Dark meat or white meat?

Lake Naivasha, Kenya – Pulling up to our quaint cottage nestled under a trestle of acacia trees, we agreed to stretch our legs after the drive and to take a walk into the field behind us.

Lake Naivasha sprawled below.

Birds chirped against a verdant backdrop that soon exposed dark shapes that moved in herds. Both the house and land surrounding it provided the setting for the 1966 movie, Living Free.

Throaty thunder rolled percussively in symphony with wildebeest hooves parading across the open space.

We walked through constant reminders of the very real presence of Africa’s wildlife, past thorny trees and dry soil littered with the bleached vertebrae of a giraffe, fallen like dominoes and spread as long as its neck was in life. Nearby lay a zebra with hollow eyes and an empty belly.

It was no longer hungry.

To the side, wildebeest banged heads and waterbuck eyed us cautiously. A brown-striped baby zebra galloped beside its mother as a trio of giraffe loped away like teenagers with an awkward gait. Turning to look back at us, they dwarfed the herd of tan antelope with feminine features underfoot.

This is our backyard.

Snakes on the Plains.

How many politicians do you spot?

Nairobi, Kenya – As clouds recoiled into the sky, trees of snakes waved hypnotically like Medusa’s uncoiffed mane.

We decided to visit the Snake Park at Nairobi National Museum, which consists of a few glass cases containing a cobra, some rather large pythons and a number of mambas, as well as a treed, open-air setting with dozens of snakes. In turn, they rose and fell like the LED lights of an equalizer.

Some green, some red, others silver, the thin reptiles slithered out of the foliage like living branches. Others attempted to climb the wall that divided us, but could not sustain the strength before they fell back to the grass.

All the while, two tortoises moseyed along, ambivalent.

At the end of the visit, I even had an opportunity to wrap a ball python around my neck like a fine patterned, scaly foulard.

Meat being roasted at The Carnivore.

If I had worn it to dinner, the snake would likely have wound up on the losing end of a traditional Maasai sword, and thrust into a charcoal pit.

I have long looked forward to having a meal at The Carnivore, which has twice been named one of the world’s top-50 restaurants and boasts (and bastes) an assortment of roasted meats. While exotic game is, obviously, no longer available (no need to decide between the dark and light meat of a zebra), we still had waiters making rounds between our tables with swords of meat they would cut off onto our plates: camel, crocodile, ostrich, ox testicle, lamb and even a full turkey.

Appropriately, to signify the end of the meal, you don’t just raise a white flag, you try to summon the energy to lower one at the centre of the table.

There’s a reason The Carnivore is referred to as “Africa’s best eating experience” – it was a tasty show.

Day 31: Interloper Anteloper.

Akagara National Park, Rwanda – Dry red clay crackled under our tires as we made our way into the bush. The noise was enough to send a family of impala sprinting across the field, hind quarters bucking like a donkey’s.

Given that impala are able to jump 11 metres at a go, or three feet into the air, the style obviously works for them. But it still made me laugh. Nearby, a trio of males with sharp, curled horns butted heads, aspiring to be the only one allowed to join a family of females. Naturally, they played for keeps.

When Akagera National Park was founded in 1934, it occupied 2,500 square kilometres in the north-east corner of the country, on the border of Tanzania. Following the war in 1994, it was reduced to 1,085 square kilometres in order to provide additional space for farming. While drier than other areas, the park is still lush and filled with Rwanda’s characteristic rolling hills. Large lakes teeming with hippopotamus and crocodile rest at its centre. Akagera is also the only area in the country you can find animals typical of the African savannah.

It is also home to more than 520 different kinds of bird and a colourful assortment of butterflies.

The long horns of a resting topi poked out of the tall yellow grasses, the only objects not swaying gently in the breeze. Large antelope, topi are able to run at speeds of 70 kilometres an hour and are the fastest member of the family in this park.

Driving slowly along barely-there paths, we startled a bushbuck, which leapt in front of us, and into the foliage. A baboon followed, squinting menacingly. Seeing us approach the watering hole, a fish eagle swept into the sky with majestic wings, coming to rest in a nearby tree. With wingspans of up to seven feet, these impressive birds have the strength to carry a baby impala.

At the lake, hippos stayed submerged, keeping cool in the face of the hot midday sun. With a large snort, they’d come to the surface long enough to cherish another breath. Overturned and shattered thorn trees pointed to the presence of elephants, but we did not cross paths with any today. Though one of my favourite animals, I was spoiled by the number of them I saw on the Serengeti last year.

The highlight, however, was driving off-road through the tall grasses and being confronted by a gorgeous Massai giraffe, which bent over in curiosity. These animals just seem so dignified – it must be that they always hold their heads high.

And so ends my foray to Rwanda’s three national parks in three days.

Day 30: Gorillas in the Midst.

Parc National des Volcans, Rwanda – The sun didn’t so much rise as it lightened the sky over the majestic, mist-covered peaks of the Virunga volcanoes in the north-west corner of the country this morning. Having left at 3:45 a.m., it was yet another early start.

By seven, I gathered with 50 foreigners who would be split into teams and taken to track families of mountain gorillas on different peaks. Of the 320 such gorillas remaining in the world, 250 can be found in Rwanda, the others in nearby DR Congo and Uganda.

When asked if I was feeling energetic before being assigned a climbing team, I should have known it was going to be a long morning – but a challenge not to pass up. The answer, of course, could only be yes. I joined seven other climbers from Australia, the United States and Germany for our assignment: to track the Susa (“River”) family made famous by researcher Dian Fossey. At 40 members, this is the largest group in the Virunga Massif and contains both the first set of surviving twins and long-time Fossey friend, “Poppy”. What an amazing opportunity and, in some ways, honour.

After driving another hour, we set off on foot across volcanic rock and through farmer’s fields for six kilometres. In the driving rain, we couldn’t even see that there was a mountain in front of us. Upon reaching the base, we began the long ascent into a steep bamboo forest laid out like a tight giant slalom course that arced over us. A guide hacked a path with his machete and we all hoped to avoid falling down the hill, taking out everyone behind us.

The bamboo seemed impenetrable and we cursed its existence. More than once. After six kilometres – straight up – it finally ended, but we were still left with another eight kilometres through thistles and nettles that stung our hands and stabbed us through our clothes. We began hoping for bamboo again, but at least the sun had begun to shine.

Over several hours, we had covered 20 kilometres, two-thirds of which were vertical. This would, of course, have to be repeated on our descent – a journey that would end six hours after it began.

But the tall greenery swayed behind an enormous black hand that took a sticky plant and fashioned it into a ball of salad before popping it into a large black mouth. A touch of grey shone from its shoulder and a youngster in front of him similarly directed the tasty treat into its mouth. There was now no question the journey was worth it, and that much more delicious because of the investment we had made in it.

A male, who becomes a silverback after 12 years, can grow up to 200 kilograms in size. This was just one of three in this group, which we found seated nearby, having neatly trampled the surroundings into a tidy meadow. Though it was hard to count exactly how many there were, the guide counted at least 25 gorillas, including a week-old baby and several youngsters who wrestled, climbed branches and cartwheeled and spun their way down the hill. A mother with a baby on her back walked right past me and parked herself in a tree just above my head.

For the record, there is nothing cuter than a baby gorilla.

Day 26: Chimpan-A to Chimpanzee.

Nyungwe National Park, Rwanda – The alarm was shrill in the way anything is if it’s trying to wake you up at 2:30 a.m. The sun was nowhere near shattering the blackness.

Instead, we had a relatively clear skyline for our journey into Nyungwe National Park, where we were to track chimpanzees this morning. The blanket of stars reminded me of the sleep I could still be having. As we wove over the Park’s bumpy roads, tail lights bobbed like sinkers on fishing lines and remainders of the other day’s landslides jutted out like ribs.

After two hours of driving, we picked up our guide and two German tourists at 4:30 and made our way 12 more kilometres back into the rainforest. The wet, rutted roads were the worst I had ever encountered, so bad our journey took another 90 minutes.

As the sky lightened, we stood waiting for the trackers to locate the chimpanzee hoots that would set our direction. We knew the primates were nearby, but were keeping silent as their day was just breaking, too. Chimps are known to travel large distances and to not remain in one place long if food is not plentiful. A tracker fooled us with his call.

And suddenly, at 7:15, four large females thundered down the hill and across the road behind us. We stood, mouths agape, at how close we had been. We barrelled into the bush behind them (well, after giving them a bit of a lead), leaving no question of stealth with our heavy footfalls. The terrain was unforgiving and I cannot say I was always able to remain on my feet. Crashing down steep, muddy hills as vines and roots alike conspired to ensnare us, we didn’t see the chimps again for another hour.

A ruckus of calls erupted from deep in the valley, seemingly taunting us.

It felt like somewhat of a cross between Indiana Jones and Mantracker, Africa edition. Sharp thorn bushes snapped back into my face and dewy ferns found their way underfoot. All at once, it seemed, I’d be pulling myself up an incline, sliding back down a hill, climbing over a slippery rotten mahogany tree and jumping small streams. Chaffing from the walking stick left blood blisters speckled in my palm. But it was all worth it.

Finally, artillery fire of half-eaten figs hailed down upon us from high up in the trees, each hitting the soft ground with a resounding thud. The entire troupe was feeding above and littering the rainforest with its remains. Branches arched spectacularly as long hairy arms swung from them with ease. As the chimpanzees climbed down to feed elsewhere, we saw that two of the mothers had babies clinging to their stomachs. They were less than six months old.

Four hours and several vertical kilometres later – after tracking the family to yet another location – we emerged from the rainforest exhausted and completely filthy. And happy.

Over the years, I have been fortunate enough to have had many unique experiences, both good and bad, but I can think of few that were more exhilarating – or exhausting. Chimpanzees possess 94 per cent of human DNA and it was incredible to share space with our nearest relative in the animal kingdom.

But how would I love to be able to have a hot shower with water pressure.

Zebra Meets Skunk, Meets Lemur. Or Something Like That.

Nyungwe National Park, Rwanda – Toward the end of a long day spent moving south through the country from Kigali, fog seeps from the pavement as though the earth is smoldering beneath us. It dances hypnotically in the truck’s headlights as lightning briefly introduces us to the mountain peaks that envelop the serpentine curves of pothole-chocked roads in Nyungwe National Park. We’re heading to Cyangugu through Nyungwe, which is the largest montane rainforest in Africa, and whose stunning vistas will serve as my backyard during my time at the Kitabi College of Conservation and Environmental Management.

While Rwanda’s roads are extremely good – particularly for Africa – this one, winding through the park, is far from it. Already, we have seen two trucks that have driven over the edge, their drivers huddled around fires by the side of the road to keep warm. The curves are enough to become vomit-inducing, which has become the case for one of our passengers, and a few before. That it’s dark and raining lightly certainly does not help matters.

I have been fortunate to see my first non-avian wildlife of the trip: a jackal, loping along the side of the road, and an animal Jethro identified as a civet – a medium-sized carnivore with the face of a lemur that looks something like a very large skunk with a bushy tail and zebra striping on its hindquarters. Really. Unfortunately, I had packed my camera given the darkness, but both animals are extremely shy and seldom seen.

Lions and Elephants, Hurrah.

Mwanza, Tanzania - The goal of the modern safari seems to be to shoot as many as you can of the ‘Big 5’ – lion, leopard/ cheetah, hippopotamus, water buffalo and elephant. Only now, you do it with a camera instead of a rifle.

While sitting beside my tent on the rim of the Ngorongoro crater the first night after a full day of travel, I realized our journey (“safari” in Swahili) had already provided me and my travel partner – Western Heads East intern Meaghan Horgan – with more than we could have hoped for. We were blessed with clear weather as we traversed various topographies – flat, dry savanna, tropical forests, lush mountains and short scrub – making animal sighting easier.

We were greeted almost immediately by giraffes and a herd of approximately 13 elephants, crossing in front of us. Three hours in, we had already seen thousands of antelope, gazelles and zebras. Water buffalo and baboons made their way through the grass at every turn. Hippos resembled clumps of grey rocks floating in the water; warthogs and ostriches scampered about. We had also crossed paths with our first big cats, including a pair of lions, a leopard climbing out of a tree and a cheetah enjoying its freshly-killed Thompson gazelle – while fending off a flock of vultures. All of this happened within a few feet of us, which was surreal, especially considering there are no fences. This is the wild.

We were reminded of this as we came across the female lion, lazily lying under a tree near a pond. We watched as a gazelle sauntered over, separated from its mates. It fell over, possibly sick, then continued to the water hole. The lioness tensed on her haunches and sprang into action, catching herself a meal. Seemingly unimpressed, a male appeared from the tall grasses and decided to challenge a water buffalo. Without the female’s support, he ended up backing down, tearing off a piece of the gazelle as a consolation prize instead.

During the trip to Ngorongoro, too, we passed a number of Maasai, their easily distinguishable red or purple garments contrasted against the dry grass. Their villages, surrounded by fences of stick and brush to keep predators out, dotted the mountainous climb. Acacia and Baobab rose randomly from the vast terrain, but passing hollow, bleached bones served as a reminder that this is one part of the world over which you have very little control.

The Ngorongoro crater – the largest unbroken caldera in the world, and considered by many to be the eighth wonder of the world – was breathtaking in its beauty, though clouds and fog washed in over it in the morning. It is also considered by some to be the birthplace of civilization. The crater’s walls rose high and were scarred by the switchbacks that took 20 minutes to traverse to the bottom. The backdrop was stunning, with cascading hills, vast plains and the large Lake Magadi. We had our drive interrupted briefly as a large herd of wildebeests crossed the road in a perfectly straight line and, toward the end of the day, we completed our ‘Big 5’, spotting one of the very few remaining black rhinoceros in the crater.

The second night, we camped in the Serengeti and went to sleep to distant calls from lions and hyenas. I was bitten on my Achilles by a tsetse fly, but though it really stung, I don’t think it has made me sick. It was an amazing and surreal night to look up at a partially-lit sky, pinpricked to let the heavens shine through the silence. Lit light blue, it was as though darkness should never completely fall over the sky, depriving us of the Serengeti’s beauty. I couldn’t believe I was standing in the middle of it at night, surrounded by all I had seen during the day.

Today, Meaghan and I rose at 5:45 to watch the sun rise over the park and to begin our trek home to Mwanza. We awoke to zebras, antelope and gazelles visible from our tent door; we passed lions as we exited the camp. On the way out, we saw many more animals and actually had a chance to get out of the car to take a rope bridge across a river in which a crocodile swam below. I didn’t want to lose my sandal. Or my footing. The most amazing experience came toward the end of the day when two long lines of elephants came together in a V, heading to the river to cool off. In all, more than 150 elephants of all sizes passed within feet of us. It pretty much summed up the trip for us: we were very fortunate to see all that we did; many people spend far more time and see far less.