By Rosie Cohan
Silver Solas Award-winner in the Bad Trip category
Busy separating night from day, the red African sun turned the clouds into mounds of pink cotton candy. In the distance, a few acacia trees stood silhouetted against the vast golden savanna. Annoying screams of the aptly named Go-Away Bird drowned out the lilting song of the iridescent blue and orange Superb Starling. Both competed for airtime with a chorus of cooing mourning doves. Tanzania was rising to a glorious morning. But for me, it was the beginning of another horrible day on my “safari from Hell.” I was being held captive with a dangerous species: ten bigoted, selfish, mean human beings.
I rarely go on tours, but a safari seemed overwhelming on my own. I booked a trip to Kenya and Tanzania with a company that bills itself as “The Leader in Solo Travel.” What they didn’t tell me was that I was the thirteenth person on a tour that comfortably fit twelve. Thirteen proved to be an unlucky number.
I was the only single in the group of six couples. We were all between forty and seventy years old. Five couples, the “Group of Ten” (GOT), were oil company executives and their spouses. They had worked and vacationed in a pack for twenty or more years, and consequently had become loud and disrespectful of others outside their group. They shared private jokes and secret whispers with each other and were of a different political persuasion than I was, supporting fracking, off-shore drilling, George W. Bush, and the war in Iraq. Some thought Barack Obama was a Muslim born in Kenya and asked locals if they were related to him.
Treated as VIPs because they took so many trips with this tour company, the GOT acted like it was their private trip, and the Tour Director was easy prey to their demands; he knew where the majority of his tips would come from.
One couple was not part of the GOT. Like solitary panthers, they were watchful of everyone’s’ moves and kept to themselves. Neither they, nor I, were included in decisions that affected our trip. For example, the tour itinerary clearly stated that every morning we would have an early drive at 6:30 a.m., as this was the best time to see animals returning from night hunting.
At 6:00 a.m. the first morning, I, along with the panther couple, Keith and Marilyn, were the only ones at breakfast. At 6:30, we woke the Tour Director to ask why he and others were not at breakfast and ready to leave.
“The GOT decided they wanted to sleep in, so we will leave at 8:30 a.m. every morning.”
“We weren’t included in the decision to start late,” I protested.
“That’s what the majority wanted.”
Furious, I stomped back to my tent.
At 8:30 a.m. we boarded two six-passenger Land Rovers. Six of the seats in each vehicle had access to an open roof. An additional seat in front was next to the driver and enclosed so you could not stand to see the animals or the scenery. Another company rule: everyone needed to rotate seats so each person would have equal viewing opportunities. I was ok sitting up front on the first day. But on subsequent days, the GOT ignored that rule and the Tour Director did not enforce it. As the only solo traveler, the GOT relegated me to the obstructed viewing seat in front. My head and neck ached as I bumped against the roof of the Land Rover, and I strained to see out the window.
“Snap, click-click, snap, click, click, click”.
Like rapid-fire guns, the GOT’ competed to bag the best pictures of the animals, as if they were trophy hunting. Most of them did not know how to use their fancy new cameras. I dodged right and left to avoid their oversized lenses as they shot rashly and didn’t care that they blocked what little view I had.
Their endless talk about who got the “greatest shot” was like pouring salt on my wound. I was in mourning: sand crept into my new point and shoot camera rendering it useless by the second day.
On the third day, I politely asked one of the GOT to rotate seats and allow me to sit under the open roof for a while so I could have an unobstructed view. She raised her hairy head, bared her hyena-like teeth, and shrieked, “No. You don’t have a camera, so you don’t need access to the open roof.”
I held back my anger and tears of frustration, so as not to arouse the rest of the cackle who were smirking.
Later I tried to change vehicles, but no one would budge. I asked the Tour Director to enforce the rotation rule. He said I should just get up early and get to the land rovers before anyone else.
On the fourth day, I did just that and was able to ride in the same vehicle as Keith and Marilyn. They were kind enough to split up and allow me to sit in the open-roof area so I could experience the beauty of the scenery and animals. But we were only in the same vehicle that one-day. Some of the GOT always got to the rovers first, saved all the seats, and refused to move.
Because the Tour Director occupied the seat next to the driver, I was never in his vehicle. Each day, I missed out on his explanations and colorful Maasai stories. After several days of feeling isolated and angry, I spoke with him again.
“Alan, I am never in the vehicle with you so I can’t hear your commentary. The GOT won’t rotate seats, so I am still stuck in the front seat with no open view.”
“I am sorry, but Tom (the appointed leader of the GOT) told me that the couples do not want to split up and rotate. That’s why you are in the front.”
“Isn’t it your role to enforce the rotation rule? Why is Tom involved in assigning seats?”
“He represents the group”.
“He does not represent me, Marilyn and Keith. We are not part of their group. You are not being fair to the three of us.”
“Marilyn and Keith haven’t complained. Tomorrow I will make sure get you a seat under the open roof,” Alan promised.
The next morning, I assertively took an open air seat. Members of the GOT were furious because one couple would have split up and ride in a different vehicle due to the odd number of passengers and another would have to sit up front with the driver. They made such a fuss that Alan asked me to move to the other vehicle to my same viewless seat. He had broken his promise and I decided to silently begin a “sit-in” to keep my seat.
Dirty looks and sarcastic remarks ensued, referring to me as if I weren’t there while I looked straight ahead not acknowledging them.
“She’s really a bitch for not moving so we can be together,” said one woman with the brown and yellow tufted hair and a high-pitched whine.
“Some people feel they are entitled to ruin the trip for us,” bellowed a man who sounded like a wounded elephant.
“She is so selfish,” growled another, hiding under her long blond mane and “Jackie-O” sunglasses.
The wrath of the GOT did not let up. The personal attacks increased throughout the day and the trip. Anger at the Tour Director and the GOT devoured me like a lion ravaging a baby impala. My longtime dream of being on safari was squandered on this expensive and miserable tour.
I tried to ignore the GOT, but knowing I had to spend two weeks with these vicious varmints was adding to my feeling of victimization. When I did try to get away from the herd and go off by myself, the Tour Director chastised me for not being part of the group. I did not want to be part of that herd.
At dinner on night six, one of the GOT hit a real low when he spewed anti-Semitic insults at me. Like Wild African Dogs who use persistence hunting techniques to wear their prey down over time, members of the GOT attacked whenever they felt like it, especially after a few gin and tonics.
I tried hard not to engage. I didn’t want to show weakness to these predators. Out of their sight, I ran to the porch of my tent cabin and cried. I felt sorry for myself like a wounded victim. I was lost and helpless in my own misery.
Then I heard the soft singing of the Maasai guards as they sang in call and response and it soothed me. I wiped my eyes and looked up at a billion bright stars sparkling across the sable sky and picked out the Milky Way shining above me. The moonlight illuminated the dancing grasses that were blowing in the soft warm breeze. The smoke from the guards’ campfire, and the smell of roasted corn from cooking ugali porridge tingled in my nose. The magic of this African night comforted me and put me in touch with my real purpose.
I was here to experience Africa, not a tour. I was only hurting myself by allowing my reaction to the GTO ruin my trip. Anger, self-pity, and righteous indignation would not contribute to my survival. Like an armadillo, which is smaller than its predators, I had to develop more protective armor. I had to switch the channel in my mind and reframe my perspective.
I reflected on our visit to a local village that afternoon. The women in colorful African skirts and tops, carried on their heads buckets of clean water collected from a distant well. They were singing as they filed into the village. The children had big smiles on their faces when I handed out the bright colored pens I had brought, holding them up, comparing colors and grasping them as if they were precious gems. Men and women stopped to say hello to their neighbors sitting outside the local store, laughing and hugging in the hot afternoon sun. The square red brick houses were mainly one room and the dry red clay streets were rutted and dusty. The people we met made due with what they had and appreciated every little thing.
My difficulties on this trip were nothing compared to the hard lives of these villagers. Yet despite famine, drought, disease, and subsistence living, the people we encountered were kind and gentle. Like them, I needed detach my spirit from the difficulties of my situation, and focus on appreciating my good fortunate to be in one of the greatest places on earth. Gratitude was the only way forward.
Nature itself provided me clues to surviving, and eventually appreciating this trip. Most animals travel in herds and packs; there is safety in numbers. So, I went to Marilyn and Keith’s tent. They welcomed me in and we discussed our second-class status in this Darwinian environment. They offered to split up and save me a place in their vehicle so we could rotate seats. Marilyn was an expert photographer and offered to send me her best pictures once we got home. Keith, who had been mayor of a small town, offered a mutual support alliance.
“We will sit near you at meals and act as a buffer between you and the GOT. We are glad you reached out to us. We are shocked at the GOT’s behavior. I will talk with Allan about the seating.”
He was like a lion protecting his lioness and cub.
The next morning, Keith sat in the seat next to the driver, allowing me to sit in the open air next to Marilyn. The three of us rotated seats at various stops during the day. When a GOT member made a snide remark, Keith proclaimed that the comment was inappropriate. The verbal attacks aimed toward me became fewer and fewer.
That day we were fortunate to see the “Great Migration” which by all rights should have moved to another area. The ground shook, and the roar of thunder pounded in my heart as clouds of dusk rose from all sides of our vehicles. By a miracle of DNA, and seven years of drought, the migration of the 1.7 million wildebeests and 700,000 zebras were directly in our path galloping toward a few nearby water holes. They just kept coming, surrounding our vehicle as they continued to push forward. Their hoofs pummeled the ground on their continuous journey around their circle of life. I was so grateful to see one of the great phenomena of nature.
Zebras and the wildebeest are strange, but compatible partners. One species
is uniquely beautiful, the other unusually ugly, yet they are bound together forever in a never-ending search for food and battle for survival. Forty percent of the creatures die each year in this endless migration cycle. They are killed by stronger species, exhaustion, starvation, or thirst, only to begin the migration again and again, as they have for thousands of years. This symbiotic merry-go-round has been imprinted on these animals since the beginning of time.
Wildebeests can hear acutely and bellow loudly to warn the zebras of predators. But they cannot see far past their homely faces. Zebras have keen eyesight and warn wildebeests of danger. As they lovingly rest their striped heads across each other’s shoulders, the zebras scan the environment in two different directions for predators. Like the wildebeests and the zebras, Keith, Marilyn, and I were compatible partners bound together by the desire to survive the GOT and not ruin our experience of Africa.
The next night, from the porch of my tent-cabin, I saw a shepherd on a nearby hillside with a flashlight prodding his cattle home. Regal, red-robed Maasai warriors with spears and guns guarded our camp. I tuned into the sounds of the halcyon plains of the Serengeti, as animals were emerging out for their nighttime hunts. By focusing on the sweeping landscape and the cycle of African life, my heart filled with awe for nature’s power. Power to not only wound and kill, but also its ability to heal and renew.
As the red African sun rose the next morning, it turned the sky into sangria punch. I looked forward to the day, knowing I was in control of my reactions to whatever situation arose. Reaching out to like-minded people like Marilyn and Keith helped me strengthen my defenses.
I carry the lessons learned on this safari with me, like the Maasai warrior bears his shield and spear. Gratitude for the experience allowed me to detach from the GOT’s destructive and selfish behavior. Rotating my mind, my seat, and my emotions, I became absorbed in the drama of Africa, not the drama of the tour. Not constrained by looking through the small lens of a camera or any self-imposed restrictions, I broadened my own panorama. The ethos of Africa opened my heart and freed me from the inner beast of victimization.
Then I was able to appreciate and internalize the beauty of African and its spirit.
~ ~ ~
Rosie Cohan has traveled in over 70 countries, including seventeen trips to Turkey, her “home away from home.” Her descriptions of the natural world, people, and cultural traditions present a country’s uniqueness yet illustrate the universality of the human experience. She also writes about exploring the world as a solo woman traveler.