OUR SAFARI
Our son Drew spent 10 months traveling in Asia and Africa. Being an intense educator, his journeys purposes included visiting and studying nongovernmental schools in different cultures. In Africa, his travels were to begin in Nairobi, Kenya and down through Tanzania and Zimbabwe to South Africa. I met him in Kenya and we signed up for a 3 day safari to the Massa Maara Wildlife Reserve.
We meet our Kenyan guides in downtown Nairobi and boarded the minibus for an 8 hour drive. A very wealth Kenyan joined us. He too was on safari. Having studied at New York University and lived in London for a number of years, he expressed his deep frustration at being called back to Kenya by his family. They needed someone to manage one of their shopping centers. Our Kenyan friend was immaculately dressed with nails manicured and a friendly, but very aristocratic manner.
Night life in Nairobi is almost nonexistent he insisted, because anyone with a fancy car feared getting carjacked if driving home late. I had wandered around Nairobi, often on foot for a week before Drew arrived. After visiting the Karen Blixen house, I had walked past country club in a wealthy neighborhood. I asked him about whether those once all white organizations, like country clubs, were now integrated. How did white and black Kenyans get along? Oh, fine he said. Sure, the country clubs would be mixed. Our family owns a house in that neighborhood. No problem. Whites will sell houses to black and blacks would sell to whites. But we would never sell to an Indian. Astounded, I ask him to explain. Indians only sell to Indians and they live separated from whites and blacks. It is just the way it is. What a weird world we live in.
Being on safari was a joy. Drew insisted that we save money by living in tents instead of in the small hotel. That meant that we could hear all the better sounds of the night. The lions' roars and the hyenas cries broke the dark silence. Then out on the plains,we saw hippos and alligators in the rivers. Cheetahs and giraffes and elephants and zebras and wildebesst were in abundance. After two exhilarating days we headed home.
Three hours of travel brought us to a rest stop. We hit the bathroom and buy some water. As we prepare to leave, we realize that 5 minibuses have arrived heading south toward Masai Maara. So the dirt parking lot almost overflows with buses and people. These tourists are Russians. Suddenly, I notice one heavyset woman who is feeding pieces of popcorn from a bag to Masai children in their blood red clothes who have crowded around her. It is as if she were feeding chickens. She has a bottle of soda with two straws inserted. Two children are drinking form the one bottle. My anger demanded action.
I went over to her and said, `you are acting like an ugly tourist.' No response from her. Then I said,' if you cared about these children at all, you'd give $100 to their school.' Her face is blank and yes maybe she didn't speak any English, but she could read my anger. Our well-to-do Kenyan friend chimes in saying `we feed the children in our country'. The woman heads to her van and I begin to follow her. Tall, broad shouldered Drew grabs my arm and says, `come on dad, let's get out of here.'
Yes, I guess that does make a lot of sense since it is 3 of us and forty Russians. We get in the van and drive off. I say something like, `Man, I am so angry at the way that woman treated those kids.' Our Kenyan friend says, `yes, and besides that she was carrying one of those fake Louis Vuitton bags.' Confused, barely knowing who Louis Vuitton is, I say, `what do you mean?' ` You know those fake Louis Vuitton bags—I just hate those things.'
