As I write this opening paragraph, I am sitting on my bed, overlooking the Mara River. There are hippo snorting water out their nostrils, and bugs (I\u2019m guessing crickets) calling to one another. A cool breeze passes through my tented room, and the feeling is that of the18th century colonial, having conquered Africa, writing to those back home in an endeavour to paint the picture of a landscape, people and tongue they could never have imagined. Just over the horizon, clouds amass in a bulky fluff, white at the top yet heavy and dark towards the bottom\u2026the condensation of a pending raincloud. Above my head, the tent groans and moves slightly with the wind; as do the leaves, responding to the movement of an African afternoon.
Technically, we\u2019re only a twenty minute drive away from the Masai Mara National Reserve,
and this is actually the Masai Mara Northern Conservation (MNC), consisting of
approximately 30,000 hectares. Yet, the same animals roam between both land-masses, as
few fences actually exist in this Eastern part of Africa. In-fact, there aren\u2019t even physical
boundaries between the Serengeti plains of Tanzania and Kenya, thereby allowing
phenomena such as the Great Migration to occur unhindered. But now it is November, and
we\u2019ve just missed the migration (which happens annually between the months of July and
October). With that said though, the Mara still brims with life.
Regarding the Conservation, it is a \u2018partnership between eleven member camps and over 800
Masai landowners to professionally manage and protect the north-western border of the Mara
ecosystem\u2019. The temptation is to visit the Masai Mara National Reserve itself; however this
optional extra costs an additional quite a few dollars person, and so most of us opt to safari within the proximity of our camp instead.
This is my second trip to Kenya, with just two destinations scheduled for a five day time-
frame. The first is the Diamonds Dream of Africa in Malindi, an Indo-Arabian styled beach
resort just two hours drive north of Mombasa. The second is the Exploreans Mara Rianta
Camp, located in the MNC (which we\u2019ll come back to later).
During the 1980s, Italians ex-pats apparently decided to settle in the vicinity of Malindi in
order to set up either home and business, or just holiday home. Now, it is known as Kenya\u2019s
\u201clittle Italy\u2019, with more than 2,500 properties owned under Italian names. The destination is
therefore unique, as it is distinctly African, yet with the palatable taste of Italian influence.
For those who are into trivia (here it comes), even Naomi Campbell is said to be building a
mansion on the water\u2019s edge with an Italian millionaire (if not billionaire). I even got to snap
the location, pointed to us by a deck-hand clearly in the know.
But before I continue though, let me divulge into a part of the story which I now describe
with caution. Soon after we arrived, we were told that many European (and especially Italian
women), come to Malindi sans husband and family in order to \u2018pick-up\u2019 one of the local
beach boys, who they then spend an exotic week with. The thing about Kenya though is that
prostitution is banned, and so these exchanges of relations often happen covertly and with
some caution. We were also told that websites now exist, where the locals are medically
examined, and then advertised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On day two we were taken on a site visit, and I noticed a couple in the pool: an older
European woman with a local. They swam separately for a while, but as he later attempted to
rest near the side, the madam in question then came up behind him and was clearly enjoying
the intimacy. Walking past, I over-heard an English accent: prim, precise and well-spoken.
She seemed the epitome of demure, dressed in a full bathing suit and blue goggles\u2026the kind
of individual you would naturally box as \u2018predictable\u2019 and slightly boring. Clearly, I live in a
bubble.
The thing about this exchange in relations though is that many of the resorts do not allow for
their patrons to upgrade their rooms from a single to a double, nor do they allow clients to
bring in any \u2018external visitors\u2019. Thus, the way it works is that these ladies pay the full price
for their local treat (as well as a payment for additional services) a thriving and well-kept
secret it seems. But it\u2019s not only the Italians or their English counterparts who fall prey to the
\u2018warrior\u2019 temptation. Let\u2019s not forget a German lady, who upon entering the country told the
man at passport control to meet her at her (given) address that night. He agreed. No time
wasted. Boom.
Yet trivia aside: it\u2019s time now to describe how we actually got there. On Tuesday morning
early, we boarded the Kenyan Airways 00.40 flight from J\u2019burg to Nairobi. From the capital,
we then caught another flight south to Mombasa, after-which it was a two hour drive along
the coast to Malindi.
Mombasa, like many of the local villages and towns we drove past, is poor. Yet despite this,
locals will always find some respectable form of employment, be it selling juice at the side of
the road, hand-crafted wooden sculptures or even just a mielie on a stick. They are a proud
and educated society, a sentence I actually remember writing in my last article.
Coupled with this sense of dignity in finding employment (even if only in the entrepreneurial
sense) there is the fact that the poor would actually not survive otherwise, as criminal activity
is dealt with in the most harsh manner. On the road from Mombasa to Malindi, we passed one
of the local jails and as we drove past, we were told that few actually make it out alive.
Prisoners are made to sleep on cold, damp floors; they are fed once a day and are put to work
for seven hours of every day. Consequently, crime is not really an issue, and the overall
atmosphere is one of safety and security.
At the Diamonds Dream of Africa we sipped gin and tonics, ate prawn pasta and fresh fish
like little lords, and in an attempt to wink in the direction of physical activity we snorkelled in
the Malindi Marine National Park & Reserve. For about two kilometres away from the shore
there is an expansive coral reef and at low tide, the reef sometimes lies just a meter beneath
the surface, then drooping in depth as you head out toward further towards the sea. For the
majority of that hour though, we settled ourselves in the shallows.
As the hour drew to a close and we swam towards the boat, someone put a piece of bread in
my hand and suddenly I was surrounded by what felt like fifty tropically coloured fish, all
diving at the miniscule piece of wet carbohydrate. I shrieked through my mouth piece as I felt
the teeth of one focussed opportunist. Then as I clutched onto more bread, I suddenly realised
what it must be like diving the sardine run, as fish circled my body in a proximity I wasn\u2019t so
sure how to handle. It was an elating experience.
Before dinner on both evenings, we would sit under white, billowing folds of material,
reclining with our drinks as a cool breeze swept in from the ocean, relieving both tanned andwarm bodies. Those moments were idyllic, as we celebrated a setting sun and an African
stillness of Time. Far removed from home, the feeling was that of total tranquillity, as
responsibility and pressures had apparently been left on a shore thousands of kilometres away
from where we now sat. Crossed legged in a chair, white pants billowed around my heels.
And whilst Europe is beautiful, Africa is addictive. These were the moments that explained
the \u2018great migration\u2019 made by many a continental. I couldn\u2019t blame them.
Just before we then sat down to dinner (with every most tasty meal comprising of three
courses with an additional salad buffet), Masai warrior (dancers) moved up from the darkness
of the beach to the vicinity of the pool area, their cries shrieking into the night. The ethnic and semi-nomadic Masai are probably the most well-known and identified of all forty-two Kenyan tribal groups, their territory originally reaching far into the Great Rift Valley. They are tall, lanky and can jump higher that the average person can on a trampoline. In the Mara we saw many, often sauntering alone down a non-descript road, or behind a herd of cattle. In such settings they appeared harmless and yet in their traditional warlike (even though rehearsed) state, their voices can pierce the unprepared soul.
The following day was intended for an early scurry for the Malindi airport to catch our 9: 15
flight to Nairobi. Flying over bulky cloud, we watched the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro peek in the
distance, as our snack was delivered promptly to a welcoming tray table.
Landing in Nairobi (where I now purposefully avoid writing about the \u2018Kenyan cowboys\u2019) it
was then a six hour drive to the Mara, sparing an hour to leave the city itself. Once on the
outskirts though we soon took a turn left and after a few kilometres, the Rift Valley lay bear
and sun-stroked before us. The Great Rift Valley, as it is formally known, is a \u2018geographic
trench\u2019, approximately 6,000 kilometres long, extending from Lebanon all the way through to
the south of Mozambique. From the top of the escarpment, a thin road winds its way down,
as cars overtake motorbikes who themselves overtake the truck obscuring their path of rapid
descent: u-tube footage. And all along the side of the road, locals cook (come burn) mielies
in dugouts of red earth. They scorch them on sticks, and then hold them up to passing
vehicles, all eager to make just a tiny profit.
Towards the bottom of the road, there exists a quaint chapel, built by the Italian prisoners of
war in 1945. Like many other African countries (including South Africa) the Italians were
shipped over the world and given the same job: road building.
Then as the landscape changed from brown to green and the road from tar to dirt; so did the
animal variety, as cattle slowly merged into wild game. As mentioned above though, animals
in the Mara are not confined to boundaries of fence and so theoretically, should a zebra
decide to make the pilgrimage from the bush to Nairobi, there would be no stopping it. What
keeps the animals in the habitat though is their fear of people (most likely cars and civilisation too) and so their instinct is to run away, something we often witnessed whilst on safari. We would pull up to a herd of zebra for example, which would then prance away to a safer distance. Lone warthogs did the same, as they would turn (their tails straight as poles) only to trot for a distance of about ten metres. Ironically though, Pumbas have an extremely short memory span and so they will run, forget why they\u2019re on the run and then turn to face their oncoming predator. It\u2019s phenomenal that they\u2019re not yet extinct.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
After two hours of dirt road and African dust, our land rover then went off-road, following an
invisible path. Tiny signs pointed out the direction of the Exploreans Mara Rianta Camp,
although I\u2019m sure the phrase: \u2018in the middle of no-where\u2019 was derived from the GPS co-
ordinates of this sign. All we could marvel at was our driver, who seemed confident in his
sense of direction.
As the light began to fade and lightening streaked from the horizon above some hills, we
spotted the tops of our tents. Excitement, as we were greeted by an amazing staff offering us
hot face-cloths and tall glasses of juice. Mara Rianta: where the story began and where it now
ends.
The camp is comprised of twenty luxury tents, all built on \u2018elevated wooden platforms\u2019 each
with their own private butler (who could be rung for at any stage of the day or night), viewing
deck (from where hippo and other wildlife can not only be seen, but definitely heard) and a
personal wake-up service, delivering your choice of either hot chocolate, tea or coffee in the
early hours before your morning game drive. The tents are the size of a small apartment, open plan and invitingly luxurious. They cannot be locked but simply zip close, giving the whole experience a sense of freedom andrelaxation. So as I sat on my king sized bed: hippo snorted, and I marveled at the privilege of the experience which had allowed me to write the words \u2018I am overlooking the Mara River\u2019.
Kenya was experienced from the home base of luxury, as Diamonds Dream of Africa and
Exploreans Mara Rianta Camp provided not only a first class experience, but service
provided with a touch of warmth and unique attention to detail. For example, when I jumped
into bed at Mara Rianta, a hot water bottle had been placed between the sheets, as well as a
complimentary night cap waiting on a tray for the moment when I would switch on my bed-
side lamp for a quick read. There was the faint, flickering light guiding me to the bell where
if need be, I could ring for help in the dead of the night (should an animal for example take
interest in the contents of the tent). So too at Diamonds Dream of Africa, where each evening
had a unique theme as well as accompanying menu, so that if you stayed for more than two
nights, you would be entertained by variety.
Kenya is a treat because though you can witness the realities of Africa first-hand, you can do
so in comfort (something I highly recommend). And though you recognise the hardship, there
is the encouraging fact that after coffee (tea and roses), tourism is there second biggest
economy booster, and therefore as you stay and spend your dollars or rands, you not only
gain a beautiful experience, you so too contribute (even if indirectly) to that Masai individual,
walking in long strides along a road with seemingly no end.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
As I write this opening paragraph, I am sitting on my bed, overlooking the Mara River. There are hippo snorting water out their nostrils, and bugs (I\u2019m guessing crickets) calling to one another. A cool breeze passes through my tented room, and the feeling is that of the18th century colonial, having conquered Africa, writing to those back home in an endeavour to paint the picture of a landscape, people and tongue they could never have imagined. Just over the horizon, clouds amass in a bulky fluff, white at the top yet heavy and dark towards the bottom\u2026the condensation of a pending raincloud. Above my head, the tent groans and moves slightly with the wind; as do the leaves, responding to the movement of an African afternoon.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":83,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,4],"tags":[13,14,23,24],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=81"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/81\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/83"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=81"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=81"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theministryofmuffins.co.za\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=81"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}