Don't eat me - I'm a vegetarian

Four trees

When I took Hunter’s Safety, they taught me not to point a weapon at anybody. I was therefore surprised when our guide in Katavi National Park climbed clumsily into the back of our vehicle with the barrel of his Russian Kalashnikov riffle swiveling in all directions, at various moments steadying on me and my fellow passengers.

“Are we going hunting?” I asked with casual American sarcasm. “No, this is for the walking safari,” he said. I took this to mean that he understood that the only way I would be getting out of the vehicle while in the park was at gunpoint.

Or so I thought. But before I knew it, I was piling out of the Land Cruiser and onto a plain full of hippos and other creatures that are faster than me. I tightened my shoelaces and tried not to show fear - not sure if hippos can sense fear like everyone says, but pretty sure my Spanish friends could.

In front of us was a river. Beyond the river were a hundred hippos at least. "Isn't that the creature everyone says is the number one killer in Africa?" one friend asked. "They sure run fast," another observed. I swallowed hard.

But between us and the hippos was something far more disconcerting: about a dozen crocodiles fought in the water below the embankment on which we stood, a couple less than ten feet away. “Boy, I have to stand back pretty far to get a good shot with this telephoto lens,” I said, beginning my retreat. Our guard pulled out his camera phone, snapped a few shots and texted them to his friends. I took it upon myself to be responsible and alert of our surroundings, checking all 360 degrees for danger and occasionally the sky above.

We were scheduled to take a longer walking safari that evening - you know, the time when most predators wake-up and start hunting. By this point, I was a little skeptical that our guard wouldn't pull-out his cellphone instead of his Kalashnikov if lions began to circle. I decided to have a heart-to-heart with him out back. “I think we should have a second guard tonight, you know, it’s a big group.” “Nah, we don’t need it.” “But don’t you ultimately think that’s up to us to decide? We’re willing to pay the extra $10 for another guide.” “Nah, I’ve done this before, we’ll be fine.”

He couldn’t be persuaded, his ego bolstered by his second-hand riffle which, if maintained as well as the National Park's bandas, would be more useful for hitting the animals with than shooting them.

The walking safari that evening really was lovely. There is something about the Tanzanian landscape that you can only experience on foot: the aromas, the crunch of the grass under your feet, and the bugs you would never see from the seat of your car. I was totally enchanted. And somehow the whole experience felt relatively safe, in part due to the fact that our guide had us walk no closer than 100 meters to the forest, so that we could see the animals charging toward us in the seconds before they attacked. “Walking near the forest can be dangerous,” he said, “very dangerous.” I was happy to see him taking such precautions.

And then it started raining. And soon thereafter, it started pouring. “Follow me!” he said, running toward the trees, throwing all precautions and rules aside. It was suddenly every man for himself in the rain. He led us along the edge of the forest, and this led us to a road which led into the forest, which then led us to our vehicles, into which we quickly piled.

Unfortunately, we weren’t the only ones who wanted in from the rain. Tsetse flies filled our Land Cruisers, and somehow managed to cling to the outside of the vehicles as we careened through the forest. They bit us on exposed skin and also through our shirts. We were smacking the windows and swatting the air furiously. “It’s like a horror movie,” one friend said. “Tell the guide to start shooting at them,” another suggested. “He says he only has five bullets,” yet another replied. Oh great, now he tells us.

Every moment of the trip was incredible. The bandas in which we slept were in the National Park, and I would wake to the sounds of hyenas howling and hippos munching grass nearby. And that is the best part of any safari: you never know what you will see or hear and when. You can turn a corner and bam: there are fifteen elephants. But around the next corner, there may be nothing at all. And you can go hours without seeing anything, only to wake in the night to find that the wildlife has found you.

Hippo at dawn

Morning stroll

Herd of hippos

It's hard to believe they can get so big by primarily eating grass

Before the rains came

A beautiful metallic scarab (dung) beetle goes on the defense after
a friend flicked it off a backpack

Pretty bird

Now you see why their necks are so long

Relic of the dry season

A spotted hyena spots us

Crocodiles having a good time, crocodile-style

Crocodile food

Can you find the chameleon?

Eye of the crocodile