safari | The Goingest Person

UPDATE #3: I’m in Atlanta. It’s December 21. I got back August 13. It’s been a while, eh? So I started this entry a loooong, looong time ago, and just thought I should finish before I move on to new topics and adventures.

UPDATE # 2: (August 12, 2017) Ahhhhhhh … wiFi!!

Jambo from Kenya! Im actually at the airport in Nairobi, ready to come home.

What a long, strange trip it’s been!

After RhinoLand*, I joined the G Adventures/NatGeo group to tour Kruger National Park and Karongwe Private Reservein South Africa. As a group, we flew to Zimbabwe to visit Victoria Falls. Nine days later, after much fun and frivolity, I said “goodbye” to those folks and headed alone to Hwange National Park (also in Zimbabwe). From there, I returned to to the Vic Falls Airport (which was surprisingly nice, especially compared to other airports in Africa) and flew to Nairobi, Kenya. There, I met the ladies (and Dan) for the yoga retreat. The ten of us rode in two separate vans to the Laikipia region of Kenya. Once the retreat ended, I flew alone (literally) to theMasai Mara, which I understood to be the second largest National Park in Africa, but after a little research, I don’t believe that to be the case. And now I’m at the Nairobi airport, ready to come home. I took detailed notes for about 60% of my stay in Africa, so maybe I’ll update the blog in the upcoming weeks. Maybe I’ll just post pics. You know me … It could go either way (or no way at all.)

*Honestly, I don’t remember if I stated the actual name of the Rhino Sanctuary, but we’ll just call it RhinoLand to protect the innocent, i.e., the rhinos and people that I’m 99.97% sure will never read this but I may or may not have liked, k?

UPDATE # 1: This entry was started long before the Malarone Meltdown, so … back to it:

Hey there, party people. I’m back. Frankly, I was too physically exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed the last few days in RhinoLand to even attempt to tell y’all what’s going on down here in the Southern Hemisphere. I may or may not be sleep deprived, and wouldn’t admit to it anyway.

So, lets round up the last few days on the job at RhinoLand:

Day Four:

06:00

Wake up, no shower (This is NOT the way I prefer to start my day. I’m a two–shower–a–day kind of gal.)

Try to remember bug spray and deodorant, but always remember lipgloss and mascara. Don’t judge. It’s who I am.

06:30

Meeting

Clean boma and night pens

07:30

Mix milk for the 4 rhino toddlers with Winona.

The milk is individually prepared and the blend varies at different times of the day. Because a rhinos digestive system is similar to that of a horse, a milk product called Denkavit is mixed with glucose powder (basically powdered icing sugar), Proteinex (a probiotic), and liquid Game-Min (a multivitamin). We funnel this blend into the 2 liter soda bottles, each with specific rhino’s name, and place the giant teet. Let me tell you about that damn teet! I made the newbie mistake of assuming it would be easy, like rolling on a condom catheter (for you Shepherd peeps). Not so much. The first attempt to secure the teet ended with rhino milk all over my face, my shirt, my pants. So did the second. Winona took over, and all teets were secured successfully. My arms are strong, but my hands are weak. We offer 2 of the 4 bottles to other volunteers, because isn’t that why we are all here? To feed the babies?

08:00

Feed the babies!

Clean the bottles and “mixing bowls”

08:15

Walk down to the Big Group night pasture and shovel poo, rake hay, throw all of it into trailer.

Rake more sand.

09:00

Breakfast. More bread.

But let me tell you about theserusk biscuits!Oh. Em. Gee! Simply overcooked buttermilk biscuits made for dunking in tea or coffee, similar to biscotti, but heavier (and probably just as bad, if not worse, for you). By the end of my stay, I was sneaking into the cupboard and stuffing my pockets, so I could get a “fix” when I needed a carbohydrate boost in the field. Did I just say that?

10:00

Quick meeting.

Find out that volunteers run the show over the weekend… meaning we run the kitchen. I signed up with Lucy (UK) and Stew (New Zealand), a couple heretofore known as Stucy, to make lunch Saturday. They know I can’t cook and I don’t even eat meat, right??Hahahha… joke’s on them!

Load superhay bales onto trailer, and all I could hear in my head was Nicki Minaj singing, “Boom, badoom, boom, boom, badoom, boom, hay. Yeah, that’s the superhay.” All day earworm. You know me, and you KNOW it was all day.

After we loaded the boom-badoom-boom-superhay, the owner looks toward me.

“I hear you are working your ass off, Tiffany.”

A family from Dubai was staying with her and occasionally worked with the volunteers. I appreciated their work ethic and worked alongside Mom and her teenage son and daughter, who, interestingly enough, were the most industrious (and friendliest) of the younger folks at the camp, even though they weren’t “official” volunteers. I suppose word had gotten back to the house that I wasn’t just piddling. Piddling?

I responded, “Well, that’s what I came here to do. I came to work.”

Eventually, that caught up with me (more on that later.)

10:30

Rhino “observation“.

Exactly what it sounds like. Every 5 minutes.

“What is Rhino doing now?
“Zac is eating hay.”
“Grey is eating hay.”
“Spirit is eating hay and peeing.”
“Jamu is eating hay.”
“No wait, it’s Grey that’s peeing.”
“I can’t tell which one is which.”
“Can you?”
“I think so.”
“Oh look, Zac is pooping. Now he’s eating hay.”
“Spirit is eating hay.”
“Grey is eating hay.”

And you know what? It’s absolutely incredible, especially knowing that these gentle giants are critically endangered, and that we have this rare opportunity to spend time in their presence, up close and personal. Someday, I will be able to tell my children … hahahhahaaaaaa. You KNOW better than that.

12:30

Lunch (salad).

After lunch, I was trying to get away from everyone and went around the corner to breathe. I see a staff member sneaking a cigarette. She tells me that it’s a secret and no one knows. I assure her, “I don’t judge,” but of course I do. Next thing I know, we are playing a game of Truth or Dare. Well, at least she is playing a game of truth. She opens up to me, telling me about her recent hospitalization… not just the broken arm (from a fall off a horse). “I really don’t care,” she says. “I just got out of the hospital for a nervous breakdown, really. Right after I got out of the hospital for my arm, I had to go back in to the psych ward.” Now this is some shit! Tell me more, please. “I mean, everyone knew about it, but nobody is really talking,” she says in her thick Afrikaans accent. “Basically, I just got overwhelmed with it all. I had anxiety and stuff and they put me on medications so I could handle it.” When I again assure her that I don’t judge, I mean it. I’ve been there.

Later, I asked her about the mental health care system in South Africa, and how her family handled her breakdown. Her father, a tall, ice-blue-eyed, goateed man works at RhinoLand, and quite frankly, he frightened me. Or maybe I was oddly attracted to him. I couldn’t be sure. Maybe both. He was stern, serious, focused, and seemed to lack a sense of humor. Later, I realized that he did have a sense of humor, it was just very, very dry, and that he was very supportive of his daughter during her mental health crisis. This was good to hear, but I doubt that the mental health stigma is any different in South Africa than it is in America. Understandably, I’m not sure she grasped some of my questions, so I couldn’t really get a lot of straight answers.

14:00

Take Viewer (open Land Cruiser) to open field to rake hay for bedding.

We turn a corner…When what to my wondering eyes did appear, but a miniature sleigh … Naaahhhh… it was a freakin’ GIRAFFE! Isn’t that nice? They place a statue of a giraffe out here for the visitors! (Because they would spend money on a statue, right?)

“Oh MY GOD IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?! It’s a REAL GIRAFFE!” I think I said it out loud. An older male, a bull giraffe, darker than the giraffe that we are familiar with, as their hide darkens with age. I imagine the darkening helps the older and slower of the species to blend in to the trees. A very curious guy, his gaze followed us as we made our way to the field. I later found out that the giraffe is the “hippie” of the African animals, the “stoner,” with their sleepy eyes, mellow mood, and lack of social structure. We arrive at the field and start a-rakin’.

I’m not sure when it started, but I was already agitated with the younger volunteers, specifically the gaggle of twenty-something girls. Preferring to work alone, I grabbed a bag, gathered piles of hay, and stuffed the bag. It may be winter, but the African sun is no joke, and my shirt was soaked with perspiration. To the right, Rosie and Caroline are gently raking hay, casually grabbing a handful here and there, while chatting it up with David. I had to keep reminding myself, “They are young! They don’t know how to work!” I was becoming not-so-secretly bitter. When asked how to do something or “what exactly are we doing?” the response was to shrug, look away, and mumble some nonsense about “Uhhh, I don’t and not sure and what and ask so and so.” UGH!

On the way back to camp, we spent some time with Emma and Molly, the resident hippos.

18:00

Dinner and casual conversation with Jenna, (who I decided was named “Natalie” and she was going to remain “Natalie” throughout my stay), and fellow nurse from the UK, Lucy. I showed everyone how fabulous my nails looked. I mean, they did look fabulous! “My nails have never looked so good!” Especially considering that we were working in dirt and hay.

Suddenly from the darkness, we hear the steady beating of a drum. I ask, “Did someone die in the village?” Idiot.

New Zealand Stu rounds the corner, pounding the drums in what should have been a joyous, playful sound, but instead in a ominous, tribal rhythm. The staff sings, “Happy Birthday to you!”, and Rachel comes around the corner with “cake”. It’s Lucy’s birthday, and to celebrate, we enjoy banofee pie. It was deeeeee-lish! Banofee Pie Recipe

19:30

Tepid shower.

20:00

Finally starting to feel like things were coming together, I went to bed with a serious case of giggles. What terrible, dark drumming for a birthday celebration! Maybe it was just my mood starting to turn. For the worse?

Day Five:

05:00

Wake up. Put on coat and hat. Stay in pajamas. I’m still not a morning person.

Walk with Winona down to barn to meet Rachel, who would drive us to the bomas.

Make milk for the toddlers. With a 2 liter bottle in each hand, we fed the four of them.

Clean equipment and bottles.

Go back to bed for 10 minutes.

Get out of bed.

Don dirty clothes from day before. (This is sooooo unlike me, a two-shower-a-day gal… minimum.)

06:25

Gulp down powdered coffee with too much sugar. (We are not to have food or drink at morning meeting.)

06:30

Meeting.

This will be a “lighter” work day. I’ve signed up with Stucy to make lunch for the team.

06:45

Shovel poo.

Rake bomas.

Stuff hay.

I’m watching the millennials again, and getting more and more frustrated. Bitter, party of one? Your table is ready in the smoking section. I want to see less talky-talk and more rakey-rake. Somehow, “Natalie” and I are shoveling the poo AND running the poo/dirt/wet hay-filled wheelbarrows to the trailer, up the “ramp” into the bed of the truck, and dumping the contents. Ooooooh, I am just letting it GET to me!

09:00

Breakfast “made” by volunteers… Basically, they just moved cereal boxes and bread from the cabinet to the table.

10:00

Back to the bomas.Not sure how (maybe I was filling my water bottle), but I missed my ride. I watched as almost everyone waved to me from the Viewer, but the driver didn’t stop. By this point, I was pretty convinced that Rachel didn’t like me, and I’m almost positive it had something to do with KERATIN. (I didn’t read that entire article. I just put it in here to make myself look good.)

Anyway… the night before, we (the women) were complaining about the lack of warm water and the ungodly amount of time since our last shampoos. Both Rachel and I had recently had blowouts, since we have natural curls… and you KNOW that one naturally curly girl ALWAYS has curlier hair than the other, especially when there are no curls to prove it.

“My hair is, like, so curly.”
“Yeah, mine too. Like, remember that show ‘Felicity?’ Yeah, my hair is like hers.”
“Oh, yeah. Mine is like that, but curlier and thicker”
“I totally understand. One time, I broke a hairbrush trying to get through my hair.”
“Uh-huh. So my hairdresser told me that maybe I should go to a hairdresser that does African American hair.”

And that’s when I said, “I got a keratin treatment before I came, so I could deal with my hair more easily.”

Keratin. Right. And what are rhino horns, Tiffany? Why are rhinos being poached? For their horns made of keratin. Ugh. I. Am. Such. An IDIOT.

Anyways, they left me, so I started walking. The owner’s husband drove by and offered me a ride, and as I start get in the bed of the truck (because I’m the help) but he opened the door. I was properly driven and delivered to the bomas.

11:00

I’m done. Just done. My feet huuuurt. So, Stu-cy and I head up to the Stonehouse to make lunch. Dirty dishes from breakfast were lingering in the sink. Fucking lazy millennials.We didn’t see the lunchmeat, so we took our “menu” of sandwiches and decided to go with it. We raided the cupboards and refrigerators for anything that looked familiar and edible. Using my Top Chef level knife skills was quite a feat with dull knives, but the peppers were manageable, and I created what I assume was a magnificent tuna salad. I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat tuna, and when I did, I only ate Bumble Bee Solid White Albacore in Spring Water.

Lucy made a lovely couscous, also with green, yellow, and red peppers. My god, it makes the colors of Africa. As we are setting the “buffet”, a young woman (a camp employee?) enters the kitchen and pulls a styrofoam tray of sliced lunchmeat out of the fridge. Apparently, at least one kitchen staff member comes to help on weekends. She looks at us like we are clowns and adds tomato and onions to the tuna salad.

14:00

Back to the bomas to clean and rake. Still not 100 on the schedule, I was lost. I asked for direction to no avail. “Uh… well, we are doing something and then rhinos and poo and hay and ask so-and-so and why are you making that noise with your mouth? Are you talking to me?” Fucking millennials. Finally, someone seemed to have a handle on the program for the afternoon. We laid out hay for the rhinos and sprinkled it with crunchy desert pellets and P8, a vitamin supplement. Something flew/crawled down the front of my pants and bit my stomach. My arms are covered with red scratches and itch by the time we finished.

That afternoon, we sat and watched Lofo’s group and Zac’s group do rhino things.

16:00

Yay! One of the staff members is going to do a game drive! I think his name is John. About 7 or 8 of us hop into the Viewer and start into the bush. The reserve is massive, about 28,000 hectares massive. That’s 69,189.5 acres, or 108.1 square miles to us folk here in the U.S.

We see:

A baboon (crossing back and forth on the road. May have been Sasquatch. I’ll never know.)
Zebra
Impala
Kudu
Wildebeest
Giraffes (a mom and her calf)

This guy drives like a maniac. Thorny branches are slapping our faces and arms. Is my face bleeding?Seriously, IS MY FACE BLEEDING?

He exclaims in his thick South African accent, “I don’t know where we are going, but I can promise you we’ll get there!.” He laughs like a crazy person. He IS a crazy person.

18:00

Dinner. (Guess what? If you think I’m going to say anything other than bread, you’re wrong.)Table was quiet. Crazy driver comes in talking, per usual. He has verbal incontinence. I was actually glad he was around… added some life to the group. In fact, I told him I was glad he showed up to add some life to this dull party.

Now THIS is where I just let someone have it. Shelby. That is her real name. Shelby is awful. She was bitten by the evil meerkat about a week before I arrived at RhinoLand. Apparently, the little f’r clamped down on that meaty part of her hand, right between the thumb and forefinger… and WOULDNT. LET. GO. Took two people to pry him from her. Now what he found appealing about her is beyond me, but hey, meerkats, right?

I met her shortly after the little guy bit me, but she wasn’t sympathetic or interested in my story… no need to commiserate. So she bled quite a bit and was undergoing rabies treatment (which, according to CDC and WHO Guidelines, she could have ceased treatment.) This girl was not nice. I had heard her say it before, but on this particular night as we were discussing which volunteers were coming and going, I heard her say to Kayla **, “No new friends.” As the “oldest” (meaning she had been there the longest) volunteer, she didn’t want to “lose” any more friends. Kayla agreed. “We should get t-shirts made: NO NEW FRIENDS”“Yeah. We don’t need anymore new people.”

I was so done with these bitches. I also realized that I’m their mother’s age … I can say anything and they won’t talk back to me.I placed my hands calmly but firmly on the table, turned to them and said (without crying, no less), “Stop it. Stop being mean girls. It’s not okay to behave like that. People come here to do something good, but it’s a strange country, where everyone is speaking a strange language. They are alone, and it’s scary. You need to be nice. Your behavior, the way you treat people, is NOT okay.”

Silence.

I could feeeeel the tension in the air as the two exchanged haughty glances. They picked at their food. I picked at my food. I grabbed my plate and called it a night.

Shelby and Kayla had hardly spoken to Winona, who was closer to their age than they were to mine. Maybe it’s because she was my roomie. Maybe it’s because they had their clique and didn’t want to let anyone in. Either way, I felt a little protective of her, and was disappointed that they had not made any effort to get to know her or include her in any of the reindeer games.

** Lets talk about Kayla. She was cute. Probably still is. Maybe 20, 21, with the bouncy, sorority-girl, blonde ponytail that makes the Dockers feel a little too snug on 57 year-old men. While i was wearing neutral-toned, Goodwill-bought, safari-style clothes with big, clunky hiking shoes, and a baseball cap, Kayla was wearing tiny little tank tops and even tinier short shorts. You know, the kind of shorts with just a liiiitle bit of ass cheek hanging out? And I’m not going to lie, she had a nice ass. And nice legs. Aaaaand she had horses. Kayla made sure to learn everyone within earshot on horses, since she and her family raised them. Is that what people do with horses? Raise them? Keep them? Maybe some of her input was useful and valuable to the ranch hands and rhino keepers, but it just seemed like braggadocio to me. Aaaand she made sure to let everyone know that, in addition to their house/ranch in Montana and their main home in Florida, her family was buying a ranch in South Africa. Now look, I’m not saying I’m jealous, but c’mon. She seemed to have it all, except a decent personality.