Whisperings Of A Whirlwind Wandering In Amboseli National Park - Kenya - Onward To See The Sea
On a day like today, with rain, wind and mist whipping up a storm against our windows we spent twelve hours exploring the Amboseli National Park in Kenya. Banks of dark clouds rumbled in the distance, echoing off Mount Kilimanjaro, and mist-shrouded the blue skies.
When it rains while you’re in the bush, trees glisten, and fat drops plop from tips of leaves or run mercurial along the spines of giant tropical leaves and grasses spring to life, sometimes lifting their drooping heads and stand at attention as the nourishing waters soak their roots and climb up their spines.
Amboseli National Park is in southern Kenya. It’s known for its large elephant herds and views of Mount Kilimanjaro across the border in Tanzania. Observation Hill offers panoramas of the peak and the park’s plains and swamps.
Wildlife includes small plains game, giraffes, zebras, buffalo, cheetahs and hundreds of bird species.
If you’re lucky, pink Greater Flamingo; add a dash of colour to the edge of the pan, and you might see an Eastern Chanting Goshawk or a Masked Booby!
The vast Lake Amboseli dominates the western section, which is dry outside the rainy season.
The park is home to many African elephants, creating the perfect opportunity for an up-close view of up to fifty herds of elephants in one safari, making it a prime destination for photographers and wildlife enthusiasts.
The name “Amboseli” comes from a Maasai word meaning “salty dust”, and it is one of the best places in Africa to view large herds up close. In the Amboseli, we could explore five different habitats, ranging from the dried-up bed of Lake Amboseli to wetlands with sulphur springs, the savannah, and woodlands.
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We arrived at Manjaro Tented Camp and Campsite a moment before the invisible sun breathed its last breath for the day and disappeared quietly behind thick, waterlogged clouds for the night.
The sticky red treacle, water-logged clay stuck to our wheels, and the Honey Badger, on slick tyres, slipped and got stuck in the mud before we knew it. No amount of revving moved our gal. Her wheels were in a smooth spin.
The puddles were the only sign of impending mischief, and we blew it by not taking the conditions seriously. In 4X4 with the diff locks engaged, we ground our way crablike to our campsite.
Henry, the charming owner, invited us to join the other guests for dinner, which we happily accepted. We’d had a day of it.
Butch was determined to speak to Henry, who was very clued up about the workings of the Amboseli Nat Park and the exorbitant fee we’d paid to transit through the park without any reward.
We were soon settled, and after a hot shower in one of the allotted tents, we set off to the dining room, where we’d interact and chat with other guests. These occasions are an excellent opportunity to catch up on local gossip, get a few tips and recommendations regarding our onward journey, and find kindred spirits who share our overlanding passion.
Henry serves a traditional local buffet meal at dinner. We were so impressed by the tasty fare that we immediately reserved a table for the following evening. (Three-course Dinners cost $10 US, which we found reasonable.)
An eclectic group of tourists were already seated when we arrived, and conversations were lively as excited guests shared their experiences. Most people aren’t as fortunate as we are and spend a week or two and at most three weeks in Kenya exploring the significant parks and tourist attractions on pre-booked set itineraries.
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The following morning, after a restful night's sleep, we released our blinds and enjoyed our coffee while overlooking the snow-capped peak of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. While dipping our rusks, we reminisced about our previous encounter with Kili while camping in the Endumet reserve on the other side of the border.
Our unexpected diversions and GPS mishaps have often resulted in us discovering unplanned gems and revealing accidental adventures into the unknown.
Henry set our minds to rest and assured us we had a 24-hour pass into the park. I would complete my chores; we could enjoy our brunch, squeeze in an afternoon nap, and then go on a game drive.
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The wet wildebeest looked more down in the mouth and gloomy as the rain drizzled down onto their already slick backs. Their effort to get out of our way seemed monumental, and they bucked and swished their tails to scare us off.
Large herds of thick-skinned elephants stood knee-deep in the pregnant pools and flood plains. They were not put off by a shower and continued to pull up grasses and succulent new leaves.
The landscape changes miraculously. One minute, we’re treading water, and the next, plains are bathed in a golden light where gazelle graze, and hyenas forage for scraps while zebra plod morosely from one tree to the next.
The pair of African Fish Eages were flummoxed by all the water and while drying out seemed to ponder their next move.
We were not fortunate to spot many birds in this menagerie, but we couldn’t blame them for hiding in the inclement weather. The Koribustad was a welcome surprise, and enjoyed the bathing beauties in the muddy puddles.
Amboseli is not a large park, but we enjoyed and explored much of the area. We felt satisfied by the areas we could explore on a gloomy day. Shuffling through my photographs brings back happy memories with surprising captures.
Last night we agreed that we'd seen an excellent rainbow of animals considering how limited our time was and taking the inclement weather into account. On a fine day sightings must be extraordinary.
My favourite photograph is the posed portrait Butch made of Moi, his beloved. I rarely step in front of the camera, but I wanted to show off my slacks from Koi’s shop. He soon focussed all his attention on the wild wildlife.
At six o'clock sharp we exited the park our 24hours expiring.
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The following day, the song on my mind was “Oompie trap die petrol dat ons vinniger kan ry!” (Uncle, step on the gas so we can go faster.) I was ready to soak up the sun on the coast and couldn’t wait to escape the summer rainfalls. The Honey Badger didn’t budge; she was cruising with attitude and kept a steady pace of 80kmph. She’d found her sweet spot.
For miles and miles, we continued under the gaze of Kilimanjaro, still wrapped in a mantel of snow and clouds, but the sun was peeking out and showing blue skies and lifting our spirits. Soon, we’d be back in our flip-flops, bathers and Kikois.
Splashes of colour, bougainvillaea, green pastures, brightly painted homes, and enormous umbrella trees made the journey enjoyable. They kept me focused and interested as we passed villages, farms and informal market stalls.
I found the buses and bikes with their cargoes amusing and couldn’t resist photographing the chickens tied to a motorcycle.
That clacking clutch of chickens kept mum once tied up; their feathers ruffled by the wind through their colourful plumage. Imagine their discontent? They'd be all a-twitter complaining bitterly about their mode of transport.
If someone had to ask me what is my lasting impression of Kenya, naturally, of course, it would be the trees.
My throat was parched, and I needed my afternoon pick-me-up coffee as we turned off the highway at 16h00. Our overnight spot would be on a small farm on the outskirts of Voi, a large town on the modern express train line, criss-crossing the road at reguar intervals, from Nairobi to Mombasa.
Christopher Campbell Clause, the well-known Kenyan wildlife artist, was our host, and he permitted us to camp under his magnificent mango tree on the banks of a trickling brook (river, actually)..
Allowing us time to settle, Chris and his hound stopped for a chat and a sundowner. Seated under the Mango tree, he filled us in on his career, work and Kenyan life, which he describes as his destiny, inspiration and passion. He says the natural world excites and motivates him to capture it on paper.
His beautiful home, reminiscent of a Hacienda in Mexico, conjured images of a laid-back, easy yet inspired life surrounded by terracotta clay walls, spiral staircases, inlaid tiles and clay pots filled with herbs, colourful geraniums and water-wise succulents. Large trees kept the wide verandas and open living spaces—the perfect space for the playful, screeching Vervet monkeys to swing on branches and cosy up at night.
We met overnight guests enjoying their fresh fruit salad breakfast. They were reluctant to leave that morning, knowing their frenetic lives in New York was a far cry from this heavenly haven. Gogo only had a few more hours basking in the joy of her grandson before he left Africa’s shores. Her eyes glistened, and nothing could dispel the lump in her throat. The uncertainties of his future in such a faraway land make her anxious. “Will they remember their roots in Africa?” she asked. All I can do is shrug and sympathise. There are so many of us in the same boat.
“The children of immigrants don’t get to be children. We lose our innocence watching our parents’ backs break. I am an old soul because when I was young, I watch my parents’ spirits get slaughtered.” This is a quote I read years ago.
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We did venture into Voi to use an ATM and stopped at a bakery for the famous Kenyan sweet buns. Deep fried almost like our doughnuts or vetkoek. Delicious with my morning brew.
For lunch, we stopped at a filling station where I snuck into a restaurant and take-away shop infused with the aromas of cloves, cumin, cardamom and nutmeg. On display in the glass-fronted cabinet was a smorgasbord of dainty finger foods. Smiling at my oohs and aahs stood a patient lady waiting for my order dressed in her traditional Abaya. The chicken Samoosas were crispy and spicy, and the lamb meatballs were crunchy on the outside and packed with flavour. The Pakora (deep fried vegetables) were delectable.
Not only did these tiny, well-prepared morsels indicate that we were entering another culinary district, but the spires, domes, colonnades and minarets we passed along the road were a reminder of Arab traders, colourful Indian traditions, aromatic spices and magnificently carved doors.
The coast was creeping up on us.
In Killifi, we saw baobabs and palm trees, the second tell-tale sign that we were traveling in the right direction as the sun warmed us and the clouds dissipated.
Finally, we crossed the estuary where fishing boats lined the embankment. Moored for the day and ready to row out again the next day. “We’ll have fresh fish, and I’ll make a Paella”, I promised. “For supper, I’ll have fish and chips.” Butch quipped. Me too, and I need a generous squeeze of lemon juice.
Next stop Watamu beach. My Cancerian crabby self could feel the ocean’s pull, the gentle breeze lifting the brim of my old, faded, straw hat and sunbeams warming the skin on my shoulder. The swaying palms swished in the gentle breeze coaxing us to stay awhile.
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The Amboseli Game Reserve ticked all our boxes and surpassed our expectations. If we could have a top ten list of places we'd return to, this would be one of them.
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