Lions, Tigers, And Giraffes - How An African Safari Hides The Worst Of A Failed Continent

Amber Pierce had looked forward to her African safari for months.  She had done her research well, chose the Serengeti over the veldt of South Africa and the more forested lands of Botswana and Zambia, 

 

Ever since she was a girl she had been fascinated by big game - hippos, rhinos, elephants, and wildebeests had been her childhood dream.  Africa was a fantasy land of creatures in the wild, the law of tooth and claw, the majesty of herds on the open plain, the graceful majesty of lions, tigers, and cheetahs, and the magisterial size of large animals.

Africa for her was always this - a wild, far-reaching, beautifully natural place, unique in the world and the birthplace of humanity.  Being there among the animals and in the very place where the fossil remains of the first humans was found would be miraculous, even transforming. 

She of course had heard of Africa's miasmic poverty, corruption, tribalism, and mismanagement but that was not her affair.  The world is a complicated place, and there was no reason for her to either avoid Africa because of its pestilential misrule and cultural backwardness or to immerse herself in the slums in some gesture of solidarity with the poor.  

So without a second thought or moment's hesitation, she headed off for what she was sure would be a voyage of discovery and beauty. 

Africa - the real Africa - is never completely absent from any safari no matter how the tour companies work to keep it in the distance.  Although the tour guides formed a cordon around the visitors and shepherded them through customs and immigration, there was no avoiding the chaos, the shakedowns, the intimidation, the leaks, touts, airless chambers, mosquitos, and rats.  

The tourists huddled together creating a Roman phalanx against the pushing, shoving crowd.  In one corner of the arrival lounge two armed police were beating a black man unconscious.  At the front of the passport line, an Englishman was told he could not enter and shown the way to the Vaccination Room, where the first of many bribes were exacted.  Luggage was being opened and the contents rifled, computers and cameras 'isolated', naive tourists shuffled off to private screening areas. 

The guides assured everyone that they were safe, and that the company had taken care of all arrangements.  A quick passport and baggage check, and they would be on their way to the Treetops Lodge far from the city; but of course there was no such thing as 'taking care'.  The line moved slowly, and in the hot, stinking hall the mosquitos were savage.  There was no order, no civility, no graciousness or accommodation. 

The group had to stand for an hour in the blazing sun outside the airport.  Their bus had been confiscated by the airport police, driven to a far corner of the airfield and disappeared.  When the tour operator appeared with the transport, perspiring and shaken, he insisted that there was no problem, just a misunderstanding, and soon they would be on their way. 

There was no way from the airport to the plains without crossing the city, a miserable place of shanties, sewage, naked children, and angry young men who pounded the bus when it came to a stop and tried to break in.  The air conditioning had stopped working and the heat, exhaust, and swarms of mosquitos were suffocating.  

At one point, all traffic stopped.  Nothing moved for over an hour as the city was closed down for the official presidential motorcade.  The president, one of Africa's big men who had been in office for decades but was increasingly fearful for his life, took no chances and deployed his secret police to assure safe passage to the airport and his waiting private plane. 

The scene was nightmarish - hundreds of vehicles scrambled for position on both sides of the road, idling, waiting for the lifting of the curfew, and when it did, the scene became violent.  Scooters and motorcycles were left on the street as their drivers fought in anger and pure hostility.  

All this Amber watched from the bus window, wondering when it would all end and worse, if it would. What if she had been misled and the whole trip would be like this - that there would be no peace and tranquility on the plains and the whole trip would be a nightmare. 

Finally the trip to the lodge came to an end, and the group, tired, hot, and dispirited made their way to their rooms.  It took hours for the memory of the horrible road trip to fade and the wide, silent plains of the Serengeti to replace it; but when it did, Amber's spirits picked up.  Here she was in fantasy land, the very place of all her childhood dreams.  She sat on the verandah with her fellow travelers, enjoyed a cup of tea, and looked forward to the next day's journey into the veldt. 

It was not to be.  The anxious guide told them that they would have to leave the country.  There had been a coup and the various tribal factions were fighting a bloody civil war.  Not only were the traditional ethnic alliances represented, but ISIS, al-Shabab, Boko Haram, and the Houthis were engaging in a power struggle that was certain to last for months. 

All the staff of Treetops had fled into the bush, for in such an atmosphere of tribal suspicion and internecine hatred, they feared for their lives. The hotel was empty, deserted, and quiet.  The guests could not stay a minute longer and would have to make for the border.  They could not return to the capital or the airport which would certainly be closed, so they only way out was by land and to take their chances that they could cross out of harm's way. 

Of course the land route to the border was not on the tourist trail, and it was little more than a rutted, overgrown track.  It passed through thatched roof villages but not without incident. Armed men in pickups blocked the road and demanded money.  Soon the tour guides had no more, and they appealed to the tourists to please contribute what they had, otherwise they would be marooned. 

The poverty and primitive conditions of these villages was appalling - desperate poverty and not one sign of development.  There was no electricity, no running water, only dust and mud baking in the tropical heat.  All children were naked and adults were emaciated and immobile.

The bus was silent - these images would have been bad enough, but coming after such anticipation of beauty and the majesty of nature, they were all the more frightening. 

The one thing that any experienced traveler to Africa knows is to avoid land border crossings, known for their shakedowns, armed intimidation, sequestering, robbery, and violence, and so it was that the tour group was expecting the worst.  Word travelled quickly up and down the aisle, expanded, transformed, and turned into prophesies of doom by the time it reached the back of the bus; and no one was disappointed.  The border was even worse than expected.  Not only did the border guards take all their money and belongings, they confiscated the bus.  The tourists would have to walk into the neighboring country. 

African countries being what they are - all similar in their corruption, poverty, and mismanagement - nothing was any different on the other side.  The only difference was that for now the civil unrest in their neighbor's land had not spread to theirs; and more importantly the crooks on this new side of the border were more sophisticated in their scams. 

They understood credit, and agreed to arrange transport, food, and water to the travelers to the capital on the promise of payment on delivery.  They had ways, they said, of collecting on the debt, and made it clear that nothing would be spared if the tour agency did not pay up. 

To make a long story short - the trip to the capital of the neighboring country was as hot, mosquito-infested, and miserable as it was on the other side of the border - the group finally made it in one piece and were on their way home within days. 

Oh, yes.  During the trips on both sides of the border, the group did see wild animals, but they were so preoccupied with the precariousness of their situation that they hardly noticed.  What was an elephant compared to a coup? A rhinoceros to tribal butchery? 

It all was the worst of all possible worlds for Amber.  Not only was it a frightening, horrible experience, it completely erased any of the marvelously childlike visions of Africa that she had had since a little girl.  It was not only an erasure but the imposition of a new, disgusting reality.  Not only were the animals gone from memory, but the bandanna, balaclava-wearing, half-naked, AK-47 wielding African terrorists replaced them. 

Amber was a young woman and resilient, so she did not stop traveling; but always to familiar, generous, civilized places.  As it should be, actually.