My Kenyan border crossing went smoothly and largely without incident, except that the immigration officer wanted to be entirely, nearly insultingly specific as to when and how I would be leaving his country.
After settling into Kisumu, I decided to take in Impala Park. Impala Park is predictably full of impalas. It is also one of the tamest of Kenya's national parks, as all the large predators on the grounds are rescues and safely contained. You can walk the premises unsupervised and get a feel for what hiking in the African bush would be like without the underlying threat of being eaten. With several picnic areas, wide clearly marked trails, restrooms, and viewing structures it is more akin to an American state park than an African wilderness area. Impala Park is also a popular field trip destination. I walked past at least three uniformed groups who regarded me with a range of reactions from undisguised awe from the youngest to sullen adolescent distrust.
"Hi Mzungo!" a tiny voice greeted me. I turned to see a cheerful waving five year old. "Mzungo" is sort of the East African equivalent to "gringo". It is usually derogatory unless used by a kindergartner. I waved back. I also decided to start with the trails rather than the animal enclosures. Mzungo wasn't ready to be a curiosity just yet.
It is one thing to see a wild creature from a safari vehicle, but to know the only space separates you from the trio of zebras loitering near a picnic area or the massive dirty white vulture cruising overhead on currents from Lake Victoria brings another layer of immediacy.
I found the park's namesake animal in a herd of around fifty around a bend. Impala are a common enough animal where safari guides stop slowing down to see them within fifteen minutes of the first drive. They are also lovely, graceful two toned golden brown antelope with soft dark eyes. The males have spiraling lyre shaped horns. They walk with the delicacy of dancers in toe shoes. When startled, they bound through the air impossibly high and fast. It is easy to forget what charming attractive animals they are when speeding across the grassland in search of bigger more photogenic prey. I missed my opportunity to draw and photograph this herd. I was worried about frightening them with sudden movements or the flash of white from opening my sketchpad would mimic their danger signal. I thought I would have another moment. The heat of the day drove them into the woodlands where they were harder to find.
Deeper into the park I got to experience the chatter and rustling of the bush for the first time without the underscore of an engine. The half familiar serenade of applauding doves and unseen creatures clamoring for safety was so hypnotic that I paused several times just to listen. My newborn wonder at every movement in the branches has been gradually replaced with a dawning comfortable intimacy. Mousebirds gonoleks bulbuls sunbirds and kingfishers are easily recognized amicable presences. These have gone from thrilling new discoveries to parts of my world. Even though I could spend the remainder of my life here and not know all there is to know, I am more attuned and closer to the African wild. I have begun to feel at home.
During the afternoon heat I went to draw the animals in the enclosures. I had the melancholy realization that this was in all likelihood, my final encounter with these creatures during this journey. It certainly would be as close as I came to seeing a wild leopard or Patas monkey. I wouldn't be seeing shoebills, bat eared foxes, secretary birds or any of the countless others I wanted to meet until my next trip to Africa.
Somewhere around the cheetahs or the stunningly beautiful leopard, the inevitable happened. The school children discovered me. From then on the strange drawing Mzungo became one of the attractions. They clustered around to see what I was doing and exchange appreciative comments with each other. They drilled me with questions about my home city, asked me about my life and drawing partly out of curiosity and partly to hear me pronounce things in my strange American accent. Any time I sat down or stood still, I could count on being surrounded and good naturedly interrogated. I joked that i now knew how the animals felt and that maybe they should buy tickets. They laughed genially, but didn't offer any shillings
I wandered on to Hippo Point which is mentioned as a good place to watch birds. Birds were definitely there, but the main attraction was watching Kenyan boat operators hustle tourists into touring cruises with a combination of outrageous claims and outrageous price hikes. I ate my lunch of fried tilapia and left Hippo Point by land.
It is one thing to see a wild creature from a safari vehicle, but to know the only space separates you from the trio of zebras loitering near a picnic area or the massive dirty white vulture cruising overhead on currents from Lake Victoria brings another layer of immediacy.
I found the park's namesake animal in a herd of around fifty around a bend. Impala are a common enough animal where safari guides stop slowing down to see them within fifteen minutes of the first drive. They are also lovely, graceful two toned golden brown antelope with soft dark eyes. The males have spiraling lyre shaped horns. They walk with the delicacy of dancers in toe shoes. When startled, they bound through the air impossibly high and fast. It is easy to forget what charming attractive animals they are when speeding across the grassland in search of bigger more photogenic prey. I missed my opportunity to draw and photograph this herd. I was worried about frightening them with sudden movements or the flash of white from opening my sketchpad would mimic their danger signal. I thought I would have another moment. The heat of the day drove them into the woodlands where they were harder to find.
Deeper into the park I got to experience the chatter and rustling of the bush for the first time without the underscore of an engine. The half familiar serenade of applauding doves and unseen creatures clamoring for safety was so hypnotic that I paused several times just to listen. My newborn wonder at every movement in the branches has been gradually replaced with a dawning comfortable intimacy. Mousebirds gonoleks bulbuls sunbirds and kingfishers are easily recognized amicable presences. These have gone from thrilling new discoveries to parts of my world. Even though I could spend the remainder of my life here and not know all there is to know, I am more attuned and closer to the African wild. I have begun to feel at home.
During the afternoon heat I went to draw the animals in the enclosures. I had the melancholy realization that this was in all likelihood, my final encounter with these creatures during this journey. It certainly would be as close as I came to seeing a wild leopard or Patas monkey. I wouldn't be seeing shoebills, bat eared foxes, secretary birds or any of the countless others I wanted to meet until my next trip to Africa.
Somewhere around the cheetahs or the stunningly beautiful leopard, the inevitable happened. The school children discovered me. From then on the strange drawing Mzungo became one of the attractions. They clustered around to see what I was doing and exchange appreciative comments with each other. They drilled me with questions about my home city, asked me about my life and drawing partly out of curiosity and partly to hear me pronounce things in my strange American accent. Any time I sat down or stood still, I could count on being surrounded and good naturedly interrogated. I joked that i now knew how the animals felt and that maybe they should buy tickets. They laughed genially, but didn't offer any shillings
I wandered on to Hippo Point which is mentioned as a good place to watch birds. Birds were definitely there, but the main attraction was watching Kenyan boat operators hustle tourists into touring cruises with a combination of outrageous claims and outrageous price hikes. I ate my lunch of fried tilapia and left Hippo Point by land.
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