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Impressions of The Serengeti
By Jeremy Cuff
A six day visit to the Serengeti in Northern Tanzania
Apparently, we were expected much earlier. Sean, becoming concerned, eventually radioed the rangers at the Naabi Hills park entrance who confirmed our morning arrival in the Serengeti. You see, we’d been “waylaid by the wildlife”.
Our late afternoon arrival at the Migration Camp in the northern Serengeti seemed almost ceremonial – celebratory drink, a hot steaming towel, a bowl of water. We exchanged pleasantries, explaining the reasons for our delay and joined the other guests to watch the sunset overlooking the Grumeti River. It was indeed a special place and we had three nights to enjoy it.
The drive from Ngorongoro had given us a sense of scale of the park – from the mirages and dust devils of the arid southeast to the open woodlands of the north around Lobo.
Whilst habitation may give us a sense of familiarity, the Serengeti gives the impression of magnificence – “of being in the middle of somewhere – as opposed to nowhere”.
As darkness descended, the night shift of the Serengeti started work. Unseen around the camp during the day, Hyenas began their eerie whining. Later, as we ate on the dining platform, a raging buffalo stampeded through the camp below us.
Walking to the tented accommodation at night required an escort of guards armed with poison tipped arrows. The arrows are not gimmicks to provide authenticity – that isn’t necessary. Two nights previously, a leopard had been encountered outside of our tent – “truly frightening” as Sean put it. The visitor’s book documented many other encounters including a recent guest being charged by a hippo!
Even walking unaccompanied to the toilet from the dining platform could be unsettling. Eyes strained into the inky blackness as the mind played tricks – conjuring predator shapes out of benign rocks and bushes.
The Migration Camp was exclusively ours for the second night. We chatted to Sean, who told us he’d only been at the camp for few days himself, covering for the owners who were away. His instructions were given to him at the airstrip – he arrived on the plane the owners departed on.
Later, we discussed the finer points of Monty Python and the eccentric activity of a previous guest. Charlie, an elderly American from Idaho, would leave his tent on hearing a wild animal and actually head towards the noise. One morning, he walked towards a roaring lion. He survived.
Nights were spent sleeping whilst listening to the wild world on the other side of the canvas. The first night we heard lion roaring nearby and during the second night we were kept awake by a grunting and bellowing hippo. “It’s not often that you’re kept awake by a hippo”, I later remarked.
On the last afternoon it rained heavily. It was supposed to be the dry season but the rains are unpredictable in this area – unimpressed by lines drawn on calendars. We’d started the day following the upper Grumeti and then into the far north of the park, to the border with the adjoining Masai Mara in Kenya. We saw one other vehicle all day.
Kopjes are worth exploring and are often home to lions, leopards and cheetahs. We spent time circulating many of these bizarre rock outcrops and realised that they’re home to much more than big cats – we saw birds, lizards, mongooses, hyraxes, baboons and monkeys.
Despite the heat of the day, a haunting chill can sometimes descend in certain areas, like an invisible shadow. I mentally referred to these as “death zones” – areas usually littered with skulls, bones and fragments.
Out of tawny grass can emerge tawny bullets of death. Death can descend from any tree, erupt from any cover and stalk anyone unawares. It’s not that which you see that chills, it’s that which you overlook. The lion, leopard or cheetah that you didn’t see could be the last thing you ever see.
We followed some vultures to a kill in a “death zone”, finding the remains of an impala. The perpetrator had eaten its fill and disappeared. The vultures picked at what was left. Nickson, our driver guide, suspected a cheetah.
It was tipping down when we arrived back at the camp. The deluge must have taken Sean by surprise judging by the way cushions had been flung into any sheltered area. We settled on the veranda and watched as the curtain of rain moved across the sky, joined by a deep orange sunset, spectacularly lighted cloud formations and a lightning show – all in one field of vision.
At twilight, we watched mesmerised as a pair of Nightjars launched themselves from the veranda roof, right above our heads. This wonderful predator, with silent owl-like wings entertained us with their captivating food gathering techniques, chasing insects in the fading light of dusk. A fascinating and elusive bird. Where are they in the day, I wondered?
The rain had tempted out an insect too large even for the Nightjar’s prodigious gape – a huge dung beetle. Recalling some Serengeti statistics of supposedly 500 lorry loads of dung being deposited daily in the Serengeti and Masai Mara ecosystem, I joked, “It’s no wonder they get so big”. This particular specimen was huge, startling me as it buzzed out of the night.
An appalling airborne navigator in confined spaces, the beetle continually crashed into furniture and pillars, falling on its back, kicking violently until righting itself, then taking off and crashing again. It caused some amusement.
We’d also been joined by some new guests. A middle aged English woman, realising that there were no fences between herself and “whatever was out there”, became a trembling terrified wreck. Her hunched and defensive body language, an extension of her mindset.
With seemingly little sympathy from her husband, she turned to drink for reassurance. Half a bottle of whisky later she was still a trembling terrified wreck. It didn’t help her sleep either. We didn’t hear any lions that night and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that “the lions don’t roar when they’re hunting”.
We were sad to leave the Migration Camp, but we looked forward to three more days in the Serengeti, based at the Serena Lodge in the centre of the park.
Perched strategically on a hilltop, the Serena, although no more luxurious than the Migration Camp, was more of a safe haven and less exhilarating. Having said that, anything can walk through and often does. One guest explained opening their door to the stare of a buffalo.
Over the remaining days we explored the areas around the central Serengeti, sometimes straying out into the dry open grassland to visit remote kopjes, sometimes following the courses of rivers and seasonal streams.
This area is much busier with safari vehicles. Radio contact between drivers ensures that if big cats are spotted, many vehicles are likely to turn up shortly.
The permanent water of the rivers concentrates the game around Seronera. During our stay at the Serena, we observed all three big cats, crocodile, elephant, buffalo, hippo, giraffe, zebra, wildebeest, topi, hartebeest, waterbuck, hyena, jackal, impala and Thomson’s gazelles. The Serengeti’s few surviving wild dogs remained elusive, unfortunately.
Close to the Seronera River, we discovered a pride of lions lounging in shade. We watched them for a while as other vehicles arrived on the scene. Suffering more human attention than they probably enjoy, the lions eventually hauled themselves up and wandered lazily away down the dusty track.
Then, a sudden change – a herd of impala ahead. The tired, trudging cats transformed in an instant at the sight of a possible meal. Features stiffened and the eyes locked onto target. Spatially aware of each others whereabouts, each animal seemed to know what to do. Using the cover of bushes and our safari vehicles, hunt was on. The tension mounted as they inched closer. And closer. Then the alarm went up, an impala had spotted the lead lion and the cover was blown. The hunt ended as many do – with nothing.
Our visit had ended, too. Nickson, our excellent driver guide, drove us to the airstrip. We bid him a fond farewell and boarded the plane to Arusha. With the runway clear of game, we took to the skies.
Leaving the Serengeti behind we retraced our overland route to the park – over Naabi Hills, above Olduvai Gorge, across the Ngorongoro Crater and off the Rift Valley escarpment at Manyara.
As we left the Serengeti, the Serengeti had left us with an indelible impression. I still think about it often.
September 1999
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