A Gaggle of Maasai Boys Laughing

Dreaming about North Korea.  Why?  Driving around at some fantastical event with a Brazilian politician again.  Why?  Who was this person who did not want to have his face photographed with the North Koreans? I attended a formal visit in a stadium to see a number of new model homes.  “Right, and so, you live here, do you?” I wondered why it was that I was driving in North Korea as one sometimes does when one when one has a meta moment of self-realization inside one’s dreams that usually amounts to the epiphany that this, this thing you are experiencing, is certainly impossible. 

I decided it was high time I washed my shirts, once I was awake.  I gave two of them a good scrubbing in the sink and hung them out to dry.  The night before I’d seen a Janet cat staring down at me on the toilet.  No.  I would not have known what a “Janet” cat was unless I’d spent the last week on safari, learning all I could about Tanzania’s mammals, great and small.   No.  A Janet cat is not a growling leopard but it is startling, nonetheless when you’re sitting there on the can.  I went out and had a quiet contemplation of the mountain we were sitting beneath.  If I’m industrious I’ll look the name up as it was right there besides the Olduvai guest house.  (Google Maps doesn’t list much of any landmarks, like the hill, near by.)  Up at the top of the kopjie they had arranged set up an observation booth.  Viewing out to the north was the Serengetti down to the south was the Ngorongoro Crater.  Over the hill came a gaggle of Maasai boys laughing, driving their precious cattle.  I was up there all by myself save the hyrax, that all looked like Jeremy from “The Yellow Submarine” cartoon.

Driving in this country always takes longer then you assume.  This was supposed to be a three- hour trip today.  The first hour or two were spent on the steep incline to the top of the crater. The next hour was the progression through the mist and condensation. We saw the lookout point we’d stopped at a few days early to look down in the crater.  I’d thought we might take a final look but we wouldn’t have been able to see beyond a few feet in front of us in this Golden Gate caliber fog today.  By the time we reach the exit to the park things have cleared.  The same guy is there who sold me an espresso on the way in and I ask him for a steep eight-thousand-shilling double shot once again. 

The next hour of our journey stretched into three.  We stopped to use an ATM and the driver has the rim of the car looked at.  It had been plaguing him for a while, I knew.  Is there a place around here I can get more of these data cards?    I’ll be needing those.  Leaving town, a cop pulled our driver over for speeding and he wasn’t happy about this.  The fuzz wouldn’t give him a receipt.  They must have told him that the other speed trap back up the way would be happy to do so, but when we drove back and inquired as much they told him they were unable to give it to him, which got our mild guide as angry as I’d seen him, engendering much talk of corruption and rogue behaviors. 

The road into Tarangiere park has speed bumps so that you necessarily must slow down and consider these enormous baobab tree’s at a proper pace.  I notice a store selling souvenirs.  It promotes itself prominently as a ‘women’s collective.’  It strikes me that they have a rather mature notion of who their target customers are.  At the parking lot we wait as always.  The Land Rover beside us pulls up and it is full of what appear to be Chinese people.  Soon, we hear them talking and can confirm that they are indeed from China.  I joke about it, but none of us want to make outreach.  Everyone is here for the animals and not to talk much to other humans.  I wonder what brought them here to Tarangiere.   This baobab at the park entrance is squat and enormous.  Can these trees grow back home?

Tuesday 07/04/17