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Dear dad,
Arrived in Nairobi and I’m freezing. I thought this was Africa, but no, I’m wandering around in the hoodie mum insisted I pack for emergencies. It’s loud and full of people. It’s weird cos I’m more moved by poverty here than in London cos everyone here’s black and it kinda looks like one of the more sombre parts of Comic Relief. Is that racist? I got my safari all booked. It leaves tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to a restaurant called Carnivore with some Americans tonight. Apparently they serve ostrich balls, warthog burgers and zebra kebabs. Awesome! Can’t believe I’m in Africa! Can’t believe you were born here!
[private]Yo dad,
This safari is mind-blowing. We left Nairobi in this army jeep with a trailer behind us carrying all our food. I’m in the jeep with a German pastor who only dresses in orange; her lesbian partner, who lectured me about Baroque music for hours when I told her I play guitar; and this long-haired hippy type called Matthias who’s trying to chat up the American girls. They don’t understand his accent at all. Our driver, George, is hilarious. He keeps telling jokes and cool stories about growing up in the slums, and he has all these mad animal anecdotes.
Anyway, we drove up past Mount Kenya to this safari park called Samburu. It’s really dry and hot. Better than Nairobi. Finally, t-shirt and shorts weather. We drove into a safari park and immediately saw a sleeping lion. The car has no sides so it was like we were stood right next to this majestic beast. The German pastor woman was sharing all her knowledge about Kenya with us. She’s lived here for years and she seems to know/have done everything. She told us how she found lion cubs in her safari tent once, the mother outside growling for them. She had to throw the cubs out of the window to get them out.
Before we got to Samburu, we stopped in this little town, my first rural outing in Africa. I got out to buy some water and ended up getting lost in a market where they sell all this junk, all these second-hand clothes from all over the world. They still had price tags on them from British Heart Foundation or Oxfam and I realised that these were relief clothes sent out from the UK. All those big containers outside supermarkets that we dump clothes in, they end up here, and instead of clothing the locals, they’re sold for money. I found these t-shirts I had given to a charity shop years ago so I bought ‘em for old times sake. I ended up paying like two quid for them both. I also bought water for the stall cos they kept asking me to buy them lunch as well as pay for the t-shirts. I got back in the jeep and the German pastor was telling me off for buying them water. It was getting their hopes up because the water will run out. I thought she was a Christian. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day. She told her friend/partner (in German) that salvation was better than false hope. She called me a spoilt rich kid. I didn’t tell her I speak fluent German.
So yeah, Samburu park. We were staying in these dinky tents in the plains in the thick of the park with who knows what around us. I had a shower (my first in days) in a wooden shack with no roof. It was weird being naked outdoors, looking up at the blue sky while freezing water refreshed me. We went for a drive that afternoon. I think it was the start of tourist season because there were a lot of trucks and jeeps in the park. All over the place, crawling around like beetles. We interrupted a cheetah hunt. We were sat there in the car, watching these cheetahs stalk an impala and then loads of trucks drove up to see what we’d found. Suddenly, there were 10 cars around us, all revving engines, pushing past each other for better views. The tourists with the biggest camera lenses were the pushiest, forcing their drivers to break them through the barrier of cars to get that important shot. All we were doing was observing, but no, the people with the cameras seemed to have priority. Drivers were pushing off the tracks and going off-road to get closer. I mean, the impalas, when they saw all the cars and excited yelps and click-clacks of cameras, ran off, leaving the cheetahs foodless and pissed off we had spoiled their dinner, so they just lay down in the long grass till no one could see them.
That night was magical. We sat under the stars and listened to nothing. I found this homemade instrument near the benches and asked what it was. It’s called a chamunke, and the guy who had made it (out of old drawers and brake cables) showed me how to play it. The weird German Baroque expert stood over me the whole time tutting at my every mistake. I couldn’t really concentrate with her scrutiny so I let her embarrass herself. Then the guy who made it played it to us and it was so magical and beautiful sat there under the stars listening to Kenyan folk songs. I lay down to sleep in absolute silence and absolute darkness absolutely alone. I had these mad dreams where I was Spider-man being chased by a lion, by a dark figure, by vehicles. I woke up and felt really alone and still and bursting for a piss. I tried to ignore it for ages but couldn’t make it disappear, my bladder was swelling with pressure and I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t really want to walk to the toilet in the middle of the night in case any creepy crawlies got me, or any nocturnal predators ate me. But I was desperate. I unzipped the tent, saw the moon glinting above me like Camembert and it looked so tranquil that I relaxed and felt release and I started to piss. I stumbled forward and started pissing in front of the tent, not hiding myself, flapping proudly in the night breeze. It was the most peace I have ever experienced in my life. The sound of the stream and the sand mixing was soothing; I started to fall asleep upright, transfixed by the stars twinkling at my relief.
Pops,
We just left another safari park and it was horrible. The landscape is sparse, vast and beautiful and yet there are all these white creepy crawlies leeching off the land spreading petrol fumes. We are raping Africa. Sorry to get all Geldof on you cos you said to me tourism was such a vital part of the economy, but it’s ruining Kenya. I know it’s like one of the safer countries to visit. It’s not like Sudan or Zimbabwe or anything. But the empire never ended. It’s strange to imagine you were born here as a child of the Empire, and now years later, I’m walking around in its aftermath.
We saw some amazing stuff but it’s just the way people treat the sanctity of nature. Everyone is desperate to see everything at whatever cost, even if it means driving off-road which is a no-no. But it’s not even as if they want to sit there and watch these animals, no, that’s too normal. People are desperate for the photograph. They want to spot something, take a wonderful photograph of it and display it on their mantelpiece or screen-saver so they can tell people ‘Ya, ya, ya, I took that in Africa’ (pronounced ahh-frica probably). They couldn’t give a toss about what they’re photographing; they just want the photographic evidence.
We were driving around this safari park in the early morning. Everyone was tired and we were trying our hardest to watch intently for animals. We turned a corner into a little vantage point where you usually get a really good view of the whole park. There was a herd of elephants grazing there. We all peeked out of the top of the roof and gazed at the elephants. There were 4 other cars there. More were arriving loudly, clattering into the clearing with no regard for the animals or other cars. The leeches poured out of the tops of their roofs shooing us out of the way for the perfect shots. George told us to remain still and quiet as the elephants were looking agitated. We sat down in our seats and watched the elephants out of the windows. One car, without thinking, boasting loud, moustachioed, bare-chested Americans, reversed and nearly hit a young elephant puppy. Its dad stormed over and tried to tusk the car. The cars immediately all fought with each other to get the hell out of there, while the other elephants all stopped what they were doing and started to converge on our vehicles. We left pretty sharpish. I mean, how do you take such little care you nearly run over an elephant? How are you so desperate to keep your tourists happy and snap-tastic, that you seem to forget the basic rules of being a safari tour operator?
‘Ya ya ya, now what I want you to do is: be angry, show aggression, move that tusk down a bit, front paw aloft… show me sexy… show me Dumbo!’
We heard over the drivers’ radio that there was a leopard spotting nearby. We asked if we could go see it. George is very diligent and cares about the animals and said maybe we should wait till the crazy rush was over. But we insisted. We had seen everything except a leopard and so were really excited. We rushed over to the west of the park and found ourselves at the back of a really long queue to see the leopard. The leopard was in a tree hanging out. There were two queues of cars converging in front of the tree and they were having trouble moving out of the way of each other. Plus the people at the front weren’t moving anytime fast and were clicking away, trying to get the perfect shot.
We waited patiently, then decided to drive away but we were blocked by cars in both directions. There was no choice but to wait it out. A truck tried to inch forward and lost control, nearly careening into nearby grazing elephants. The jeep in front of us broke down and had to be towed away. Eventually on the other side of the tree, we looked back to see 17 cars all snapping away at this beautiful majestic, bewildered creature and its cub, while the mauled leg of a dead gazelle hung off the branch they lounged on. Their tails twitched and claws tensed with every click, whoop and red-faced tourist cry of wonder. They sat patiently while we took our turns snapping away. We’re supposed to be bringing the world closer together, when all we’re doing is sitting in our cars being life tourists, not experiencing anything unless it’s reflected through media. I lived this because I photographed this, I saw this because I blogged it, I’m friends with her… on Myspace or Facebook. The internet, the availability of information, nothing being a mystery, it’s all driving us apart. And we sit and we look at a wonder of the world and we marvel and we worry about whether we got a decent photograph. The circus safari.
Nearly home. Can’t wait to see you guys and show you the photos I took of your old stomping ground.
On our penultimate night, we drove through the desert and George stopped so we could watch the sun set over the flat desert plain, dropping off over the edge of the world. It was so red and alive, it looked like a pulsating Strepsil. It was the most serene and breath-taking thing I’ve ever seen. I have no metaphors or flowery language to describe it. It was just simply truly amazing.[/private]
Nikesh Shukla is a writer and rapper caught between the cityscapes of Bombay and the land of London. His writing has been featured on BBC2, Radio 1, Radio 4 and Resonance FM; and he has performed at the Soho Theatre and Glastonbury in his quest to destroy the perfect metaphor. He recently completed his first collection of short stories, I’ve Forgotten My Mantra.
