Kirurumu Tented Camp, Part 1

Dear readers,

I will continue my commitment to brevity, but there is lays going to be a bit of exposition at the beginning about high-impact experiences.

This morning at Maramboi there were people from all over the world having breakfast, but Bwana was first there. (Bwana gets up very early every day.) Every single Tanzanian gave me a great smile, a "Jambo" or a "Good morning!" every single one—the many porters, the servers, the reception staff, the kitchen crew, EVERY SINGLE ONE. Not a single other tourist, all white, said hello to me.

It is 5:30, I have showered, done laundry and hung it in the blistering heat and achieved chilldom here in blissville. I am sitting on the deck of this, my second "tented camp," and it is as over-the-top as Maramboi. I am at Kirurumu tented camp on the edge of the rift valley escarpment. And tomorrow morning, just as this morning, we will have breakfast in splendor and stunning beauty and then be handed a box lunch and off we will go for more adventure.

So, the big event of the day for me was the baboons. After about spending 15 minutes with them, I am embarrassed to say, Crispian saw my profuse tears. I just could not stop crying, so we just stayed with them as they moved slowly down the road, spending about an hour with them. I could have stayed all day. Seeing the Taj Mahal changed my life, but the baboons are animals, not things, and they are not of man.








The impact of the baboons, however, was, I suspect, due to my background. When I saw a tiny baby baboon get its hand caught in a branch, it started shrieking. Then it's hand broke free, but it kept shrieking and then made a beeline for its mother, and when I w that mother check the arm and the whole body and then hug the baby, I lost it and could not recover. I remember my mother touching me only once to remove something on my cheek, and even that single touch was with a finger wrapped in her handkerchief. And my father's comforting touch was only to help me sleep when I had the migraines which were a constant part of my youth. And when you see the amount of touching and affection in the tribe, it hurts to have lived a life without that kind of love.

But this ain't about me....

The metallic blue birds called something like Soupub Starling.


Then here are the Lilac Brested Rollers,but I don't have a photo of them or any number of other stunning avians. And this one below (I don't know its name) is just one example. They are hard to photograph and everywhere around our picnic site.


And I saw some Tucans!

The Masai people, robes flowing and walking stick protruding, flying by on bikes!!

Thank God for my binoculars!

Lake Manyara is in the famous rift valley that goes from Jordan to South Africa. Right now it is a massive wall ahead of us.


This is my "room" at Kirurumu Tented Camp.


This is the view from my deck.