When my mother calls from Canada, she always ends her calls by saying, “Don’t be too intrepid!” On any normal day, her admonitions disappear from my memory faster than she can utter them. This past weekend, however, I found myself in a situation that brought her words to the foreground of my mind. In fact, during the odyssey, I knew that the activity in which I was fully engaged was well beyond the realm of intrepidity…
This story was written in my head long before I got myself out of the imbroglio, hoping that I would be able to recount it.
It all began last week when my mission plans were thrown for a loop as a result of some unexpected work-related events. I had to scramble together a new team for our trip south. I was able to bring Demo and Dagim on board to accompany me and Emily on what promised to be a hectic but wonderful adventure. Little did we know what adventures we would have.
After four days of long voyages to and successful meetings in Wolaita Soddo and to Arba Minch, our desire to see wildlife sucked us into a day in Nechisar National Park, in Arba Minch. You see, we had the great luck to find this splendid hotel at the top of a cliff looking over this 500 square kilometer park, bordered by two lakes. We woke up every morning only to be greeted by a family of Baboons that had made its way up the cliff to our front lawn. Incapable of being outside observers to this splendor, we forced the guys to accompany us into the park for a day-long safari.
Obviously we didn’t start too early since Emily and I can’t ever mobilize fast enough. I think we had made an appointment to meet the guide at 7:30 and we didn’t get there until 8:15. We pick up our guide, Daniel. Dagim had selected him based on the low price he charged relatively to the rest of the guides. Now in retrospect, I may have opted to pay an extra 5 bucks (since that was the price difference) for someone who wasn’t a clinically insane masochist.
The entrance to the park is right in the town. Dagim drives in like he’s finally been unleashed from diplomatic shackles, throwing the 4×4 into huge potholes and flying off massive moguls. No problem, though, he’s a great driver, he tells us. We knew from experience. It’s not like he had hit a child on a bike on the way to Arba Minch or anything…
Emily is asking her usual series of 500 questions, but to no avail. Daniel doesn’t speak English. What a guide! So while Daniel, Demo and Dagim have their own conversations in Amharic, Emily and I roll down the windows and photograph the baboons and the Dik Dik. We begin to notice a worrisome increase in the number of flies in the car. Daniel sees the beasts and freaks out.
“Open the windows! Open the windows!”
“They are open, “ we retort.
“I mean close them now!” Sometimes he gets the two words confused. Understandable.
“Why?”
“TseTse files! Sleeping sickness! Dangerous! No cure! Kill all Tse Tses in the car!”
Awesome, we think. So we go on a killing spree, but we aren’t quick enough. We both get bitten by the sneaky buggers. What are you gonna do? We drive deeper into the park and come upon the gorgeous cliff overlooking a huge jungle that fades into Lake Chamo. Daniel points to the forest and says, “Cheetah Habitat! Let’s get out of the car!”
The area is still swarming with flies. “Is it safe?” we ask.
“Very safe. No disease in these flies.”
“But are there Cheetahs?”
“No Cheetahs. Sleeping.”
I guess all the diseased flies had stung the cats. Perfect for us, no?
Misguided Assumption #1: Em and I assume that Daniel’s statement is based on fact and that his alleged expertise is reason enough to trust him.
We walk to the edge of the forest and come upon a scout camp. We meet the scout who is proudly sporting his rifle. Hokay, I’m thinking. At least we’ll have an armed man as we venture into Cheetah country. The scout greets us, he and Daniel exchange some words in Amharic and then says goodbye and sends us on our way, unarmed.
Misguided Assumption #2: Em and I assume that there is no need for a scout.
Three seconds into the hike, both Dagim and Demo turn around. “We’ll meet you at the top of the hill with the car.” They point to the summit of this cliff that appears to be an eternity away. But Daniel agrees that this is a good place to meet.
Misguided assumption #3: Em and I assume that Daniel knows how to get us there with relative ease and that we can put our lives in his hands.
The hike begins by rock hopping at the lake’s edge. “Crocodile Habitat,” Daniel yells pointing to the water, in which our feet are currently treading.
“Are there crocodiles?” We ask with trepidation.
“No problem. Only at 2.” It was 10. By this time, well into our intrepid trek, we knew better than to be startled by the woman’s flip flop floating bottom-up amidst the rocks. Rather, we knew enough not to ask about it, since we could easily anticipate Daniel’s flippant reply.
I am holding my breath as I jump my way from rock to rock, using my hands like a monkey to keep me from slipping into the crocodile infested waters. I am wearing sneakers with no treads. Emily is wearing but sandals. I have a tank top on and my pants are already soaked from the ankles to the crotch.
We finally turn out of croc country and into the forest. For a moment I feel like I can breathe more easily as Daniel points out that we can see the car and the boys waving down at us. They are about 150 feet due UP.
My thoughts in that moment: Ok! We’re almost there. The crocks are well behind us. We’ll find the trail and I’ll hike up that cliff like the Warrior Goddess my mom tells me I am.
We take a couple of pics, thinking that we were so cool to have made it out of the lake with all our limbs securely fastened. Then, without notice, we turn into the thicker jungle. Daniel starts bushwhacking, plowing through spiky plants and vines; reaching a lot of dead ends. We try to keep up as best we can, but our unprotected bodies are slowly being maimed by the caustic flora.
“Is there a road?” We ask.
“No ROAD!” He grunts.
“Should we turn back?”
“NO BACK!”
By this point, our only means of getting through the bush is to crawl through the dark black mud on a path that was apparently forged by the Leopard whose prints were clearly visible beneath my increasingly muddy hands. Daniel moves ahead quickly. At certain moments he would look back and say: WAIT! He would crouch down to investigate, seem to see something either terrifying or dangerous and then run past us in the other direction, with no explanation, into even thicker bush. Huffs of frustration coming from him.
Me: “Are we coming?”
Daniel: “Yes, coming!”
Plowing through the thorny thickets, Daniels keeps stumbling and falling to his knees and then expecting us to follow. We notice that he is wearing pointy black leather shoes that look like they were made from Crocodile skin.
Em’s ‘fro is getting caught in spiky vines. Our bodies getting more and more scratched, quads getting worked as we reluctantly imitate large cats skulking through the brush. All I could think is that if I had come face to face with a cheetah, I’d have nothing on him. What would I do? Would I actually try and quickly crawl away knowing how futile of an attempt that would be or would I attempt some less orthodox approach, like trying to befriend him? Darwin was never as compelling to me as in those moments. It’s no wonder that Homo sapiens evolved the hell out of the wild.
As we reach a small clearing, at the foot of the cliff, Daniel starts shouting (somewhat panicked) Kassahun! Kassahun! Over and over. No reply. No explanation about what kassahoun is. It was at this point that I was really about to lose it on this guy. I gave Em a look indicating that I was betraying my mother’s wise words of advice. She knew persuasive action needed to be taken.
Emily: “Should we go back now?”
Daniel: “NO BACK!” Ze water is far.
Emily: “Well, it’s better to walk far than to be lost in the jungle amid Cheetah dens!”
(pause)
Daniel, looking at our scrapped bodies and Emily’s nest of a head: “Ok, back.”
Getting out of the jungle was no easier than getting in. Tumbling over vines and rocks, easing our bodies over large cacti, crouching under low lying bonsai trees, we finally made it back to the lake’s edge. I was never so happy to be walking though a crocodile habitat.
When we finally reach the road leading out to the scout camp, Daniel turns to us with his hands outstretched and pleading eyes, and says “so sorry” at which point we burst into relieved hysterics. When the scout sees us walking toward the camp, he runs over, takes one look at the state of our battered bodies, our muddy faces and disheveled hair filled with thorns and grass and exclaims: JESUS CHRIST!
Our men finally came to “rescue” us at the scout camp. Once they got over the shock of our physical appearance, they proceeded to tell us two interesting things.
1) They spent the better part of their time standing at the top of the cliff discussing, “We were saying to ourselves, let us suppose that a lion were to jump out from the cliff, What are we going to do? What would we do? We finally came to an agreement: Ze car needs more bumpers.”
2) “We saw a crocodile swimming across the lake, where you were walking.” Em and I, however, knew this was not possible since it was still four hours before 2…
