The most incredible day...
We woke at 5 am today (5 am!!) to get to the Mt. Kenya animal orphanage and conservancy before the bongos began to poop. The ride was long and bouncy and we dozed off frequently only to wake with our heads slamming against the window from some new pothole. But soon we arrived, and from then on the morning was magic. We sat in the early morning sun watching the Bongo, a species of antelope with only 176 individuals in Africa. The Bongo at the conservancy are part of a program to encourage breeding, and so we were surrounded by 72 of the continent’s few remaining animals. We sat for hours and watched them. They’re beautiful, with big soft eyes, giant ears, and chestnut fur with long white stripes. Their antlers curve out and then inward, sometimes crossing one over the other. They are striking, curious, shy animals, and if you are very still and quiet while you watch they will look into your eyes without reservation. If you sit for long enough they will even come up to you, stand a few feet away, linger and look. Today we collected almost twenty samples, but mostly we sat. We ate. We laughed as colobus monkeys fell from the trees, their long white hair floating behind them like capes. We apologetically sprinted after baby bongos for identification pictures, murmuring sorry under our breaths as we chased them inadvertently from where they’d been dozing by their mothers. We fell silent as one of them came up to us as we were sitting, head hanging low as if to say “hello, how are you, and would you mind please moving from my living room while I ate my breakfast now?”
After collecting samples for several hours, we headed back to the orphanage to identify some of the bongos with one of the head researchers. She was otherwise engaged, and so for an hour, we played with the other animals there. Thus began one of the most incredible hours of my entire life. We walked with one of the research assistants, feeding both the lamas and one beautiful big orphaned ostrich. They are giant birds, nearly eight feet tall, with oval eyes and thick eyelashes. Though at first content to watch from afar (they kick), she eventually moved close enough that we could touch her. She ate from our hands and the tops of our heads, stretched out her giant wings so that we could see the skeletal attachment underneath, and bobbed her tall head around ours, searching for kernels of corn in our hair. Soon Wilbur, the giant warthog, came ambling over. We call Luca the animal whisperer and this is just an example of why...as soon as he arrived Wilbur walked over Luca, shoved his giant nose into his leg, and then happily collapsed at his feet for a head scratch and belly rub. Once we realized we were also invited, the rest of the group sprinted over to offer belly rubs too.
But the most incredible part was this.
We had only seen the big cats from afar before. Never from up close. Certainly never from the ground. But one of the orphaned cheetahs lounged against the chain link fence of her enclosure. One brave soul reached through to stroke her beneath the link. At the touch, she started to purr.
And so, as though in a dream, we reached through the fence.
Her purr was a loud rumble beneath our hands. We watched, mouths agape, as she rubbed her head against the linked fence, presenting various parts of her body for us to scratch. Not only did she let us touch her, she played with us, rolling onto her back, pushing her giant paws against the fence to stretch herself away, and then returning like a house cat to willing hands to be scratched and petted again. When she was done with our attention, she rose and walked away to pace beside the fence. We stayed there for a moment longer, waiting to see if she would come back. She didn’t, and so we walked away, marveling at our luck.
To touch an animal like that, to see and feel the power of the extraordinary muscles beneath the fur and skin, was extraordinary. How often does that happen to anyone...that a giant predator comes of her own volition to be stroked by the hands of strange humans. It was like a dream.
The researcher was not ready upon our return, and so we were invited to watch as a week old baby bongo was fed milk from a bottle. She was so young she still had the umbilical cord attached to her belly. Once finished with her bottle, she went to hide between the research assistant’s legs. Only her giant ears stuck out from behind.
Then, from behind, we heard a commotion. Two male lamas were attempting to mate with a single female at once. They bent around her, shoved each other away from her sides, and stuck their heads under her belly to bite each other's knees. Finally, one lama was able to climb onto the female’s back. Once there, he did absolutely nothing. “I’ve done it!” he seemed to say, “this is great!” There was nothing happening. He was just standing. It rather looked like the female was giving him a piggy back ride (which became useful when a group of school children rounded the corner). The female was unamused but indulgent...to a point. At the next round, she simply laid down with the lama on her back and started to eat the grass around her. A mood.
When the researcher was ready, we sat with her as she somehow identified multiple Bongo from the grainy pictures on our phones. We had all the data we needed, and so we left. But the memories of the place; the sweet new smell of the newborn bongo, the antics of the giant tortoise, the needy nonchalance of the human-hating-company-loving zebra that followed us everywhere but would not allow our touch...those are memories that will stay with me for a long time.