Safari from hell

I'm coming home!! I'm very excited. So excited that I flew from Arusha to Dar Es-Salaam on the first flight of the morning to connect with an afternoon flight to Dubai, giving me 7 hours between the flights so that if the first flight were cancelled (this happens in Tanzania) I'd still make my Dubai flight. Which is important because the airline told Bill that all their flights are full of Indian and Pakistani families coming back from vacation and if I missed today's flight, they wouldn't be able to put me on another flight for 26 days. So. Now I'm in Dar for hours and hours... Everybody say yay...

Now's as good a time as any to tell you the big story of the last couple weeks: the safari from hell. You might want to set aside some time to read this; it's a long story due to the sheer number of misfortunes.

Brittan and I had both gone on safaris in Africa, but neither of us had seen a big cat. No lions, tigers, cheetahs, nothing! I know, poor us, drowning in zebras. Anyway, it seems that if you want to see a big cat, you go to the Serengeti. After some research, we scheduled a safari to take us to the Olduvai Gorge, the Serengeti, and Ngorogoro Crater. These are all very exciting places. Olduvai Gorge is an archaeological site made famous by the infamous Leakey family, the Serengeti has been featured in a hit song by the recording artist Toto, and Ngorogoro Crater is an other-worldly valley nestled inside the walls of a collapsed volcano. Both Ngorogoro and Serengeti Parks feature embarrassing riches of zoo dwellers. Needless to say, Brittan and I were anticipating the trip with all the containment of a 3 year old on Christmas Eve. Little did we know that Christmas Day would bring not baby Jesus, but rather the villain of our story, Jimmy the safari guide.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly when my doubts about Jimmy started bubbling up to the surface. I remember watching disdainfully as the car was packed in a very haphazard fashion. It was a little surprising that we were traveling with an Australian woman and Italian couple instead of the 3 Irish people we'd been promised. Jimmy drove kind of like a teenage boy, emphasizing the speed bumps that Tanzanian road-builders are so infuriatingly fond of. It seemed a little disorganized that Jimmy and our cook Puce had to do the food shopping on the way. And then there was that bit where he agreed with the Maasai women that Brittan and I should be married with 9 children by this point in our lives. But no, I think the moment I'm looking for was during the aftermath of the divebombing eagle. We had pulled over to a picnic site with other safari participants (safarers??) to enjoy our lunch. I was inspecting the pancakes, and Brittan was starting into the chicken pie. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a kamikaze eagle swooped down toward Brittan's head, aiming for her pie, and then shot back up into the sky. Brittan, looking dazed, asked if she was bleeding. She was, from a gash above her mouth. She and I had both left our first aid supplies at home to save room in our packs, reasoning that a safari operator would carry a first aid kit. Oops, that was a silly assumption. Jimmy actually laughed at me when I asked for Neosporin. He went off on some tangent about how he had gotten scratched by a bird once, and it healed up just fine. My mention of possible infection just made him laugh harder. So... we scrounged up alcohol pads and antibacterial ointment from fellow safarers, and continued on our merry way, but with fledgling Jimmy hatred deep in our chests.

The afternoon was pretty uneventful. The ride was very rough - we hit our heads on the ceiling more than once - and we were quickly covered in dust. The landscape was beautiful, and there were some animals, but Jimmy rarely stopped for us to see them, even though this was the first safari for our 3 companions. He got on my nerves at the Olduvai Museum, rushing me when I was trying to read the panels. By mid-afternoon I was feeling quite hostile toward him, and I wasn't sure why - it seemed out of proportion to events. So I made a conscious effort to relax and feel more charitable toward the man who was soon to sell us down the river.

The car broke down in the early evening. It was something to do with a leaky radiator. Some good Samaritans gave us a push to start the car, but it broke down again a few minutes later. After a couple hours of taking photos of the sunset on the savannah, Jimmy loaded us into another safari operator's vehicle that happened to be passing by. They took us to camp, while he supposedly took the car to the shop. By the time we got to camp it was dark. Puce took the Italian man to set up the tents while we stood at the entrance, not knowing where they had gone. We met a really lovely American air force pilot while we were standing around, and he offered to share his big safari van with us in the morning if our car was still broken. While we were eating dinner just before midnight, Jimmy returned and told us the car was in the shop but wouldn't be fixed until midmorning. He also gave us a story about how he called the company for a replacement car, but all the cars were either broken down or in use. We reminded him that we were supposed to do a game drive in the Serengeti the next morning and that our contract clearly guaranteed a refund for the day if the vehicle was broken for 2.5 hours. He said he'd ask around to see if any other operators had room to take us. Our Black Hawk pilot stopped by to say his company was ok with us coming, and then Jimmy returned, saying that no one had room. We told Jimmy about the offer from our new friend, asking him to go complete the arrangements, but he refused, wanting us to go talk to the operator. In short, Jimmy was being a pain.

The next morning's game drive with the other operator was wonderful. We saw baboons, elephants, giraffe, hippos, lions, and even a leopard from far away. When we returned, we passed the car on the side of the road... which seemed strange since Jimmy said he took it to the shop the night before. Back at camp, the car was supposed to be fixed but wasn't there (surprise). We waited 2 or 3 hours without any word from Jimmy, whose cell phone didn't have service in the park. Incidentally, you can buy a SIM card for your cell phone from a company that does provide service in the park for about $10 US.

When Jimmy finally returned at 2:30 PM with the mechanic, the car wasn't even fixed. We drove the mechanic to his house to borrow a big water jug so we could pull over every few minutes and refill the radiator. We all thought it was a brilliant strategy to allow us to travel hours through savannah populated by lions. Well, big surprise, the car broke down again. This was nice - Jimmy actually waited for the other safari operators to drive away before checking under the hood, to save face. The car started again when it cooled, and we set off again, driving way too fast over the uneven, rocky road. Suddenly the car swerved wildly to the right, jumped off the road up onto the grass, then again, nearly rolling on Brittan's side, and finally came to a shuddering stop in the middle of the fields. Jimmy didn't say a word, not a "Is everyone ok?" or "I'm sorry" or even "Oh my God." I jumped out of the car and started taking pictures to document the accident site. The others, who were ok, joined in, and then Brittan saw that the axle was broken, so we weren't going anywhere.

Everyone was very shaken up. Jimmy made a phone call using a passing vehicle's phone. I went over to find out what the plan was. He mumbled something about a car coming from the Serengeti camps. I asked him what company the car was with, and he was evasive, finally admitting that it was "a friend." I snapped. "Well, it's a good thing you called the company and got the car to come for us from Arusha, isn't it?" Indignantly: "I did call. I called last night, this morning, this afternoon, and even right now I am calling." I felt kind of bad for snapping at him. So we all waited for these phantom cars - the Italian couple, Filippo and Gretta; the Australian woman, Renita; Brittan and me; and Jimmy and Puce. We tried to make the best of it, cracking open the hot, foamy beer we'd brought along, but our smiles were a little delirious. About an hour after the accident, a passing ranger vehicle stopped; this was about 5 PM. The ranger, who was wonderful, took us to the ranger station at the Serengeti Gate so we could wait for yet another car that was supposedly coming to take us to our campsite. After he saw us eating Pringles and cookies that we had bought at the snack bar for dinner, the ranger asked Puce to cook something while we waited. He had plenty of time - we waited for hours. At sunset, we saw a giraffe and a jackal that got close to the buildings.

Finally, the new driver, Abdul, arrived around 9 or 10. All 7 of us piled into Abdul's 6 seater, and we started down the rocky road to Simba Campsite. The rangers had given Abdul a special pass to allow him to drive at night on the dangerous road. Things were going ok, and we were nodding off around 1 AM, when Abdul pulled over to the side of the road. He announced that he was falling asleep and needed to take a nap, and did any of us know how to drive? The passengers. The people who paid $360 to be taken care of. The people who had no experience driving a safari vehicle through rough, dangerous roads in the middle of the night in the Serengeti with a huge drop-off on the right hand side of the road.

So Filippo took over at the wheel for a while, and did a fine job. Abdul woke up from his nap and drove us the rest of the way, finally arriving at our camp at 3 AM. We set up our tents as quietly as we could in the glare of the headlights, trying not to wake the other campers. Then I asked Jimmy what the plan was. He said that Abdul had to go back to his campsite so that he could take his clients on a drive at 5 AM, and so Jimmy was going to drive Abdul so he could sleep a little. Puce would stay behind with us. We were told that a car had been arranged for us in the morning. I asked Jimmy who was taking us, and he answered that our benefactors who'd driven us in the morning would take us. Distrustfully, I asked if they knew they were taking us? No. OF COURSE NOT. THAT WOULD HAVE TAKEN AN OUNCE OF PLANNING. LIKE ONE PHONE CALL. I lost all self control at this point and went on a rant. Renita tried schoolteacher tactics, and Brittan tried her lawyer voice. Jimmy ignored us all and then left with Abdul, abandoning us.

Renita woke 2.5 hours later to find the driver who'd taken us the day before. I can't tell you his name or his company's name because he ended up taking us to Ngorogoro Crater and back to Arusha against company rules and with no expectation of payment, because he is a wonderful wonderful man. We had to leave Puce behind in the camp to catch a ride home. Ngorogoro was amazing. I felt like I was on the moon, in this crater with white dust swirling around. We saw tons of animals, even a lion pride, and had lunch by a beautiful oasis. As we left the crater, we drove through herds of hundreds of zebra and wildebeest. Poor Brittan saw little of this; she kept nodding off, and I'd wake her for the big stuff.

We did make it back to Arusha safely, thank goodness. We all hoped that Abdul's clients were safe as well, riding with a driver who'd had no sleep. When we got back, we marched straight into the safari operator's office to tell our story and demand a refund. We then found out that they'd had no idea this had happened until Brittan sent them a text message at 3 in the morning. Jimmy hadn't contacted them AT ALL. It's still incomprehensible to me why he wouldn't ask for help, but he was a subcontractor and maybe worried about seeming incompetent. Haha. The refund discussion ended up going all night and involving multiple lawyers and UN security, finally settling on a refund for one day. The man running the office out of Arusha was very good about the whole thing, expressed his horror at what had happened, and refunded us promptly. Unfortunately, the Italians had paid their money to someone different, who ended up skipping town when they tried to collect. One of Brittan's UN lawyer friends worked very hard toward recovering the money for them, but as of yesterday, it hadn't been resolved.

Filippo, Gretta, Renita, Brittan, and I bonded over our adventure and promised each other we would keep in touch, if only to exchange pictures of broken axles and our delirious selves. Brittan drew a moral from the whole thing, which I suppose is a reasonable way to end my story: Don't ever trust subcontractors.