'A zoo in My Luggage", like that of Gerald Durrell's, would have been quite unnecessary here in the land of Masai Mara. One need only look out one's cabin window. I am surrounded by the dusty yellowness of the Kenyan grass lands, broken from the pale blue sky by the bluish green of distant hills. The area where my log cabin is situated is monkey territory by day, occasionally overrun by tiny electric blue birds and odd, colourful lizards. Things, however, are different at night.
All sort of things take place after dark. The dining hall of the safari resort, a grand affair with trophy heads and African wooden sculptures, is a two- minute walk from my beef, followed by chocolate pudding, when one of the Masai guards approaches us. Are we the occupants of cabin 72? It turns out we are. Apparently two Hippopotamuses have taken up dining on the grass in front of our way back?
The walk back to our cabin is a thrilling yet scary venture, but we take courage in the fact that our guard is a traditional Masai warrior who claims to have killed two lions with spears in his lifetime. Not that the Hippopotamuses would attack us. The only animals with potential danger are the rhino, with their horns and unpredictable temper, especially the strong, aggressive buffalo.
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