Tenting in Tanzania

A family safari to an East African gem filled with animal life

Author: By Jennifer M. Nichols, Globe Correspondent

Date: SUNDAY, April 5, 1998

Page: M7

Section: Travel

They were smitten with the idea. ``It'll be an adventure,'' they crooned. ``Come on, Mom, we just have to do it.'' We don't have to do it, I thought, but I knew I was outnumbered. And if you can't beat 'em . . ..

Lying south of the Equator, Tanzania is a kaleidoscopic paradise of savanna grasslands, shimmering lakes, tropical forests, and if that's not enough, this East African gem is home to some of the most prolific wildlife on the planet. Additionally, the country's recent stability and economic growth make it an ideal and as yet unexploited family tourist destination.

Tanzania had been high on our travel list for years. So with our favorite travel companions in mind -- 8-year-old Will and 11-year-old Alison -- my husband and I pushed it to the top and signed on with a local outfitter specializing in family safaris. Linked with three other families whom we had never met, we became part of a group of 14: seven children ages 5 to 15 and seven seasoned baby boomers. For 12 days, our group would share three safari vehicles, three drivers, and one guide, as well as meals, binoculars, film, books, games, songs, stories, chocolate, toothpaste, and other necessities jammed into our safari bags.

After a 16-hour flight from Boston, with a stopover in Amsterdam, we were at Kilimanjaro Airport in the shadow of Africa's tallest mountain -- Kilimanjaro, of course. After being greeted by our guides, our jet-lagged group was driven to the city of Arusha, Tanzania's gateway to its northern safari circuit.

Our itinerary was to take us to three of the country's most striking and animal-rich game parks: Tarangire National Park, Serengeti National Park, and Ngorongoro Conservation Area. Although some of our accommodations were in game lodges, the camping would put us right in the heart of Africa.

Tarangire National Park lay only 70 miles south, but a four-hour drive from Arusha. The park is a dry-season retreat for herds of plains-grazing animals that drink from the snaking Tarangire River, which cuts a swath through the length of this park.

The Tarangire Safari Lodge, our tented home for the next two days, lines a high, sharp bluff overlooking the expansive, dry savanna below. The lodge staff assigned us two of their 30 permanent tents, and our youngsters immediately claimed theirs by throwing themselves onto the beds as a fleeting vision of flimsy camp cots collapsing under their weight flashed before me. But the sturdy wooden beds easily bore up. Night tables, sisal floor covering, a solar heated shower, and, thankfully, a flush toilet completed the tent's interior. Outside, a veranda offered unobstructed and dazzling views of the savanna with its giant baobab and feathery acacia tress. But the real visual prize was the profuse wildlife that meandered below us: Gazelles, giraffes, elephants, zebras, and wildebeest dotted the plain. ``We don't even need to drive around to see the animals,'' Will mused. ``We can just watch them from our tents.'' Indeed, his theory proved correct as we pulled out the binoculars.

But before too long, our rumbling stomachs led us from our verandas and into the lodge's spacious and airy dining room, where a delectable buffet of barbecued beef, vegetable curry, fresh fruit, salads, rice, and warm breads lined the room's long tables. Hot cobbler, sweet cakes, and robust Tanzanian coffee were topped off by an unexpected treat that was to become a staple of after-dinner fare: engaging safari tales, culled from 20 years of guiding, by our guide, Willie Hombo. These enchanting and informing stories of the wildlife and the local people were richly woven with glimpses into Hombo's own life growing up in Tanzania. As the adults lingered over their last cups of coffee and savored Hombo's words, the children, armed with flashlights, ran off to a nearby tent to spin a few yarns of their own by the dim light of kerosene lamps. Later, as we adults made our way back to our tents, the first unmistakable sounds of the African night broke the silence. In the distance were heard faint lion roars and hyena howling while nearby the joyful giggles of seven children were heard.

The 6:30 a.m. wakeup call came all too early. But Hombo's words from the night before echoed: ``If you want to see lion, we leave by 7:30.'' Punctuality paid; within a half hour -- success! Three female lions and their cubs, partially hidden by the tall dry grass, sat feasting on a freshly killed wildebeest 20 feet from our vehicles. Undisturbed by our presence, they tore at the flesh with their blood-smeared snouts and paws, their cubs almost disappearing into the carcass as they gorged. Around the kill, hyenas paced in the tall grass while vultures circled above, dutifully waiting their turn in this dining hierarchy. Hombo's keen awareness of the wildlife forever astonished us. ``He must have binoculars in his eyes,'' one of the children marveled. Indeed, the day's yield included a lone leopard lazing in a sausage tree; a lion, belly to the ground, stalking two gazelles; and, atop a waist-high, chimney-shaped termite mound, a dozen pygmy mongooses no bigger than chipmunks. But we didn't need Hombo's eyes to spot the biggest find of the day: 15 elephants lumbering within spitting distance of our vehicles.

Another day of spectacular game viewing in Tarangire, and we were off to the Serengeti, a vast savanna habitat equal in size to Connecticut and host to an estimated three million animals, most of whom migrate in a seasonal event unrivaled in nature. Although our August visit missed the migration, the animals in this wildlife metropolis were not to disappoint us.

Midway through our six-hour drive over dusty, deeply pitted roads, we were blessed by what most perceive as an annoyance: a flat tire. As we climbed out to inspect the tire, two teenage girls emerged from the rocky plain, barefoot and swathed in bright red cloth. As they came closer, we recognized them as Maasai, the most visible of Tanzania's 129 tribes. Elaborately beaded earrings dangled to their shoulders. Their earlobes were elongated through years of inserting progressively bigger wooden plugs into the pierced hole. More earrings were festooned from pencil-sized holes on the top of their ears. Coiled gold bracelets snaked up their thin arms and legs. And on their cheeks, for added beauty, were etched circular scars. The girls motioned to our cameras, then posed. Not missing a bet, our groups's intrepid photographer -- the 5-year-old -- pulled out her Polaroid, snapped, and handed the pictures to the girls, who viewed in silence and rapture the magical unfolding of their own images. Then the girls once again pointed to our cameras and pulled our children over to stand with them. This time we adults snapped away at this priceless photo op.

Tire fixed, the journey continued. Almost instantly, the endless, golden dryness of the savanna turned a fertile green as we entered the Great Rift Valley. This dramatic fracture in the earth's crust results from 20 million years of tectonic movement and cuts a jagged scar thorough Tanzania as it squeezes and molds the land to form lakes, valleys, craters, and highlands.

Punctuating this varied countryside are lush fields of coffee, bananas, and beans surrounding small houses, many made of mud, adobe-type bricks. Outside our windows, an eclectic array of people lined the narrow road -- women balancing huge bundles on their heads, Maasai children herding errant goats, and Tanzanian boys riding Ben Hur-style atop wooden carts pulled by oxen. A roadside crafts booth with a zebra-skin painted facade caught our eye.

Here, Alison honed her negotiating skills as she bargained over a Maasai necklace. ``That's only $80,'' the clerk said as he noticed her admiring it. ``But I only have five,'' she said in earnest as she pulled the bill out of her pocket, anticipating immediate rebuke. OK, it's yours,'' he quickly replied. Stunned, she accepted. This first, lucky deal bolstered her negotiating confidence so much that she attempted to dominate all future family transactions.

After a night's respite at yet another tented lodge above the flamingo-rimmed Lake Manyara, we arrived in Serengeti's Seronera Valley. Our camp was ready, having been set up the night before by a crew of six who had passed us in a cloud of dust during the flat tire episode. Nestled between two rocky outcroppings were 14 tents, primitive by previously set standards of the permanent tented accommodations. The assemblage included seven boxy green tents for sleeping, a long narrow rectangular one for dining, and, set behind, six small blue tents resembling beach cabanas and used for showering and toilets. This time the youngsters did not claim their own tent and, thankfully, did not throw themselves onto their collapsible beds. ``Now this is real camping,'' said Will.

The meals, prepared over open fire by our crew, were simple yet hearty and tasty. Meat and vegetarian entrees, vegetable curries, exotic fruits, rices or pastas, and occasional deserts graced our long, family-style dining table.

The crew's daily ice run to the nearest lodge kept the stored food fresh. Safaris, for all their joys, have one major drawback: lack of exercise. Land Rover lethargy, my husband called it. No jogging, no walking, no evening stroll -- what's an active body to do? Spud, of course. Spud is a ball and tag game initiated by the children; it required throwing and catching, interspersed with short spurts of running. Dubbed ``Serengeti Spud,'' this was the major source of body movement for youngsters, adults, and even crew. During the first day's game, we noticed that we humans were not alone in the camp. Perched on the surrounding rocks were 12 baboons, with a persistent and intense interest in this frenzied human game. Their two-day spud fixation was interrupted only by occasional migrations from one rock outcropping to another.

These animals were not the only visitors to the camp. Hombo had warned us that although the proximity to the animals was one of the joys of camping, it could also be one of the hazards. ``Don't be surprised,'' he cautioned, ``if you hear rustling outside your tent. Civets, hyenas, and other guests occasionally wander in. And lions have been known to visit. So zip your tents.'' We immediately complied. And before long the sounds of the night creatures filtered in. Distant lion roars intermingled with haunting hyena howls brought a profound and immediate intimacy with the animals.

Two days of game drives in the Serengeti brought new and spectacular finds, to include the kopjes -- ancient granite formations left behind as the surrounding soil eroded and weathered. These jumbled boulder outcroppings dot the dry flatness of the Serengeti and provide shelter and protection to many animals. It was on the kopjes that we saw our first cheetah, a pride of eight lions, and small creatures called rock hyrax. These rabbitlike animals are the closest living relation to the elephant. ``You're kidding,'' I said, gasping, as Hombo related this tidbit.

Serengeti wildlife has taken an erratic course in the last 30 years. The wildebeest, or gnu, population has increased from a quarter million to over four times that; lion and cheetah have doubled in number to approximately 3,000 and 1,000 respectively. But other animal populations in this area have not been so lucky. Wild dogs have been nearly eliminated by distemper, and black rhinos have been poached to near extinction.

Our final stop on the safari circuit was the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, a matchless marvel that contains volcanoes, mountains, rivers, forest, plains, and shifting sand dunes. One feature of this dramatic area is Olduvai Gorge, the renown archeological site. Often called the ``cradle of mankind,'' Olduvai is where anthropologist Mary Leakey discovered the skull of Australopithecus-Zinjanthropus Boisei, or ``The Nutcracker Man.'' Just shy of two million years old, the skull was but one of Leakey's famous finds. The Olduvai park ranger allowed the children to dig for fossils in the gorge, with the understanding that any finds would be returned to the site's small museum on the way out. So within feet of the plaque marking Leakey's discovery, the youngsters dug furiously and emerged with pockets of rocklike objects they relinquished to the park ranger. ``You're holding a two-million-year-old lion's tooth,'' he told one.

``You have a prehistoric tool made out of quartz,'' he told another as he collected all the fossils from our awestruck children who had -- at least momentarily -- held a bit of prehistory in their hands.

Our final campsite in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, again set up by the crew, poised on the 7,600-foot-high rim of the Ngorongoro Crater. The near 40-degree night temperature was reason enough for the crew to break out a camping commodity never before seen by the children -- hot water bottles for warming beds and bodies. ``Please mom,'' Alison and Will begged after the first night with this rarity, ``can we get one when we get home?'' If only all requests could be so simple.

The early morning game drive down the crater's escarpment and onto its floor put us in the sunken cone of the Ngorongoro Volcano, the world's largest intact caldera. Sometimes called ``paradise on earth,'' and the ``eighth wonder of the world,'' the crater is home to over 25,000 large mammals, and because of its size -- only 10 miles in diameter -- the wildlife feels dense and close, like a virtual Noah's Ark. Dotting the vista near and far were thousands of animals -- zebra, wildebeest, cape buffalo, gazelle, eland and hartebeest -- grazing, roaming, and frolicking. The vehicles frequently inched through, parting these masses of animals. As we stopped to watch a herd of zebras envelop and pass our vans, we spied across the plain something that parted the herds even more efficiently -- the hyena. More than 400 of these ruthless, spotted predators live on the crater's floor, and the grazing wildlife takes them very seriously.

The crater itself is a microcosm of African wildlife. Open plains, grasslands, rolling hills, marshes, swamps, soda lakes, streams, and forest support a vast and varied array of animals and plant life. The find of the day was seeing three of the crater's 20 rhinos in one grouping! As we watched in silence, the male rhino marked his territory with a urine spray of firehose force. Two days of game drives convinced us that the Ngorongoro Crater earns yet another label: ``The Garden of Eden.'' Our last night in Africa went all too quickly, as the entire trip had. We had intimately experienced -- in tents -- the enchanting and mysterious bush of Tanzania, savoring the closeness of the animals and feeling a part of our surroundings. We had gotten to know the gracious Tanzanians who ate with us, told us stories . . . and even joined us in Serengeti Spud. And we had had a family travel adventure unrivaled by any other.

We drove back to Kilimanjaro Airport in satisfied silence -- the kind you have when you've just experienced something magical and indescribable. ``Can we come back someday?'' Will asked.

``We'll try,'' I said. ``And we'll be sure to camp again when we do.''

Ker & Downey private family camping safaris. Ten days, based on a group of eight: $6,150 adult, $5,250 child 12-16, $5,000 child under 12. Includes air from New York and land arrangements. Write to 2825 Wilcrest Drive, Suite 600, Houston, TX 77042, or call 800-423-4236.

Thomson Safaris specializes in Tanzania. Scheduled and customized family safaris, 12 days: $4,690 adult, $4,190 child 11 and under. Includes air from East Coast and land arrangements. Write to 347 Broadway, Cambridge, MA 02138, or call 800-235-0289.

Wildlife Safari customized family safaris. Thirteen days, starting at $4,995 adult with a 25 percent discount for children 11 and younger. Includes air from East Coast and land arrangements. Write to 346 Rheem Blvd., Suite 107, Moraga, CA 94556, or call 800-221-8118.

Immunization, visa requirements, and other basics: Visas are required for American citizens. For up-to-date immunization information, call the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta at 800-237-3270. Camp food is prepared carefully with little risk of contamination.