We landed in Nairobi after a long flight, grabbed our bags and piled into a bus heading down the highway toward Acacia Tree Lodge, where we’d spend our first night. I took a deep breath as we stepped outside, knowing the rich, earthy smell unique to Africa would be waiting for me. My classmate Matt Jacobs and I scrolled through Kenya’s Uber Eats, and debated ordering food to the lodge. I’d been to Africa before, but never to Kenya, and never with a group of classmates already delirious from travel, unsure what to expect despite our schedule. At that moment, it hit me that this trip was going to be its own kind of adventure.
Africa has a special place in my heart: I grew up traveling through Africa with my family. The environmental studies majors were ecstatic to hear that the Kenya trip had been approved for the Environment and Conservation in Africa course, taught by Ivan Sanchez, as this was a once-in-a-lifetime field experience.
We spotted a few lions far in the distance, just a blur of green and piercing eyes in our night vision goggles. As I rested my head against the window while we waited, I closed my eyes and let myself mentally idle in the hum of the savannah at night. Trumpets rang in the dark as the elephants welcomed us back to camp that night.
Our first night was spent in Nairobi before we departed for Mpala Research Center in Nanyuki. The humid air made our skin sticky as we piled into our two safari vehicles. At Mpala, we set up our first camera traps, started on our field notebooks, and worked on memorizing our in-field presentations in case our subject came up. Prof. Sanchez encouraged us to present without any notes or assistance, to have a real in-field experience.
That night, we went into the field to conduct an experiment where we played wounded wildebeest calls to see which predators responded. We waited in total silence for twenty minutes, stifling laughter, coughs and the crinkling of granola bar wrappers from our endless stash. A pack of hyenas was visible far off in the distance. We spotted a few lions far in the distance, just a blur of green and piercing eyes in our night vision goggles. As I rested my head against the window while we waited, I closed my eyes and let myself mentally idle in the hum of the savannah at night. Trumpets rang in the dark as the elephants welcomed us back to camp that night.
Continuing our trip, we moved on to Tassia Lodge, an open-air lodge in Laikipia. On the way, our fearless-yet-stubborn leader, Prof. Sanchez, made sure to hop out and snap photographs of a few bird species, much to the dismay of our driver. Once at Tassia, we visited the Yaaku people. They showed us their ritual of piercing a goat’s neck with an arrow, collecting the blood in a bowl, and closing the wound with dirt. Some of us, queasy at the sight, turned away and distracted ourselves with the stray puppies circling our feet. Classmates Rose Johnson, Clara Martinez and I spent a very sleepless night in our open-air room, the three of us huddled under one mosquito net, coming up with a game plan should a leopard sneak into our room and shedding tears from both fear and laughter at our crazed state. We woke refreshed to a delicious breakfast buffet, our fear having gone down with the moon.
We moved on to climb Mount Kenya, perhaps the most challenging but rewarding aspect of our trip, in which only a third of the group made it up, in no part due to lack of skill, but because our bodies were already exhausted and refusing to go further. Those of us who reached the top slugged through foot-deep mud that sucked our boots right off our feet.
We moved through Mt. Kenya’s six altitudinal vegetation zones, joined by a native guide. I exchanged stories with him as we climbed, finding similarities with this 6-and-a-half foot tall man wearing a bright green Yoda shirt. He told me about his travels each year to the states, where he visits his family in Washington for a month. I thought to myself how fitting his choice of apparel was as he expertly lectured about each plant and animal, and their life’s purpose.
We caught our breath and headed back down. The mountain had turned into a giant slip and slide due to rain, and laughter rang through the slope as we toppled down the slope. Huddled in line for the outhouse, all too aware of the creepy crawlies by our feet, we whispered about the day’s adventures, looking up at the night sky with a clarity I had only seen a handful of times in my life.
Morning came, we warmed our hands and bellies with cups of coffee and fried eggs and toast for breakfast, stretching our legs and toes in the morning sunlight. I remember that same raw feeling returning, sun on my legs, dirt under my bare feet, little sensations that usually get buried under stress.
We then visited the Maasai people and spoke with their chief. They greeted us with a traditional dance, grabbing our arms and spinning us around. The men performed the traditional jumping, and I got told off when I jumped too. The chief, eager to talk to us, told us about the traditional ways of the Maasai people. He explained the different roles women have in their culture. Maasai practice polygyny, where a man can have multiple wives, whose very first responsibility as a newlywed is to build a house for her husband. He spoke with pride, but us girls couldn’t help but exchange a few wide-eyed looks. That evening, at dusk, we sat perched on the roof of our four-wheeler, as a young female cheetah lazed in the grass, waiting to begin her hunt. We barely breathed; we had waited our entire trip to see her. Each place we stayed, each encounter we had, was as special as the last.
Our last afternoon was spent in Nairobi before we boarded our flight back to Spain. As we pulled into the lodge where we had started our trip, our driver, Charles, turned to us and looked each one of us in the eyes. “Remember when you walked into Mpala on your first day? Don’t get too familiar with people, family, friends, or places. Don’t let the excitement go away,” Charles said slowly. His words hung in the air long after he’d gone.
