Click image to view larger version

TANZANIA BY SAFARI
written by Rob Arnhem
“There’s no known cure for Africa – you can’t be inoculated”

Christmas was coming, and Africa was calling – East Africa and Tanzania most insistently. On the map, my eye was drawn to Katavi National Park, the third largest in the country and one of the least known. Old chums, the Gordons, run the Chada Safaris’ concession camp there, and a celebration in the bush far from shopping malls and plastic Santas and phoney carols sounded like the best Christmas gift to myself.

Katavi lies far to the southwest of this vast country, only 40km from Lake Tanganyika. It was an exhilarating four-hour flight from Arusha. Jambo, rafiki! Karibu! Hello, friend! Welcome to Tanzania! Beaming staff proffered a welcoming drink of fresh pineapple juice. Tryphone, the head waiter, was at hand to attend to guests. Vitus, his junior, won me over immediately, commenting on my home safari outfit, slung together after my luggage and I had temporarily parted ways, with a wide-eyed “Father! You are looking gorgeous!” The omens for a good holiday were auspicious.

Getting there
Flying over the wilderness
Although at first sight a tad expensive at just over US$900 for a round trip, getting to Katavi is something of a prolonged flight of angels. Taking off from Arusha or Kilimanjaro airports, just across the border from Kenya, the route takes you low right over Mount Meru’s 4,565m-high volcanic peak, the Serengeti Plains and the eye of the Ngorongoro Crater, dipping in to drop off or pick up or refuel at Ndutu and Tabora en route. Below stretches a vast expanse of wilderness with only a few spots of civilisation – the grand constructions of nature overwhelm man’s puny efforts here. A chain of crater lakes and holy mountains beckons you on towards

Lake Rukwa, and the woodlands and seasonally inundated grasslands of the Central Rift Valley. This will be your base: one of three tented camps. Proclaimed a reserve in 1904 by the German colonial rulers, Katavi became a big game hunter’s paradise. Edenic now, it was also the scene of bitter fighting between the German colonial forces led by the legendary and wily General von Lettow-Vorbeck. The largely unknown but critical East African Campaign during the First World War played out here.

In 1927, however, the British authorities moved the local Mpimbwe and Senga people out and declared it a game reserve. In a way, its remoteness and the presence of the tsetse fly protected its wildlife. The region is still very poor and largely undeveloped and the Mimampi Community Conservation Project focuses on seeing that local communities benefit from the tourist dollars, too.

Big game
A feast for the eye
Gazing out over the lush plain from a luxury tent, a mug of Tanzanian coffee at hand in the early morning, the mist lifts as the sun appears and you can see why Katavi supports the densities of big game that make it so special. Katavi’s meandering rivers, the Katuma and Kavuu, are heaving with some of the highest hippo populations in Africa, giant lawnmowers emitting equally large amounts of methane in the process.

It doesn’t take too much imagination to see why the local tribal god was Katabi, who patrolled his realm mounted on a giant hippo. Black blobs of buffalo resolved into curious muzzles being raised to test the wind before turning tail to barrel off thundering into the bush. Prides of lions lounged or lolled in the grass, ignoring us and having eyes only for the tonnes of meat on the hoof; zebra, majestic eland and the McDonald’s hamburger of the bush, the most eaten item on the wild menu, the impala. It carries the Big Mac logo M on its bottom, too.

While skirting the plain after hearing unseen elephants in obvious numbers present in the forest, nothing prepared us for meeting them on open ground on their own terms. While stopping to watch one herd, more and more just kept gliding out of the sheltering trees to graze contentedly around us until there were over 400 greeting, feeding and courting.

Big bulls carrying impressive ivory, vigilant matriarchs, bumbling teenagers and minute totos jostled gently as they rushed to enjoy the new grass that had sprung up after the first December rains. Nursing mothers, their breasts swollen with milk, guided their calves between the forest of legs. They’re oddly human in their tender behaviour and their breasts, swollen with milk, between their front legs, unlike almost all other mammals except the primates, underline this affinity. Like us, the guide explained, elephants reach puberty at about 12 and die at seventy, when their last set of teeth wears out, but a cow’s pregnancy is a drawn-out 22 months.

We sat without moving, so close to these great beasts only metres away, moved by this once-in-a-lifetime privilege. It is this rare opportunity to see wildlife at such close quarters and in such impressive numbers that makes Tanzania so unique.

And when a young bull keen on playing chicken with you gives a mock charge and turns at the last minute to vent his energies on a more yielding tree, your adrenalin high keeps you going all day.

Sleeping under canvas
Noises in the dark
As the country’s main resource is its spectacular wildlife and tourism, Tanzanian safari companies are professional and well organised. They can be pricey, too, but bear in mind that all supplies have to be flown in and the cost of fuel in a poor country is high. But service is first class. Our expert guide and driver, Simon, for example, took no chances with animals or vehicles, knowing the limits of both intimately. Provided the visitor behaves appropriately, the animals are largely harmless. An armed ranger accompanies the more daring or energetic on a foot safari. From the comfort of the camp, I was surprised to see lions suddenly scampering across the plain and wondered what was up: the Lion King was scarpering with his royal clan at the sight of mere people picking their way across the plain.


At night, however, the predators’ rule is undisputed. And you don’t venture back to your tent without a guard to see that you’re safely zipped up. But once behind stout canvas and a mosquito net, you’re safer than you would be in a big city at night. Alerted by the galloping hooves of stampeding zebras and the strangled death cry of an impala, I thrilled to the first whoop of a hyena. It was soon joined by a cackling chorus and furious roars from two lionesses driven off their snack by a gang of 40 of these ravening thieves.

It was a giggling, shrieking mayhem until suddenly everything fell silent at the approach of the territorial lion announcing his rights in a shattering roar. At close quarters, this is spine-chillingly thrilling. The guide explained the long call followed by the short rasping grunts as “Whoooooo’s the boss in this place? I am, I am, I am…!”

Birds and bush babies
Smaller attractions
But there’s a lot more than big game here. Rhinos have sadly probably been poached out except in the Ngorongoro, so you won’t see the Big Five here, but the sheer mass of the others will more than compensate. Rare species like wild dog, cheetah and roan antelope feature too. Birdlife is spectacular – within minutes of arrival, one of Africa’s specials, a technicolor pitta, obligingly made a guest appearance to rapturous applause.

Some 226 tree species such as the stately African star chestnut and borassus palms give the area their own stamp. At night, lit by the camp fire and a sky spattered with stars, the tiny fleeting forms of steel-sprung bush babies launched from tree to tree while yellow-winged bats dodged the lightning attacks of cruising bat hawks.

The haunting dawn calls of crested cranes and the booming of the ground hornbills ease you into another African day. All you have to do is decide whether to lounge in camp in a leather armchair in the unexpected library, do one or two game drives or a walk, or just switch off completely, gaze at the bush and empty the sump of an overcrowded mind. Wherever you go, the scenery is magnificent, and the weather generally good. The rainy season is generally November to April, so the best time to plan a visit is between May and October. Even a bit into the rains, say into December, is not a bad idea, as the new grass sprouts and the bush is transformed into a lush garden. There will be the odd thunderstorm but not much more.

You can repeat this relaxed scenario all over Tanzania, of course. Zanzibar and the coast are well known, climbers of course scale Kili, and most visitors head for the Serengeti. But in this large
country, there are many other lesser-known attractions. The coast is hot and humid, but the higher altitudes of the interior make the place cooler than expected. Arusha, the attractive safari capital, dubbed the Geneva of Africa because of all the peace settlements negotiated there, is itself an attractive town laid out with Germanic precision amid its coffee plantations. Within easy reach are other places like Tarangire, a little-known jewel of a park, but plan one day to visit the enormous untouched wild expanse of the Selous Game Reserve. It’s much closer to Dar es Salaam, but probably ranks among the world’s Big Five game reserves. If you have the time and the dollars, your safari could embrace the Selous, then the Ruaha, then Katavi. From here, you can fly on to the famed Mahale and Gombe Stream Reserves on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, where close encounters with wild chimpanzees are international drawcards. You needn’t have to pay a fortune either – there are cheap alternatives such as travelling by matatu taxis and staying in small bandas, the local camps and hotels – but the country is huge and road travel takes time.

After the animals
Exploring Tanzania
There’s also much more than just animals. Travelling through this poor but peaceful country, almost crime-free away from the large centres, is itself an eye-opener. People are generally open
and friendly.

Thanks to the policies of Julius Nyerere, their first president, they’re proud to be Tanzanians and free of tribal politics, the curse of Kenya. Determined to enforce socialism, Nyerere impoverished the country with his disastrous policy of collective villages, but created national pride and unity. Swahili is the official language uniting the jigsaw of 180 ethnic groups but English is generally understood, often with humorous undertones. You could pop into local establishments like the Silent Morning Bar and Restaurant, get oiled at the House of Lubricants, have the vehicle cleaned up at Ring Go Car Wash or take a Best Wishes matatu for variety.

The short but apparently effective German occupation has left the word shule in Swahili for school. Bright African prints called kangas, worn by most women, carry a Swahili motto and make good wraps and tablecloths as cheap souvenirs. Top of the range as a gift is the unique sapphire-blue gemstone found only in Tanzania – tanzanite. Hunting is not allowed in Tanzania, another factor making the animals more approachable.

There’s no known cure for Africa. You can’t be inoculated. It gets into your blood stream and it’s there for life, and longer. It’s in our genes. And perhaps that’s not so strange – all our most ancient ancestral footprints point back to East Africa as our first home. Katavi is a place that will lure me back. Lazaro, my own personal guide for the day, parked in the shade of an elegantly crowned acacia and unpacked the picnic spread on Christmas Day. Out came the quiche, the mango and beetroot salad, and thirst-quenchers to wash it down. I saw no other vehicle all day. An endless sky arched over us. And then I noticed the churring above: swarms of bee-eaters were swooping and coming to perch above us to knock their prey senseless and then dine off bees, wasps and the odd dragonfly.

Lazaro pointed up and said “Look. This is your African Christmas tree.” The sight of these gorgeous birds, three species in liveries of carmine, turquoise, grass green and azure, like exotic living decorations, was a happy omen of yet more glories to come. Then a frieze of buffalo, zebra, topi, hartebeest and tawny eland escorted by flocks of drifting egrets galloped into view. They stopped, turning, to observe us, before ambling off to graze. It was hard to believe, lord of all I surveyed across the Chada floodplain, that neighbouring Kenya was burning.