The Serengeti Thief

Rachel, a Ph.D. student, with distinctions in Zoology, looks down at her plane ticket, squeals, then wave it in the air. Five years, flipping burgers at McDonald's, to pay for her internship, at Mara River Research Camp, studying the Great Migration of Wildebeest and Zebra.

Sydney – Hong Kong – Kuala Lumpur – Doha Hamad – Arusha, Tanzania. 40h 45m, well worth it, she thinks, as she waits by the curb. A cab pulls up, Rachel climbs in and leans toward the driver, “Sydney Airport please!”

“This is the final call for Cathay Pacific, Flight 138, to Hong Kong.” Rachel walks down the boarding bridge and along the narrow aisle, to seat 26A. She places her bags, in the over-heard compartment, sits down, and looks out the window.

As the Boeing 777 thunders down the runway and lifts into the air, Rachel pulls out a book on ‘How to speak Swahili,’ from her handbag. Over the next 40 hours, she swaps planes; country-hopping until she finally boards Qatar’s, overnight flight, to Arusha.

As the PA crackles, Rachel slowly opens her eyes, squinting from the sunlight, streaming through her window.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, zeis es Cebtain Faheem, welcome to Erusha Internationel Eirbort. Local time es 7:40am end ze temberature es 23oC, or 73.4oF!”

“On behelf of Qatar Eirlines end ze entire crew. I’d like too zeank yoouu for chooosing too fly wize us end we loook forward to your flying wize us, en ze near future. Hev wooonderful time en Tanzania!”

Rachel pulls her bags from the overhead compartment and walks down the aisle to the boarding stairs. She stops at the top and stares at the snow-capped peak, of Mount Kilimanjaro, towering behind the airport.

As she walks through automatic doors into the terminal, she sees a tall, slim man, with dark skin and a wide smile standing at the end of the guard rail, holding a sign with Rachel Clarke, scribbled on it.

She walks up to the man and holds out her hand.

“Jambo!” she says, shaking the man’s hand.

(Hello)

“Jambo!” he says, through his smile.

(Hello)

“Habari,” he continues.

(How are you?)

“Mzuri asante na habari za qwako!” Rachel replies.

(Good thank you and how are you?)

“Mzuri asante! Unasema Kiswahili?” he says, shaking her hand.

(Good thankyou) (Do you speak Swahili?)

“Kidogo tu,” Rachel replies.

(Just a little bit)

“Jina lako nani?”, the man asks.

(What is your name?)

“Jina langu ni, Rachel!”

(My name is)

“Karibu! Miss Rachel,” the man replies.

(Welcome)

“Jina langu ni, Jakari!”

(My name is)

“Unasema kiingereza?” Rachel asks, pursing her lips.

(Do you speak English?)

“Ndiyo Miss Rachel,” he says, puffing his chest.

(Yes)

“Phew!” she whispers to herself.

Jakari carries her luggage outside, to a dinted safari jeep, with faded, forest green duco. He opens the passenger door, Rachel climbs in and he drives her to Munga Executive Lodge.

“I’ll be back Saturday morning, Miss Rachel, to take you to the camp!”

“Assante sana,” Rachel replies.

(Thank you very much)

“Tutaonana”, says Jakari.

(See you later)

“Nafurahi kukuona,” Rachel replies. “Kawhari,” she calls, waving goodbye.

(Nice to meet you) (Goodbye)

Rachel checks in to the Lodge and heads to her room. The next three days are a blur of jetlag, as her body adjusts to the time zone and altitude of 4600ft.

Saturday morning arrives, Rachel packs her bags and walks into the foyer, to find Jakari and his wide smile, greeting her.

“Jambo Miss Rachel!”

(Hello)

“Jambo Jakari!”

(Hello)

“Ready for your trip, Miss Rachel?”

“More than you’ll ever know!” she says.

As they leave the outer limits of Arusha, the landscape quickly turns to postcard-perfect, savannah grassland, scattered with Acacia and Whistling Thorn trees. It isn’t long before Rachel spots Thompson Gazelle, Giraffe, Cheetah, and a small herd of elephants; she gasps then bites her lip.

They continued onto Lake Manyara National Park. Jakari stops under an Acacia tree, his eyes motion upward, Rachel looks up; perched on a branch, three feet above them, is a lioness.

“Lake Manyara is the only place where lions climb trees!” Jakari whispers.

Rachel pulls out her camera and takes a picture.

After a steep climb, they arrive at the top of Ngorongoro Crater. Rachel stares down at the crater floor, dotted with Zebra, Eland, Wildebeest, Gazelle, Rhinos, and Antilope. The lake’s shoreline is a vivid pink, from the massive flock of flamingos, congregating around it.

The next morning, they set off on the six and half hour drive to Gnu Mara Camp, where Rachel will spend the next six months.

As they arrive at the Camp, Rachel hears the distant roar of a pride of lions, coordinating a hunt. As she steps out of the jeep, she feels the earth-shaking, through her boots and looks down.

Hearing a deep laugh, she looks round to see a tall man, in his early 40’s, with wisps of blonde hair falling across his brow, walking towards her.

“Wildebeest and Zebra, millions of them!” he says.

The audible grunting and snorting, suddenly making sense to Rachel.

“Dr. Williams?” Rachel says, holding out her hand.

“Call me Greg!” he replies, shaking her hand.

He walks Rachel to bench seat under an Acacia tree, overlooking the waterhole, they sit and talk for several minutes till a tall Masi man, appears.

“Jambo Doctor Greg!”

(Hello)

“Jambo Abasi!”

(Hello)

“You’re needed in the Research Tent!”

“Asante Abasi!”

(Thank you)

“Would you do me the honour of having dinner with me, tonight?” Greg asks, turning back to Rachel.

“I’d love to, is this a date?”

“Yes Ma’am!” “Abasi, please show Miss Rachel to her tent, then show her around the camp!”

“Ndiyo bawana,” Abasi replies.

(Yes Sir)

Greg turns to walk away, then stops, looks at the ground, then back at Rachel for a moment, then walks off.

By the time Rachel arrives at the restaurant, Greg is already sitting at a table overlooking the waterhole, watching Buffalo, Zebra and Wildebeest, jostle for drinking space. A crocodile lurks in the shallows, its eyes, barely piercing the waterline. As Rachel approaches, Greg stands and pulls her chair out.

“Thank you!” she says, sitting down. “It’s so magical here!” Greg smiles and nods. As he sits down, their waiter appears.

“Kahmisi, would you bring us the bottle of 2013 Le Macchiole ‘Messorio?” Greg asks politely.

“Ndiyo bawana.” Kahmisi replies, then scurries off.

(Yes Sir)

“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion!” Greg says.

Kahmisi returns, carrying a bottle and bottle opener, he places them on the table, then disappears.

Rachel rests her elbows on the table and watches Greg open the bottle. As the cork pops, a male Vervet Monkey (known for their colourful genitalia), swings from roof, grabs the bottle and gallops across the compound, to a nearby Acacia tree.

“Duma! Come back with that!” Greg screams, as Rachel looks backwards and forth between Greg and the tree.

“Duma!..... DUMA! Get back here!”

“Damn you Duma! That’s a $400 Merlot!” Greg shrieks, throwing his hands in the air, then looking back at Rachel, laughing hysterically.

“Seems like Duma’s in for a fun night!” Rachel teases, laughing so hard she falls off her chair. Greg gets up, holds out a hand and helps her up.

Over dinner they discuss work, life, goals and dreams; the more they talk, the more they find they have in common.

While waiting for dessert, Greg and Rachel hear a screechy chatter, punctuated by an odd burping sound, coming from the base of the Acacia tree.

“eeeee….. eeeee…... urrrp…… eeeee…… urrrp…… eeeee…… eeeee.”

Greg and Rachel run to the tree, to find Duma draped belly up, over a fallen branch; his sky-blue testicles jiggling, as swings the empty bottle in the air.

“eeeee….. eeeee….. eeeee!”

Rachel laughs so hard her legs give way and she falls to the ground. Greg collapses also, withering on the ground laughing.

Eventually, they gather their composure, pull themselves up and place Duma, now unconscious, in the fork of the tree, to keep him safe from predators. Then they walk back to the restaurant, clutching their stomachs, from so much laughing.

“Sorry about tonight,” says Greg, as they sit down. “I guess our date, didn’t quite go as I’d planned!” Rachel takes Greg’s hand.

“It been the best date ever. I wonder how Duma will feel tomorrow?” she says, erupting in laughter.

The next morning as Greg and Rachel are walking to the Research Tent, they look over at the Acacia tree to see Duma, still straddling the fork, holding his head, whimpering.

“Poor little bugger!” Rachel laughs.

“Serves him right!” Greg snorts.

As the months pass Greg and Rachel’s relationship grows and before long, the migration is over and it’s time for Rachel to return to Australia. She takes one last look around the camp, then climbs into Greg’s jeep.

They arrive at Ngorongoro Crater, at dusk and walk to the edge to watch the sun set; Rachel’s heart sinks with it.

“It’s going to be ok!” Greg whispers. “Promise!”

The next morning, they set off early, to beat the heat. As Arusha appeared on the horizon, Greg suddenly takes the turn off, to Mount Kilimanjaro.

“What are you doing?” Rachel asks.

“It’s a surprise!” he says,

Greg and Rachel bounce up and down in their seats, caused by the jeep hitting basalt rocks, that litter the road, a reminder of Kilimanjaro’s last eruption. By the time they reach 12,000ft, the air is so thin, Rachel struggles to breath.

“Shira Plateau!” Rachel squeals, looking at Greg, he nods.

“They look west across to Arusha and Lake Manyara, then north west to Ngorongoro Carter and finally, north across the Serengeti, to the Mara River.

“This place feels like home!” she says, wiping tears from her eyes.

Greg hands her an envelope.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“The Foundation is offering you a full-time position, at Mara River, when you graduate!”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhh,” screams Rachel, jumping up and down, then running in circles, before throwing her arms around Greg’s neck.

As Rachel begins walking towards the automatic doors, to the tarmac, Greg grabs her sweater and hands her a card, then hugs her.

“See you in six months!” he says, tears roll down his cheeks.

As the plane lifts into the air, Rachel opens the card and reads.

‘We have climbed the heights of Kilimanjaro, seen the sights of the Serengeti,

but marvels of Africa are nothing to the miracle of your smile!’

My Love Always, Greg.

Tears flood her face.

As Rachel’s walks down the College steps, Ph.D. certificate in her hand, her best friend Rebecca, pulls up in her car.

“Hurry up girlfriend, you’ve got a plane to catch!” Rachel runs to the car and jumps in, they weave their way through thick traffic, to Sydney airport.

“Good morning ledies and gentlemen, zeis es Cebtain Hashim, welcome too Erusha Internationel Eirbort, local time es 7:30am end ze temberature es 25oC, or 77oF”

”On behelf of Qatar Eirlines end ze entire crew. I’d like too zeank yoouu for chooosing too fly wize us end we loook forward too yoouu flying wize us, en ze near future. Hev wooonderful time en Tanzania!”

Rachel runs down the boarding steps, across the tarmac and into the terminal, to find Greg waiting at the end of the guard rail.

She races up to him and throws her arms around his neck. As passengers file past, Rachel reaches into her handbag and pulls out a bottle of 2013 ‘Le Macchiole ‘Messorio’ Merlot.

Greg laughs and runs his finger across her lips, then kisses them.

“Forty hours!” Rachel sighs, as she settles into seat 10A.

“Good morning ledies and gentlemen, zeis es Cebtain Hashim, welcome too Erusha Internationel Eirbort, local time es 7:30am end ze temberature es 25oC, or 77oF”

”On behelf of Qatar Eirlines end ze entire crew. I’d like too zeank yoouu for chooosing too fly wize us end we loook forward too yoouu flying wize us, en ze near future. Hev wooonderful time en Tanzania!”

Rachel runs down the boarding steps, across the tarmac and into the terminal, to find Greg waiting at the end of the guard rail.

She races up to him and throws her arms around his neck. As passengers file past, Rachel reaches into her handbag and pulls out a bottle of 2013 ‘Le Macchiole ‘Messorio’ Merlot.

Greg laughs and runs his finger across her lips, then kisses them.

Back at Gnu Mara Camp, Greg and Rachel sit under the Acacia tree Greg pours two glasses of ‘Le Macchiole ‘Messorio.’

“eeeee….. eeeee…... eeeee!” screeches Duma, Greg shakes a finger.

“Not this time Duma!” he says, tapping his glass against Rachel’s. “Welcome home Dr Clarke!”

“Thank you Dr Williams!” she says, leaning into his shoulder.