Chapter 22
The Light after the Storm
NOTE:
The photos will look best if you open them by clicking on one. A film
strip will appear at the bottom and you can scroll through them by
opening each one. I
suggest you read the story then go back and click on the first photo.
Raindrops are plonk, plonk, plonking on the tarpaulin
that covers my tent at Entim Private Camp in the Maasai Mara. That I can hear them individually is a good
sign in that it isn’t a downpour.
Yet. There’s a threatening sky out
there and the threat seems to be moving this way.
I have already downloaded the photos from this morning’s
safari and am happily browsing through them on my little travel computer. A stiff breeze ruffles the front flaps of
the tent and the raindrops are no longer individual but part of a common sound.
My camera batteries are changing in anticipation of
the late afternoon safari. Here, we don’t
leave camp until 4 o’clock, which is probably the latest departure of any of
the African camps I’ve been in. We
return from the morning safari between ten and 11.
The amazing Secretary bird, so named because of the white cloak and pencils in her hair.
Lunch is at one. That gives us five hours or so of downtime, a period when the
light will be too harsh for good photos and the animals most likely will be
sleeping in what shade they can find.
Red-billed oxpeckers on a Cape Buffalo's back.
Today, we will meet at 3 o’clock for a photo lab. I call it “Show and Tell” because each of us
will present a photo to the group for commentary.
The wind picks up and so does the rain. Suddenly one of the staff rushes up to my
tent and says, loudly, “Close up your tent!”
He does the outside zippers while I make sure the inside zippers are
fastened. Then he rushes off to the
next tent.
None too soon, either, because with crashes of thunder
and sheets of rain, a squall hits us face on.
I stand in awe, looking out the side window screen of the tent, as wind
and rain batter the tent.
Turn up the sound!
It occurs to me that turning off the computer and
unplugging the power supply would be a good idea. As I approach the desk, I see water on the
canvas floor and consider my options.
That puddle has formed around the electrical outlet set into the floor.
My laptop and chargers are plugged into a strip, so I
undo those first. Then, I reach for the
strip cord and yank it out of the floor socket. Now all the electronics are safe and I can
relax and enjoy the squall.
It’s all over fairly quickly. While I’m thinking about the power of wind and
water, I unzip the tent flaps and see debris all over the canvas floor of the
deck.
A visitor after the storm.
At 3 o’clock, I’m comparing inside-the-tent puddle
stories with my pals and every one of them outdoes my little puddle. Laura had two inches of water in her
tent. Others had an inch or so, or BIG
puddles. Then, Show and Tell begins.
There are a lot of good photographers in this
group! My photo of the lilac-breasted
roller swallowing an insect while perched on a zebra’s back is well-received,
and I’m tickled.
Lilac-breasted roller with lunch.
Then, after everyone’s photos are shown and comments
concluded, we are off into the mud of the Mara.
We find lions in a small copse of trees near the airstrip
and wait for them to wake up.
By the time they move out into the open where we can
see them better, the sun is setting and the light turns golden. Our driver moves down-sun so we can shoot
into the sun.
And magic
happens:
And the one I will use for the next Show and Tell:
When we return to camp, all the water has been removed from the tents and the front decks are spotless.
