Where in Africa are you most likely to fall victim to a wildlife predatory attack, that is, an attack by a carnivore looking for a meal? Tanzania, Kenya, Botswana and Zimbabwe.
Of all global wildlife predatory attacks against humans, what percentage of them are in Africa? Not that many.
Of 1,696 reported predatory attacks on humans between 1950-2019, only 14 percent of them happened in Africa. That's somewhere around 237 in nearly 70 years, or roughly 12 per annum. Split four ways, that's 4 per year in Kenya. That's not many, but again, these numbers are limited to what's been reported. Of those attacks, most are big-cat attacks (and a few hyenas, but not many). In Africa, the lions' share of these attacks are perpetrated by, well, lions, with leopards a close second, and jaguars a distant third.
To burst any bubbling anticipation, I didn't get attacked in the Westgate Community Conservancy, but I did spend a night camping with one of the conservancy's rangers, a post-youth, former Samburu moran, asking a few questions about general wilderness survival and watching how he managed himself. Granted, he had a gun, presumably loaded, so my observational findings were biased in that direction, but still, I recommend for anybody sleeping in Kenya's open wild to camp with a pastoralist ranger, especially, of course, where big cats roam, which is - some exceptions aside - pretty much anywhere you want to go camping.
I won't part with all I learned from Peter, the ranger, but I'll mention some of it. Having been a moran, Peter's experience from youth to manhood meant many years living in manyattas without the protection of perimeter 'fencing', typically consisting of thickets thorn brush commonly used to protect enkangs from wild animals (as well as thieving adversaries). These young men are convinced of their bravery and fencing doesn't promote youthful valor.
Westgate requires camping with an armed ranger, arranged at the conservancy’s HQ (contact given below). I traveled there from Samburu NR, and the route is straightforward enough: follow the river and stick to the road. You’ll pass through a couple manyattas beyond the Samburu boundary and there will be someone around to point you in the right direction.
There are a few campsites in Westgate and Belindas is one of them, on the banks of the Ewaso Nyiro river. It’s basic as basic gets, with a lush meadowy space nearby and a clearing on the river bank for a few tents. There's another site, Lorian campsite, on the sandy flat of the river not far off. Lots of trees and rocks around.
The conservancy was established in 2004 and is home to Grevy’s zebra, elephants, lesser and greater kudus, Grant’s gazelles and water bucks, among others. Its landscape is largely acacia with rocky outcrops and, naturally, a riparian zone along the water's edge. It’s part of the vast network of conservancies established by the Northern Rangelands Trust (NRT), which may have you feeling one way or another.
I camped with Peter, a Samburu ranger, and his G3 rifle.
Unless you arrived to Africa yesterday or have been here forever but in cave, you’ve seen a G3. They’re ubiquitous. Hardly a favourite due to their cumbersome weight, they’re common among pastoralists, police, rangers, and in several places like this one where I'm camping, poachers. Originally German-made for front-line infantry units, they started showing up in large numbers in East Africa in the 1970s, after making the rounds in southern African and Central and South American wars in the 1950s-60s. Sudan, in particular, became a dumping ground for G3s in the 80s during its civil war, with some of those making their way, via the Sudanese government, to LRA fighters in northern Uganda.
Today, they’re everywhere: Somalia, Kenya, Ethiopia, South Sudan, you name it. Most are ‘legacy’ firearms, guns that have been circulating from one conflict to the next for decades. More recently, a few modern variants have appeared, such as the Saudi-made G3A4s. In Sudan some of them were likely brought home by Darfuri fighters sent to Yemen to fight Houthi forces. Like AKs, they’re durable and shoot straight enough, but chambered with a slightly larger bullet than AKs, providing a longer reach. So, while they’re not an ideal hunting rifle by any measure, they are commonly used to poach, particularly in the Rift Valley.
In some countries, including South Africa and its Kruger National Park, poaching parties will use G3s or AKs to provide a defensive perimeter around a primary shooter equipped with a hunting rifle, maybe a .375 or .458, if they're being bankrolled by someone. In Kenya, the ordnance facility in Eldoret manufactures ammunition for G3s (and AKs), so ammo for these types is widely available and can be found in nearly every police post throughout the North Rift. If you find a bullet casing in the bush, it’s likely to have a head stamp etched with ‘KOFC.'
With business sorted at the conservancy HQ, Peter and I drove 30 minutes to the campsite. The conservancy doesn’t provide provisions for its rangers, so I gave Peter an extra tent and he seemed content with beans and fried eggs. The HQ charged 1000 KES for Peter’s time, and 2000 KES for the camp spot. That seemed steep, but the conservancy didn’t appear to be booming with visitors, at least not low-budget self-sufficient ones.
This conservancy, like others, requires that campers are accompanied by an armed ranger. They aren't around to shoot anything, of course, just fire off a round or two if necessary to get everybody scrambling in opposite directions. People do stupid things, and if an animal attacks, bad fortune may dictate that it has to die. It's just bad business when tourists lose limbs, and that's why you never hear much about it when it happens (and why the reported numbers of predatory attacks in Africa might be on the lower end.)
Rangers are also helpful, of course, in guiding you to your campsite, and, once set up, guiding you out by foot for a frolic in the bush. We spotted a large bull elephant at a 20-yard distance, a greater Kudu, and some other four-leggers. There were a lot of large cat prints, too.
It was an enlightening experience with Peter, and our conversations gave me plenty to think on. I’ve spent a lot of time with pastoralist, mostly with groups in Uganda’s Karamoja region – the Jie, Dodoth, and Matheniko – the Turkana in Kenya, and Toposa in Eastern Equatoria. But seldom are those groups making a livelihood out of ranger-ing in conservancies or reserves.
In Peter’s case, he has his hands full, keeping the peace between herders looking for green grass – which the conservancy has plenty of – and helping to maintain a fragile ecosystem on which a range of wildlife (and people) are dependent. He told me stories of hot times and tension between youth herders, community elders, and
conservancy rangers, some of it - so it seemed to me - layered under the outsized influence of the local resort, the Sasaab Samburu, which sponsors the conservancy.
The Sasaab is one of several resorts managed by The Safari Collection, a pretentiously named company that sells hyper luxury. Its rates for the family suite (for 4) starts at over 700,000 KES a night. I don't think I need to tell you that's more than what most Kenyan's make in a year, but that's not the Sasaab's problem. It will also sell you a coloured recycled bottle with an engraved elephant on it for $100, and if you buy one, getting it home isn't the Sasaab's problem, either. Though I'm sure it can find some tinsel and packaging tape and mail it for you.
Needless to say, the resort doesn’t want wandering cows or goats shitting next to the pool. So it’s the job of rangers like Peter to try to keep the cows where the cows are supposed to be, in accordance to the by-laws that govern grazing and the conservancy at large, for which, remember, The Safari Collection maintains an influential power from above through its financial contributions, reinforced by its partnership with the NRT. You can see where problems start happening.
That place where the cows belong is on the other side of the river, and, preferably, hidden from view so guests aren't distracted while yoga-ing on the zen perch atop the slope above the river. While camping, the resort's helicopter menacingly hovered over our campsite as though we were trespassers, or strays from an uncontacted tribe in the Amazon.
What I was most interested to talk to Peter about was the centuries-old ritual of living amongst wild animals, and more directly, to learn something to help avoid solo-camping misfortune.
Of course there are unavoidable problems, but I'll take calculated risks. Here, throughout Kenya and beyond, over millennia, something has settled into the social DNA of both the animals and the people who live with them. I wouldn’t call it clichéd harmony, but there’s some learned awareness.
The most biodiverse areas of the continent have always had people and animals living in the same place, so what’s Peter’s method to keep himself well and the wildlife from taking a bite of him? Simple enough, it’s knowing some of the basics. Lions- maintain eye contact, stand tall, and slowly back away when it seems the lion's interest may be waning. Elephants- stand your ground and grab a handful of sand/dirt if its eyes come within throwing distance. Rhinos- they can’t jump, so climb a tree or hide behind one. Leopards- do the opposite you would do with a lion – no eye contact, nothing threatening. Hyenas- do the threatening thing here, and make noise. Got it! A standard rule applies to all, and that goes for anywhere – if there are cubs, calves, or whatever the offspring in question are called, take a moment to consider why you got out of your car in the first place.
It also comes down to something simple. When you’ve lived somewhere since childhood, you develop a unique and comprehensive knowledge of landscapes and the animals that occupy them, all bookmarked with the ebb and flow of seasonal changes. It’s not that complicated if you've been paying attention, but unless you’re from that place, or this place in this case, you don't know these rhythms. That's why you ask a local questions and follow their lead. But some things – instincts, rules, or whatever – are universal: common sense, awareness, make some noise when you need to, and don’t roast meat on an open grill near the water line when crocs are around. Follow these (and other smart things to do) and 99.9 percent of the time you’ll be fine... A New Yorker friend once told a story of snorkelling off the coast of West Africa. When a barracuda appeared, his New York city instincts kicked in, “avoid all eye contact.” So, try to remember, works on barracudas and leopards doesn't with lions.
Before I came to Africa some 20 years ago, I used to think that camping in the open here was simply nuts. I’d camped with coyotes and bears plenty of times, but that’s a different deal. But here? Forget it. Lions attacking everybody, hyenas carrying away small children, scavengers coming in for left-overs and gouging out glazed-over eye-balls.
Certainly, things can get out of hand here and there, but I believe it's all manageable, to a degree, of course. That might be just naivety talking, but it’s a lot less likely to happen if you have your wits intact. For many, those wits tell you to go the Sasaab and drink mimosas in a terrycloth bath robe. For others, when the sun goes down, make a crackling fire, flash a light around whenever you think of it, and don’t’ stray too far off to pee. Simple enough. You don’t need a G3 to survive, but it will help if its still operational.
So that’s what I did with Peter, a big fire for hours, and it afforded us the opportunity to relax under the starry sky and talk about more important things, like why Kukuyu women are bad news, how education impacts pastoralism and why it won’t kill off customary ways, and why Nairobi's political elites seldom show any real appreciation for the pastoralists they readily use as poster-tribes to sell an image abroad.
Still, regardless of how I feel about camping in Kenya now, I’ll never get my Luhya wife to join me, who’s idea of wildlife is a kuku road-runner and who’s convinced the only way to survive ‘out there’ is to be clad in chainmail. As Peter said, “the lions won’t eat you when they come around… but if it’s a crazy lion, it might.” So, there you go, there might be only one way to find out if a lion’s crazy or not.
Back at the campsite, from Belindas I drove Peter back to the HQ, greeted some conservancy fellows I met on the road the day before with a stalled land cruiser, and then pressed on northward, into the heart of the conservancy in the direction of Wamba and the Namunyak conservancy.
But within 45 minutes it was now my engine
that started making problems, so I parked under an acacia, got out, popped the hood, sorted the issue, and turned to look around. It was a glorious spot surrounded by the Lenkiyio and Karisia mountains, and Mt. Kenya to the south. in another, and the dry North Rift savannah rolling all over the place. I pulled out my chair, set up a table, and had a coffee. An hour later the hammock was up, and hour after that I was asleep in the shade of the acacia. By nightfall the tent was up and I rummaged around my Peter-enhanced survival box of ideas, stoked a fire and queued up a ‘77 Grateful Dead show, popped open a my first Tusker, and found an evening of bliss. When I left the next morning I Mpesa’d another 2000 KES to the Westgate Conservancy for good measure and drove off again.
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The contact to help arrange camping in the WCC this is Chris @ 0726 549 109.
Keith Somerville’s written a great book about hyenas and it will change the way you think about these fascinating creatures.
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