Hunting for Hippos

Transport to Adventure

Reports of a pod of hippos sighted in the Shabelle River a few kilometers from Mogidishu inspired a group of expats to organize a day trip to see for ourselves. From Part Five: Somalia Safaris, Chapter 17 of Voluntary Nomads here we go ---

Hunting for Hippos

The Kilometer 25 sign was missing, but Dakota's sharp eyes spotted the jeep track. Past the turn, the primitive road wound among trees about two miles to the place Fred's colleague had mapped to show us where to look for hippos. As our trucks slithered along in the deep sand I remarked on the lush growth of vegetation. Trees and bushes crowded the track and branches scraped a shrill screech along the sides of our vehicles. Rounding a long curve we saw our destination – a clearing among the trees, the perfect place to park and picnic.

While Jo Ellen, Flynn and I brought out the coolers and unfurled our picnic blankets, the rest of the group went off on various missions. Fred and Margie bushwhacked toward the river, hoping to locate the hippos and find a satisfactory observation post. Hippos are dangerous, unpredictable animals. So are their neighbors, the crocodiles. Because our group of children ranged in age from five to eleven years, we needed to take extra safety precautions. Like the animals, kids can be unpredictable at times.

Before joining the other kids on a sweep of the picnic area to gather kindling, Tina had an urgent request. She stood on tiptoe to whisper in my ear, "Mom, I have to pee."

"Me too. Let's head for the bushes."

We had learned about the benefits of wearing a skirt as the Muslim women did for modesty. A skirt also provided more privacy for impromptu pit stops. We found a clear spot in the thicket. Together we lifted skirts, lowered panties, squatted, pulled panties out of the line of fire, and tinkled. As we finished and began readjusting our clothes, I heard Fred calling our names. A sudden eruption of wild cacophony answered his shouts.

Crashing and thrashing and hooting and barking drowned out Fred's voice. I looked at Tina. Tina looked at me. We both looked for Fred.

Fred stood still as a statue. An agitated baboon faced him, pounding his chest, barking and yakking. Long sharp fangs glistened in his wide red mouth. He lunged at Fred in short bursts, threatening again and again. Louder and louder he shrieked and hooted. Tina closed her eyes and covered her ears. I wrapped my arms around her. Fred stood his ground.

The baboon flashed his eyelids at machinegun speed and yawned wide to show his teeth. Fred squared his shoulders and straightened up as tall as a superhero. Baboon and Man locked eyes in a stare down.

I held my breath. The long minute stretched taut until the baboon broke his gaze and pierced the silence with one last loud yak. He leaped sideways and crashed away through the bushes.

Fred ran to us and we dragged each other, trip-stumble-run, to the picnic site, looking behind, feeling baboon eyes on our backs. When we felt safe again among our friends at the picnic area, we tried to figure out what had happened. I thought the baboon objected to us outsiders making "marks" on his territory. Tina believed the baboon saw us as predators and was trying to scare us off. Fred decided the baboon had fallen in love and wanted Tina and me for his harem.

After lunch the group sat around the fire, roasted marshmallows, and reflected on the day. Each one in turn described a favorite experience. Tina was the last to speak. With the wisdom of an eight-year-old she said, "Well, I guess you never know what might happen when you go hunting for hippos." ###

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Glow, Little Glowworms

During our three-year stay in New Zealand, we traveled as much as work and school schedules allowed. One trip took us to the famed Waitomo Caves to see the resident glowworms.

The action of water on limestone formed the Waitomo Caves and, just like our own Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, they have stalactites and stalagmites hanging from the ceiling and growing from the floor. The glowworms are the larval stage of a species of gnat. The gnats lay their eggs on the cave ceiling and the eggs hatch into larvae that grow to about two inches in length. The larvae develop long, sticky threads that drape down to catch insects to feed their hearty appetites. The glow of the glowworm attracts prey to its sticky lure. Scientists suggest that the glowworm can turn its light on and off at will.

Glow, Little Glowworms

We purchased our tickets at the kiosk and joined the queue at the entrance to the grotto. We stepped into one of a single-file row of flat-bottomed wooden boats, old and worn, bearing flakes of blue paint from long ago. As soon as all the passengers had taken their seats, the boats moved forward, the drifting pace determined by the river's current. Fred whispered that the Beatles visited here and sang one of their songs in the cave to enjoy the unique acoustics.

In silence, we floated into the dark mouth of the cave. The total darkness felt heavy and thick as if it had substance. As long as no one spoke, we could hear small watery sounds, the occasional dull thud as the boats bumped gently, and a suppressed nervous giggle from time to time. The air had a clean mineral smell, with a faint undertone of sulfur. Floating in black, who knew how much time passed? Too much, I thought. Have we hit the glowworms on a bad day? Are they on a hunger strike?

When our boats entered the grotto, my silly thoughts evaporated. Our heads tipped back, our mouths flew open in a unanimous, "Oooooo." The cave ceiling luminesced with a golden, pulsating radiance. A lacy drapery of light festooned in luxurious swags, forming a canopy that fluttered like feather boas in the breeze – Nature's astounding magic. ###

Voluntary Nomads is available in paperback at Amazon and Barnes and Noble and in all Ebook formats at Smashwords as well as in PDF at Outskirts Press