Tracking Leopards. Panthera pardus.

We are in Kruger National Park. It is 40 degrees Fahrenheit--Hot. We are sweating. The sun is relentless, unforgiving. But the lure of spotting a leopard on foot makes me forget the heat. The organization I work for has a leopard researcher in the Park. He is monitoring their movement patterns and behaviours so that park we can design conservation programs strategically. He has put radio collars on four of them. This way, with telemetry equipment, he can follow them and know their movements and whereabouts. We meet at the gate a 6 am. He indicates that the leopard has been in one place for over 24 hours, he suspects the leopard has a kill. He asks if we are keen on checking? Absolutely we say. 

We pick up a guard from the protected areas staff quarters. He is an elderly gentleman, wearing a khaki uniform and hat. His socks are tucked into his pants to keep out the insects and protect his skin. He is wearing thick, heavy black boots. I break a sweat just looking at his feet. He speaks no English, just his native language, and carries a big rifle. He sits in the front of the truck with the researcher, and four of us cram into the back of the truck. Now, it’s hot just sitting, so imagine how hot it is crammed four in the back of a truck.

We turn onto a ‘do not enter’ sign road. As a researcher, he is allowed to go wherever he needs to complete his work. We drive through vast grasslands passing impala, elephant, wildebeest....the usual. We do not stop for this wildlife; we are focused on the big cat. We stop near a river bank, the researcher pulls out the telemetry gear, gets himself on the roof of the truck and listens for the beep. The beep indicates the leopard, the louder and faster the beep is, the closer you are. He listens. We listen and watch, while trying to fetch any shade. He decides we should drive a bit further, as the road will get us closer to where we need to go in on foot.

We park the vehicle. The researcher reminds us of the rules for walking in the bush ‘walk single file, do not talk, stay alert, and look for any instructions from the guard.’ ‘The worst thing you can do if something happens is run, so hold your ground.’ Wide-eyed we all listen, watch and agree. In single file we follow the researcher and the guard. The researcher holds the telemetry equipment forward, waving it in different directions and following the beep. The air is thick. I am in a full sweat.

We enter a sandy river bed. The sand is deep making walking even more slow. The bush along the edge is thick. Pointing to a very thick area of vegetation, the researcher says she might be in there. He reminds us that leopards are very dangerous. We are completely exposed; she could be anywhere, let alone the other wildlife that could take us down in a snap. I edge myself closer to the ranger with the gun. Standing in the riverbank, the beep moves, she moves, we follow, quietly, following the elusive beeps. The researcher moves up the left river bank and I can hear the beeping get louder, faster. The researcher turns and says ‘stay with the gun.’ OK, I think, that is an instruction I will follow, scooting right up to the ranger again.

We break through the bush to a more open area, grasslands with shrubs and trees, and all of a sudden the corner of my eye catches movement ‘there she is’ I yell. Indeed, the leopard. Running, a comfortable distance away from us, we get one more look, and then she is gone. Fast. Eyes wide open with massive grins we all breath a sigh of delight, ‘wow, we saw her.’

The researcher says ‘let’s find out where she has been hanging out.’ We follow him and look around. We get a little spread out and again, he reminds us that leopards are dangerous and we need to stick together, like ducks in a row, we obey. Soon enough we are standing below a large tree, look up, and there in the fork of the tree is a bloody, adult impala draped over the tree limbs, her kill. Leopards drag their kills up a tree for safe keeping and sure enough, this one was safe up there. The limp body dangled over the tree like a doll, and yet, a male impala can weigh up to 80kgs, a hefty mass to drag up a tree. The leopard we were tracking is a female, they weigh up to 35 kgs, so imagine dragging half your weight up a tree, with your teeth, not an easy feat.

What is it that amazes us about leopard or cats in general? For me, it is their awesome beauty. The coat on a leopard is absolutely exquisite. The detailed pattern stretched out over their muscular body is awe-inspiring. Watching them and knowing their strength and abilities makes you pause. Their yellow eyes bordered by black eye-lids are mesmerizing.

Like all large cats in Africa, the leopard is on the Red List of Threatened Species. Their trend: Declining. They are almost extinct in N. Africa. Its advantage is that they are adaptable and somewhat elusive, but this also makes them very difficult to monitor.

As we head home that evening, despite only seeing a passing glint of the leopard, we are thrilled with our sighting. The adventure of walking in the bush, tracking one of Africa’s greatest cats is not something one gets to do every day, nor is it something one forgets.

Normal

According to the dictionary normal means ‘conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural.’ Regular, natural, normal.

I am struck daily as to what has become normal to me. Things that would make other people’s eyes pop out in shock, no longer phase me. A woman carrying a box of eggs on her head. Normal. A man dodging traffic on a bike that looks like it is taped together. Normal. Driving on the sidewalk. Normal. An election where the lead candidate is wanted by the International Criminal Court. Normal. Four people on a motor bike and a duck. Normal. Fifty live chickens strapped on top of a bus. Normal.

I am stuck in Samburu. Sitting under an acacia tree with five Samburu women. I am on my way to Nanyuki, a little town on the edge of Mt. Kenya. The planes here are like buses, we stop at an airstrip, drop people, then move to the next. We stopped at the first airstrip and were delayed taking off because giraffe were on the runway. Normal. We land in Samburu, a hot, dry area, scattered with scrub and acacia trees, home to the Samburu people. We drop some tourists, pick some others up, and the plane will not start. The young pilots are looking at the manual and I am thinking ‘this is not good.’ After a few phone calls, flipping of the manual, they confirm that we cannot take off. They say an emergency plane will come from Nairobi. ‘Yeah right’ I think, ‘we’ll be spending the better part of the day in Samburu.’ Normal.

I grab a bottle of water, my binos, a book and find a rock to sit on next to the Samburu ladies under an acacia tree. There is not a human structure in sight. We are literally in the middle of nowhere. Normal. This does not strike me as odd in any way. The women are decorated in incredible coloured beads, the youngest girl’s neck is completely covered with stacks of large beaded necklaces the size of records. Normal. They are here by the airstrip trying to sell jewellery and carvings to tourists leaving and arriving. There is probably a max of two flights a day given it is high tourist season. They were packed up and ready to go when we were trying to take off, but now, they are back under the tree, just sitting, watching. Their homes are far, they walk a distance to sell a bracelet or two. They have woven satchels that are made of recycled plastic within which they carry their goods. The eldest lady who is lying sideways as if she is modelling a bikini in a swim wear photo shoot, gets up, stretches the bag on the ground and offers me a seat.

It is hot. About 90 degrees. The shade is lovely and the penetrating silence delicious. I have not sat quietly like this for some time. I have been moving—Joburg, Nairobi, Arusha, Addis. I am soaking in the silence. One Samburu girl starts singing quietly. People pay money to hear songs like hers but here we are, under the tree. They are not pushing their jewellery at all. In fact they have not even dumped them out of their bags. We are their entertainment. They wait to see what happens.

A plane arrives. Landing from the east. One of the passengers with us has to catch a 3.30 flight out of Nairobi, so we all grab our bags and run to the plane. I have a zillion beaded bracelets, but I want to buy something from the elderly women who gave me her seat. She has a silver bracelet on her arm. I ask for the same. She offers me the one on her arm, I insist no. She reaches into her bag and pulls one out. It is basically tin, but it is a week’s meal for her family. I buy one from her and one from the young girl, 300 Kenya Shillings, less than four dollars. Kwaheri (goodbye) and I run to the plane. The engine starts. Meanwhile the mechanic is at the old plane with the two pilots. As our engine starts, we look over and he is telling us to cut the engine by motioning his hand across his throat. Oh boy, now what?  Once the engine is off, the mechanic comes over; he has fixed the old plane. Yup. Classic. Those going to Nanyuki run to the old plane, those to Nairobi stay on the new plane.

The Samburu ladies still sitting under the tree watch as we run back and forth between planes with our bags, cracking a sweat. Silly Mazungus (white people) they must be thinking. But all of this is normal, standard; regular; natural.

Normal I suppose is just what you are used to. I am driving in Nairobi last week. A matatu (the mini-vans that provide public transport) is in front of me. He starts rolling backwards on the hill towards me. A couple guys jump out of the vehicle, yes, while it’s moving. I now can’t see what is happening because the exhaust spewing out of his tail pipe is as black as the night and has encompassed my entire windshield. They pull rocks out, put them behind the tires, it rolls right over them. The vehicle is now sideways on the road. Meanwhile, life continues, cars go by and soon enough I am driving on the sidewalk, around the matatu, and carry on as if nothing has happened. Normal.

How far does one have to go to not adjust and find things abnormal?

 Riding a camel. Normal.