I love living in the Kenyan bush. If someone asked me to give a one-word description of what it is like, I would say “life.” Our time in camp is permeated with wildlife. Mealtime, work time, exercise time, sleep time – you name it, friends of other species are there.
Naturally, mealtimes attract the most guests, guests that like to share in the scraps that “fall” from the table. Nearly every morning and at lunchtime, we can count on the presence of at least one of our three regular ground squirrels. The boldest is a female I call Lucy. Lucy walks right up to the table to stand on her hind legs, looking expectant. The other two squirrels are males. Daud named one of the males Benjamin, and Patrick calls the other “Papa Squirrel,” although we aren’t exceptionally good at telling the two apart.
Lucy the ground squirrel, waiting for some scraps
Dwarf mongooses are periodic breakfast guests as well. They come bumping along around the corner or down the hill, giving off little trills now and again. Adorable, yes, but the growls they give one another over a limited amount of crumbs sound unexpectedly vicious. These cute little guys also frequent the area around my tent. I have found them clambering atop my jerry can attempting to reach the water inside, and so found a way to share it with them. I rinsed out my soap dish, and they seem to appreciate its new use as their own personal water dish.
Two of our resident dwarf mongooses, nearby the table
Sparrow weavers and red-billed hornbills come to share in the spoils too. Sometimes the hornbills will catch breadcrumbs out of the air. Two of the hornbills further enjoy giving me a start nearly every time I am working in the office of the research banda. We call them Tom and Jerry, and they incessantly fight with their reflections in the window, puffing the red sacks of their throats out in the process. I jump at the first bang every time. Once in a while a beautiful little sunbird joins in, although it seems to merely look at its reflection as opposed to fighting it. But who am I to say what it is doing?
Sparrow weavers enjoying some bread crumbs
A red-billed hornbill in camp
Dinnertime brings our beloved two genets. Both called “Genny” when I arrived, I felt they needed to be differentiated and given separate names. The previous intern Angus suggested Ajax and Hector, so that is what I have been calling them, but the new interns prefer “Genet-fer Anniston” and “Brad Genet.” I personally think “genet” sounds nothing like “Pitt,” but whatever tickles their fancy is fine. Ajax/Genet-fer Anniston is much bolder, smaller, and darker than Hector/Brad Genet, which is how we tell them apart.
Ajax/Genet-fer Anniston hanging around after dinner
Hector/Brad Genet finds some deserted plates on the table
Then there are the camp visitors that not everyone appreciates. Although I cannot help but be happy to see other primates, many in camp do not feel the same. I have to admit that the vervet monkeys and baboons can be rather destructive. But honestly, even if I spend several minutes scrubbing a shirt by hand only to have it pulled down from the clothesline by a mischievous juvenile vervet the minute I turn my back, I cannot help but laugh. They and the baboons offer the best entertainment when one cannot possibly stare at a computer screen or study elephant ears any longer. I could do without the vervets waking me up before my desired hour of arousal by chasing one another across my tent roof, or (in the case of baboons) screaming about god knows what at all hours of the night. However, when it comes down to it, I would not do without them.
A juvenile vervet atop a brush pile by camp
What would be a day without geckos falling from the ceiling, large spiders skittering across one’s tent roof, bats flying in and out of the choo (“toilet” in Swahili) when one is only trying to have a wee, rock hyraxes waddling through the research banda, whydah showing off their long black tails, parrots calling from the treetops, large beetles flying clumsily into one’s hair, spindly dik-dik tiptoeing between bushes, beautiful kudu gliding by the kitchen, and yes, a cobra throwing out its hood when you accidentally tread too close (resulting in very rapid retreat)? Most of all, what would our camp be without exactly those creatures we are here for? Three of our bulls in particular enjoy camp. Their names are Melasso (Bull number 1193), Sarara (B1258), and Yeagar (B1040). I have sat outside my tent watching Sarara munch away on the leaves of a tree not ten meters away. Another day I was sitting in my tent doing work when I heard someone walking up the path. I got ready to thank Rimlan for bringing my refilled jerry can, when I suddenly felt the presence to be much larger than Rimlan, and looked up to find Melasso towering regally by. One of the three has rubbed up against the roof built over my tent in the middle of the night, causing me to break into giggles and realize that some things are worth waking to. Most of the time the three just come to eat or bathe in what little water has been dug out of the dry riverbed. It is wonderful to have their company, and I miss them when they are away for several days at a time.
Gecko that fell from the research center ceiling with a spider in its mouth
Melasso snacking in front of my tent
Sarara hangs out in the riverbed just below camp, in front of Samburu pastoralists and their livestock
Yeagar walks across the river toward our tents, at the break of a long dry spell
I would not trade this life in camp for anything.