FEATURE
Old Baobab in Meru Reserve; BOTTOM: Rhinos in Meru Reserve
crossed one made of loose logs and railway sleepers several times. It overlooks the ruined concrete structure made of culverts, in which is lodged half a tree. The rushing flood waters of climate change’s response to the extended drought before it, cracked it and washed most of it away. Peterson and I talk of excesses, adventure freaks, land grabbers, alcohol, tobacco and drug misuse. He is a Maasai, a long way from home, the people around here are the Ameru, they eat locusts, termites, chicken and the most unpalatable of all, fish. They are his friends and he speaks to them in Kiswahili. On a drive around the rhino sanctuary outside which the camp is located, we meet armed rangers, sitting in bushes, concealed from sight and the sun’s rays, Peterson speaks to them in Maa replying in quick succession to short questions asked with “Eey”. The traditional Maa protocol over, he talks about the animals that have been spotted. Peterson can see rhino pug marks some distance from the car and says
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many rhino have crossed along here. He has to stop to show me the difference between elephant spoor and the claw marks of the rhino. He sees them even when they are behind trees and eventually I am able to spot two rhinos in different areas of the thicket. The woodland is so lush, it conceals everything except what is to my imagination the wars between the plants and trees. Some allelopathic tree exuding
chemicals to kill another, a leaf’s warning to its own species to exude toxins that taste and smell awful to approaching browsers and the fig creeping up the large trunk as yet still alive. We observe grevy’s zebras and a mother and baby rhino, together in a lush papyrus swamp in the sanctuary through which Rhino River Camp is accessed. Just about 1000 feet above sea level, here
