Tamed by Ol Pejeta’s wild charm

Ol Pejeta’s alluring charm.

From the bright glow of the bonfire, I can make out the silhouette of a Reticulated giraffe browsing from the crown of an acacia tree.

Only a small, dry river bed separates us from the graceful animal. We keep our voices low, lest the towering giant loses our trust.

“He is a big male,” says Shadrack. A man that can make out the sex of a giraffe in near total darkness must be a genius. But then Shadrack is a wildlife tracker, that guy who sits on the front left in the tour van, his binoculars at the ready to spot a crowned lapwing a kilometre away.

In my travels, I have developed a love affair with the evening camp fires. Listening to witty tales in between scanning the night sky for the Big Dipper relaxes the nerves that are always on edge due to a hectic urban lifestyle. And on this evening, such tales abound. More about these later.

It had been a hot day in Ol Pejeta, the 400-square-kilometre conservancy and cattle ranch in Laikipia. The morning mist had given way to a sunny day as we made our way from Porini Rhino Camp to Morani, the rhino sanctuary where Najin and Fatu, the only two remaining Northern white rhinos reside.

I had met Sudan, the last male Northern white rhino about a decade ago. Back then, I did not know what the fuss about the three rhinos was all about. Now I know. If the ongoing plans to have the two females reproduce through surrogacy fail, then we will be looking at the extinction of the huge herbivores that once roamed Africa’s equatorial forests.

Ol Pejeta teems with rhinos, thanks to the most successful black rhino conservation campaigns in East Africa. They appear docile and at peace when mowing the grass or browsing the shrubs. They kept still as we passed.

Ol Pejeta’s alluring charm.

The open-sided vehicle was all that separated us from the agile brutes that can charge with the power of a battle tank. Provoke them at your own peril.

It is hard to imagine that such hefty creatures are mowed down for their horn, ostensibly by those who believe it has the cure for impotency. Such people should also chew their finger nails or hair trimmings. These are also made of keratin and have the same medicinal value – zero.

We meet Zechariah at the sanctuary, a veteran of 11 years looking after the northern whites. He agrees to take us to meet the two girls. Najin, 31, is the mother to Fatu, 20.

They approach our vehicle, Fatu’s horn gently rubbing against the tyre. A surreal moment. Did she feel some sense of kinship with humans, having spent years in captivity? Does she feel a sense of loss over her father, Sudan? How does Najin feel about losing a mate? We may never know.

They have no clue that they are the last of their kind on the planet! But the feelings of their ten human keepers are hard to hide. “I cried when Sudan died,” Zechariah tells me. “I don’t know what will happen if these two go. I just don’t know.”

Later in the afternoon, I joined a group of Porini Camp staff who also act as local guides on a walk on the wild side. As expected, Shadrack stopped every so often to point out this flower, or that herb – and their connection with nature.

At a clearing within the conservancy, we all got to try our skills in spear throwing. Many faltered, managing to throw the spear just a few metres away.

As darkness fell over Laikipia, revealing the starry expanse, the crackling fire beckoned. And the tales flowed. Saruni the driver regaled us with his exploits in roasting termites with a candle. That was a first. But he was just a boy then. Then there is the resilient Githaiga, the camp manager. The DG, as they call him (he is David) is a veteran of the travel industry.

Githaiga is always smiling. He lost his wife to sickness close almost nine years ago, the lowest moment in his life. He too finds solace in the wild. But he found love again.

The embers began to die slowly. Then a lion roared not far from a spot we had walked on earlier in the day, perhaps the call we needed to get to bed. The nights in Laikipia belong to the brave.