Vijana Challenge 2014; or, 'Hooligans on Safari'

I'm half way up the 2nd hill - we've only just started, and it's clear that I just can't do it.  This is ridiculous!

Somehow I puff and pant my way to the top, and a lovely view opens up below: in the distance, the steep escarpment of the western wall of the Great Rift Valley; ahead the track swoops down to a broad plain, a patchwork quilt of maize and sugar cane fields; to the right glints Lake Babati, our destination for today, some 50 kms (30 miles) away.

1st Aid training - D on an improvised spine board... T is empathising

This is Part 2 of the Vijana Challenge (vijana = boys in kiSwahili) , a 3-week voyage of learning and adventure for my 4 young charges from Switzerland and Canada.  We have already completed a short bush mechanics course and an introduction to wilderness 1st Aid; yesterday evening, we hiked up to view the ancient rock art of Kolo in the caves and rocky overhangs that dot that part of the Rift.  We are just starting a 120-kms bike ride and the we are getting into our stride.  Our guide for this section is Julius, a lean young man with dreads and a great sense of fun.  For back up, we have Juma, a biking legend: he can fix anything on 2 wheels, under any circumstances.

Free wheeling downhill with the wind in my face, my early sense of despondency quickly wears off and I soon start to enjoy the ride.  This is easy!

Cycling through a village near Bereku

From now one. it's all fun: we pass through rural villages, where people smile and wave at the wazungu (white folk) on their bikes; through patches of airy forest, and through acres and acres of sugar cane.  At the end of the day, I spot my chance: on the slope leading up to camp, I stand up on the pedals and push hard, blasting past Julius and the 4 teenagers, who, not suspecting that the old fuddy duddy bringing up the rear has it in him, are completely taken by surprise.  (T will no doubt challenge this version, but in his heart he know's it's true.)

Camp is a lovely spot in a grove of tall fever trees right on the lakeshore; fishermen come and go and some cows graze peacefully nearby,  D and I go on a short bird walk, which yields fruit galore: highlights were a Purple Swamp-hen, a couple of hippo, a dik-dik and a Scarlet-chested Sunbird feeding above us.  And lots of waterbirds...

Next day we are, unsurprisingly, saddle-sore as we mount our trusty steeds once more.  We have a little over 60 kms ahead of us, but I have no doubt that I can manage.  Sure enough, we arrive in time for a late lunch at Magara Campsite, a pretty location on the edge of a sand river set about with big sycamore figs.  A short distance away are the Magara Falls, where we go for a wallow in the chilly water and to be pummelled by the full force of the main waterfall.  Hugely reinvigorating!

Afterwards, a young local boy, Musa, demonstrates his gymnastic abilities, with a series of somersaults and back flips in the sand.  D does his bit too, while M gives a karate demonstration.

Next morning, it's an early start: we're off to nearby Lake Manyara National Park.  We have the option of a full day in the park, or a half day followed by another bike ride.  The lads are unanimous: time for some seeeeeerious game viewing!

Almost immediately we are in the middle of a group of elephant, feeding peacefully in the forest in the new southern extension to the park.  Soon after, we emerge onto the lakeshore, where herds of wildebeest and zebra wander, with warthog and impala dotted around.  As we approach the Maji Moto hippo pool, we come across throngs of water birds: storks, herons, ibis  - and thousands upon thousands of pelicans.  They are everywhere, swimming in vast flotillas, sailing majestically overhead, squabbling in the trees.  Can there really be enough fish in the rapidly dwindling lake to support this many birds?  The answer is clearly yes, but surely not for long?

Next morning, it's time to move on.  We say goodbye to Julius and the crew and head off with our new best friend & guide, Kilerai; we will spend the next few days with the Hadzabe, some of Tanzania's last hunter-gatherers, who somehow make a living from the harsh, jutting landscape of rock and thornbush around Mongo wa Mono and Yaeda Chini. It's an austere place, especially in the dry season, as now: the colour seems to have bled out of the world, leaving a palette of ochre, olive and grey.  It is strangely beautiful.

One of the Hadza women has spotted a herd of elephant in the distance

The next couple of days pass in a blur of wonderful times spent with the Hadza; a morning spent with the women as they dug up edible yam-like tubers; finding honey in a beehive high in a baobab tree; making arrows, Hadza-style; hiking across the Yaeda Valley; and heading out at dawn each morning on hunting expeditions, each boy accompanying a Hadza hunter.  Each day is packed with fascinating incidents on their treks

through the bush, covering many miles on each outing.  One day, Jenerali notices that a nearby marula tree is fruiting and that many animals - kudu, bushpig, duiker - are visiting each night to hoover up the fallen fruit.  After a brief discussion, we all set out to build a blind 20m from the tree and the boys wait up to try their luck.  It is a beautiful full moon night.  Towards morning, the clatter of a displaced pebble alerts them - there in the silvery light stands a herd of Greater Kudu; they are wary, their delicate ears twitching back and forth, searching for threats.  They sense that something is wrong and they melt into the night once more.

All too soon, this part of the adventure draws to a close, and we have to say goodbye to our Hadza friends.

The final leg takes us to Tarangire for more big game; this park is excellent in the dry season, with large numbers of game dependent on the permanent water sources - the Tarangire River, Silale Swamp - now that the rest of the ecosystem has dried up.  Elephant and large buffalo herds are everywhere and each night we are treated to a lion chorus as the different groups roar to each other.  D is on a wild dog mission - there have been some reports of late, so we check out all the best places, but no joy.  No luck either with oryx, but we score with lesser kudu, terrific cheetah and leopard sightings as well as some memorable views of lion.

Lengai!

LENGAI CLIMB

I have just got back from an amazing weekend, climbing Ol Donyo Lengai, the active volcano in the Rift Valley. Wow – really and truly wow.

It’s about a 6-hour drive to Ngare Sero, the village near the south end of Lake Natron, which is the centre of the universe as far as Lengai climbs go. Inevitably, then, it took us about 9 hours…

We hook up with Petro, a local lad who regularly guides Lengai (he claims to have climbed 200+times!), and having reviewed our gear, we set off at about 11pm for the jumping off point for the climb, about an hours’ drive away. The drive is , err, interesting at the moment: There has been lots of rain recently, so the track has been washed away in places, and some parts are impassable. Last week, a vehicle was left in a dry riverbed and was washed away in a flash flood while the climbers were up the mountain. Bit of a bummer, no? So we have plenty of fun finding a way around the toughest parts and getting as close to the mountain as possible.

Which is not as close as I might have hoped. We have to hike for an hour or so just to get onto the foothills of the mountain. Once there, the land slopes rapidly up, and my lungs begin to heave. Oops – not a good sign! After a bit, I find my rhythm and settle down. Petro does an excellent job of pacing us, stopping us from tiring ourselves out early on in the climb.

All the while, the bulk of the mountain looms above us in the dark. The moon has not yet risen and it is fairly cloudy, but there is enough starlight for this. The summit seems impossibly far away and, so far as I can see, vertically above us. Somehow we persuade ourselves we can do it and carry on, plodding through the night.

The going is tough: as we get past the half-way mark, it gets steeper. The ash layer from the recent eruptions is damp from yesterday’s rain, which stabilizes it, but it is still slick and difficult to negotiate. Sometimes we can drop into a narrow rain-eroded ditch, and use our hands for extra purchase. This can be a good thing, or not...

Higher still, and now the moon rises. We are looking down on a layer of cloud far below, ethereal white against the black mass of the land. We stop frequently to rest and catch our breath. I am pleased and surprisingly to find that I am not blowing too hard. How far now? About another hour, says Petro, but steep.

Steep?? And what is this exactly, if not **&%?@@* steep?

Sure enough, it gets steeper, as we climb through a narrow gap between towering ramparts of lava thrown up in the 2007 / 8 eruptions. It gets slippery too, the top layer of ash reduced to slime. One by one, we all end up on our backsides, flailing for grip. Then all of a sudden, as the eastern sky goes grey, we are there, on the crater rim – a slender bridge with steep sides falling away into the crater on one side and down, down to the distant plain on the other.

It is an awe-inspiring sight: a short distance away, a vertical drop into the crater. This is a pit maybe 300 meters wide and 200 deep. Steam hisses angrily from the sides, while far below pools of magma roil and spit tongues of molten lava into the air. A patch of rock breaks off and slips gracefully into the boiling pot, like an iceberg calving.

There is not a blade of grass up here. On my last climb 16 years ago, it was a much softer scene, rounded slopes with a layer of thin grass. You could walk down into the crater, and watch flowing magma up close. Now it is a monochrome world of black and grey and patches of scummy salt. In the background, a continuous low growling and rumbling, as if a great beast were asleep. Don’t for God’s sake wake it…

The sun comes up, brushing the mountain with gold, softening the scene a touch. We walk around the rim, aware of the yawning voids on each side. The slopes aren’t extreme, but they suck at you and catch at your stumbling feet.

We stay at the top for a while (is it half an hour? 45 minutes? I don’t really know) and then we head back down. God, my knees! They bend (sort of) but don’t really appreciate the heavy demands I am making. Now they are whingeing at every step. And it’s SUCH a long way down – how am I going to do this?

then, the going eases. The slope decreases, the ash is loose enough in places to move in short skating steps. It’s still a loooong way to the car down there on the plain, but to our collective surprise we’re there in a couple of hours.

Looking back from here, in the full light of day, the idea of climbing Lengai seems lunatic. It thrusts straight up from the plain, a great steep cone, like a kid’s drawing of a volcano, a forbidding sentinel in the austere landscape of the Rift Valley.

I did it – I was there. And you know what? Now that the memory has faded a bit, I would do it again. Not just yet maybe, but some day.