Twilight in Tsavo

We weren’t initially meant to be a safari. My husband and I had travelled to visit the Makindu Sikh Temple for prayers at the invite of a friend hosting them. The historic temple on the Mombasa Highway welcomes all travelers along the road for a hot vegetarian meal and offers accommodation to anyone participating in prayers. The thought of extending the trip and ending it with a safari was too exciting to ignore. Safari options close to Makindu are either Tsavo or Amboseli. Hunter’s Lodge is practically across the road but doesn’t have much to offer in terms of experience, despite its charm. Tsavo stood out to us as a solid option. Its vastness, its history, its unique terrain, and its connection to elephant conservation made it an easy choice. Plus, it’s only about an hour and a half from Makindu, and the road there is wonderfully smooth, with ancient baobabs scattered across the landscape.

The sun began its descent, and our safari guide, Simon, made haste to get to the lodge. As the temperature outside began to cool, the skin on my cheeks became less flushed. Tsavo’s red dust glimmered in the sheen of the setting sun, and we zoomed past the elephants, zebras, and gazelles that we had spent the afternoon gushing over. The bumpy ride put me to sleep, and I swayed up and down with the motion of the car. 

Suddenly, I felt something sharp pierce into my knee. The pain chased the lull of slumber away. I didn’t pay much heed to it since we were in the bush, and I knew repellents could only do so much. I looked out the window again, taking in the gilded harshness of Tsavo when I felt another stronger pinch on my leg. Two demonic looking insects, like bees from the underworld, were feasting on my legs. I stood up in panic and shooed them off me. Simon chuckled at my reaction, not slowing down our bumpy descent despite my racket. 

“Tsetse flies! Nothing to worry about.” He said, amused. 

Were these the same ones that transmitted sleeping sickness? What was so funny about that?

Tsetse flies were never something I thought to be worried about in Kenya. Maybe I was overreacting, or maybe this was the end. Simon’s consolation did not comfort me in the slightest and my mind began to race. The only information about tsetse flies I had in my brain was grim. My husband, as if reading my mind, told me it’ll all be ok. 

“Simon knows what he’s talking about. I’m sure you’ll just need an anti-histamine.” He knew I wasn’t comforted.  

Image of rocks looking like lions in the Tsavo

The landscape was no longer gilded. Instead, it tormented me; its harshness pierced through like the sting of the tsetse. I thought about all the menacing things that Tsavo has given rise to- Shetani Lava; where people claim the devil himself tore through the earth, and the man-eating lions; who were rumoured to be demons in disguise wreaking havoc on railway workers- and one of my direct ancestors. I felt unwanted by the land. My mind went back to my very first visit to Tsavo in 2020- a sharp thorn at the ruins of the camp where railway workers had set up, pierced through my foot, and the ground soaked up my blood. It felt like a reckoning, and I spent that night in fear, hearing the distant growl of a lion in the dark, not knowing if it was outside the camp or far back in the past. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and the glimmer of Tsavo’s red dust became ominous. 

Image of Mzima Springs

We got back to the lodge, and I waited at the viewing deck for the doctor-on-call to come and give me bad news. A herd of elephants made its way to the watering hole, and I stared in awe. I spotted 3 babies in the herd that were so tiny, they couldn’t be more than a few weeks old- a sign of new life against all odds. This land, with all its harshness, has become a haven for these beautiful elephants that are poached and hunted everywhere else. I looked at the purple, orange sky, casting a final gleam onto everything and everyone. Even me. It felt like I was part of something so much bigger, much more ancient than I could comprehend in that moment. My gaze fell on my husband, who was enamoured by the sight of the little elephants. His gentleness always shone through and made me feel comforted when I became too restless. I thought to myself that if this was the last thing I was going to see before I die, it’s all good. I was with someone I love, and I was lucky enough to witness proof that life carries on, no matter what. The only thing that was missing was a glass of wine- possibly my last. I concluded that I forgave Tsavo for all its harshness because there’s truly something beautiful about it- like a land before time, refusing to change for anyone’s comfort. I forgave Tsavo, and I hoped it forgave me too.

The doctor-on-call made his way to me, a gleam visible in his eyes. 

“Don’t worry, tsetse flies in Tsavo don’t carry the parasite that causes sleeping sickness. You will not die. Not because of this anyway.” 

I let out a sigh of relief and finally ordered that glass of wine, thankfully not my last.

Article by Tanisha Mehta

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