Night on the Serengeti

It is a warm, still evening on the Serengeti. The air is infused with the musky odor of wildebeest gathered in the valley below. They move about restlessly, awaiting the night.

As darkness falls, our safari jeep crawls up the arid hillside to a tented camp overlooking the savannah. We gather our belongings and enter the lobby, a canvas structure with a hand-hewn desk and a surprisingly extensive book collection. The owner of the camp, a Tanzanian native, emerges. He converses with our guide in hushed Swahili. Minutes pass, and a sense of unease grows as the sun slips beneath the horizon. Several well-armed guards have suddenly materialized beside us. They wait expectantly.

I search in the murky light for our sleeping quarters to no avail. There is only one structure around, marooned in miles of rugged brushland that slope gently into the plains. I shuffle my feet restlessly. The murmurings of our guide and the owner mix with the enigmatic soundscape of an African night. Off in the distance, something releases a lugubrious moan. The guards tighten their grasp on their firearms.

The dialogue ceases abruptly. With a genial expression, the man from Tanzania tells us to enjoy our stay, and disappears behind a canvas curtain. We are then ushered through the darkness by the guards, one in front and one behind. There is a group of us now, weary travelers plodding toward a good night’s sleep. The guards lead us down the mountainside. Their alertness is palpable; the snap of a twig elicits a deft response, guns raised to fire. Someone from the back asks what the weapons are for. It takes a few moments for anyone to realize a word has been said. Finally, one of the guards in the front pauses and casts a quizzical glance toward the traveler, surprised by the naivete of his question.

“Lions, leopards, water buffalo,” he remarks tersely. There is a hint of misgiving in his voice. He knows the limit of a wooden stick. The curious traveler nods cheerily, the words having landed on deaf ears.

We near the first of the tents, white canvas glowing radiantly like jewels in the night. One by one, the travelers disappear into the warm ambiance of their respective quarters. It's as though they are slipping into a portal, so distant from the raw wildness of the savannah yet so near. The guards have an eager bound in their step; dinner awaits them at the lodge.

We arrive at our tent, and the guards do a half-hearted scan of the darkness before hurrying back toward the warm glow of the lodge emanating like a beacon from atop the hill. A hollow feeling is left in their wake. The only thing between us and the Serengeti is a thin flap of canvas.

Before retiring for the night, I pause to take in my surroundings. I'm only eleven years old, and it’s all so wonderful: the rich, pungent smells of large herbivores, the expansive silhouettes of baobab trees in the darkness, a sliver of apprehension heightening the senses.

I look back and my parents are already inside the tent, laying out their garments on the floor, unswayed by the magic of the night. Or perhaps they are just better at hiding it.

As the sky deepens into a velvety purple and the stars unravel in the sky, I begin to doze off. The room is homely, outfitted with ample decor and bathed in the warm glow of a deerskin lamp. New adventures await us with the rising sun.

It must be after midnight when something brushes up against the side of our tent. It is a large creature, the bulk of its body making an impression on the canvas. It leaves like an apparition, and I am left speculating in the darkness.

Suddenly, the placid night is split by wild cackling. A shrill, ghostly noise, straight from the bowels of the earth. I am upright in my bed, rigid as a fencepost. Silence.

It comes again, this time close enough to hear the low guttural tremors traveling through its windpipe. The noise surrounds us. I glance frantically at my parents, who are watching the canvas walls intently as though trying to see what lurks outside.

My brother is now up, fear glistening in his eyes. Hyenas, he murmurs under his breath, as though it is taboo. The word hangs in the air dreadfully, reviving long-suppressed nightmares from The Lion King. I imagine them out there in the night, slowly encircling us, slinking through the tall grass under the wan light of the moon.

But then another, more substantial sound interrupts the howls. A low vibration, as though the earth is shaking. I pause confused as it grows nearer. Then it dawns upon me--the sound of innumerable hooves, a rhythmic pounding, the heartbeat of the savannah. It is a herd of wildebeest and zebra moving up from the valley, the same group we had seen that evening.

I sit there in my tent like a cavalrymen awaiting a charging army, bracing for the onslaught. Except rather than a raging torrent of bodies, it is a sluggish river, each animal laboring up the hill in a battle against gravity.

The hyenas call again, and all pretense of composure dissolves. The herd splits, each animal for itself as the unseen hyenas incite pandemonium. My bedpost shudders as pounding hooves churn the earth. Wildebeest and zebra are passing only a few feet from the canvas tent, their frantic groans shattering the night.

I imagine myself as a zebra in this moment, searching desperately for an avenue to escape, the heinous cries of hyenas all around. Fear is as palpable as the cold grass underfoot. All that can be seen in the inky darkness is a mass of bodies jostling to escape the unperceived threat. The savannah holds its breath, waiting to see if the hyenas will emerge triumphant.

Minutes pass. The wildebeest and zebra reform, breathing laboriously, and the hyenas are now off in the distance. I lie back down in the warm cocoon of my bed, quivering from a mixture of fear and awe.

The sound of hooves outside gradually fades away, and once again the African night returns to an unsettled silence. Daybreak would pull the curtain on what had transpired, but for now darkness and mystery reign.

I nestle back under my covers, sure that sleep has evaded me for the night. Another day on the Serengeti awaits.