This article provides a summary of the author's trip to the remote Chyulu Hills region of Kenya. Some key details: - The author arrives by small plane at a rustic grass airstrip surrounded by animal skulls. - The landscape is vast savannah grasslands dotted with acacia trees and dominated by the views of Mount Kilimanjaro and the Chyulu Hills. - The author stays at the luxurious ol Donyo Lodge, surrounded by an electric fence to keep out elephants, and goes on game drives viewing giraffes, elephants, and other wildlife. - The culture and lifestyle of the Maasai people, including their traditions of cattle herding

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GETAWAY: Kenya
Nov 06, 2013 - 1:11 pm
story & photography by Josephine
Matyas
The grass landing strip at the Chyulu
Hills is lined with animal skulls,
bleached white by the unrelenting
African sun. It's one of the first things
you notice as you bump along the
runway. It's generous to call it a
runway, really, more of a drop spot in
a wedge of land between three of
Kenya's national parks: Amboseli,
Tsavo West and Chyulu.
Besides the skulls, I make out one
tattered windsock and two Maasai
warriors leaning on the hood of a
Toyota Land Cruiser. My ride is here.
This is not a landscape for the timid; for those who find a sense of security in neon lights, interlocking paving
stones and streets peppered with bistros, boutiques and parking meters crying out to be fed.
This is an African landscape of savannah grasslands dotted with thorny acacia bushes, rolling out as far as
the eye can see, until they are abruptly interrupted by the Chyulu Hills to the north and Mount Kilimanjaro to
the south. We are used to mountains that bunch in groups, scrunched together, creating a continuous,
sinuous barrier. But Kilimanjaro stands alone, rising from the empty plain. It is, according to my Maasai safari
guide, Jonathan Konee, “the highest free-standing mountain in the world.”
The screen-saver backdrop of Kilimanjaro can be a bit distracting. But, bags loaded into the jeep, we weren't
far along the dirt track before attentions ricocheted from the snow-topped peak to a “journey” of Maasai
giraffes – six-month-old babies and several adults in rather casual nanny roles (allegedly, mother giraffes are
like the Paris Hiltons of the savannah world – all fluttering eyelashes but not so reliable at staying on task).
Jonathan cuts the engine and we settle in and watch as the lanky creatures pull leaves from the upper
branches and languidly chew and chew and chew until all is gone.
The Chyulu Hills are well marked on any map of Kenya. Look them up and you'll be tricked by what looks like
nothingness on the page. It's certainly the last place one expects to find a Relais & Chateau property, the ol
Donyo Lodge, a clustering of 10 luxurious thatched-roofed, adobe villas where guests check in for assured
anonymity and a menu of game-related activities including hiking, biking, bush walks and safari drives. ol
Donyo is encircled by a thin line of electric fence to keep roaming elephants at bay (the scoundrels will
trample everything beyond recognition), although other game like cheetah, dik-dik and impala can come and
go as they wish. In the evening, Maasai guides accompany guests along the stone pathways to and from their
cottages. In this place, we are the enclosed ones, although it feels like the furthest thing from entrapment.
Being here feels like complete freedom.
In this ancient and fragile place, you are frequently on the lookout for wildlife. It's a tightrope strung between
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

2. thrill and terror; the knowledge that creatures with the ability to kill are roaming at will. It doesn't seem to faze
Jonathan who grew up steeped in the Maasai culture, one where young men made the transition into
manhood by killing a lion in the bush. By themselves.
Traditionally this is true, he tells me, but with lion populations under threat there's been an attitudinal shift to
have young warriors prove themselves through sports instead – spear throwing, running and the effortless
leaping they are known for. On this 275,000-acre community ranch, hunting had whittled down the lion
population to five in 2003. A decade later, there are now 35 resident lions living in the ranch's protected
territory. It's another example of the delicate cultural transition from the old ways to new.
This statistic calms me (from an eco-balance perspective) but tinges me with unease, as the next afternoon
we head out on a dusk game drive.
It's a vast landscape and we don't have a year to explore every nook and cranny of the smorgasbord of
ecozones: bush, rolling grassland plains, mist forest and ragged, volcanic hills. Our 4WD jeep sticks to the
lower savannah, the tall grasses riffled by the whiffs of breeze from the west.
Without a doubt, whatever wildlife is out there knows we are coming long before we arrive – we've signalled
our presence as the jeep's gears grind along rutted tracks in the dirt and we emit a continuous click of camera
shutters. Yet, it doesn't seem to interrupt the flow of the creatures roaming the open savannah. Here, they
rule.
Our first encounter smacks of civilization but is very typical of the Maasai culture in this part of Kenya: a large
herd of cattle being tended by young men wrapped in the shúkà, the traditional robe made of red checked
cloth.
“We are nomadic movers in search of water and grasslands,” explains Jonathan. “These cattle belong to
many families – they gather together and pay one herder to take care of the cows.”
Cattle are integral to the Maasai culture. Their diet includes the blood of the cow, milk and meat . . . and not
much else. No regular intake of veggies, no fish and certainly no chicken. (“I tried it once – don't tell my
mother,” Jonathan confides.) A man's wealth and status is determined by the size of his cattle herd and
traditional marriages are arranged based on the number of cows that are at the centre of the transaction.
The jeep inches along the dusty ruts and the herd of cattle barely gives an inch. They open to let us pass,
moving fluidly around us, like a school of fish. It must be something about the African setting – even a herd of
cattle becomes exotic in this place.
And so I find myself with my camera always at the ready, having adopted the mantra that in this setting, even
the ordinary is somehow transformed into pure magic. We explore and graduate from cattle to another
journey of several dozen giraffes and large dirt mounds teeming with termites. We come across the dusty
prints left by elephants in the dirt – the giant beasts that have managed to elude us so far. I am taking photos
of prints. Not elephants yet, but prints. And even the prints in the dust are thrilling and exotic.
As the sun begins to drop in the sky, splashing everything with that delicious warm hue that photographers
coin the “golden hour,” a herd of elephants appear on the horizon. How is it possible that these massive
creatures came out of nowhere?
We race to get closer and at a respectful distance Jonathan stops the jeep so we can sit and watch in silence.
The elephants don't seem pleased by the intrusion – the adults quickly form a defensive circle, sheltering the
month-old babies in the centre. Message received.
The only sound is the soft wind across the savannah and the seemingly endless press of camera shutters.
Aware that I am at risk of experiencing this only though the camera lens, I beat back temptation and force
myself to put my camera away and watch with my own eyes.
That night, on the open terrace at ol Donyo, we compare the images captured by our digital viewfinders. But,
this is the thing about Africa – it's those memories that cannot be pressed onto film that make their way into
your heart: the way the sky looks in the morning, the way the soft colours shift on the grasslands, the warmth
of the Maasai smiles and the sounds of creatures that fill the nighttime air. Many of these things are not
tangible, but they are all deeply touching.
The next morning we leave this remote but special place. Mount Kilimanjaro still commands the view in the
distance. The pilot revs the engines, we rise into the air and I look out through the small scratched window of
the plane. I see miles of green savannah, a windsock and two, tall Maasai warriors leaning on a jeep.
If you go
June, July and August are the best time of the year to see wildlife. During this dry season, animals tend to
migrate to sources of water, making the chance of sightings much better. While this part of Kenya does not

3. match the intensive game sightings of Maasai Mara National Reserve, you will still see plenty of game,
including impalas, giraffes and elephants in an uncrowded, remote setting.
MagicalKenya.com
The ol Donyo Lodge overlooks the savannah and the twin hills of El Mau. Each cottage has bedrooms
opened to the elements on one side, outdoor and indoor showers and rooftop decks with star beds (thick
beds topped with luxury linens, enclosed by mosquito netting and open to the star-splashed African sky).
Stays begin at $455 per person/night (low season) and include meals, luxury bush breakfasts and all
activities, including
game drives.
greatplainsconservation.com
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