Last night on the ride back to Lewa from a meeting at a neighboring wildlife conservancy, I distracted myself from the terrifying road conditions by thinking about what next to write about. There are endless topics: work, people, rituals, shopping, traffic, living routines. Everything is interesting. But because I am feeling a bit brain muddled by massive doses of intellectual and sensory input, I’m going for the easy target: animals at night.


We’ve had some consultants at Lewa for the past 5 days who have very generously sponsored a happy hour every evening at 6:30. We aren’t stocking fine wine and cheese in our personal larder (we’re experimenting with an evening ritual of tea instead – cheaper, simpler and less caloric), but we’re more than happy to share a glass with new found friends. What this means for us, though, is a half hour drive home over rutted dirt roads in the pitch dark. The sun sets at 6:30 pm every night, year round. On moonless nights like we’ve had for the past 4 or 5 nights, by 7:30 you can’t see the hand in front of your face. There are no street lamps, no ambient illumination from neighboring buildings, no cars, not even a glow on the horizon from a nearby town. Just the stars.

We drive with the high beams on which creates a narrow, 100 foot path of light in front of us and a sliver of visibility to the side. Beyond that, blackness. Shadowy shapes and animal eye-shine flash by on the edges of our light bubble. Occasionally something appears directly in front of us.

A couple nights ago we rounded a bend and three male lions were sauntering along the road in front of us. They barely deigned to acknowledge our existence – completely unfazed by our high beams – and took their time before turning off the road and disappearing into the night. Not much further along, a young cheetah sprinted out of the grass, along the road and then back into the underbrush. On another night a hyena appeared suddenly and glared at us. I can see why Disney makes them the villains in its stories.

And then there was the elephant. He was big, wet from “the waist” down and smack in the middle of the road. We stopped, waited a minute and then inched forward indicating we might like him to leave the road and let us pass. The elephant got the hint and clambered up into the grass. Thinking he would keep going we decided it was safe to pass. As we came up beside him, he turned quickly to face us about 10 feet off the road. He planted his feet, flapped his ears and blasted us with a bone chilling trumpet. John accelerated and we escaped into the dark, the adrenaline still hot in our veins.