Chuck Almost Swims with the Hippos

In the heart of Africa, on the Masai Mara Game Reserve, an extension of the great Serengeti Plain, which runs through Kenya and Tanzania, the most dangerous animal isn’t the lion or the leopard, the elephant or the buffalo . . . it is the giant hippo.

More tourists are injured by the hippo than any other animal.

On safari, if you decide you want to see a hippo in person, you are escorted not only by your regular guide, who carries at best a walkie-talkie for protection--the theory being that information is your best ally against danger--but you are also escorted by an armed soldier who carries a machine gun, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

Although hippos spend almost all of their time submerged in the water to keep cool, in the nearest river or lake or mangrove swamp, they can get themselves on land and in your face faster than you can make your grand escape.

Despite the inherent danger, Chuckie, my fearless and rascal cat, decided he wanted to see hippos swimming in the river. This dream of his was born after we visited the animal orphanage at the Mt. Kenya Safari Club and Chuckie met a baby hippo and saw him smile.

So late one morning we trekked down the path from our safari vehicle toward the water with Steven our driver, James our guide, and, of course, Botswain, our trusty armed soldier who came along JUST IN CASE. Botswain was the one in the know. He knew where the hippos were most likely going to be. He knew how close we could get to the water’s edge without falling in or attracting the attention of said hippos. He was our “go to man,” and we were lucky to have him.

Because the hippo, for those of you who know nothing about this magnificent beast, is considered the most aggressive creature in the world and the most dangerous animal in Africa. The hipppo is the third largest land mammal, after the elephant and the rhinoceros, weighing one half to three tons, but it can easily out run a human and has been clocked at short distances running nineteen m.p.h. Even though it closely resembles the pig, its closest living relative is the whale. The name hippo, short for hippopotamus, comes from the ancient Greek meaning “river horse.”

Of course, Chuck knew none of these interesting facts. He just wanted to see a hippo in action. And, I have to admit, I was curious, too. And a bit on edge.

The path that led from the Serengeti Plains to the river’s edge was about a quarter of a mile. As we neared the river, I kept a look-out for lions and leopards. I didn’t know quite what to expect.

But there they were. Their roundish heads popped in and out of the water. Occasionally we were lucky enough to see their backs float on top, but usually the hippos were totally submerged, keeping cool, while we humans and CAT stood on the shore and stared and sweated.

Chuck peeked out of my backpack.

For once, he behaved himself.

Feeling brave myself, I inched closer to the water and grabbed onto a tree limb to support myself so I could get a closer look. I wanted to snap a few good pictures.

Curious, Chuck leaned out further than he probably should have.

Suddenly, my foot slipped, or perhaps, the ground underneath me wasn’t as solid as I thought.

I lost my balance and began sliding toward the water.

Now, let me explain.

I was standing on a ledge that tipped out over the river.

And I was being careful.

When I slipped, I didn’t go sliding into the water. No, I slipped and slid maybe a foot, but it felt like I was about to keep on going--me, the camera, and the CAT into the water, into the mouths of the MOSTLY herbivorous hippos.

At that moment I didn’t know if that meant they ate meat or not.

I screamed.

Chuckie ducked back into my backpack.

I spotted at least one hippo pop his head out and look AT ME.

Botswain came running.

I regained my equilibrium and didn’t slide in, but Botswain did not look happy. (I suspected he had never actually shot a hippo in his life.)

As we hiked back to the safari vehicle (yes, I was very embarassed), I whispered to my rascal cat, “I blame you for this. This was your idea. If it hadn’t been for you--”

Then I stopped and realized the kid was going to be the death of me yet and what was I thinking to have brought him along with me anyway on SAFARI and wasn’t I just setting myself up for more crazy adventures?

Well, wasn’t I?

Chuck Hears the Lion's Roar

And now for the rest of the story . . .

Unfortunately, the Chuckster’s encounter with the sleeping lions during our “picnic” did not satisfy my cat. He wanted more.

And wasn’t that just like my rascal Chuck?

First, he wanted to meet a lion face to face. Then he wanted to see a lion in action and hear the fellow “roar.”

I reminded him we were on safari and not part of some Disney movie. These were wild animals. We were traveling on the Serengeti Plain, the best game viewing spot in all of Africa. It cuts through Kenya and Tanzania. This is where the famous migration occurs every year. We were sure to see plenty of lions, but could I guarantee that we would hear a lion roar?

“Chuck, get serious, lions don’t just roar for the hell of it. They roar for a reason. And not a good reason.” The implication was clear. “Life as a lion is tough, Chuck. They don’t get their food from a cat can, like you do. What do you want to see? A life and death struggle for survival?”

Chuck blinked.

That’s exactly what he wanted to see.

And, of course, what Chuck wanted, he often got. Especially after he had spotted the leopard up the tree and practically saved Steven’s life. Steven now became committed to finding Chuck a roaring lion.

Steven had friends who roamed the plains, like he did. He communicated with other drivers using a high-tech walkie-talkie system. When the call came that a pride of lions had been spotted with a kill, Steven anticipated that Chuck was going to get what he asked for, so we raced across the plains to the spot.

“Just keep a hold of that cat,” Steven warned.

The picture in front of us was not a pretty one.

Five lions surrounded their kill, but they were being taunted by a family of hyenas, the scavengers of the plains, who were hungry and wanted a piece of the kill. The hyenas were faster than the lions and were attempting to lure the lions away from their prize.

Steven parked the safari vehicle as close as he could to the action. We watched as the lions paced back and forth, protecting their bounty. The hyenas darted in and out, making sneak attacks, trying to unnerve the lions. This went on for awhile.

I held Chuck tightly in my arms. He watched in fascination.

“It’s only a matter of time before something gives. Someone is going to make a more daring move.”

You could almost see the hyenas salivating. Life on the plains at this time of year was tough. There had been little rain. This kill was precious. The lions were not willing to share.

Finally, it happened. One of the hyenas, the one I would call the sacrificial hyena, ran straight into the kill and ripped a piece of meat off in his jaws.

The lion closest, the one standing guard, let our a terrific ROAR.
The air shook around us.

The hyena with the meat secured in his jaw stepped back.

The lion ROARED again.

The hyena began to run for his life. Literally.

The lion took off after him.

The meat fell from his jaws, and the hyena managed to escape.

I suspect the other hyenas were supposed to go for the meat in those precious seconds when the kill was left unattended, but they didn’t. Perhaps, the ROAR sounded so fierce, they lost their nerve. Instead all the hyenas slinked off, and the lions were finally left in peace.

“Well, what did you think, Chuck?”

He was purring softly. With Chuck, that is always a good sign.

He was happy.

A lion’s roar on the Serengeti Plain sounds magnificent.

I would have purred, too, if I were a cat.

MY PARANORMAL ROMANCE, WILD POINT ISLAND, IS NOW AVAILABLE IN MASS MARKET PAPERBACK AND EBOOK AT AMAZON.COM AND BARNESANDNOBLE.COM.  READERS, ON AVERAGE, GAVE IT 4.8 STARS.