A stop for lunch in the endless immensity of
the Serengeti Plain This journey we
managed to make just in time, by going as
fast as the terrain permitted and as steadily
as our physical resistance allowed. It was a
pity to clash so fast through the game
paradise of the Serengeti and of the
Ngorongoro crater. But it would have been
much worse to be caught by the rains anywhere along those hundreds of treacherous miles.
Loliondo, a tiny post with a white population of two (the Assistant District Officer, or A.D.O., and his wife),
was our goal. For the several days of
strenuous safari, we kept in continuous radio
contact with it. The postal agent there, an
African, had a receiving-transmitting station of
no appearance and absurdly small proportions
and power, with which we couldn't understand
how he would be able to handle official and
private telegraphic traffic.
But he did, and most efficiently. Every day he
would gather and give us by code the
snappiest weather reports. And every day they
were worse. When he told us that all we could
hope for was another 48 hours, we made a
final effort. Going, going, going, without even
stopping for a bite of lunch or for a picture,
that same evening we made Loliondo.
The following day I drove right and left with
the A.D.O. to find a good site for an especially
large camp, as none of the spots he had
picked up appealed to me. We were only 2
degrees south of the equator. But each
suggested place was naked, grim and swept
by so violent and cold a wind that nobody not
accustomed to the Arctic could have camped
there for long.
Finally, I saw just what I wanted: a glade of easy access, not far from a spring and practically
surrounded by a tall, thick jungle growth which would protect us from the wind and supply any quantity
of firewood. This was a special blessing, not only in view of our kitchens and other needs, but also and
most especially for our boys who, accustomed to the heat of the coast, were desperately shivering,
sneezing, coughing and entirely stupefied by the combination of cold weather and 10,000 or so feet of
altitude.
Immediately, we moved there. Keeping a constant eye on the menacing clouds, we worked like mad to
get ready for the onslaught of rains. With the help of an army of laborers supplied by the A.D.O., of
scores of truckfuls of grass and poles of every size which he had had his men cut for us during the last
month, we also pushed as fast as we could the construction of a garage, a petrol dump, a storage
house, an "annex" to the "Rolling Lab," a dining room for our personnel, huts for all our boys, huts for
the laborers, huts, huts, huts.
A MAN-MADE VILLAGE comes to lift in the jungle glade frequented by
zebra's and wildebeests, by lions and leopards and occasionbally by a well
guarded herd of Masai cattle. Narwa, as the locality was called, became
gatti's Main Camp No. 4, the largest maintained during the entire
expedition, a little town filed with tremendous activity.
After a few days of frantic bedlam the place was unrecognizable. From the
silent, still jungle glade, sometime frequented by zebras and wildebeests,
by lions and leopards and only occasionally by a well-guarded herd of
Masai cattle, NARWA, as the Masai call the locality, had become our MAIN
CAMP NO.4, the largest we had in the expedition-a regular little town, as towns go in Africa, and one
filled with tremendous activity.
Squawks and voices came from the FM sets and from the radio station in the "Shack-on-Wheels."
Motors throbbed everywhere of Internationals going and coming, of battery-charging and of power-
generating engines. Natives shortened or dovetailed posts and poles, chopped off segments of jungle
which protruded at the wrong places, kneaded mud for the walls of the main "buildings," rolled petrol
drums filled with water, dropped huge loads of firewood, dug rain ditches, danced around a huge grate
of sticks on which the meat of an antelope or of a zebra was being
smoked.
Masai warriors in ever-larger groups trouped in from all the surrounding
valleys and hills to watch for hours the miracles of this extraordinary
camp. Masai women bargained shrilly with our boys over the sale of great
gourds filled with smelly milk. Kikuyu little
traders talked for hours before parting with
bags of potatoes, -baskets of fruit, pots of
native beer. Tarishi (government
messengers) were going and coming,
bringing cables or heavy mailbags from the postal agency or chits from the
A.D.O.
Songs. Calls. Orders shouted. Whistles blown to call this boy or that.
Frantic yells of sudden protest from hordes of monkeys in the surrounding
trees. Cases noisily pried open. Others hammered closed. Rush. Rush. Rush. The rains have
miraculously held until now. But they are coming. Come on, speed up. Let's get ready fast. . . .
NOW AND THEN a bit of nostalgia caught up with our adventurers. Recalling one day that it was the
4th of July, Cmdr. and Mrs. Gatti drink a toast with Errol Prince, Weldon King and Norman Wakeford,
principals in the expedition.
The rains, the "tremendous" rains which would cork us up in camp for
weeks on end, which for days would not allow us to drive even to
Loliondo, which would make a torrent of each ditch, a river of each gully
in the road, an impassable swamp of every depression-the great rains
never came at all.
On the contrary, all of a sudden, we heard only about the equally
"tremendous" draught. The Masai had to concentrate their immense
herds of cattle near whatever little water remained. Because of this, the
game had to move away from their usual drinking places to the vicinity
of what unoccupied water holes they could find.
We were sorry for the Masai. We were doubly sorry because, too worried about their cattle, their sole
possession, they were not much inclined to give us all the time we needed for the pictures and studies
we had planned.
The wild animals situation was another story. It suited us fine. GROTESQUE AND BEAUTIFUL, the
giraffe rears his eighteen feet of height against a cloud symphony.
Because now we knew for certain
where to find herds of whatever
game we wanted to photograph and-
once a week or so-to shoot for the
pot. For now the "pot" was a large
one. The only way we could get
fresh meat for ourselves and our
boys was by hunting. In addition, we
had to feed hundreds of laborers
and "actors," all of whom could eat
prodigious quantities of meat.
Meanwhile, rain or no rain, draught or no draught, the work was advancing. Radio experiments were
progressing, radio contacts piling up by the hundreds. Our collections of still and stereo and motion
pictures of game and natives were swelling up with thousands of cut films, slides, transparencies and
rolls.
Everything went on satisfactorily, but it was a long, complex job. We were still far from its completion
when the inexorable calendar reminded us that the end of the expedition 's six months in the field was
approaching fast.
Also, the rainy season had played one of its not unusual tricks. Having so
conveniently missed us, it had fallen with redoubled vigor to our northwest,
flooding entire districts -along the way we had to follow to reach the
Mountains of the Moon. The movement of our entire equipment, especially
the heaviest trailers, had become a difficult proposition which, at best,
would take much too long.
The only solution was for the photographic section of the expedition to
continue its work in and around NARWA, MAIN CAMP NO. 4, and for the
radio section to go, lightly loaded, to establish MAIN CAMP NO. 5 on the slopes of the Ruwenzori, near
Fort Portal and the border between Uganda and the Belgian Congo.
By the time our two Uganda stations, VQ5-GHE and VQ5-HEG, had concluded their job at Main Camp
No. 5 and returned, we had finished also with the Masai and the Sonyo. Having worked satisfactorily the
entire array of our live stations and completed a few more than four thousand world-wide contacts, we
began preparing for the return of part of the personnel to America.
The three men who had proved themselves outstandingly good and reliable remained, however, for a
two-month extension during which we wished to devote our entire time and energy to an exceptionally
tough photographic project about which I shall write more fully elsewhere. These men are Weldon King,
color photographer and my assistant; Errol C. Prince, in charge of color motion pictures; and Norman
Wakeford, camp manager.
During the following nine weeks the live of us worked out of MAIN CAMPS NO. 6, 7 and 8, respectively
at NANGA POINT, on the Kavirondo Gulf of Lake Victoria, at NAKURU, the most charming and
generously hospitable little town in B.E.A., and in the grounds of the DESTRO FARM, near Nairobi.
In view of the Jack of further space I shall limit myself to adding only a few brief recollections:
Attilio Gatti.
•
Hippos and crocodiles emerging at night from the papyrus which bordered our NANGA POINT
CAMP, to roam and grunt and snort amidst trailers and tents and trucks.
•
The joyful astonishment of Luo and Kavi- rondo natives as they excitedly watched the marvel of
our little fleet of Aero-Craft boats darting at full speed across Lake Victoria, as vast as a sea
•
The long days-and the entire nights- spent up to our knees in the slimy, muddy, soda- saturated
water of Nakuru Lake, never more than 21 inches deep, to obtain what no one has ever before
managed: a full coverage of the flamingoes, there by the hundreds of thousands and yet as
elusive and unreachable as if they had been on Mars.
•
The Equatorial sun, there doubled in strength by the reflection of the water, roasting us to a crisp,
giving us the most painful sunburns of our life-while the pestiferous water (if the word may be
used for the muck which fills that crater lake) took advantage of the slightest scratch or crackling
of the toasted skin to start a glorious case of blood poisoning.
•
And the satisfaction of a job well and pleasantly clone, on the whole, when we reached Nairobi for
the final curtain.
•
A satisfaction so strongly mixed up with so many deep sad feelings; at the disbanding of that tight
group which had worked together so hard for so long; at the half-laughing, half-crying farewells
with those native boys who had grown to be such an essential part of our lives; at seeing pass into
other hands our faithful Internationals and all that wonderful equipment of every kind which had
become so familiar and dear.
•
At parting from all those good friends and the nice friendly people of British East Africa.
•
At concluding my 15 years on African soil; at bringing to a close this 29-year-long period of my life
and activity entirely devoted to Africa; at telling Africa good-bye-good-bye for good, this time!
•
GOOD-BYE FOR GOOD? That means forever-again. We are where we started on page 1 of my
narrative, and at a new stage in my pursuit of the endowment policy . . . I am older and wiser. It is,
as they say, later than one thinks. Have I been tamed sufficiently, now?
•
Will someone bring that dotted line?
•
•
Among the Masai warriors
wear long hair, houswifes keep
their hair shaved. The Masai
woman goes in for ornament.
Strips of leather covered with
colored beads, heavy spirals
of copper or of brass wire, a
piston ring or other bit of metal
discarded by us, anything will
do!
For centuries the terror of
East African tribes, the Masai,
were first-class bandits, but
brave men. To become a full-
fledged warrior, a youth was
required to corner and kill a
full-grown male lion by knifing
its heart while the provoked
beast made its leap.
THE SLOPE OF MT. MERU
was home to the rhinoceros.
The plains to the west were
crammed with wild game.
The expedition's
observations and its
photographic efforts were
well rewarded.
Our main camp at Nanga
Point was one of the most
picturesque of the entire
expedition. It occupied
some three acres of open
ground on the shores of
Victoria |Nyanza's
beautiful Kavirondo Gulf.
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