Nairobi

If you are in Nairobi for the first time in your life and have always been fascinated by wild animals – and of course, watched "Daktari" on TV as a kid in the sixties – you will naturally schedule a visit to Kenya’s oldest national park, founded in 1946. Nairobi National Park, approximately 120 square kilometres in size, is only eight kilometres from the city.

How do you get there and in and through it and back again? Why, with Sabine Bohland! The editor of the WDR programme the story is presently representing the studio in Nairobi and knows the ins and outs. She was a foreign correspondent at the ARD studio in the Kenyan capital from 1997 until 2002. To make sure that the Nairobi newbie from Frankfurt doesn’t get chased by a buffalo and laughed at by the zebras, Sabine straps her into the passenger seat and shows her the wild animals of Africa.

"Look! Buffalo poop, and it’s still fresh," says Sabine, "they can’t be far away." While she confidently steers the four by four over the red sand of the bumpy trails, I sit next to her with eyes big as Lake Victoria and search for animals of all kinds. Wildlife. Finally. I only know it from visits to the Frankfurt Zoo. Nothing wrong with our zoological garden, but well, it’s only eleven hectares big and there, people who want to pass through aren’t locked into cars, but instead the animals are locked into enclosures.

Buffalo poop, all right, sawasawa, as the Kenyans say. Where are they? Sabine, thinking along, steers into a bend with her right hand and hands me something from her bag with her left hand. "Here." Binoculars! However, it is impossible to look through them while driving; you are constantly hopping up and down in your seat – in sync with the potholes. "I saw something," Sabine is on the qui vive. "Damn, it lay back down." Since it has finally rained in eastern Africa, the grass is high and the animals can easily hide in it. What is circling overhead? A brown martial eagle? Or could it be a vulture? There are times you wish you were an ornithologist.

The city is moving closer

Then we do see animals: storks. Good, they’ve become quite rare in Germany, too, but storks are not buffalo. Instead, we suddenly see eland antelopes a bit further away on the horizon; cinnamon-waffle-coloured and with straight horns, they are etched against the silhouette of Kenya’s capital. This is hard to take in; there are elands and behind them, you can see Nairobi. The city brazenly is moving ever closer to the park; the edges of the wild animal reserve are hemmed by building works. Nairobi has only existed since 1896. Back then, the animals were the majority and humans were on their guard.

"There are lions here, too, but you don’t see them very often," Sabine is saying and I ask, stupidly, "Are you allowed to get out of the car here?" The Africa expert had to get out once. "We had a flat tyre in Maasai Mara National Park and had to change it. Three lions watched us." Sabine grins. I look for lions. "Gnus!" Oh my God, I actually think, "Oh my God," because I see gnus – lots of gnus. "Happy gnus," says Sabine, because they are running back and forth so cheerily.

I am completely touched at the sight of these sloping, scraggly beasts growling or belling – whatever it’s called – in a deep baritone. Foreign bird voices have been discussing their secrets all day now and on the right-hand side, we see zebras, lots of zebras. They stand there, look at us and look away again. Zebras and gnus. "They like to wander about together," Sabine tells me. It makes you want to join them, really.

Roadside cadaver

My camera counts the 200th photograph, this time of gnus, zebras AND giraffes all in one shot. We are thrilled at our luck. "You don’t often see so many animals and so many different ones at once here." Who is sitting in the dust over there? Ostriches. It is hard to grasp. Like displacement activity in cats, we begin to talk about hairstyles. Sabine had her long hair cut off after her daughter Nora was born. "There’s no time to go to the hairdresser anymore." "Um, Sabine? Is that a rhinoceros back there?" Sure enough, it is. "Look, it’s wiggling its ears." Great rhinoceros.

We feel sad when we discover our first cadaver, then more than a dozen of them. "An unusually high number," they died of thirst or hunger as Kenya has suffered under the worst drought in ten years. It makes you sick to your stomach when you hear in the travel agency that the owners are hoping for clear weather for the safaris.

At Sabine’s favourite place, Kingfisher Picnic Site, a waterhole has dried up to less than half its usual size. A warthog glances over at us, then turns tail, and runs.

Dim-witted tourists

Then a safari bus halts next to us and the Kenyan driver asks, "Did you see the lions?" Lions? Where? When? No. Wow! He describes the way to us; we first drive in the opposite direction, turn around and then see a number of cars headed to a certain corner. There they park, the vehicles, and the people stare. At least three lionesses – only one is easily visible – are lying in the grass and dozing. They’ve probably just eaten their full; we don’t want to know whom. I am completely shaken at seeing such a strong creature right in front of me lying in the grass. I almost feel like crying, but why? This is where they belong – the gnus, zebras, giraffes, impalas and lions – in the African savannah. It is the most harmonious sight.

The other cars move on and we stay a moment longer and just watch. An automobile approaches and all three passengers get out. They get out! They call to one another, "Look, lions." One of them looks as if he wants to get closer. From one second to the next, the lioness is no longer drowsy, stretches her head and looks terrifyingly watchful. Sabine can’t stand it any more and calls to the people to get back in the car immediately. Luckily, they listen to her warning. We don’t want to read in tomorrow’s Daily Nation that three crazy tourists were eaten by lions in the national park; lions that we actually saw, at that. Today, the world grew a bit larger for me.

Swahili of the Day: Punda milia means zebra.