“It’s a land without time.” We sat watching the high clouds lethargically lower over the volcanic earth of the crater floor, loosing upon the land frigid airs which only better embellished the mystique of the NgoroNgoro. It was bittersweet, because in this scene I found myself both in awe and lamentation. I sat thinking, what was the role of man in this place? Surely it wasn’t meant for me, and yet it gave me an unfamiliar sense of pleasure, an innate desire of belonging. For here was a brilliant sight – greater and lesser flamingo, egyptian geese and sacred ibis, ostrich and crowned crane, all within the confines of the fresh waters of the earthen crater and acting as themselves – feeding, mating, calling. The glow of the sunny waters was like the wheaten fields of Elysian, the cool air like that of a dream. But here was I among many others, the children of men in this proverbial garden of Eden, piled high into stalling vehicles and gawking at this place without time. Despite us the plains here remain nonetheless, with their yonder escarpments being draped with those now familiar clouds painted in sheets of rain. The land has no voice, and so seems to be obdurate to the march of change; and yet, in its silence is unwell.
I learned that the tribal Maasai had once lived here, ordaining the crater with its name by the sounds of their cattle’s bell. And yet, they are now an antiquity clinging to tradition. The Maasai are now an inconvenience to the tourism of foreigners and to the conservation necessitated by human activity, and so were removed. The crater is no longer their home, and it is no longer unadulterated. Therefore, who am I to take their place instead? My husbandry or lifestyle is no less improved, I am no better a steward of the land or the crater. But I am favored nonetheless, and so instead of their return to this place the bastion of natural beauty which is the crater has been culled of its brutality by the wake of the modern man with polluting land rovers, transitory picnic benches, and public restrooms. All here for my comfort, and yet the environments detraction.
Every lion knows the smell of us, every kite follows waiting for scraps and refuse. Am I grateful to have experienced such splendor, to have seen a pride of lions dozing and to have heard the low grunts of hippos in their pools – certainly. I have never seen anything more wonderful in my life, and have never known more natural splendor. But in the same way, I am ashamed to know that myself and man is but a disturbance, a hindrance, a parasite to their existence. Man is the hunter and poacher, the tourist and distraction. Before there was man in this place without time, it was free of the necessity of tourism and conservation. It just existed – vibrant and endless. And so I sit here wondering if maybe some things are better left alone. If this land without time is better left without man, silent but thriving in the shroud of its earthen ramparts, its muddied wallows, and its blowing grasses. Though we might have never appreciated it, I long for that ancient past. The rawness of nature. I long for the eternal sands of time which are now scattered and lost to the treads of range rovers, to the alien tracks of man, and to the advance of policy. Like the weapon of the antiquated Maasai, the contemporary existence of the NgoroNgoro is a double edged sword.
And although it breaks the flow, thats okay! Thank you for reading and I hope that wasn’t too absract. Regardless, I saw primates and to celebrate here’s an appropriate amount of onomatopoeia – “Doot do do loot doot!” They were olive baboons to be more specific, and let me say, they are cute but also terrifying (warranted)! The ladies had their babies clinging to their chests and jumping from thin branch to branch, while the males with their capes were large and more lonely and big! It was at the gates of the crater as we waited to enter, and as they waited to pilfer the scraps left by those absent minded on safari. One of our cars also spotted a very large group, and spotting in the crater came down to mere luck. To keep my sanity I’ll assume everyone in the vehicle was a fellow irishman, so at least we are sharing the love and the luck cause I unfortunately was unable to see it. There also seemed to be a bit of mating occurigna t the gates, but other than that and short bouts of climbing, I was not able to view much behavior
Thank you for reading.
Godspeed,
Mr. Kamden
