After three months away and hours of travel, re-entry is always a little ackward. I arrived in London at 6 AM and found my way to a bathroom. A look in the mirror I could tell the flight had had its effects. This combined with the past three months of chasing vultures, playing with dead wildebeest, and putting out goat heads, plus I ran out of conditioner about a week ago since my fiancée used it all during his two week visit for his long, lavish hair, and I figured I was not looking good.
Traveling alone is always marked by long silences and an independent re-entry. Each new experience is absorbed by me alone and I generally have no one to share it with. But the silence is occasionally punctuated by a random stranger, who offers some comment or smile as I journey back. In the London airport, this stranger came in the form of a young Middle-eastern looking man, who stared calmly at me on the escalator. As we descended, he asked, “Are you a model?” Seemed like an obvious pick-up line and given my state a rather unbelievable one, but he said it genuinely as if he had seen me in a magazine before or something. “What?” I replied in disbelief – I look like crap. He repeated the question. When I was unable to muster a sensible response, he continued, “You look like a model. Your face. . . Your body.” In my super-glue stained khaki pants and field-worn T-shirt, I imagined I looked more like a bum than a model. He peristed and asked me where I was from and where I was headed. The whole thing seemed so strange and by the time the long escalator came to an end, I moved off without looking back. It has actually been a fairly harrasment-free summer, but this seemed like a nice enough first comment upon my arrival back into civilization.
On the trip back from my summers in Africa, I am always struck by two things. First, all the white people. I caught myself staring at everyone in the Nairobi airport and being amazed by the diversity of hairstyles, clothing styles, make-up experimentation, and accents. I had seen lots of different people over the last three months, what made this group stand out. I finally realized I had started to make the transition from a world of 5% white and 95% black back to the Western world where the mix is much greater and the Wazungus much more common. The second thing I am struck by is Western consumerism. I think airports are especially harsh form of re-entry alog these lines. Off the plane and you enter a world with shops filled with over-priced and completely useless goods. These vary from lavish food items like Starbucks and Godiva chocalates to immense book and DVD stores to the completely ridiculous isles of perfumes, Prada purses, alcohols, and jewelry. For some reason, Tiffany’s always stands as the most horrible of all of these, perhaps because I imagine the gems being ripped from the soils which I have just left with only a petence paid only to be sold at outrageous prices. Couldn’t the money be better spent? What are you really buying when you go to a store like that? Certainly not the most beautiful jewelry I have ever seen.
In a duty-free shop, I watch as 30 TV screens fill with images of African children running to water and women carrying water on their heads, some clean-faced and presumably famous in the UK Wazungus drink from bottles of water and praport that if only you buy this bottled water, some water will be given to these poor African children. The irony is too striking and I turn away in disgust. Doesn’t anyone else see it? Here you are sitting in a country with perfectly good drinking water coming direct to your home (hell even to the airport water fountain) and you are going to buy a bottle of water. Where this magical bottled water comes from should be the first question, but then there is the issue of the plastic that it comes in. Now that you have added to global pollution with yet one more plastic bottle and paid for something that you are so blessed to already have had, you can feel good about yourself knowing that somehow this is going to end up giving water to a thirsty child in Africa. It seems like the most indirect and over-consumptive route in which one could do such a thing. It just feels glutonous as I watch the British actors pour water above their heads as an African child is shown washing his face.
Overconsumption. It stands out as such a huge problem – the problem that generates all the inequality, poverty, and environmental degradation that we see around us and yet you are being encouraged to take part in it to help solve these issues. I hate re-entering the Western world for this very reason and yet soon I will be part of the problem again (hell, I was even part of it in the Mara, staying at the lodge). I look at the chocolates and teas and consider buying some Starbucks – all the time feeling the shame and guilt of the gluttony in which I am so blessed as to be able to partake.

This year’s return includes the drive from the Masai Mara to Nairobi (5 hours), stay overnight in Nairobi with Munir and family, then drive to Mpala Research center to drop of the car (4 hours), take a taxi back to Nairobi (4 hours), fly from Nairobi to London (8 hours), fly from London to Newark (9hours), then drive from Newark to spend a few days in Boston with Kevin (5 hours). This may sound back but compared to last year where I had to fly from Mfuwe to Lusaka (in Zambia), stay overnight in Lusaka, then fly to Nairobi thru Dar (stay overnight in Nairobi), then fly from Nairobi to London (with 9 hour layover) then from London to Newark – it was actually much worse - nonetheless a lot more driving this year. The drive out of the Mara was uneventful. But I have only driven to Mpala once before and had rather minimal directions, so I knew it would be interesting and I left time for getting lost. Also unlike the drive from the Mara, I would be going it alone to Mpala.
I left early and was enjoying the countryside and the lack of turns, when I arrived at a police break. These are common as you might recall from my earlier blog about the one I got stopped at with Munir. For most of the summer, my attitude towards these has been to not make eye contact with the police, but not to pass too quickly. I had even commented (to one of the passengers from the Mara to Nairobi drive) that when the police wave for cars to stop I try not to pay much attention as I would rather claim negligence than get stopped and have to deal with the corruption. But this time the officer didn’t just wave the cars over, he stood in the middle of the road and he very clearly motioned for me to stop. Here we go, I thought.
I rolled down the window and smiled. “You were speeding. There will be a fine,” he said looking authoritative. “I was going the same speed as everyone else,” I said. In fact, I had been going slower than everyone else as matatus and crazy Toyota corolla drivers had zipped passed me several times. “That is why we pulled over three cars,” he replied pointing at those pulled over in front of me. “Well, no signs post the speed limit. What is it?” I asked. “110 kph,” he spoke confidently. I looked at him, surprised. I have seen my car go 120 kph once with Wilson driving on our trip to Naivasha. I have difficulty getting it over 100 kph (haven’t really figured out the acceleration thing with a stick shift, especially when there are hills). I knew for a fact I hadn’t gone over 110 the whole ride – not even sure if I could. He decided to beef up his argument before I could respond. “We have a machine down the road that tells us your speed,” he said. This aught to be good I thought, it’s like one of those games at a carnival – guess your age or your weight for five bucks. I wondered what speed he would choose. “You were going 6 kph over the limit,” he speculated. This is ridiculous. “That’s interesting,” I said. “This car can’t go over 100 kph unless I am going downhill. It is an old car you see,” I told him. His face sunk and I could see the defeat in it. I had been careful to avoid mentioning the fine and I felt assured I could get away without paying his bribe now. He started asking more random questions – where was I going, what were my plans for the day. I told him I was leaving the country today (which was true) and didn’t have any more money (in fact only enough for the taxi back). I think he realized I hadn’t just come off the boat – I had played these games before and wasn’t about to lose on my last day here. His mannerisms had changed. “You should give me something,” he said. I pictured the children that sometimes ran alongside the car. “Give me, give me” they would shout. The cop had gone from an authority with a “legitimate” claim to a simple beggar and the truth behind the ugly process revealed. It wasn’t a fine, it was a bribe he wanted and just like the children, I wouldn’t be giving anything just now. “I have a long drive and I need to go,” I said. He pulled his hand away from the window and I rolled it up and drove away.
The rest of the drive was more as I expected. I got lost three times, arrived to find no taxi waiting, and then waited for an hour at Mpala for a driver to come so I could do the whole journey over again and in reverse.

For the last three months, the Mara has been my home and my office. The staff at Ilkeiani - even the guests (who I have met only ephemerally) - have been my friends and family. I have been immersed in the things I love most – in the bush, in a world where elephants cross the road in front of your car, wildebeest are so common that they become part of the scenery, hyenas cry out in the night, and vultures are ever-present eating the refuse of the migration – the hundreds of animals that don’t finish their journey. Each day I have worked, burned in the sun, baked in the midday heat, and learned a little bit more about the Mara and its inner workings. The politics have been over-whelming at times, but in the end I have been able to focus on my research and I have enjoyed meeting all the characters that have come to love and depend on this amazing ecosystem. An ecosystem that is caught has become a battlefield as people fight to conserve it, while others desparately take what they can from the land sometimes for greed and sometimes just to get through one more day. My love for the wildlife has been renewed and my fascination in its intricacies expanded once more. Nothing is predictable here and each day has been a discovery as I am taught again and again through constant observations. Some observations have been deliberate and I have learned so much about vultures and other scavengers and how complex their interactions and behaviors truly are. But much of the observation has just been a part of my daily life and I have slowly come to know the favorite places of the topi herds, the areas with the biggest tuskers, the movements of the wildebeest, and the hiding places of the big cats. Today I leave, but only temporarily. With any luck, I will be back continuing my studies of the vultures at the beginning of next year. I can’t wait to see what has changed and perhaps even more what has stayed the same. I can only imagine what surprises the Mara has in store for me in the not too distant future. To all that have read this, thanks for sharing my adventures. I hope you have enjoyed them. I plan to continue posting though certainly not as regularly (and probably not as interestingly) during the next few months as I explore my data in my other home in New Jersey.

Note: I am actually back in the US as of this afternoon (posting this from London, thanks British Airways for free internet) just slow to post these and wanted to post them in order. So enjoy the last few adventures from the Mara.

In the last few days, we have caught two more birds. Two elephants were shot and in one day we were able to catch one last African White-backed and Ruppell’s vulture. I had been hoping for a Lappet-faced vulture, but given the time it has been important to just get the units out there rather than aim for an even spread. So the morning of my last day and we have units on 5 Ruppells, 5 African White-backed, and 3 Lappet-faced vultures. One unit remains and though I will need to drive to Nairobi this afternoon to begin the long trip back, I figured it was worth one last try.
Wilson and I returned to the elephant carcass from the previous day’s successful capture. At 7 it was covered in hyenas, but by 8:30, the vultures are dominating. We drove up – tourists watching and put down the nooses. With two vehicles driving so close to the carcass, the birds had moved off a bit farther than ideal, but there wasn’t much I could do. I had a nice talk with the tourists explaining what I was doing and why and then the waiting began. Two hours later and we had a few birds feeding on the carcass and then the jackal came. I have been wary of the jackals from the beginning. Not something I want to catch, but the animal was staying mainly to one side of the carcass (the side without the nooses) and unusually it had come alone. So we tried to be patient – to drive up now would mean defeat as the birds were just starting to get comfortable again. Then the jackal switched sides, he moved right to the place where a Ruppell’s vulture had been feeding hours before and he stuck his head right in the noose. He was caught. We drove up in a flurry and Wilson grabbed the blanket. The jackal wined and leaped all over the carcass nearly clearing the top of the elephant in an attempt to get away from us. Wilson tossed the towel over it and it lay still. He had rushed in front of me, trying to protect me from our unwanted guest and had been quick with the toss. But after the towel was on, he hesitated. I moved forward and scruffed the jackal through the top of the towel. He jumped around a bit but tried more to escape then to get away. He winced as he pulled back and further tightened the noose around his neck. Wilson grabbed hold of the jackal’s muzzle and we each pressed up against one side of the animal to prevent it from moving. I pealed back the towel to reveal the neck and the noose. I loosed it slightly and then decided it would be too difficult to pull it back over its head. I hate to destroy the nooses, but I wanted to get the animal out fast. I pulled out my trusty swiss army knife (one of the small ones, so far it has always proved to be just the right side). Each noose has a weak point that is made out of string rather than cable – ideal from just this situation. I cut the string and jackal was free. We both pulled back leaving the jackal still covered, but loose. He ran around under the blanket and nearly ran into an Acacia tree before finding his way out. At first, he moved off quick, but then the jackal turned and took a good look at us. I could tell he would be avoiding us in the future.

It is a cool morning in the Masai Mara. I wait patiently almost 100m from the carcass. The skies are empty and I know it will be another hour before the air warms and the birds take flight. In the meantime, I watch the wildebeest as they pass one by one in some sort of strange procession. They walk with such determination and purpose, following the rains and the grass as they continue their long migration. Finally the first bird arrives. He weaves left and right, left and right, circling once, twice, before finally landing. The Bateleur positions himself close to the carcass and is just about to start feeding when the next bird arrives. I can hear the screeches of plovers before I even see the brown mass hurdle itself to the ground. The Tawny Eagle lands right next to the Bateleur. A long stare and a short jump and possession of the carcass has already shifted. The Tawny begins gorging itself as the Bateleur takes to the skies once more. After several beak fulls, the Tawny notices a small loose piece and just in time. As she reaches her talons around the meat, the next scavenger arrives. I know the White-headed vulture is female because of the white secondaries that fan her body. Her size isn’t enough to intimidate the Tawny, but with a piece of food in her talons, the eagle soon takes off and lands in a nearby tree to finish its food alone. This suits the White-headed female just fine and she rips off a piece of flesh with great vigor. Who says all vultures are ugly? Looking at the White-headed vulture I am reminded of the Geishas of Japan – beak unnaturally red, powdered white face, and just a touch of blue and purple to vitalize the face. Even the manners are cool and controlled and the female pauses occasionally to glance around.
Unfortunately her meal is also short-lived as a pair of Lappet-faced vultures come rushing in, their feet hanging beneath them as they hop into their landing. The red-headed pair seem to have an agreement and one Lappet-faced vulture begins feeding as the other tilts its head, eye-looking up and to the sides checking for intruders. Wings positioned to the side, the Lappets move towards the White-headed vulture, pushing her aside with ease. The White-headed vulture backs away peacefully though not without one gentle bite in the direction of the Lappets. As one member of the Lappet pair rips into the carcass, the other occasionally lowers its head hoping for a bite. Then the marital dispute begins and the feeding bird gently bites its mate on the neck, releasing to look her in the eye, beaks touching as they lift their heads in unison. Battle resolved the first bird goes back to feeding.
The first African White-backed vulture seems to have come from nowhere and yet a quick glance to the sky reveals nearly twenty African White-backs and Ruppell’s vultures that have recently found the carcass. After the initial landing, these Gyps vultures seem to pour in one after another. Soon the carcass has vanished beneath a pile of squirming, fighting, and screeching birds. The vultures let out hisses and squeaks as they squabble for position and in the end only about half the group feeds. By this point a pair of Hooded vultures and a single Marabou Stork are hanging around the periphery of the carcass. The Hoodeds grab small pieces that seem to go unnoticed by their comrades and the Marabou steps into the steal the larger pieces of meat as they are dislodged from the carcass by the African White-backed vultures.

We caught our fifth Ruppells this morning and were able to attach a GSM-GPS unit. The data from the other birds has been amazing so far. We have a Lappet-faced vulture who nests outside the park, but comes into feed and who has been clocked at 87 km/hr then there is a Ruppells Vulture that travelled 130 km in a single day.  In any case, we had to chase down the bird and then were able to get blood, attach a wing tag, and strap on the backpack with the unit. The whole procedure usually takes 30 minutes and most of the vultures remain fairly calm during the whole procedure. This bird was tired when we got it and remained still as I looped the straps of the backpack around its wings and tied on the unit. Then as we tilted it slightly to make sure everything was in order, Wilson, my field assistant who was holding the bird, lost control. Despite having the bird’s head and feet still in his hand, he was unable to stop it from rising and coming at me. Wings spread - the bird came at me. I tried to rise from my bent legs and move away, but I was too slow. His yellow beak reached my leg, right along the inner thigh, and sunk in. With jaws and bill that are designed to rip hunks of meat off a dead animal, the bite stung and left quite a mark. I rose and could feel blood oozing from the wound, but a handle on the bird regained we went back to work collecting blood and putting on the wing tag.

The rest of the day was spent looking for nests, but we found more than that along the way. Three cheetah lay resting under the small shade of an Acacia tree. One yawned and stretched only to lie back down – about as much energy as it could muster in the heat of the day. Then on the way to another vulture nest we passed a lion – huge male with a pink and black patched nose and the dark mane of a healthy adult. He was breathing heavily and from the looks of it was completely stuffed (most likely from a recent meal of wildebeest). His body heaved with each breath and he looked absolutely exhausted. Then past a small mound we noticed the ears of a cat. It turned out to be the elusive leopard. Relaxing on the tiny hill, he stared at us and then decided to search for food, slinking away stealthily. But it wasn’t just cats that we saw, we also passed a bat-eared fox, who initially decided to hide in a small hole and then  sprinted off into the distance.