Caren Ware's Blog

March 1, 2014

The Tarangire

Filed under: Uncategorized — Caren Ware @ 10:29 am

Gas lanterns dot the row of our tents. I sit crossed legged trying to type directly below my hanging headlamp. It is a perfect temperature. It is that temperature that Adam and Eve ,and the tribal Maasai ,can comfortably be naked in. The crickets set off just the right buzz for background noise. A bird is chirping non stop, but it adds to the beat. I hear an Elephant huff in the direction of the dry river bed. I hear a Hyena cackle up on the plain. The elephant trumpets, a sound they make when threatened. Far off coming through the wind is the sound of beating drums. Possibly the natives of another camp site beating the bush to keep the lions away. It is pitch black in my pitched tent except for the spread of dim light the headlamp provides. The winds still as instantly as they start.There is either faint flapping of tent canvas or dead still. It is so engulfing still. The stillness churns feelings that beat in me like those faint drum beats in the distance. I know. I know. I can’t sleep. I am too torn. Torn over a relationship the was closed before I feel the chapters could have been written. Torn over the titter totter between Jackson, Wyoming and what I too hastily gave up in California. And in the stillness, I pray for God’s leading, healing, learning from mistakes. A monkey or a mongoose is tampering with a pan in the kitchen area of our Safari camp. A bird shrills louder than anything I have ever heard. It sounds like a jet airplane landing right in camp. I am in the Tarangire, somewhere. And that was a sound that would wake the dead. What in the world was that? NOW, I am wide awake. I am the end tent most vulnerable to any animal attack.

Oh, my dear son John. How you would have loved this place today. They are really here in herds, in the Baobab trees, on the plains, eating the brush. Warthogs with their ridiculous snouts and tusks sticking out of the sides as they swish their ratty tails and grin at you. Zebras. Their strips move with their muscles and they are artwork. Monkeys are climbing the spanning branches of the Baobab tree and swing from limb to limb in play. Ears flapping, moving at a pace of a giant, the elephants lumber right in front of the safari vehicle picking at the grass with their snouts. A baby giraffe picks as tall as it can reach. Where is momma? Oh, there her head sticks out far above the trees. It is amazing here and not one moment feels good sharing this alone. That bird creature screams again. I jump right off the cot.
I ve got to get some sleep and very consciously stuff all the fear of what the future holds under my blankets. They cuddle up with me and I do not fall asleep until the last moments before dawn. IMG_3353

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IMG_3563You are here in Africa, Caren. You have purposed this adventure.

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