If there is a single place that can best be described by the word “untamed”, Tsavo West is it. Chilling tales of man-eating lions, hordes of tsetse flies, and a downright rowdy landscape all combine to blur the lines between the seen and unseen. Getting there involves a gradual transition into the playground of the mighty baobabs - first a smattering of them, immediately distinctive and awe-inspiring. Gradually, one turns into five, and then twenty-five, to a point where baobabs gather and dance, their swollen trunks bent mid-gyration, their branches flailing in reckless abandon. This goes on as far as the eye can wander, as far as the plains stretch to hills made blue by Rayleigh scattering such is the vastness of the place.
There were baobabs within the park boundaries, too. These massive trees were oases of life wherever they stood. Elaborate woven nests swayed like decorations in the gentle breeze, some would also have the nests of eagles adorning their crowns. All manners of starlings and hornbills hopped along hefty branches in pursuit of their next meal. Surely these regal trees concealed innumerable creatures within every nook and crevice.
Unlike Nairobi National Park, there were elephants here. From time to time, evidence of the behemoths would be made apparent. Any acacia tree that lay unceremoniously twisted, missing limbs, or entirely uprooted was a sure pachyderm signature. The landscape was a game of smoke and mirrors, apparitions of animals seemed to randomly appear and disappear. Most animals move about silently, intent on either finding food or avoiding becoming food themselves. Elephants are no exception, and it is notoriously difficult to find them if they wish to remain hidden. Despite their size, they can easily blend into the landscape; their habit of showering themselves in dirt serves to cleverly disguise them as a large rock.
Although elephants were only seen in the distance, the park was nevertheless replete with large mammals, with herds of buffalo and zebra coursing through the contours of the land. A watering hole - albeit artificially created - attracted droves of thirst-driven doves and sandgrouse, along with a steady stream of ungulates throughout the day. Giraffes would come to have a sip from time to time; despite their cautious and measured approach they’d still be plainly visible from a distance as they towered over the vegetation. As shadows lengthened, a pair of Egyptian Geese would coast in on broad, black-and-white wings, the stillness of the water momentarily broken by their arrival. At night, Black-backed Jackals trotted through the tall grass and Spotted Hyenas wailed to the new moon. The arrival of Africa’s largest owl - the imposing Verreaux’s Eagle-Owl - was always unannounced, however.
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