Maasai Mara, Kenya

I used to play football on the estate as a kid and it felt like an extreme sport at times. Partially because the pitch was a car park, so you know, there are already potential hazard right away when you have vehicles constantly pulling into the ‘stadium’ throughout the match, but that wasn’t the major danger. Our biggest worry was the old lady that lived at number 6.

She must have been about 130 years-old and hated fun. Whenever the ball went into her garden it was a race against time to hop over her fence and retrieve it before the front door opened (a part of me almost believed the highlight of her day was getting to shout at the kids). The nature of the wrath would vary. Sometimes we’d get a speech that would always conclude with ‘I’ll pop it next time’ and on other occasions she’d take the ball inside her house. Our struggles were not helped by my mate Alex’s wonky shots, either. If you’ve ever been in combat with a 130 year-old woman, you’ll know about the fear I speak of.

Well for twenty-five years I considered that car park to be the most dangerous place on earth to host a game of football. That is until we went on a safari in the Maasai Mara and saw some goalposts in the wild from our jeep. Surely no kickabout is worth that level of danger? While old women are insanely intimidating, I’ll freely concede that leopards are scarier. Have you seen their canines? I’m not even sure the granny at number 6 still had teeth.

Furthermore, we saw a pride of lions chomping down on the dead remains of something only about 100 metres down the track. We couldn’t even distinguish what they were eating because the carcass was so mangled. We determined we were probably looking at a zebra, but it could have just as easily been some nutter in a Newcastle United kit with a wonky shot.

On the topic of wild cats enjoying a meal, deep into our tour we were convinced we were on the verge of witnessing nature’s finest feast from start to finish. Our guide pulled over beside three lions who were speedily ambling towards a group of impalas.

 The impalas began backtracking while also forming a beautiful diamond-shaped defensive stance with one brave warrior at the front. I reckon his name was Spartacus. Either way, we’d soon find out because it was about to be inscribed onto his impala gravestone.

Our eyes were fixed on the animals as we giddily waited to see what might occur. Were we going to witness a chase? Would the lions successful catch their prey or could the impalas outrun them? We excitedly debated the potential scenarios as we watched the action unfolding live from the best view in the house. Well, best view if you omit the bloke in the jeep next to us with the forty foot camera lens.

Soon enough, the simbas were merely a few yards away from their targets and the scene was becoming tense. All conversations had stopped as the drama had reached the stage where it demanded everybody’s full attention. When the lions finally arrived at the impalas they… kept walking onward to a small stream of water in the background. There were plenty of predictions circling the jeep, but that was not one of them. We looked at our guide bemusedly who answered to our expressions by stating, ‘Oh. It’ll be because they’re covered in flies. They must want to cool down and wash them off.’

Those cheeky furballs had played us for absolute fools. Not only did the lions let us and the man with the massive camera down, but they also disappointed a bunch of children who were watching from a yellow school bus alongside our vehicle. I hope they reflected long and hard on their selfishness as they were chilling out in the water.

By the way, that surely has to rank as the greatest school trip of all time. My primary school sincerely took us on an outing to the local laundrette. The children in Kenya are being educated on the reasons lions enter lakes, while I learned that red socks shouldn’t go into a spin with white clothes. People literally pay thousands to travel to Kenya from all over the world for such a privilege, I’m not sure the same could be said for the Peggy Tub Laundrette in Rothwell.

Overall, the game drive was fantastic. I’ve heard a person appreciates everything that little bit more when they’ve paid for it with their own hard-earned cash. Perhaps that’s the subconscious reason I rate the time we spent at the Maasai Mara so highly, yet never truly saw the benefit of my childhood trip to look at washing machines. It’s either that or the laundrette is just a crap place to take kids for a treat.

The following day we visited the Maasai village. The residents, who were all dressed in red robes, greeted us with a fascinating dance, whereupon they formed a semicircle around one man who repeatedly jumped to their hummed melody. It was pleasantly jolly and an entertaining way to be welcomed into their home. The chief then treated us to a tour of their community.

Along the way, I couldn’t help but notice that a selection of the villagers had large, gaping, unnatural holes in their earlobes. Intrigued, I politely enquired the reason for this, and the chief responded by explaining that the eldest child within each family is required to have their earlobes stretched open when they’re young. As an eldest child, I’m pretty glad my family never had such a tradition.

Following the tour, we were introduced to a young boy who was assigned the task of showing us the inside of his family’s hut. We met his mother, but not his father. He informed us that his dad wasn’t home because he was preparing for his next wedding. I was astounded by how nonchalantly he revealed that detail, considering we were sitting beside his mum.

Initially, I gathered they must have had an amicable breakup. However, we later learned that they were actually still happily married. The lad’s old man has five wives and twenty-two kids. A total he’s not satisfied with, clearly, given that he’s in the process of planning another wedding. I guess he had a different wife to occupy his time from Monday to Friday, but was getting restless on the weekends.

Once we left the hut, we were reapproached by the chief who was holding a selection of crafts. I politely notified him that I wasn’t looking to buy anything. Surprisingly, he responded by affirming that he wasn’t hoping to make a cash exchange either. His intention was to make a trade, and the items of mine he had in mind were my trainers. He looked down at my feet and said, ‘Your shoes. If you give me your shoes, I’ll give you a bracelet.’

The village had a lot of cows roaming that had not been potty trained. There were huge, sloppy piles of manure all over the ground. Not exactly a place you would want to be walking around barefoot. So as much as his accessory could have added a bit of character to my wrist, I chose to turn down the exchange.

When it was clear I wouldn’t be handing over my trainers, he turned his attention to my hat. This was also a belonging I wished to keep. I’m not sure why exactly I’d been turned into a shop window mannequin displayed for advertisement purposes, but I had no intention of giving away anything I was wearing. Each item had its own purpose. In the end, I explained that the cap was preventing sunburn and my trainers were keeping my feet free of cow excrement. He acceptingly smiled, shook my hand and gave up on his pursuit to undress me.

A pair of gentleman then showed us how to make a fire simply by rubbing wood together, which was very cool. They created sparks within seconds, while it took me a few minutes. Nevertheless, it was very satisfying to see I’d eventually managed it. I may now adopt that as my party trick.

All in all, the entire experience was incredible. The Maasai Mara gets big thumbs up.