Sampson – stripped of his wisdom by a woman – and so the story goes of Sampson and Delilah. Sampson - momentarily stalled in his path by a woman - and so the story goes of Sampson and Christine. My novice trap setting skills, the first trap I set, proved good for one go at it. I’d have to say it was beginners luck; the settings since have not been as fruitful though we think we’ve perfected the method for next time, next year. You can look forward to my reunion entry in January - telling you about a handful of new hyenas that have signed up to the cause.
A week ago we were invited up to the infamous lodge. If one was so inclined, it would cost that individual somewhere in the neighborhood of seven hundred dollars a night to stay there – per person, not per room. Our presence was allotted for because Johann, Sam’s boyfriend, had clients on safari staying there. We spent our token afternoon sunning ourselves at the private pool on top of the compound called 360 – so named for your three hundred and sixty degree view of the land lingering below. This little bungalow would set you back eight thousand dollars a night. Each structure has its own pool perched on the edge of the cliff. Low walls etch out the perimeter and the bathroom, but everything else is open. There is little else to the space actually - slippery white tile floors and a large white bed encased in a mosquito net – all seemingly trying to defy the dusty conditions that surround it; even the staff wear long white robes. I’m told that all the white is about portraying a coastal ambiance. In the gift shop you can buy beaded waste bins, appropriately sized for your bathroom, for three hundred dollars. Though I guess the tolerance of a person paying close to a thousand dollars a night to be there is ample enough to find these prices in the margin of fairness
Camp is winding down; we’re back in Nairobi for a week while Paul prepares his poop samples for export. Poop - we introduced Albert in camp to this word when we were out doing animal counts one morning. We found a herd of wildebeest and drove over to collect some fecal samples - but we told Albert we were looking for poop. Hearing Paul use this terminology, he must have thought that poop was the correct word to use and when he was out with Sam another day recording what animals had been to her plant plots, he said, “I think this one is some weird sort of giraffe poop; it must have been at the end of pooping.” Sam subscribes to a proper British style of English - the right style of English most Brits would say - so she was less than pleased with the infiltration of our American slang. In true Christine spirit, I can finally count the days remaining on my hands and feet so productivity can wake up alert from its pondering slumber. We finished the stones dictating the paths of travel, each accompanied by a skull and its appropriate hoof track painted on the stone. I clear coated the stones and the skulls to save them from the sun and the dogs. Bucket and Monster seemed to have thought that I laid out these skulls as a dinner menu for them despite my insistence to the contrary. Once I soaked them in shell-ac they started to believe me.
All this research going on around me has inspired me to ask my own study questions. There’s some research going on in the Mara on spotted hyenas and their resistance to anthrax. I’ve decided to start doing my own research, using myself as the study animal, and inquire about the build up of immunity to scorpion stings. Two down and so far they still hurt.
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