“Here.” Judy handed me a business card. “If you’re ever in our corner of the world, and still ‘not together.’” She made hand gestures around not together.
“Thank you.” I laughed. “Enjoy the rest of your visit.”
We said goodbye and headed for the crater. Jack stopped at the gate to look after the permits and paperwork.
As we took the winding road that descended into the caldera, the clouds that covered the rim gave way to a sweeping, surreal landscape. The haziness dissipated and the world came into sharp focus again. The first animals I spotted were . . .
“Cows?” I turned to Jack in surprise.
Against the soft, pastel grasslands, a red cumulus of dust marked a line of cattle, inching down the steep, narrow track to the crater floor. A scrawny figure was guiding his herd into the mouth of the lion’s domain.
“The Maasai,” he explained. “They are free to roam the Ngorongoro Conservation Area, but they cannot live in the crater, so they bring their cattle to graze here. They have to enter and exit daily.”
“But what happens if he’s attacked? Or one of his cows?”
“Cattle are the Maasai’s greatest wealth. A Maasai man will do anything to sustain or defend his livestock. He is trained for it from the time he’s a little boy. When he passes the ultimate test of bravery, he earns his warrior name. Killing a lion used to be the final rite of passage to becoming a warrior, but things have changed. There are government rules and regulations to be followed now. Still, that there—” Jack motioned to the lone man, marching to the clang of cowbells, spear in hand “—is the ultimate warrior.”
“Is this what Bahati would be doing if he lived here? Is Bahati his warrior name?” I asked as we left the man behind.
“Bahati is his nickname. He never received his warrior name.”
“What happened? He told me his family disowned him, but he didn’t say why.”
“That is something you should ask him.” Jack switched gears as we reached the floor of the caldera.
Patches of forest edged around steep cliffs, providing a soaring backdrop to the sea of grass, dappled with herds of grazing buffaloes. Sharp-eyed vultures scanned the morning from above. A skittish warthog ran across the plain, tail upright, the tuft of bristles at its end waving like a little black flag. Ostriches surveyed us with bright eyes, their bald heads bobbing up and down. The view was flat and clear for miles and miles.
I took a deep breath. So much earth. So much sky. Vast and infinite. It was humbling and awe-inspiring, like the roof had been lifted and I could see the dawning of the world.
It’s beautiful, Mo, I thought. I wish I’d come when you’d asked me to. While you were still here.
“There.” Jack turned the car off and pointed to something behind us in the knee-high, golden grass.
There was an almost imperceptible shift in the blades. Then they parted and a pride of lions ambled out, tails swishing as they walked down the road towards us. I watched them approach in the rear-view mirror, and held my breath as they prowled by us with long, powerful strides. There were ten lions, including two males with thick, black manes. Their massive, padded paws made no sound as they passed the car. One of the cubs broke away, but his mother went after him. She picked him up by the scruff of his neck and didn’t let him down even after they’d caught up with the rest of the pride. He swayed back and forth, dangling out of her mouth, mewling apologies.
“Not a very regal send-off for a prince.” I laughed as the lions retreated into the bush again.
“That was me and Goma when I was little,” said Jack, starting the car. “I was always chasing something, and she was always pulling me back.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“My father loved to fly. My parents were on their way home when his two-seater crashed. I was seven. Goma locked herself up in her room for a week. When she came out, she was just as fierce as she’s always been. Although, sometimes I think it was more for me. She didn’t have the luxury to fall apart. Like I did with Lily.”
She didn’t blame herself for what happened to her son, like you’re doing with Lily, I thought, but held my tongue. “Your grandfather wasn’t around?”
“He died before I was born, but I feel like I knew him. Probably because of all the stories Goma told me about him. I used to think she was making them up, but I still meet people who talk about him. He was larger than life. An extraordinary man.”
We passed herds of wildebeest and zebra. Jack explained that zebras grazed on the harder parts of the vegetation, while the wildebeest preferred the softer parts, so they were perfectly paired. Roaming the plains together heightened awareness of predators, and the zebra’s stripes confused the big cats.
“Where we see black and white, the lion sees only the patterned stripes because it’s pretty much color blind. If a zebra is standing still in the wavy lines of the grass around it, a lion may completely overlook it.”
I’d always been attracted to men who had brains to back up their brawn. Jack fit the bill perfectly, but I was only half-listening to his words. It was his voice that held me entranced. He didn’t speak much, but here in the vast, unobstructed space, he seemed to be opening up to me. And his voice was delicious. It set my skin vibrating like a tuning fork—the perfect pitch, the perfect timbre, making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I wanted him to go on and on.