Uganda Be Kidding Me

  In perfect timing for Rex to avoid answering personal sexual questions, we next came upon a mother hyena with her den of babies. We decided as a group that hyenas were quite possibly the most disgusting animals we had seen on safari so far, and that was including baboons.

  “Jeepers,” Rex responded. “You girls are flippin’ hard to please.”

  Molly, Simone, and I exchanged disappointed squints at each other. This marked the first time I was embarrassed for Rex and his vocabulary.

  “Do you still want to take him back to LA to be your pool boy?” Molly murmured. “Jeepers, Chelsea, we seem to have run out of AAAhced tea and vodka. Where’s the flippin’ store?”

  “Where’s the lip balm?” I asked the group, ignoring Molly.

  Later that afternoon they drove us over to a ridge covered in boulders and that overlooked a river, and we had drinks at sunset with Rex, Ryan, and another safari guide named Luke.

  It was very romantic… or it would have been very romantic had we been there with our boyfriends, had any of us actually had boyfriends, with the exception of Sue. Although until Chuck agreed to change his name to something more reasonable, he didn’t really count in my mind. Luke wasn’t attractive in any way, shape, or form, but he was well versed in what was in the sky.

  Me and Ryan.

  We all sat under the stars while he identified every constellation, its location in relation to us, and what parts of the world they were most visible in. He showed us the Southern Cross and its pointers, teaching us how to determine in the dark of night if you were headed north or south just by looking at the sky and making a triangle out of the Southern Cross pointers. I had heard about this sort of Boy Scout nonsense before, but I didn’t believe people really paid attention to this kind of thing unless they were members of some program that was trying to launch a rocket into space. After our tutorial, we all attempted to identify the Southern Cross night after night with a success rate of zero.

  I watched Rex down one glass of champagne after another and chase each one with a shot of Jameson, and it dawned on me then that we might not be the only ones with drinking problems.

  On the ride home we heard over the walkie-talkies from other safari guides about three lionesses that were found roaming on the airstrip where we had landed. One was injured. As we tried to track them we heard the three lionesses making calls trying to find each other.

  “That’s sweet. What kind of calls would we make under the same circumstances?” I asked the group.

  We decided collectively right there and then that we had no system in place whatsoever to locate one another if we were in a bind and forced to separate or, even worse, if Simone was injured and had to blood-let again. Molly and I took turns howling at each other before were told to shut the fuck up by Rex. He didn’t use the word fuck, but he was grabbing at his disheveled hair the way a man would if he were trying hard not to hit a woman.

  That night we had dinner in a circular wine cellar and were separated from the rest of the guests. Molly attributed this to Sue’s interrogation the night before of the triplets and their parents about the health issues the two small siblings had to endure due to the biggest of the three hogging all the nutrients in the womb. Simone attributed our isolation to our behavior in general, and Hannah attributed it to the camp having to keep me from sexually assaulting Rex.

  “I’m not the one that was upset the bag you were allowed to bring wasn’t big enough to house your black vibrator,” I told her.

  “I have extra condoms if anyone hooks up,” Sue announced as she helped herself to some curry. “Did you girls know that South Africa has one of the highest HIV-infected populations in the world? It’s a great place to hook up.”

  There was enough food to feed sixty-five people, and none of it was worth taking a second bite of. Multiple dishes consisted of multiple unidentifiable meats on multiple sticks. Molly posited that if we simply cut down on the amount of alcohol, the quality of food might improve.

  “It’s safe to assume they think we eat as much as we drink,” Simone commented.

  “I’ve thought a lot about my life today,” I proclaimed, “and I no longer believe marriage is in the cards for me.”

  June 26, Tuesday

  On the morning of our fourth day, I decided sleeping was more imperative than seeing more lions lick themselves. I blamed my knee injury on my passiveness, but the truth was when I woke up for the fourth time that week at five a.m., I wanted to cry. Why are babies allowed to cry when they wake up, but adults crying when they wake is frowned upon? Babies are permitted to act like assholes whenever they feel like it and no one blinks, but if an adult throws a temper tantrum, all of a sudden it’s on YouTube. It was just too fucking early too many days in a row. I mean, realistically, how many more animals were there to see?

  There was also a side story: I can’t begin to describe how much I loved the twin bed I was sleeping in. It was like a marshmallow surrounded in mosquito netting, and it made me feel like a princess. It was just the right size for me and reminded me of a childhood I never had. The only thing better than a twin bed with a mosquito net would be a twin waterbed. The decision was made. Once back at my house, I would keep the king-sized, custom-made leather headboard, but replace the king mattress with a twin-sized waterbed. I would center it in the middle of the headboard, in order to make clear to any visitors that this was an intentional design choice. I would run the water hose through the electrical system in my closet and straight through my ice machine (also in my closet). I love everything to be cold, and this was just one more thing I hadn’t thought of: an iced waterbed.

  While the girls were gone I arranged a massage for myself in my villa. The ninety minutes were up before I was ready, so I walked right over to Simone and Molly’s villa and called the spa from there, pretending I was one of them. Unfortunately for me, the same masseuse who had massaged me moments earlier showed up and looked at me quizzically, even though I had put on a baseball hat and sunglasses as a disguise. I pretended my sister had ordered the massage but that she had changed her mind at the last minute and I volunteered to take her place, so as to not waste any money. Getting two massages back to back from the same person wasn’t optimal, but the management at Londolozi left me with no other option.

  Of course upon return, the girls informed me that they saw sixteen elephants—mostly mamas and babies—on the horizon waiting for the sun to rise while breast-feeding. I could have kicked myself if I could have moved my leg in any direction but straight. They also told me about the herd of zebras (ZEH-bras) they came upon while a herd of rhinos stood closely by bathing themselves in mud and then licking it off each other.

  We then went shopping at the camp’s small store. Everyone proceeded to buy clothing they would never wear, useless knickknacks they would never unpack, and jewelry they would lose before the end of the trip. Sue bought a set of salad tongs for everyone she knew. She then kissed the manager of the store on the mouth as a thank-you for ringing up said items.

  I purchased a gray shirt with the continent of Africa front and center, only because none of the clothes I had brought still fit me. I was now wearing a women’s large. I decided to go back to my room and take a pain pill for my leg, something I was proud that I had avoided in the ninety-six hours I had been abroad. After the girls were done shopping they found me on the main deck stuffing my face with breakfast items at two in the afternoon.

  A small, blond nine-year-old boy walked in and sat himself at the table where the girls had joined me. He was fully equipped with binoculars around his neck and an animal-logging journal in his hands. His name was Westin and he had no guardian in sight, and it very quickly became apparent why. He never shut the fuck up. The only thing more annoying than underweight cats are kids who don’t know when to zip it.

  His family came here every year for vacation, so we agreed to let him give us a tour of his lodge, which happened to abut our lodge, and a look at his very detailed journal of every animal you
will find at Londolozi, scientific names included. One by one, we slowly made excuses to go, leaving Sue alone with him.

  The five of us decided to bar-hop and investigate the other lodges that we hadn’t seen yet. Afterward, we deduced that everyone who worked at this resort was too good-looking. Simone questioned the ability of people this good-looking being able to effectively do their jobs while also protecting us from wild animals.

  Being that it was our last day at the camp, I decided to participate in the afternoon ride. By this point, I had put on so much weight that after I walked back to my room, I got dressed by just throwing my bathrobe over my naked body. I had developed a diaperlike rash, which I believed was from wearing jeans that were cutting off my circulation. None of my safari clothes fit me. Every morning, I would try on all three pairs of pants I had brought hoping that somehow my weight had shifted while I slept, but to no avail. I borrowed a pair of Shelly’s jeans, which barely fit, but I ended up sending them to the laundry because they reeked of vodka and tomato juice. Why SkyMall hasn’t developed a proper safari thermos is an insult to animals, jeeps, Africa, and alcohol.

  I started our afternoon safari ride by asking Rex what he would do if an animal were to attack us. Who would he protect first? This was my very indiscreet way of giving him room to make his intentions known. He promptly informed me that he would protect himself first.

  Rex found and picked up impala poop (looks like little black blueberries), and ate it. Life told us how the Shangaan play a game where they see who can spit impala poop the farthest. Without any prompting, Sue put a couple of pellets in her mouth and started spitting them at us. Shelly then spent the next half hour dry-heaving at the thought of putting poop in your mouth.

  We ended up watching two male giraffes fight with their necks for thirty minutes over a female giraffe. As boring as the battle was, we were shockingly excited. Hannah asked if giraffes ate meat. Molly rolled her eyes at me as if I knew how ridiculous a question that was.

  Rex responded with great annoyance, “No!” He was on the verge of a mental breakdown, and Simone and I surmised that he was grumpiest in the afternoons because he was going through DTs from not being able to drink and drive. In the mornings he was more pleasant, because he was still drunk.

  Life pointed out a kudu, which, compared to the animals we had already seen, was not that interesting. You would think after running safari camps for years and years, they would know to introduce you to the most boring animals first and then slowly introduce the Big Five—lions, tigers, and bears.

  Out of sympathy for Rex, we told him we had seen enough animals and that we should all blow off some steam and get drunk. He didn’t take much convincing, and even Life seemed to perk up at the prospect of Rex letting loose.

  Shelly seized this moment to whip out her satellite phone, which was the size of a small uterus, so she could patch herself in to a work conference call in Dallas. Shelly had taken things in the opposite direction from me by getting more serious each day with her safari garb, adding a belt, a broad-brimmed safari hat, binoculars, and a satellite phone to roll calls while we watched impala eat their own shit.

  Rex claimed this was the first time he had ever seen someone on a conference call during safari. Life claimed this was the first time he had seen a phone.

  Sue was sitting alone in the backseat of the jeep, pontificating out loud that she was consistently sitting alone in the backseat. Safari jeeps have three passenger benches that get higher the farther back the bench is. Sue claimed she was being treated like a ninety-year-old grandma with dementia who was taken for drives to keep her happy. She started to sing a hymn: “Grandma in the back, sunroof top, digging the scene with the gangster lean…”

  We pulled over and had what had become our sunset “bush happy hour” complete with champagne, vodka, and African hors d’oeuvres. Everyone sat and lay their heads on each other’s laps. I propped my leg above a picnic basket and iced it while simultaneously grilling Rex about the seriousness of his relationship with Lilly and the possibility of seeing a snake. Being that it was our last night at their camp, Life joined us, and we were able to ask him questions about being a true Shangaan.

  Hannah asked Rex if we were his favorite guests ever. He responded no, but my sexual instincts told me a different story.

  Hannah then asked Life if he planned on taking on any more wives. He said no, citing expense as the reason. I took this opportunity to offer Hannah up for free. Life giggled, which was quite adorable, and looked away awkwardly in a way I took to mean, She isn’t my type. Hannah looked appropriately disappointed and then made an under-the-breath comment about him raping her later on that night.

  “Oh, dear,” Molly said. “I think it’s time to go.”

  Rex regaled us with his training to become a safari guide at Londolozi. How every day for eight days he would follow a new path on the grounds with just a walkie-talkie, a sandwich, and a water bottle. He had no weapon to protect himself with. On one of the days, he got stuck in the middle of a herd of elephants and tried to camouflage himself underneath a bush. He walkied the other rangers at the camp to rescue him because he truly believed he was going to die. They told him they wouldn’t make it in time and he was on his own. Rex stood up in the middle of the herd and ran as fast as he could out of there.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Molly leaned in to ask me. “Or will you need a new pair of safari underwear after that story?”

  Life smelled something and suggested we get moving only to find a female leopard carrying a dead baby steenbok in its mouth. While following it, Sue lost her beanie in a tree and expressed her hope that one day someone would see an impala or a zebra wearing it.

  Next, we came across thirty or so baboons ass-raping the females as they walked across a field. By this point, we were all nonplussed at the male baboon’s tendencies. “These animals are behaving like musicians,” Sue announced.

  Life told Rex in Afrikaans that he had found male lion tracks. We followed the tracks for forty-five minutes, working with other trackers on the reserve via walkie-talkie. Then Rex and Life both got out of the car to track on foot.

  This was when I got up, pulled my pants down, and placed my ass over the side of the jeep.

  Molly turned her camera toward me. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

  “Tell me if they turn around,” I implored everyone.

  “Why?” Simone asked. “Would that really matter?”

  Life came back to the truck and wrinkled his nose as he passed the part of the jeep where my urine had splattered. He said something in Shangaan to Rex, and Rex started laughing and looked in my direction. I looked straight into the sky. There’s a difference between being a class act and being classy. Peeing off the side of a jeep doesn’t mean you’re not classy, it just means you’re a free spirit with a small bladder.

  Laying my scent across the continent of Africa is what I now realized I was born to do, and it worked. The next thing we found were four male lions spread-eagle sunbathing. We were actually able to be quiet and got as close as possible. As we were moving in, Hannah dropped her sunglasses outside of the jeep. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But can we please go back and get them? They were a hundred and eighty dollars.”

  We all turned around and looked at her to see if she was serious. “I’ll buy you another pair,” I told her.

  “That’s really not going to help me for the next ten days.”

  Without saying anything, Life jumped out of the car with four lions surrounding us to get Hannah’s glasses. I still didn’t understand why Life was allowed to mingle with the lions, yet I wasn’t.

  After we clearly disturbed them with this little kerfuffle, the lions decided to move down to the water, where a bush was blocking our view. So Hannah, wanting to see better, asked Rex if she could get on her knees.

  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Molly asked. “Maybe that’s what’s got you so agro.”

  “Fuck you, C
helsea. We’re on safari. Relax.”

  No one bothered telling her that Molly was the one who had spoken, because Hannah had stopped making any sense days earlier.

  On the way home Rex was speeding to get us back in time for our last night’s festivities and almost crashed into hippos congregating in the middle of a river we were crossing. Those safari jeeps are pretty powerful, and so was the champagne we had coerced Rex to drink. He was eighteen sheets to the wind, and I had officially lost my lip balm.

  We got back to Londolozi earlier than usual and headed to the local Shangaan village so that Shelly and Sue could give the toys and candy they brought to the local children. Imagine a local village or orphanage and the euphoria illuminating everyone’s faces as they saw Americans pulling up. There was none of that. Clearly these children had grown weary of white people bringing them gifts, and by the looks of things, they were already pretty well set up. Each child had a Mac laptop or a iPad mini, and there was French writing all over their chalkboard.

  “Wow, Chelsea. These kids are all better educated than you. Maybe one day they’ll all get a TV show on E!, too,” Hannah announced.

  Next we met with the head village woman, Lena, a stumpy woman who spoke slowly enough to make us all feel as stupid as possible. Lena told us the history of the Shangaan tribe and how the Shangaan men take multiple wives, all of whom must pay a dowry. If a woman dies before her dowry is paid, her children will have to pay their father for their mother’s dowry.

  “That sounds like a sweet deal,” Molly said, fist-bumping me.

  Then Lena brought us over to the hut she slept in, which was the size of a pencil sharpener. We went in one at a time and avoided any eye contact with each other. After this humbling episode, we rode back to camp in silence and went to our separate villas after canceling our massages.

  Me with the Head Hut Nugget.