Tarangire National Park

Morris, a former Olympian and training partner of Zach and Mama Gwandu, is also the chief of police for the entire Manyara Region. Holding such a high position in a rural, newly formed region of Tanzania brings with it great respect, authority, and a certain level of fame. Morris' genuine and compassionate demeanor has the entire town of Babati wrapped around his finger. We're staying at the nicest lodge in town for free. We've eaten at the nicest, most expensive restaurant in town for free. And last night, after returning from our safari, we enjoyed beers at the police mess for free. Tarangire National Park is within the Manyara Region and therefore, under Morris' jurisdiction as well. Tanzanian National Parks are strictly monitored and controlled due to their immense income generation for the country. Private vehicles are not allowed to enter any of the park, and all visitors must enter as part of an organized tour and with a registered tour company. Doing this will set you back anywhere from $150-$200 per day. But not when you've got Morris on your side.

Prior to his appointment as Chief of Police, he owned Green Leaf Safari Company based in Dar Es Salaam. Since his move up to Northern Tanzania, the company has been handed over to Cathy to manage and run. With his knowledge of tourism and safaris, Morris organized a day trip to Tarangire National Park for us--no formal tour company, no hefty fines, just a nice, leisurely day in one of Tanzania's parks with the highest concentration of animals and the lowest concentration of tourists. We started spotting animals before we even entered the park. Thousands of zebras, buffalo, and antelope. Families of graceful giraffes and lumbering elephants. We spotted birds--Helmeted June Fowl, Vultures, Bear Go Away, Hammackos, Hornbills, and even the iridescently blue backed Bustaling. We watched a jackal stalk its tiny prey, a Kirk's dik dik, the smallest of the antelope family. But the most exciting sighting of the day was when we stumbled upon a family of elephants trying to intimidate and fend off a single, female lion. The lion was lying low in the shade of an evergreen baobob tree, watching with intense calculations the herd of elephants clustered just a few meters away. As we positioned ourselves into a better viewing position, the lion's rustling in the grasses sent the elephants into round of ferocious warning calls that made the hair on my arms stand up. The lion, alone and vulnerable against elephants without the help of her pack, retreated from her strategic position, creeping closer to us and further from the imminent threat of angry, protective elephant mothers. As the lion came towards us, her bloody chin revealed the recent feast she'd been enjoying under the baobob, a feast she was probably reluctant to leave behind to the mercy of the savannah's scavengers. The entire scenario lasted only a few minutes, but the vivid intensity of it has it burned into my memory forever. As we pulled away, Kate and I exchanged a look of utter disbelief, completely shocked at what we had just witnessed, and our jaw-dropping silence was lost as laughter and excitement-induced chatter spilled from our mouths.

A few minutes passed and I took to my perch hanging out the rear passenger window, the African sun casting its glow on the open plains and its warms rays on my skin, the wind picking tears from my eyes, and the feeling of completeness filling that little spot just under my rib cage where I like to think my soul resides. I felt so whole, so complete, so alive out there, and again, a smile spread across my face that couldn't be contained.