Despite having had a good night’s sleep, we were still exhausted from the Funzi adventure. Add to this the fact that it was Friday, and we decided to make it a short day. We had been told about a nature reserve nearby called Bamburi, and we took a taxi there.
Bamburi, our taxi driver explained to us, used to be a coral quarry. After the quarrying activity had finished, the site lay empty for twenty years. Then someone had the bright idea of turning it into a nature reserve. The driver left us at the gate and promised to collect us three hours later.
Entering the reserve, I was thrilled to discover that it was nothing less than a tropical rainforest - the African jungle. At the right was a large pond covered in lilies and overhung by trees. On the left was a patch of grass, at the side of which was a large stone which looked like an gigantic tortoise. Going closer, I discovered that the reason for this was that it indeed was a gigantic tortoise. The enormous reptile was some four feet long and three feet high. It sat in the sunlight, slowly warming up, and it did not appear to be bothered by my father and I sitting next to it in order to have our photograph taken. It stared at us out of large, teary black eyes, appearing to wear a slightly mournful expression. The huge reptile radiated age and wisdom.
At this point we were met by Peter, who was to be our guide through the reserve. He told us that the tortoise was a giant Seychelles tortoise, one of thirteen in the park. They had been washed ashore in Africa many decades earlier, probably having fallen overboard from ships that used them as a meat supply.
Peter then took us to see some large enclosures of crocodiles, which the reserve farmed for their skins. The enclosures large ponds and islands, surrounded by coral walls some four feet high. Several weeks earlier, Mombasa had experienced severe flooding. The waters had flooded the entire reserve, over into the crocodile enclosures. Many of them had used this opportunity to climb out and make a run for it. They had been recaptured from places as diverse as nightclubs and casinos, but two were still missing. “Don’t worry,” laughed Peter, “No visitors have ever complained of being attacked.” I wondered if this was because they hadn’t made it out of the reserve to complain. (I later discovered that on the previous Tuesday a woman had been killed by a crocodile when she went to wash in a local pond.)
A snake slithered past us in a bush. “Spotted green snake,” said Peter. “Looks like green mamba, but not dangerous.” How reassuring. He showed us some other animals held captive in the reserve: a large monitor lizard, some six feet long (the babies were scurrying in the undergrowth around us); some hippopotami; impala and oryx. He then handed us over to another guide who showed us their reptile collection. This included deadly black mambas, green mambas, spitting cobras, and a large but harmless African Rock Python, which I proudly held for a photograph.
Returning to Peter, he led us along further. At one point he stooped to pick up something from the ground. “Giant millipede,” he said. The insect that he held was some six inches long and as thick through as my finger. I held it; its bright red legs, numbering about 280 pair, felt ticklish on my palm.
We had finished the tour, but we still had some time before our taxi collected us, so we elected to wander around the reserve some more. We passed through the souvenir pavilion, where a party of around thirty African schoolchildren was sitting with their teacher. Something was very wrong with the scene, and after a few moments we realized what it was: the children were utterly silent. At first this seemed like remarkably good behavior; then we somberly remembered what Michael had told us about a teacher beating a pupil to death. We walked hurriedly on.
Outside, I found some more giant tortoises. Our guide had told us that they enjoyed being scratched under the chin, and we gladly provided them with this pleasure. They craned up their long necks in satisfaction, peering at me with their large and mournful eyes. One of them was more active, walking up a bank of grass. It seemed astonishing that those short legs could carry a weight of around two hundred kilograms. I climbed onto his back, and he took not the slightest notice but simply carried on ambling along. Riding on the back of this gigantic reptile was a novel and immensely enjoyable experience!
Our taxi had now arrived. Before returning to the hotel, we stopped off at Arik’s store to buy some souvenirs. Arik was an Israeli who had been living in Kenya for several years. His shop contained a wealth of African carved figurines, Masai weapons, and similar such exotica. He showed us his apartment upstairs: a vast home, filled with the most beautiful carved animals.
We returned to the Silver Star in the early afternoon and sank into a heavy sleep. Later we awoke, changed for Shabbos, and davvened a pleasant minchah and maariv . For the meal, the rabbi had arranged that all the tables be placed together. Sitting in a group of around a hundred people, we sang and ate under the wooden canopy of the dining room. It was a very different type of Friday night.
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