The Death Of The Zoo

The Death Of The Zoo

I am in the truck with the Maasai blanket on my lap. I feel the wind blowing against my face. I am in Tanzania for my grandparents 50th anniversary. On my truck is Uncle steven, Jake, Mom, and Papa. I look at the golden serengeti and I inspect the stripes on the zebras. The giraffes are knocking their heads together. They are vegetarians, but their predators are not. There are wildebeests roaming around in huge packs. They look like mangy buffalo, but the buffalo in africa look like bulls. There are lions eating antelope, a small, deer-like animal. Our guide said that his people recognize them because of the Mc Donalds sign on their backside (an “m”) We are on a safari.

 

Looking at the giraffes habitat makes me remember the first time I saw a giraffe. It was in Jupiter, Florida, November 30, 2008. I was feeding bears water through beer bottles in a zoo, when I turned around. There, caged, was a giraffe. I was baffled. I had never actually seen such a creature in person. It was moaning. I was taken aback. It raised its neck ten feet tall. They are taller than Chris Bosh and Shaquille O’neal combined. Thats pretty tall. They are approximately 15 feet. Wow.  That is big.

 

Here in Tanzania, there is more stuff, more freedom.

The giraffes that were knocking their heads together stopped.

 

I gaze out of the window to see little apes on their mothers back. I see lions sleeping. I see cheetahs running as fast as a car. I can already picture what the next camp will look like. A pool outlooking the zebras. A minibar of coke. Ahh, it will be way better than this camp. Although I think this one has a way better natural experience. I say this because on a safari you take 15 to 30 minute plane rides to different parts of your african country. Safari in swahili means “vacation” or “journey”. I found that very interesting. It is very nice there, watching the sunset. It is way more beautiful over there than it is here in america, by far.