Intona ranch[1]

It took a while to disassemble the tent and to collect our scattered belongings; including the unwashed suferiers where the soon to be legendary and much talked about Chicken a la Rusinga had been created, surely for one and only time in the universe! We were late, packed the car in a rush and, rather casually, left Mbita Point for our rendezvous with Alan in Kilgoris. I would remain with Alan to visit his field trials and collaborators while Matt returned to Nairobi, probably to attend some important meeting (read trout fishing) over the weekend.

We got to our meeting point, an open field in Kilgoris, meant –at some point in future- to be the village’s main square but currently occupied by grazing Maasai cattle and found Alan waiting for us. A few dukas[2] were found around the field that were clearly taking care of Maasai needs: lots of red cloth[3] and assorted veterinary drugs among other essentials such as Tusker beer. Just across the road was the “Kilgoris Nylon Day and Night Club”, a name that took me a while to digest! Despite its interesting name, we refrained from exploring it and preferred to miss lunch. What we would have found in it will remain shrouded in mystery. Alan welcomed me and, after a quick exchange of news and greetings Matt went his way and we headed for Intona ranch.

The meeting point with Alan.

The meeting point with Alan.

Alan was a chain smoker of menthol cigarettes[4], he stammered in an Irish accent, had an easy laugh that he combined with rubbing his gold and gray goatee. As we moved on, it became evident that Alan was not concerned about potholes and I was treated to the unique experience of listening to his mostly one-way conversation while bumping around on a rough road. Luckily we were in a Land Rover Series III, an almost unbreakable vehicle.

Although I focused fully on Alan’s conversation I still needed to guess a lot of what he said. I learnt that he was born in Northern Ireland and studied parasitology in London. He had come to Kenya in 1968 where he remained since, with a few short spells back home. He was a great supporter of the infection and treatment method to protect cattle against this scourge and he had helped Matt to develop it. I also learnt that collaboration was everything for him and that he was already talking to me as if we were already working together. This was excellent after my earlier experience in Mbita Point. Things were looking good but I still needed more details. “That is the purpose of this trip”, I thought, and continued listening. Our budding friendship was further boosted when we discovered our shared passion for soccer and the fact that Alan knew and liked some of the Uruguayan soccer players of the day, particularly Rubén Sosa.

He explained that he first came to the Transmara to collaborate with a veterinary GTZ project near Lolgorian –another small Maasai town- where they had done some pioneer epidemiological studies on theileriosis. The fact that this information was available enabled him to select the prevalent Theileria parasites to be used for the immunization of cattle in the area, including Intona ranch. This breakthrough meant that tick control could now be relaxed and even stopped altogether. This, Alan said, would enable me to compare dipped and not dipped cattle subject to natural field tick challenge and, in this way, ascertain their impact to achieve my goal.

Kilgoris was a Maasai town, Alan explained, the shambas[5] we could see in the outskirts belonged to the Kisii people. The latter became less frequent as we moved out of the populated area and the landscape started to open up to a savannah ecosystem where Maasai cattle grazed, looked after by the usual herd boys or elders. The countryside was punctuated by brown manyattas[6], giant brown mushrooms scattered at regular intervals.

A Manyatta.

A Manyatta.

A manyatta is where the Maasai live. A strong thorn bush fenced area designed to keep all predators out and themselves and their livestock protected within, mainly during the night. Inside the enclosure there are any number of huts made of a rounded frame of branches and built with a mixture of mud and cattle dung. Most cattle are kept in the enclosure but there are smaller sub-enclosures for sheep and goats or animals belonging to the different dwellers of the manyatta. Cattle are heavily branded and their ancestry thoroughly known by their owners.

“I know you will not believe this”, said Alan, “but there is a war going on here. The Kisii are moving in to occupy the Maasai grazing land”. He went on: “the Kisii will eventually win and this beautiful place will get all planted with maize!” Looking around, I found this really unbelievable but I trusted Alan.

The mention of a war made me wary and I started to look for warring parties lurking behind the bushes. After a while of not seeing anything unusual I said with hope in my voice: “Luckily, I see nothing so there must be a truce at the moment.” Alan laughed heartily with profuse goatee rubbing and, after hitting a few more potholes, he explained that the fighting was in the bush and normally not obvious. He added: “the Kisii cultivate the soil and gradually they are being given land. The Maasai resist and there are frequent skirmishes and then the Government intervenes to bring back some degree of calm”.

A view of Intona ranch in  the Transmara parkland.

A view of Intona ranch in the Transmara parkland.

Nearer to Intona ranch there was only lush green savannah with large tree islands. I noticed that these islands were always associated with bulky termite nests and I started wondering which appeared first, the trees of the termite mounds? I decided in favour of the trees. And then I saw the first game: a herd of Impala, shiny and healthy. Later, Topi and Zebras appeared to add a wild touch to the ever-present Maasai cattle. There were also Baboons and Vervet monkeys and a large number of Warthogs.

The manyattas in this area had significantly more dramatic thorn enclosures and the presence of large predators such as Lion, Leopard and hyena came to mind as the reason behind the need for greater protection, but I learnt from Alan that cattle rustling was rampant and probably more of a concern than predators. Clearly the Maasai were not taking any chances with their beloved livestock. This was in sharp contrast with their seemingly casual bearing when walking in the bush only carrying a spear and a simmi[7] with a few throwing sticks, their feet clad in recycled car tire sandals. They appeared to be carrying very light luggage considering all predators that were around, not to mention the on-going war!

Maasai visitors with spears, bow and arrows and throwing sticks.

Maasai visitors with spears, bow and arrows and throwing sticks.

The Transmara District that we were traversing is close to the Maasai Mara Game Reserve and the latter is the northern extension of the Serengeti National Park in Tanzania. The Transmara is split into two by the Migori River with its riverine forest. It is here that, with luck, the Giant Forest hog (Hylochoerus meinertzhageni) can be spotted. A native of forest habitats in Africa, it is considered the largest wild pig, at over two metres in length and one in height, reaching more than 200kg of weight. Discovered by Richard Meinertzhagen in 1904, who shot the type specimen in Kenya. Another special of the area is the Blue Flycatcher (Elminia longicauda), a lovely cerulean blue bird with a beautiful tail-fanning display.

“Julio, remember that Maasai do not like to be photographed and they can get very agitated and even aggressive”, said Alan. “Why is that?” I asked with surprise. “I do not know for sure” came the reply. I started learning that he was not too interested in any issues apart from theileriosis!

During the trip I decided that I would work with Alan and started developing a plan to convince Matt that this was the best idea. Rather sleep-deprived by Matt’s snores, and despite the jerks and bumps, I dozed off. I woke up startled by the sudden stop. I prepared for a surprise attack by the warring parties! However, the herd of Wildebeest and Zebra in front of us did not look dangerous. They were frolicking about as only wildebeest can as they moved back into the parkland.

Alan decided to follow them so that I could observe them better and take a few pictures as he liked photography. We drove off-road following them and got some good shots. When we decided that we had enough good pictures and turned back we realized that we were lost in the green labyrinth. The workers travelling with us were of the Kikuyu ethnic group. They were foreigners like us and therefore as lost as we were! We drove rather aimlessly for a while following a few cues we thought correct but the road was nowhere to be seen.

Lost in the bush with Alan, prior to finding our Maasai

Lost in the bush with Alan, prior to finding our Maasai “saviour”.

In one of our turns we found a Maasai elder who asked us for a lift! We gladly obliged and he jumped in. In a mix of English and Swahili we asked him to take us to the road. He sat next to me, half on my lap, as we were already three in the front seat of the Land Rover. We were ridiculously close to the road and were brought back to it immediately. Our saviour stayed with us as, apparently, we were going in the same direction!

The fig tree,

The fig tree, “signpost” to Intona ranch.

Finally we got to a large fig tree on our right, the entrance to Intona Ranch and there the Maasai left us with our thanks. The ranch was still unfenced and largely undeveloped at the time. Its border was marked by a plough furrow! Alan drove through the ranch and showed me the crush pen, weighbridge and cattle boma[8]. The latter was a large wood and barbed wire fortress. He also showed me the ranch personnel quarters and other back up installations such as the generator house and store. “The cattle are out grazing”, said Alan, “they will not come back until dusk so let´s take the personnel to their camp and then go to meet Joe and Sheila” he added. During the journey I had learnt that Joe was in fact Joseph Murumbi, an important retired politician[9]. His mother was Maasai and he was given the land by them.

Cattle and facilities at Intona ranch.

Cattle and facilities at Intona ranch.

The herdsmen camp at Intona ranch.

The herdsmen camp at Intona ranch.

Intona cattle kraal cropped

After about a kilometre a very large white house appeared, looking like a palace to me at that point. It looked newly built and was as beautiful as it was out of place. Its construction –I learnt from Alan- followed the Swahili style found at the Kenyan coast, complete with carved wooden doors brought all the way from Lamu and surrounded by a high white wall. We parked in one of the lateral entrances, announced our arrival and were shown in.

A large white house appeared in the distance!

A large white house appeared in the distance!

We walked into a very large rectangular living room, its walls covered with art objects. The chairs were large and made of forged iron, including the one where a coloured person with Indian features sat, atop lots of cushions and surrounded by small dogs. I guessed him to be in his late seventies. He stood up with some difficulty and came to greet us with a warm look on his face.

He was Joe. “How was the safari?” he asked and added: “they tell me the road is rough but I do not drive any more so I do not know”. Alan made a comment about the road and introduced me, explaining who I was and the reasons for my visit. Joe welcomed me and invited us to sit, while ringing a bell. Soon a white middle-aged woman in crutches came in. Joe introduced her to me as Sheila, his wife. As it was late afternoon some Tuskers were produced for us. “You must be tired Julio”, she said, “coming all the way from Mbita Point”. “We will have dinner very soon as Joe goes to bed early” she added.

Over the beer I gathered that Joe had a special interest in books, largely fired by his Goan father. “I have many books” Joe said “and art” he added. I also learnt that Joe was recovering from a stroke and that Sheila’s hips were in a bad state and that she needed an operation soon.

Dinner was a simple affair and we soon retired to our bedrooms. Alan´s had a microscope and piles of stained slides that he needed to examine, so he proceeded to check the health of his experimental cattle. I unpacked my belongings and feeling very tired I went to bed, leaving Alan with the microscope and the ubiquitous Tusker at hand.

The following morning Alan woke me up before sunrise as we needed to check the cattle before they went out for grazing. We did not see our hosts as they were resting when we left. Daily body temperature, blood and lymph node smears are routine monitoring activities when working with theileriosis. That day we also had to tag a few animals. We needed to write on the tags with a special pen known as the “magic marker”. Alan asked one of the herdsmen -Ephraim- to fetch it. He went to look for it while we went to look at the cattle boma. This was an enormous 3-metre tall barbed wire enclosure where Joe´s cattle were kept, together with the experimental cattle. After inspecting it we went back to the crush pen to continue with the work but Ephraim was not back yet! Alan asked what was happening and was told that “he is coming”, the usual reply in these situations. Finally, after Alan’s patience was almost gone Ephraim appeared carrying a basin with hot water! When Alan saw this, he became quite angry. “What is this?” he asked. “What you asked for” replied Ephraim “maji moto“. The incredulous look on Alan’s face was very funny to see, and suddenly he laughed at the confusion and all the tension disappeared everyone joined in! Magic marker was mistakenly taken for magi moto, Swahili for hot water!

Alan watching the cattle leaving the boma.

Alan watching the cattle leaving the boma.

Our work completed, we left the following morning, driving through the Maasai Mara Game Reserve. I loved the place! We crossed the Mara River on our way and had the chance to see the aftermath of the Wildebeest river crossings: a solid mass of dead animals being feasted upon by crocodiles and vultures, after the remaining beasts successfully continued on their migratory route.

The aftermath of a wildebeest crossing of the Mara river.

The aftermath of a wildebeest crossing of the Mara river.

Seeing that natural marvel for the first time created a very strong impression on me. I believe that it was then that my life took a turn that would make me stay in Kenya and Africa. I decided that I would do all I could to persuade Matt that I should work at Intona ranch and, on my way to it, have the privilege of driving through the Maasai Mara Game Reserve!

A hot air baloon flies over a rather dry Maasai Mara.

A hot air baloon flies over a rather dry Maasai Mara.

[1] Follows “Chicken a la Rusinga”.

[2] Swahili for a general store shop.

[3] Red was the dominant colour for the Maasai “tunics” at the time.

[4] Sadly he died on 15 March 1995. I placed his Obituary in the Pages section.

[5] Swahili for cultivated land or vegetable garden.

[6] Maasai for house.

[7] Short, double edged Maasai sword.

[8] Kraal in Swahili.

[9] See Pages for more info. The next post describes more of my relationship with Sheila and Joe.

Horses on pajamas

Yes, I know I have not written much of late. Several reasons explain this. We are busy moving from Argentina to Uruguay and viceversa, social life pressure and, most importantly, my Editor is very busy at the EXPO in Milan. Rumors that I had finally packed up brain-wise to a severe case of dandruff are totally an utterly false as this disease does not affect your brain! Besides, I became immune to it when I lost my hair!

So now to serious (or less silly) issues.

You will recall that a few months back I reported on a zebra-like filly I found while walking in Carmelo? I am pleased to report that it is growing well and our “relationship” continues improving (I managed to scratch her nose the other day!). She has grown a bit now and I am sure will do well.

An older version of the zebra-like horse.

A grown version of the zebra-like horse photographed a couple of weeks back.

The Bushsnob improving his relationship with the beast.

The Bushsnob improving his relationship with the beast.

I am sure that by now you are thinking about the deterioration of my mental condition as you cannot believe that I can be wasting time on this! Wrong again as I am sure that what follows will not fail to impress…

Walking this morning I came across a few horses in the distance. As usual I looked for our filly and identified it among others. I got closer to salute it and then, to my utter shock, I saw a real zebra among the horses! “This cannot be!” was my first thought while I kept walking towards the equines. It was and below is the proof!

Now, this was something!

Now, this was something!

Flying bill

I mentioned earlier that our farm was placed at the foot of the Andes. Being more specific, it is part of the Yungas, a name derived from yunka in Aymara. It is defined as a stretch of forest on the eastern slopes of the Andes that is a transition zone between the latter and the lowland eastern forests extending from Peru to northern Argentina. A warm, rainy and humid area the Yungas are also a corridor through which many animal species move from North to South and viceversa.

The first time I saw the bird on this occasion was during one of our daily morning walks, I tried to immediately alert my wife about it as she was busy on the cellular phone “whatsapping” the children, taking advantage of the existence of a phone signal. “Hornbill” was the first word that I uttered and almost before I said it I recognized that I was not in Africa and realized what it was. “Toucan” I managed after it had flown away so my wife looked up, searched the surrounding forest and the sky and then turned her looks on me to see if I had finally succumbed to some retirement-related terminal brain melting.

Honestly, its flying style really reminded me of a Silvery Cheeked Hornbill (Bycanistes brevis), that other magnificent African bird: a burst of wing flaps and then gliding.

It was indeed a Toco toucan (Ramphastos toco), also known as the Common toucan or Toucan, the largest and best known species in the Toucan family (yes, the one of the “ancient” beer commercials). We knew they occurred in the area as we had seen them once some years back, feeding on some bitter tangerines in our garden.

The Toco toucan feeding on the Hawthorn berries.

The Toco toucan feeding on the Hawthorn berries.

Swallowing a berry.

Swallowing a berry.

Further search indicated that it is a non-forest bird with a large distribution in the continent and that our farm is located in the southernmost limit of its present distribution. The latter is apparently expanding as forests decline! It is a fruit-eater and it uses its bill to pluck them from trees. It -surprisingly for me- also eats insects, frogs, small reptiles and even small birds, including nestlings and eggs!

Finally yesterday it landed on our garden as the red ripe Hawthorn berries were too much of a temptation for eat. It was then that, through the glass of our kitchen window, I managed to photograph it as best as I could and to take a video before it flew off, leaving us wanting!

For the next few days I will keep an eye for it and try to get better shots.

Hairy!

Finding a tarantula road kill was interesting. A car had squashed the poor thing and carnivorous wasps were feeding on its juices. We commented about the similarities of this “micro” kill with a carcass being cleaned by vultures in Africa but we were in Salta, Argentina.

Carnivorous wasps feeding on a tarantula road kill.

Carnivorous wasps feeding on a tarantula road kill.

The find reminded us that these arachnids existed, as we had not seen them for a few years. Two days later our farmhand Juliano -aware of our interest in wild things- appeared at about 22.00hs carrying an empty bottle of a soda drink cut in half and said “Sir, I think that this may interest you”. Inside the bottle was a large, dark and hairy tarantula! I thanked him profusely for bringing it and kept it in a terrarium hatching photographic ideas for the following day.

Very early the following day I could not wait anymore and went to have a closer look. I am fairly relaxed when it comes to getting close to any animal except hairy spiders! It is not the blind terror some people feel about these creatures but a kind of dislike and perhaps mistrust, probably aided by my ignorance towards them[1] . However, after seeing this one in daylight I found it truly beautiful and, at the same time, rather large, compared with others I had seen earlier. It was very hairy as well! Its sex remains a mystery as I am not good at spider sexing techniques…

Tarantula on grass

Tarant with ruler on grass

Seeing what I was facing I put on heavy leather gloves and took it out to the grass to watch its behaviour, just in case. It seemed very relaxed so I felt comfortable enough to handle it gently and take some pictures (some of the ones shown here) and a couple of videos that I will upload later. After this, in order to get clearer shots I placed it on our concrete table in the garden where I managed to have a rather close “tête a tête” with it.

The ruler is in centimetres.

The ruler is in centimetres.

Pictures from the side should be the safest!

Pictures from the side should be the safest!

While I was doing this, Juliano came to have a look and warned me about these spiders. Apparently someone he knew in Beni, Bolivia, had one jumping and biting his nose, which resulted in him walking around with an enlarged and inflamed nose for a few days! This was not what I wanted to hear in that situation but I thanked him for his advice. However, I could not help laughing loud at the thought of the spider jumping at my nose and my possible response of running about trying to dislodge it in a full-fledged spider-induced terror fit!

Was it considering jumping at me?

Was it considering jumping at me?

Nothing like that took place and I took all the pictures and videos I wished with the creature showing a remarkable indifference towards my presence, even when handled! After I completed my picture session I found it a good place and released it in the back garden where I hope it will live its long life.[2]

A couple of days later I mentioned this encounter to my daughter (the Ed.) and she was duly impressed, particularly when she saw the pictures. She shares my negative feeling about hairy spiders and showed some concern for my welfare, thinking that I had kept it as a pet! Her apprehension related to the risk of it “shooting” urticanting bristles from its hairy abdomen at me! This they do by strongly rubbing their back legs and literally shooting their hairs at their perceived enemies!

A real close "close up" of her bottom before I learnt of the throwing bristles ability. Look at the picture well because I will not repeat it!

A real close “close up” of her bottom before I learnt of the throwing bristles ability. Look at the picture well because I will not repeat it!

Although I took close-up pictures of its backside, I was pleased to announce to her that the spider did not shoot at me, despite my having been very close to is very hairy derriere!

Considering its possible long lifespan I hope I will find it again in the future.

 

[1] I believe it belonged to the Grammostola genus. This genus is very dynamic as new species are still being discovered.

[2] I learnt later that females live for over twenty years while males live a shorter life.

Stoned hummingbird

I was a young boy when this event took place. My father’s work as a Government’s Agronomist constantly demanded his presence in the rural areas. His responsibilities, among others, included pest control, crop storage monitoring and the development of farmers associations and cooperatives.

He used to tell us stories of his jeep Willys getting stuck while driving over swarms of locusts and I used to accompany him while inspecting wheat plantations for True armyworm (Pseudaletia adultera), locally known as “lagarta”.

It was autumn and the harvest of winter crops had been completed and the depots were full to the brim with wheat. His main job was to monitor the humidity of the grain to prevent post-harvest losses due to the normally high humidity levels prevalent in southwest Uruguay.

That day he needed to visit the large depot of a Farmers’ Cooperative in Tarariras, a small agricultural town in the Department of Colonia. Being a young boy, I usually played around while my father did his duty. I was a rather active youngster so the workers tried to keep me entertained while my father was busy. Not an easy task…

On that day, one of the workers who knew me gave me a bottle of a known local methylated spirit made of dark green glass with a stopper made of a maize cob, and announced that it contained a surprise. I did not see anything and was consequently unimpressed, as an empty bottle did not mean much to me. Before I could ask, the Manager of the cooperative who, together with my father were watching said, “Have a good look as there is something inside that I am sure you will like”. I strained my eyes and made out a tiny object rolling inside.

I removed the cob and gently shook the bottle until I managed to get the object out and on my hand. It was a wet and shiny green feather ball that on closer inspection became a dead hummingbird that still felt warm to the touch. It was a sad sight and I was not too impressed with the “present”. Before I could react though, the bird moved slightly and I realized that it was breathing and apparently asleep!

A Glittering-bellied Emerald hummingbird pictured at an artificial feeder in Colonia Carlos Pellegrini, Corrientes, Argentina.

A Glittering-bellied Emerald hummingbird pictured at an artificial feeder in Colonia Carlos Pellegrini, Corrientes, Argentina.

It was the common Glittering-bellied Emerald hummingbird (Chlorostilbon lucidus). Its slumber was explained by the alcohol vapours still present inside the bottle. So, suddenly, I was the new “owner” of a drunken miniature bird and became responsible for its welfare.

Close-up of the Glittering-Bellied Hummingbird.

Close-up of the Glittering-Bellied Hummingbird.

A second one lands on the feeder.

A second one lands on the feeder.

Another view of the bird with an unidentified one with its back to the camera..

Another view of the bird with an unidentified one with its back to the camera..

I held the bird on the palm of my hand where it rolled backwards and forwards until I was able to accommodate it better with a piece of cloth to stop its rolling. Once settled I spent the rest of the day holding it on my open palm being careful not to drop it as it was a very small bird.[1]

When my father’s work was done, it was time to get back home and I was still holding the bird. So I travelled the hour that it took to get home holding the bird and watching it as its efforts to regain normality became more and more frequent. By the time we arrived it was already over its alcoholic haze and it was ready to go.

So, as soon as I left it alone outside and it got familiar with its surroundings it hopped to a small branch to preen itself (and recover from the hangover?) and soon flew away.

[1] An adult bird of this species weighs between 3.5 and 4.5 g while a normal Bic biro weighs 9.0 g !!!

Picture credits: Mariana Cardoso.

Smells of the wild

A picture of an “engorged” lion cub resting belly-up posted recently on Facebook by my son reminded me of an elephant kill we witnessed together in Mana Pools in October 2013 when that picture was taken.

Apart from being a wonderful wilderness place teeming with wild animals, Mana Pools offers a number of add-ons. Apart from being allowed to walk unaccompanied in a park where the “Big 5” are present, the presence of the mighty Zambezi river adds an unsurpassed touch of beauty to the area.

In addition, camping there is an experience on its own as -like in the good old days- there are no fences or trenches separating you from the wild inhabitants. Camping in these conditions increases solidarity among fellow colleagues and information on the “state of the wild” circulates freely. In Mana Pools it is usual to have- in addition to the harmless buck- hyenas, buffalos and elephants of all sizes walking about at all times.

I vividly remember a nocturnal incident with an elephant. My wife and I shared a tent while our daughter had her own a few metres away. It was late at night and we could hear the breaking of branches around us as the elephants fed. Suddenly we heard loud elephantine intestinal rumblings followed by the unmistakable noise of heavy droppings being dropped! Judging by the direction of the noise we guessed that her tent could have been compromised by the event. Before I could ask her about the situation I heard her “Phew, that was close!” and went on to say, “It just missed my tent but I can smell it very well!” So could we although a few more metres separated us from the “object”.

Under these conditions of proximity with wild animals it is not surprising to have visitors at your camp bearing news such as “There are a few lions near the ablution block at the end, so refrain from using it tonight” or “we have just spotted a leopard walking near the entrance”.

Fellow campers also share their sightings and experiences in a friendly atmosphere.

The elephant incident I described above brings me to the issue of the wild life experience and the importance of the senses in it. Smells -together with the natural shine and subtle sounds of a live animal- are among the details wildlife documentaries are not able to transmit! It is common to drive or walk in the bush and be literally assaulted by different smells, both pleasant and otherwise.

October 2013 saw the whole family camping at Mana Pools and in the evening after our arrival we learnt that lions had killed a young elephant in the Mucheni area. This is apparently not surprising in Mana Pools where lions are skillful at killing elephants. Quite excited, the following morning we drove there as early as we could. The area of the kill was easy to find as, unusually for Mana Pools, there were a few vehicles watching the scene. A young elephant had indeed been killed the day before and it still had food to offer the lion pride that was resting next to it. We counted around 16 animals of all ages.

As it is common in these instances, satiated lions were lying all over the place, trying to take advantage of the little shade available. As the morning heat increased the vying for shade became more intense and, to add a touch of reality, the foul smell also gradually augmented. When a kill is available lions tend to gorge on meat to the point of becoming uncomfortable. It is therefore not difficult to understand that to have such a large number of individuals quite close to us multiplied the final outcome of their digestion and its vapours! I sharply recall our desperate spluttering every time the wind shifted and one of the lions rolled over as well as the family’s diving into the car through its roof hatch in an attempt to escape a particularly fetid eruption…

The situation was rather smelly, so much so that this was one of the few times when watching the scene through a documentary would have been preferred! So, being nice to you I present an odourless picture gallery as well as videos for you to enjoy. I am aware that seeing a kill is never pleasant but these are wild lives!

Chicken “A la Rusinga”[1]

Matt, driven in a Range Rover, came to fetch me early in the morning for our rather long trip to Western Kenya. We would travel northwest, first following the Great Rift Valley then Kericho, Kisii and afterwards to Homa Bay. From the latter, already on the shores of Lake Victoria, we would proceed to Mbita Point. Rusinga Island was just across, separated by a narrow channel.

Matt enjoyed travelling. He was very cheerful while constantly giving me details of the route, Kenya, his work and other interesting facts. While going down the dramatic Kikuyu escarpment he pointed at a little chapel and said in his heavy Glaswegian accent “This road and this wee church were built by the Italian prisoners during the war” and he added “and you know, one of the guys that came from the Italian Alps longed to climb Mount Kenya, poor bugger”. He continued: “You know what he did? He organized other prisoners and secretly prepared the climb, including all necessary gear that they secretly made, escaped, climbed it and returned!” “That was good,” he said with amusement and respect for his enemy[2].

Going further down we saw Longonot, my first volcanic cone, then Suswa in the distance with its much larger caldera. As the Range Rover continued descending we spotted the blue waters of lake Naivasha with its freshwater, later lake Elementaita and finally lake Nakuru with their soda-charged waters, harbouring prolific birdlife. I made a mental note to return to this magnificent pink lake that on a more careful look revealed its secret: hundreds of thousands of flamingoes feeding on its blue green algae-rich soup. An ornithological sight difficult to match and to forget![3]

From there we continued to Kericho through extensive and manicured tea plantations that slowly became smaller areas as we moved through smallholder owned tea plots that somehow interrupted the large extensions of the commercial plantations. The area offered a great contrast between the tea and the clumps of forest that still remained, adding shady green to the yellowish green of the tea bushes. People, mainly women, were busy picking tea leaves, placing them in their back baskets while lorries were seen at points where the bulk of the tea was collected to be taken to the processing plants. We stopped at the Kericho hotel for lunch and then moved on past Kisii. Finally we entered the final dirt road towards our destination. The going was tough as the road was dusty and rough. I noted that the area got gradually more arid as we drove on towards lower altitude.

Towards Mbita Point.

Towards Mbita Point.

After a while, suddenly, Lake Victoria came into view. The sight did not match my expectations. It was framed by fairly bare and brownish rolling hills in a rather dry landscape that contrasted nicely with its blue water. It was humongous, a true inland sea! I thought on how the early explorers would have felt at finding the main suspect for the Nile source!

We stopped to enjoy the view of Lake Victoria in the distance.

We stopped to enjoy the view of Lake Victoria in the distance.

Eventually by mid afternoon we passed Homa Bay and after dustier travelling we got to Mbita Point and, just across, before my very eyes was the now “mythical” Rusinga Island! It looked beautiful by twilight and it suddenly hit me that I had come a long way from Uruguay! However, there was no time for soppiness as we needed to focus on practical issues: to find accommodation and dinner.

Rusinga island, across the channel.

Rusinga island, across the channel.

During the trip I had learnt -rather to my shock- that this was also Matt´s first trip to Mbita Point so he was as keen as me to see the place. The Head of the station, warned in advance of our coming, was there to welcome us. He apologized for the absence of accommodation and recommended a place for us to camp within the perimeter of the station. We agreed to meet again in the morning and got ourselves to put the tent up and unpack our belongings. While we organized the camp, Matt dispatched the Driver to find a kuku[4] and to bring it ready for cooking.

The entrance to the research station.

The entrance to the research station.

Matt had organized the food for the two nights we would spend there. I saw potatoes in the car and we had also acquired a large cabbage, bananas and charcoal on the road, as it is routine in Kenya. He had also brought a couple of sufurias[5], cooking oil, salt and pepper. Evidently food was not Matt’s main goal in life!

The tent job done, we opened the ubiquitous Tusker beers and proceeded to sit and wait for our soon-to-be dinner to arrive while contemplating the lake, peeling a few potatoes and boiling water. We spent some time discussing whether the Schistosoma[6] parasite would be present in the tap water of the station as we knew of its high prevalence in the area. As this parasite enters a person through the skin, we evaluated the risks of showering with lake water. After some discussion we agreed that we did not know but, more importantly, there was no shower on sight so the discussion ended with a hearty laugh while agreeing to continue in our dirty condition just in case. We left it at that and then changed the subject to the late Tom Mboya, a famous young politician that lived in Rusinga Island[7]. Matt told me that his house would be a good place for me to live. “Typical Matt” I though, “He has never been on the Island but he has already found me a house” but I refrained from making a comment!

We heard the return of the car and we looked at each other as we also heard a chicken! Dinner would be delayed as the Driver had difficulties to persuade farmers to part from one! Eventually, through the old trick of adding more Kenyan Schillings, had managed to buy one. It was a tough-looking country cock and, judging by the size of its talons, an elderly one! Matt was not impressed with the price paid but supervised its killing and cleaning by the Driver and myself. He then placed the whole animal in a sufuria of boiling water adding salt and pepper. The peeled potatoes were placed to boil in a separate one.

Our camp at Mbita Point. The chicken and potatoes boil while Matt relaxes.

Our camp at Mbita Point. The chicken and potatoes boil while Matt relaxes.

While we waited, time was passing when we heard “Jambo[8] pronounced in the way foreigners speak. It was a crop protection specialist from Ghana -resident at Mbita Point- that learning of our arrival had come to greet us. He knew Matt from Nairobi and he was pleased to see him again. He politely declined Matt’s invitation for dinner but he did accept a Tusker beer and stayed a while.

From him we learnt that at that time the station consisted of temporary prefabricated facilities to house staff and carry out basic laboratory work while the definitive laboratories, staff quarters, school and hostel were slowly being built. We joined him in a short walk by the lakeshore while he explained that he was there with his Dutch wife and that they had two girls aged four and six. He was a specialist on integrated crop insect control and was working on cassava, an abundant crop in the lake region.

The walk by the shore of the lake was very pleasant; the sun had already disappeared behind the hilly Rusinga Island leaving its trail of red –smoke-fed- haze with an amazing cloud frame, product of the high humidity that prevails around the lake. More basic needs suddenly interrupted our inspiring walk when Matt remembered our chicken! We rushed to our camp while our visitor, laughing at Matt’s panic, hastily departed not without inviting us for dinner on the morrow. We shouted our acceptance over our shoulders and kept running to attempt to save our dinner.

Not a chance! The water -clearly not enough in the first place- had evaporated for a while now and our dinner looked black and crusty on the bottom side and raw and very juicy on the top. The potatoes were also dried and rather burnt but had feared slightly better.

As dinner looked rather inedible and there was no way of preparing something else I braced myself for a hungry night. Conversely, Matt found the whole thing very amusing and, oblivious to its apparent inedibility, pulled bits of chicken apart and placed them on our plates together with pieces of the burnt potatoes. He passed me a plate with a Tusker and said: “Julio, welcome to Mbita” and then added with a sardonic smile: “Enjoy our Chiken a la Rusinga!” Unknown to me then, this event became our connection from then on and the anecdote came up in many conversations afterwards, helping us to connect. I must confess that I was so tired and hungry that I actually found the contrast between burnt and raw chicken meat tasty… but I think it was probably the beer that did the trick.

Dinner over, Matt got his whisky bottle from the car and, diluting it with water, started enjoying it. He cheerfully said: “Julio, I know you will be all right!” and, after a few more minutes of night contemplation, he stood up and, after wishing me good night entered the tent. I decided to follow him after brushing my teeth, still thinking of the lake water and its risks! He was already asleep when I finished undressing. Like him I passed out instantly and slept soundly until the morning, no doubt assisted by the Tuskers I have had but also by a belly filled with our newly created delicacy…

Somehow we survived the potentially severe Salmonella challenge and we were both alive in the morning. After coffee and bananas, we went to meet the Head of the station for a tour of the facilities. The fresh foundations showed the layout of the future buildings and the walls of the more advanced constructions had reached about one metre high. Clearly things were far from ready and I could detect some concern from the Head.

Despite the glaring unsuitability of the place Matt -to my surprise and growing irritation- kept insisting that I would be based here! This was music for the Head’s ears, eager to get new staff to “his” station. I kept quiet but my heart was sinking as to do all that was expected from me under these conditions would have been impossible and I saw myself having to build both house and laboratory to be able to move forward. “We have plans for Julio to stay in Tom Mboya’s house in Rusinga”, Matt repeated and the Head smiled and nodded in agreement. My concern was turning into desperation!

In accordance with what was there to see, the tour lasted a short time and we decided to visit the surrounding rural area, accompanied by a local technician to act as guide and show us the way and interpret for us. I found this much more interesting as it enabled me to have my first exchanges with the local farmers and to get a first hand feeling for their problems that, in regard to their livestock, were blatantly obvious! For the first time I saw dwarf cattle! They were the consequence of surviving trypanosomiasis and theileriosis as well as other diseases and parasites that will dispatch European cattle in days if not hours! To reduce the risk of trypanosomiasis cattle were kept tethered until late morning to protect them from the bites of the tsetse fly vectors and they were only left out to graze for literally half day.

A survivor! An adult steer with my wife and members of the public!.

A survivor! An adult steer with my wife and members of the public!. Please note that this picture was taken during a subsequent trip to the area.

“What do this animals produce” I asked, realizing that it was a rather inept question before I finished asking it! I was told that they gave a calf every 18 to 24 months and that they produced meat and little milk. However, I was explained that other factors are also important in Africa as cattle are not valued only by their productivity but by their many other functions: savings, status and as a source of dowry money. I could not fail to note that they were also covered in ticks of different species! I was starting to learn about African cattle!

The field trip took us until mid afternoon as Matt kept asking to see more and spent time telling them that their productivity would increase once ICIPE developed the tick vaccine! I thought of it as a rather far-fetched promise but that was Matt. We got back from our trip dusty and sweaty but there was no chance of swimming in the lake! If you were spared by crocodile and hippos you were still likely to contract schistosomiasis and spend days under treatment with no guarantee of a full recovery. So a bucket-wash with lake water, the less risky option, is what I took. While I was on cleaning duties behind bushes Matt sat and drunk a Tusker with no intention of improving his personal hygiene and still wearing the same clothes from Nairobi!

I was ready when the Ghanaian colleague came to fetch us for dinner. His blond wife and their two lovely dark skinned and blond girls greeted us on arrival to their wooden prefabricated house. Although the house was small it transmitted a warm feeling where you could see a woman’s touch and the children’s influence. Our dinner of Nile perch was excellent and our conversation started with Matt mentioning the Chicken a la Rusinga of the night before! While having our dessert I asked how was life in Mbita Point as I was curious and needed to prepare for it. Suddenly our hostess that had remained mostly silent came to life and said bitterly: “No drinking water, no electricity, no transport and endemic cerebral malaria” and then she added with a grin of dejection: “apart from that, it is fine!”

Sensing trouble her husband tried to change the subject but she continued, getting more upset when she mentioned that they had all been sick with malaria several times, concluding her horror story. Hearing this Matt tried to comfort her saying that things were improving. However, her reaction was not what he expected and she broke down and started to cry saying finally: “Matt, please do not send Julio here with his young wife, this is no life for them!”

After this acme the lady calmed down but the situation had become very awkward and we soon decided that it was time to depart. We thanked them for their kindness and left walking in silence towards our tent, her words “this is no life for them” ringing in my ears while trying to develop a valid strategy to convince Matt -and ICIPE- of the absurd of having to stay in Mbita Point. Matt did not say a word until we got to the tent and then he only said “Good night” and went in. I sat outside for a while, still thinking. Then I decided that sleep, away from mosquitoes, was the best possible course of action and went to bed.

I heard Matt loud snuffles before I entered the tent. Until then I was the one that snored and my wife had put up with it rather stoically. This time the tables changed and I needed to continue my adjustment to Matt’s ways, this time even while he slept! I came in silently, climbed on my camp bed and closed my eyes. Matt was quiet now so I relaxed and waited for the sleep to come. Soon I started to drift off when suddenly I heard a loud grunt followed by a longish silence and then the start of a chained sequence of snorts that became louder and louder to almost be unbearable and then as suddenly as they had started stopped, before Matt breaking apart! He had gone into an apnea that I associated with his passing. I was wrong; he was alive and well and would repeat the whole shenanigans again and again during the whole night!

A tip of Rusinga island in the forefront (right) with Mfangano island in the back.

A tip of Rusinga island in the forefront (right) with Mfangano island in the back.

His snoring beat my most extreme ideas on the subject and I lied there with open eyes in a moral dilemma: I wanted him to stop but I had heard that waking a snoring person suddenly could be fatal. I also wanted -and needed- him to live so I decided to bite the bullet. Gradually my tiredness got the best of me and with a parting thought that it would be easier to handle his dead body in the morning rather than worrying for each of his “deaths” during the night I also joined in with my own snoring contribution. I am confident in assuring you that our combined efforts kept Rusinga Island awake for a while!

Amazingly the following morning Matt was not only alive but had also already brewed some coffee for both by the time I woke up. “Did you rest well?” he asked knowing that I had not. Then he added “Julio, we need to find another place for you to work as this place is shit!” Startled by his change of heart, all I could do was to nod gravely making a supreme effort not to laugh and shout in joy! I did silently thanked the unhappy Dutch lady, my saviour!

It was time to travel to Kilgoris to meet Alan and to decide my fate and, by en large, my future life.

[1] Follows Kenya: Friends and Foes.

[2] See Felice Benuzzi in the “Pages” section of this Blog for more details.

[3] I am told that today the lake is not what it was as the flamingoes are not there in large number anymore.

[4] Swahili for chicken.

[5] Swahili for handless saucepans.

[6] See http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs115/

[7] See Thomas Joseph Mboya under “Pages” for more information on him.

[8] Swahili for Hello!

Water cows

After our trip to the Iberá wetlands reported earlier in this blog, my mind remained on the fishing, as I almost could not remember when the last time I caught a fish worth lying about was!

A very simple armchair exploration showed me that the above-mentioned wetlands drained into the Paraná River, via the Corriente River. Further investigation revealed that in this area there is a town called Esquina in the Corrientes Province where people go fishing! I had heard about this place before but never gave it sufficient attention as it is closer to Buenos Aires than other fishing spots in the region and my belief is that large cities and fishing do not go together.

Arriving back to Esquina.

Esquina.

So, taking advantage of the need to travel from the Andes foothills to Carmelo, our town in Uruguay, I decided to explore the Esquina area with a view to go fishing there in the future.

Esquina, founded with the name of Santa Rita de la Esquina del río Corriente started its life in 1785 when fifteen families of which six were of Italian origin settled in the area. It is located on the left (eastern) margin of the Paraná River, about 670km North from Buenos Aires. Predominantly a cattle-rearing area it is also known for its watermelon production!

The city still maintains the air of a colonial town where its low houses -of Italian influence- are shaded by large trees. Esquina’s main attraction resides in its riverine location where it enjoys the calm waters of the Corriente River delta that connects to the Paraná -located further West- through a man-made channel.

Enough history and back to our trip!

The town can accommodate up to two thousand visitors. This large bed availability for a city of 26,000 people is explained by its hosting of street carnivals in January and February and the Fiesta Nacional del Pacú (National Pacú Festival), a fishing competition that attracts around 25,000 visitors, in May of each year. So, in view of this situation we did not book in advance and left the choice of accommodation to an in situ choice.

Casa del Puerto B&B.

Casa del Puerto B&B.

It did not take too much time to find a place to stay, the very nice “Casa del Puerto” that offers reasonable B&B and its lawns end at the river. Seeing the beauty of the riverfront, exploration turned into action and it was not long before a fishing trip was booked for the following day while we spent the rest of the afternoon walking about town and resting, after the rather long journey.

Fishing started at 07:00 hours when our guide José came to meet us at the hostel’s small jetty. All was taken care of and we agreed to fish in two stages, morning and afternoon with time in between to avoid the heat of lunchtime and have a siesta to recharge our batteries. We left with high hopes, as the setting was clearly fishing-friendly!

A channel in the delta of the Corriente River.

A channel in the delta of the Corriente River.

Despite the predictions by the hostel owner and our guide, fishing did not live up to our expectations and none of the “Big Three” Dorado, Surubí and Pacú were caught. To save you reading time, we did fish three “Palometas” (also called “Piranhas”) of the Serrasalmus genus (probably S. aureus) and one “Patí” (Luciopimelodus pati).

Our fishing efforts.

Our fishing efforts.

The bushsnob with a pati.

The bushsnob with a pati.

The bushsnob with a "palometa".

The bushsnob with a “palometa”.

The affair was rather disappointing and we remained with the doubt of whether it was a strike of bad luck or the area has too many fishing enthusiasts! Although we fear the latter, we will come back to find out and report accordingly.

Despite the poor fishing, boating through the various channels of the Corriente River delta was a beautiful experience. We saw many water birds and even managed to spot one capybara, a sign that they are either very shy or few as hunting goes on in the area.

And then, while cruising through the channels, we saw it! A large head bobbing in a channel ahead of us that, for a few seconds, brought us back to an African river! We were aware that hippos in South America are still confined to Colombian rivers and it was not a semi-submerged capybara or tapir head either! It was a humble cow swimming to move from island to island in search of greener -or different- pastures. Clearly, to be a successful cow in the area you need to be a good swimmer!

The water cow...

The water cow…

The cow in shallow water.

The cow in shallow water.

We watched and followed the “water cow” for a while and learnt from José that, although the animals are used to water, when floods come cattle still need to be evacuated to dry land to save them from drowning. Further, I could also appreciate the difficulties of rearing cattle in such an amphibian environment and pondered the difficulties of mustering the cattle and the need for good (water) horses as well!

Swimming to safety.

Swimming to safety.

ALmost on dry land.

Almost on dry land.

 

An Amphibious Land Rover

I mentioned earlier that I worked as a veterinary practitioner in Uruguay for four years after my graduation in 1975. It was after a couple of years of this work that the events narrated here took place.

It was a luminous autumn day that, as usual, started very early with a mate breakfast[1] before going to work at the clinic. The latter, as most clinics in Uruguay, was a mix of agro-business (belonging to a third party) with our clinic attached to it. At the time we were three partners, myself being the newest.

The shop was a popular meeting place, close to the main bank and it was normally busy. Apart from customers seeking to purchase agriculture-related products as well as getting advice on veterinary issues from us, there were friends and hangers-on all the time. That morning was not an exception and, when I got there, Gerardo, one of my partners was talking animatedly with one of the visitors, Pozzo, a well known farmer from a neighbouring farming area.

The topic of conversation was the then-current situation of the River Plate which was undergoing an extreme low tide that, according to a veteran like Pozzo, had not been seen since he had “use of a memory” as he put it. Pozzo was known as a colorful character reputed to eat eighteen fried eggs for breakfast among other colourful stories attached to his name!

Clearly the situation was interesting and I suggested that, once the business of the day was dealt with, we should go and investigate. Pozzo said he would join us, as he wanted to see what the Carmelo coastline looked like at low tide. So, before lunch the three of us climbed in my car and left for the beach, located a few kilometres away. At the time I had bought a 1959 Series II SWB Land Rover, after trading in my first car, a beautiful red and black voiturette Chrysler 1931 that was too expensive to run on paraffin leave alone petrol!

On arrival at the beach it was clear that the situation was extreme and I had never seen a sight like that before. There was no water for at least a couple of kilometres into the river where only wet sand could be seen except for the navigation channel where the river was still “wet”! Spectacular situations require equally remarkable responses… and I rose to the challenge! For some reason I hatched the idea of going down to the beach and then to drive all they way to Conchillas to surprise my wife -then my girlfriend- with a glorious and an unexpected virgin voyage after 30 kilometres of beach drive!

With the agreement of my eager companions we set off driving over wet sand for a few kilometres without stopping, looking for possible Spanish galleons carrying gold that sunk during the conquest… Of course we found no trace of them but found a large and shallow lagoon where several rather large fish had become temporarily trapped. They were bogas (Leporinus obtusidens) a good fish both to catch and to eat. We watched their futile swims towards the normally deeper areas that ended in them almost coming out of the water! It was a unique sight as these were large fish, apparently doomed. After watching their comings and goings for a while we left to continue our journey.

The way ahead looked clear, apparently all the way and we felt encouraged to go on. So we climbed back to the car and I engaged first gear. The car did not move forward but rather down, or at least its rear end did. I revved the engine but -of course- made matters worse by sinking further into the wet sand. We got out to inspect the situation and realized that we were in a tight spot, particularly bearing in mind that the front wheel transmission in my ancient Land Rover had become somehow disconnected some time back and I had not repaired it!

So, it was a matter of digging and pushing, which we did for a while. After each attempt the car would move a bit and then sink again. We were in trouble! As if being stuck was not enough of a problem, we heard Pozzo say: “I think the tide is coming in”. As I revealed before, he had a reputation for being witty so we did not pay attention to his words and kept on digging frantically.

After a few minutes I could see that not only was he correct, but also that the water was coming in remarkably fast! After a few more attempts the water reached the wheels and the sand became liquid rendering all our efforts totally futile. As the loss of the car became a certain probability I reacted and decided to look for help ashore. “I will go and find a tractor to pull us out” I said not before agreeing with my companions that they would take out all movables from the car, preparing for the worst. I ran to the shore and, very luckily, found someone driving a tractor cutting bulrushes, taking advantage of the lack of water. My hopes increased when I realized that I knew him. A mixture of the absurdity of the situation and my heavy breathing due to the running did not help my explanation. Eventually he understood and agreed to have a look.

My heart sank when he announced that it was too risky to enter the water to pull the car because he could also get stuck in the river as the bottom would be very soft. I insisted but he steadfastly refused so I gave up. I believe that my dismay helped in his decision to take me in the tractor to seek further help. We drove up the steep bank to see if the owner of another tractor would dare to go in as they had a larger tractor.

Luckily the owner was there. This time I did not need to explain much as, before our eyes and into the river we could see my Land Rover being progressively denuded of its movable parts by my trip companions. “There is no way we can pull it with a tractor” he said and added, “If we get stuck, we lose everything!” Somehow my mind moved to what story I was going to tell the insurance company about how I lost the car and then the idea of bringing a wreath every year to the spot also came to mind but it was quickly discarded as superfluous!

“I will try to pull it with horses” the voice of the farmer brought me back from my total loss-related thoughts. “What?” I just managed. “Yes” he said, “I have horses and a pulling harness. I think the horses will pull it out”. He called a couple of workers to bring three horses, the harness and ropes and, before ten minutes had passed we were going down the bank towards the “sinking” Land Rover.

The situation was now desperate! The water has come in fast and it had already covered the wheels. My companions had been waiting, wondering whether I was coming back. We entered the water and walked towards the car with the horses. The car was a pathetic sight as all movable items were no longer there and the water was now covering the engine and flowing inside it! Realizing that time was not on our side we got to work fast and harnessed two of the horses to the submerged bumper. A guy sat on the bonnet with the reins and I sat under water behind the wheel as, although the engine was flooded, there was still a need to steer! A horse was kept in reserve and all other hands got ready to push.

Despite my strong reservations about success, we agreed to push and pull at the count of three. What happened next was unexpected. Under the strength of the horses the Land Rover rolled forward with ease and moved to the triumphant shouts of my rescuers! “Do not stop now!” I shouted, my adrenaline flowing while seated in water to up to my breast steering and watching the back of the farmer on the bonnet that was controlling the horses, our real saviours. Stop we did not and, eventually, we managed to get the car on dry ground and away from the highest tide line mark to a safe zone. I was a happy man and, at the same time amazed that two horses could move a stuck car so easily. Later I realized that the increase in water depth helped greatly in making the car lighter.

News moved fast and, by the time our rescue was over and we were wondering what to do next, my father had come and witnessed the action. Being a photographer, he took the only picture I have of the event that I present you with here. It is a bad scan of the print he took but I hope it shows the absurd situation I got into and, luckily, out of.

The speck in the background is the semi-submerged Land Rover then there is open water and in the forefront an extensive area of water covered with bulrushes.

The speck in the background is the semi-submerged Land Rover then there is open water and in the forefront an extensive area of water covered with bulrushes.

The aftermath was an anticlimax! My father towed us back to Carmelo where we arrived after dark and straight to the mechanic. After dropping the car and when we were alone, as expected he lectured me on my lack of prudence!

In addition to the failure to achieve the feat -and impress my girlfriend- I also suffered financial humiliation when the time came to pay the bill for the car repair!

[1] Mate is a traditional drink where hot water is drank after sucking it through ground dried leaves of yerba mate (Ilex paraguariensis) with the aid of a bombilla (metal straw) from a calabash gourd (mate).

See also  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mate_%28beverage%29 for more details.