The rest of the day, after the Brook family had left the orphanage and collected their suitcases from the hotel, was spent travelling from Nairobi to the Maasai Mara National Reserve. The journey took several hours in a four-wheel drive, along roads pitted with deep holes and slippery with mud from the pouring rain. Joe slept much of the time, waking only to wonder if the rain would ever stop and to marvel that they were able to keep going on a road that presented so many challenges.
By the time they reached the Maasai Mara, darkness had fallen. Peter told them that they were going to stay on a campsite just inside the border of the reserve, rather than in a hotel. Aesha groaned loudly, but Joe couldn’t imagine anything better.
‘Are we really going to be sleeping in a tent? Will there be wild animals close by?’ he asked.
‘It’s very likely we’ll hear animals in the night, but they don’t normally come into the camps,’ Binti assured him, presuming he had asked because he was worried.
‘I think it would be amazing to have wild animals prowling around,’ said Joe.
Aesha snorted. ‘You wouldn’t think it was amazing if one came into the tent.’
‘There’s not much chance of that,’ said Peter. ‘The camps are patrolled by rangers.’
The tents were much bigger than Joe had expected and he was pleased to hear he would be sharing one with his father.
‘You’d better not snore!’ he warned him.
‘For someone who likes the idea of wild animals prowling around, I don’t think my snoring will cause much disturbance,’ Peter responded.
After they’d eaten a hearty meal with another group of travellers and shared stories round a campfire, they returned to their tents for the night. Joe tried to make himself comfortable on his hard bed with its thin pillow and listened to the noises that drifted in from outside, trying to identify the sounds of animals beyond the human voices and movements.
Joe must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he was aware of was the low rumble of his father’s snoring and, apart from that, nothing but silence. He was bursting to go to the loo! The toilets were a short walk away and Binti had told him it was perfectly safe to go in the night, but Joe lay there for some time, reluctant to venture out.
‘You won’t catch me leaving my tent in the night, patrol or no patrol!’ Aesha had said.
Joe wondered about waking his father and asking him to go with him. He leant over and half-heartedly touched his shoulder. His father snorted loudly, turned over and stopped snoring. The new silence was worse than the snoring – it made Joe feel completely alone.
Don’t be such a wimp! he scolded himself.
With that he clambered out of bed and tried to find the torch his father had left on the floor between them. He couldn’t find it anywhere. He fumbled his way towards the tent opening and pushed his way out. It was pitch black everywhere. The lights that had lit the pathways earlier had been turned off. He thought he knew which way to go, but in the darkness doubts crept in. He contemplated peeing on the ground behind the tent, but worried about tripping over the guy ropes or being caught out by a ranger.
Joe couldn’t wait any longer – he was desperate! He turned left, away from the tent, and walked slowly along what he hoped was the path, putting one foot carefully in front of the other. A thin shaft of moonlight illuminated what looked to him like the toilet block, but it quickly disappeared at the same time as drops of rain began to fall.
Oh no! I’ll get soaked!
He walked faster, the torrential rain that was thudding to the ground disorientating him. He was no longer sure he was heading in the right direction and, as he considered giving up and going back, he heard a series of ghostly wails from somewhere close by. He panicked and started to run, the rain filling his eyes and soaking his T-shirt.
‘Mum, Dad, where are you?’ he shouted.
His flight came to an end when he hit something soft and solid – and screamed.
‘Shhh. It’s all right, boy. You’ll wake everyone up.’
A man’s voice – calm, taking control. Joe stared through the darkness, but all he could see were the whites of the man’s eyes.
‘Where were you going, boy?’
Joe gulped in air to try and steady his nerves. ‘To the toilet,’ he said weakly. ‘I heard something howling.’
‘Those were jackals you heard. Don’t worry – they’re outside the camp. The toilets are this way.’
Joe hesitated for a second, before following the man, who told him his name was Kwame and that he was a night patrolman. Joe was so relieved when Kwame led him to the toilet block, switched on the light and waited for him.
Kwame then showed him the way back to the tent, which was no distance at all, and told him that the heavy rain would make the early-morning safaris much trickier.
‘Your guide may have to stay on the roads if the ground is too wet, but they like to go off-road if they can.’
‘Does that mean we won’t see as many animals?’ asked Joe.
‘Maybe,’ said Kwame.
He wished Joe goodnight and walked away.
Joe tiptoed into the tent, took off his wet clothes and got back into bed. He lay there shivering for a while; from the chill air, from his earlier fright, and from anxiety that because of the rain they might miss out on some of the animals he had set his heart on seeing.
‘Please stop raining,’ he muttered, as he listened to it hammering down.