Unlike Elspeth Huxley, whose book Flame Trees of Thika I posted about yesterday, while I lived in Kenya from 1962 to 1982 I never felt entirely at ease. However, I do have some outstanding memories.
On a visit to the Nairobi National Park in 1968, a lion, ahead of our car, plodded along the red dirt track. On either side stretched grassland interspersed with thorn trees, weird sculptures beneath a jacaranda-blue sky from which blazed a brazen sun. Not once did the king of beasts look back at our car. Totally at ease he ignored the herds of deer, wildebeest zebras and deer, and the giraffes and ostriches took no notice of him. At a leisurely pace he reached his destination, a flat-topped rock overlooking the grassland on which his harem and his cubs had settled.
As my husband drove away I hoped the lions would enjoy long lives protected from hunters.