Crocodiles glide imperceptibly across the glassy surface, leaving no wake.
Little popcorn birds in the hundreds gather in the tree branches with a whir,
settle at the edges of elephant tracks now filled with muddy water, pivot
deliberately to drink. A flash of red, blue, turqouise in the treetops. Deep
elephant tracks in the mud, soft cat prints in the powdery sand, soft tracks
that pad silently across the way. With a crack of falling wood that echoes
like gunshot, a family of elephants approaches the muddy pond. The Beninese
guide, scarred on both cheeks, nods knowingly. "They are coming to
drink," he smiles.
Pendjari National Park drew us from Cotonou and convinced us to bump along ten
hours of dusty highway and another 120 kilometers of corrugated dirt track for
a bit of wonder. Benin's most captivating wildlife reserve and most
enticing tourist attraction lies along its northern border and isn't easy
to get to, but the trouble we took to get there more than rewarded us with a
memorable trip. Writes Stuart Butler,
"With the possible exception of Cameroon the jewel in the crown of West
African wildlife nations is Benin, whose two national parks, Pendjari and W,
are without equal on this side of the continent. Pendjari was added to
UNESCO's World Biosphere Reserves list in 1986. It's the better
known, more commonly visited and therefore, better equipped of Benin's
two parks, and if you are in the country between December and June you should
not miss this wilderness experience."
And after having already named one of our Basenji puppies after the place we
went north to explore.
Pendjari National Park is 475,000 km2 of savannah tucked against the river by
the same name, which flows from the feet of the Atakora mountains in a lazy
counter-clockwise arch into Ghana's Lake Volta. It's home to over
two thousand elephants, and hundreds of other exotic wildlife species, some of
which – lions, leopards, gazelles, buffalo, warthogs, baboons, monkeys,
crocodiles, and a rainbow of exotic birds – we were able to see while we
explored the park's dusty interior.
I was pleasantly surprised at how well the park was run. Well advertised in
country, the park was clean and the dirt tracks that traverse it were in good
shape. We were charged a nominal but reasonable fee to help offset maintenance
expenses, and we learned a progressive management policy contributed to the
development of the communities that surround the park, providing a strong
incentive for the neighbors to take interest in the park and its wild
inhabitants. A comfortable hotel lie at the park's northern border not
far from the Pendjari river itself; its restaurant served delicious meals in
the hands of waiters more graceful than their colleagues back in the capital.
We slept in a four poster bed draped in mosquito netting and listened to the
footsteps of the gazelle in the grasses just outside the compound, while the
equatorial constellations soared over our heads in an unfettered night sky.
We spent most of our time driving between the mare water holes where the
animals congregate to drink. Hunkered down behind the straw thatch of the
viewing stations or peering from the car windows en route to the mares, these
are the images I will take with me from our safari adventure in Benin's
Sahel:
Dawn: Crocodiles glide imperceptibly across the glassy surface, leaving no
wake. Little popcorn birds in the hundreds gather in the tree branches with a
whir, settle at the edges of elephant tracks now filled with muddy water, pivot
deliberately to drink. A flash of red, blue, turqouise in the treetops. Deep
elephant tracks in the mud, soft cat prints in the powdery sand, soft tracks
that pad silently across the way. With a crack of falling wood that echoes
like gunshot, a family of elephants approaches the muddy pond. The Beninese
guide, scarred on both cheeks, nods knowingly. "They are coming to
drink," he smiles.
A dark lioness the color of wet sand prowls the grass edge in the dim early
morning light bathed in the chirps of crickets and bird call that resonates
across the mare, long tail hanging after the hunt. On the far side of the
milky waters, a deep sandy beach rutted with streaks where crocodiles slid into
the water. They watch us over their sharp teeth in the strengthening glare of
the sunlight.
Noon: the light turns white and the glare off the ground burns like ashes. The
air grows thick with haze. A heron skims the surface of the water, wing tips
just missing its surface. A thick billed bird pecks at the water's edge
from bended legs, stepping nimbly around the crocs aligned along the shore. A
sharp eyed baboon ambles over to drink, crouched over on all fours, body
against the mud, ready to spring at a moment's notice. His hands are
frighteningly familiar and his eyes search us curiously.
Mid-afternoon: on all sides the light is too bright and our eyes hurt from
squinting. Hippos drift gently in the soporific afternoon heat, pushing off
the lake bottom with thick, heavy feet. Knuckles for eyes, a camel's
sweet face, and ears of mice that wiggle while the rest remains motionless.
They drift quietly, ears, eyes, and nose aligned perfectly against the
water's edge, unperturbed by the birds that alight on their backs. One
heron lands on a hippo's snout only to have the hippo rise from the water
in a toothy snarl, knobby spindles of teeth flashing; the heron flaps away,
complaining loudly.
Evening and night: the sun drops like lead, throwing the river into shadows.
The dust settles, the visitors are all aligned in the hotel restaurant waiting
for grilled duck and couscous, comparing notes over tumblers of whiskey.
Shadow ship elephants slip across the backdrop, dim as mystery and silent as
the dusk. Above us, Orion flashes brightly in the moonless sky. By morning
Scorpio has bounded up over the horizon and Orion is gone; Canopus winks
knowingly while the cats prowl and the Savannah comes back to life.
