While trying to do my best impression of a Fred Astaire softshoe, the rocky, volcanic soil beneath my feet is making more noise than I would like. Normally, I would not care how much noise I make when I am out for a stroll, but right now, I am in the African bush closing in on a large bull elephant that is very much wild in Kenya's Camp of Hidden Treasures.

Fortunately, we are down wind of the world's largest land species, so he probably dismisses my noises as just the rustle of lesser beasts. As my heart pounds like a jazz drummer on way too much java, I realize that a few weeks earlier in the Maasai Mara, I really didn't care which way the wind was blowing. In the Mara, with as many as twenty-five mini-vans around one animal, if something didn't know that we were there, it was most likely already on some other animal's dinner plate.

This pachyderm is quite alive, and I do not want to interrupt his breakfast-- especially since I am just forty steps away from ending my life as an elephant stress reliever with only a skinny Maasai warrior as my safety buffer. As we watch this marvelous creature from the dense brush, his head bobs up as he realizes that something is in the bushes, and he starts to move toward us. I keep reminding myself that I do not have to outrun the elephant, only the Maasai. Given the Maasai's penchant for machismo, I think that I might be able to do the latter as he would surely stand, spear in hand, to take on any mad elephant crashing down on us (okay, this big tusker is only meandering his way towards us). Since, we can hear more elephants approaching from the other direction and we do not want to be flanked, we start to make our retreat.

As the fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, Luca Belpietro, the Italian-born owner and director of the Camp, reminds us not to run (his earlier caution about looking like something good to eat or trample to death when one runs returns to my mind). After we cross a small, centuries-old lava flow and are in (relative) safety, I thank Luca and our Maasai guide because I have now had the true, heart-in-the-throat, sweaty-palms, hoping-that-I-don't-die safari experience. Whew!

This experience helped me to better understand why wagenis (Swahili for guests) have been coming to Africa since Stanley's day. Yes, the magic of the Dark Continent is alive and well at the Camp of Hidden Treasures.

Campi ya Kanzi (the Camp's name in Swahili) is one of a new breed of exclusive safari camps that offers the true (read before-the-advent-of-Land-Rovers) safari experience. The Camp is one result of the recommendation given by Dr. M. Sommerlatte's wildlife management study (funded by the Kenya Wildlife Services Revenue Sharing Plan) that the best usage of the land for the Maasai and the wildlife would be small-tourism safaris. This means safaris with low impact on the natural habitat. Since a maximum of ten travelers are allowed in the 250,000-acre camp at any given time, low impact is the essence of this unique safari destination.

True to its name, the Camp did not reveal the wealth of its treasures in a single outing (in some of the large game parks, one can see most of the big-game animals inside of a couple of hours). Over the five-day stay, we would encounter lion, cape buffalo, giraffe, wildebeest, baboon, more elephant and a whole host of other plains animals while on foot. In many cases, the big game did not know that we were there; therefore, we saw them in their natural states (for example, we saw a large lion who had picked up the scent of his lioness and was calling out to her, oblivious to our eavesdropping--quite spectacular).

At times, we had to walk as long as half an hour to view some of the trophy animals without scaring them off by driving up in a Land Rover, but our walks helped the excitement to build: What animals will we see? What vista is just over this next hill? Where did that Maasai disappear to? Will we be eaten? This was, to my mind, as close to hunting the animals as I would ever be.

Conversely, in the large game parks, it is easy to find the big game--they are on display for everyone to see with very little effort. In fact, the animals in the well-known parks have become so accustomed to man, that many of the animals (the carnivores, primarily) consider the towering presence of the mini-vans and Land Rovers not much more than a welcome respite from the burning African sun.

Please don't misunderstand, the large game parks have much to offer and have their own charm (after all, one can get much closer to the animals in the large parks than at Campi ya Kanzi--albeit in vehicles), but the emotion of visiting them is more akin to a zoo trip rather than hunting big game with the likes of Teddy Roosevelt.

One might expect that the only way to have a safari of this type is by roughing it, but, instead, the Camp is luxurious. Set in the Chyulu Hills just north of the Kenyan-Tanzanian border, the Camp offers a comfortable base from which to launch sorties into its wide variety of eco-systems. We traveled from open savanna to dense forest to hippo streams confident that at day's end we would have a nice shower, a good meal and a comfortable bed. The Camp's excellent amenities and ambiance are in stark contrast to the African wilderness which surrounds it.

Guests of the Camp stay in permanent tents with thatched roofs and magnificent views of mighty Kilimanjaro 20 miles away. The secluded and roomy guest tents come equipped with inviting bathrooms including solar-heated, stone-tiled showers fitted with fine brass fixtures to wash away the red, volcanic dust of the day's game tracking. Thirsty Italian hand towels and bath sheets, a large basen, toilet and bidet round out the bathrooms. In the main section of the tents, wooden beds (crafted by local artisans) have a nice rustic appeal and are fitted with linen sheets. A writting desk, wooden travel trunk and mosquito netting complete the Hemmingway motif.

Additionally, The main lodge, called Tembo (elephant) House, is set on a hill that overlooks the valley between the Camp and Kilimanjaro. With enchanting views of the vast African savanna and the verdant Chyulu Hills, Tembo House has the ambiance of a friend's private chalet, not a lodge for the masses. There is a large wooden dining table set with fine china, silverware and crystal (it was no mean feat transporting these items into the African bush). Additionally, in order to be sensitive to the surrounding area, the building is constructed of local stone, beautiful French-style windows and a thatched roof. Though new, the lodge appears as though it has been there for quite some time and blends in very well with its surroundings.

After dinner, our evenings in Tembo House were spent reminiscing about the day's exciting events. The converstaions would unfold as we sipped wine, coffee or hot cocoa and nibbled chocolate while all cozied up to a crackling fire in the oversized fireplace. Displayed on the massive coffeetable were several books about Africa, the animals and the local peoples to pique one's interest. The books were made all the more interesting because the camp is located right where the Ghost and the Darkness did their version of WWF wrestling (fortunately, the tag-team of the Man-eaters of Tsavo has long since gone to the great Wrestlemania in the sky).

The evening conversations with Luca were always intriguing and informative. He was raised with Africa in his veins and is incredibly knowledgeable about the animals and Kenya in general. His youth was spent between home in Italy and visiting Kenya with his father. Consequently, his father's enchantment with Africa rubbed off on him to such a degree that Luca resigned his position as managing director of an Italian economic consulting firm to pursue his passion of escorting travelers into the Dark Continent. As the evenings wore on, the discussions invariably turned to what big-game animals we hoped to see the next day.

Luca reminded us often that we needed to use caution and good sense when approaching the animals on foot and, above all, do as he and the Maasai tracker directed. He mentioned that the most dangerous animal to encounter on foot is the cape buffalo. These beasts have the tenaciousness of a pit-bull and can be very aggressive (they will stand guard for long periods of time over a vanquished foe watching for any remnants of life before leaving them for dead). To drive the point home, he told us about a good friend of his that had been killed by a buffalo at a different camp in Kenya not long before our visit.

The Camp's diversity of topography (which provides many stunning locales for picnics) is complemented by its diversity of animals. While the plains animals are fairly easy to be seen (there are several hundreds of giraffe, zebra, hartebeest, wildebeest and the like), the big game are a little more tentative about giving an audiance. Consequently, Luca would send out a cadre of Maasai early in the morning to determine the location of the big-game animals we wanted to see. We would then drive in a Land Rover to a place not far from the animals and cover the remaining distance on foot.

Interestingly, when tracking lions, the Maasai wear coats provided by Luca to camouflage their Maasai scent because the lions and Maasai get along about as well as Indiana Jones and snakes (if a lion detects a Maasai scent, it will generally leave without exchanging greetings). One afternoon, we saw very fresh lion tracks which indicated to Luca that the lion was running away from us (many times I gave silent thanks for the Maasai's machismo).

The deep-seated resentment between the Maasai and the lions stems from the Maasai's belief that they have been given the divine mandate to possess, raise and protect cattle being directly at odds with the lions' taste for beef tartar. So intense is this rivalry, that Maasai still hunt lions that cross the boundary of good taste for something that tastes good. Sometimes the Maasai pay with nasty wounds and (although technically illegal) sometimes the lions pay with their lives.

The Maasai at the Camp play an integral part of the Campi ya Kanzi experience. In deed, they are one of the Camp's many treasures. They have been hired to work at the Camp and really consider it to be their camp (after all, it is on their land: The Camp leases the nearly 400 square-mile parcel of land from the Kuku Maasai Group Ranch).

Upon our arrival at the Camp, after the staff greeted us, a whole line of Askari warriors, in full, traditional Maasai dress, including red face paint and leathal spears, welcomed us to the Camp It was quite overpowering. They were genuinely excited that we were there (Luca assured us that he had not put them up to it, but, rather, they wanted to express their joy at our visiting them--it seemed credible). The Maasai relish visitors and made our stay most enjoyable.

We were able to make a side trip to a Maasai boma (village) and see their culture up close. Upon our arrival, the women of the boma sang to us their song of welcome as is the custom of the Maasai. Then, the women in our group and the women of the village began buying and selling jewelry while the village leader, Ingalami, took me aside.

As the only male wageni, I seemed to be his greatest concern during our visit to his hometown. He showed to me his cattle and we discussed the feeding, raising, tending and size of his considerable holdings (about 300 cows and 200 goats). He had come to the fore when his father died not long ago leaving all his worldly possessions (and responsibilities including his father's four widows) to him. In his world, Ingalami was the equivalent of Bill Gates: Young, fabulously wealthy and holding the position of the lead Maasai tracker at the Camp (life is good).

Luca mentioned to me a conversation he had had with a friend of his who thought it ludicrous for the locals to maintain so many cows. The Maasai's response was that he, Luca's friend, counted dollars and they counted cows; where was the difference? It is a point well taken because among the people of Maa, cows are coin of the realm--legal tender for wives (two cows is the current rate for a wife) or other of life's necessities.

So pleased were the Maasai with our stay, that on our final night at the Camp, they killed a goat in the traditional Maasai fashion and offered to us warm blood and milk. While this would not be everyone's cup of tea (so to speak), their exuberance was infectious. After the kill, it was party time. They danced and sang for us for about an hour and a half and even encouraged us to join in with them.

Doing the patented tribal dance (slightly bouncing and dropping the upper torso forward while making a kind of low grunt to mimic a lion's growl), I was reminded that I had heard lions very close to the Camp that night while the Maasai were eating the goat (raw). The Maasai said that the lions could smell the kill and were looking for a dinner invitation (I counted it a blessing that the lions did not decide to party crash).

Seemingly in the blink of an eye, our five days at the Camp were ended, and it was time to bid farewell. Five days is not long, but it was long enough to become attached to the many wonderful people who made us feel so welcome. While I have no urgent desire to return to the large game parks in the near future, I do have a longing to return to Campi ya Kanzi to renew the friendships I have made there.

In deed, getting to know the Maasai, even superficially, helped me to appreciate their lifestyle much more than I would have if I had only viewed them from afar. They are a spectacular people, forged in a land of great beauty and challenges, who have, in large measure, consciously held to their traditional ways even when they have had the choice to adopt Western lifestyles. Seeing the joy they have, in the face of so many hardships, makes me think that they may possess an insight we are yet lacking.

As a final footnote and testament of the powerful influence the Dark Continent still possesses, early one morning, I heard what I thought to be an elephant eating leaves off of a tree only steps from our tent (animal prints were commonly found around the camp compound). Every now and again, I would hear the unmistakable sound of leaves being ripped off of a branch. After about fifteen minutes, my traveling companion awoke, and I asked if she could hear the sound? She concurred. I said that the animal sounded very close and that I wanted to get up and see it but did not want to startle it. After a minute or two, she said that it was the fasteners on the tent's window flaps being pulled apart by the breeze. Yup. The dreaded Velcro beast. In no place but the wilds of Africa.

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Copyright 1998 Jambo! Travels