The meaning of safari
This isn't my first visit to Africa. I thought the "Mal d'Afrique" was a fantasy, a romantic exaggeration. But it actually exists. This time too, in Tanzania, amidst the boundless, unspoiled nature and its simple, beautiful people, I left a piece of my heart and brought home emotions that will stay with me forever.
Safari, which means "journey" in Swahili, has changed its meaning over time, from a hunting expedition to a deep-dive into nature. Today, a safari is an encounter. Not only with animals, but also with landscapes, sounds, silences, and that ancient part of ourselves that we too often forget. It forces you to slow down, to observe, and above all, to feel.
Our journey began from Tarangire, just over a hundred kilometers from Arusha. In August, I saw it like this: golden expanses swaying in the wind. Impressive baobabs stand out with their broad trunks and twisted branches like intertwined limbs. Even bare, they have a solemn charm, looking like sculptures sculpted by time. The scattered pools of water attract giraffes, elephants, and antelopes. It's there that life is concentrated. And it's there that the line between life and death becomes blurred. You sense it from a giraffe that bends down to drink, carefully spreading its legs, and then immediately springs up again, as if that moment of fragility might betray it.
Then the Ngorongoro. Un cratere immenso, che sembra un anfiteatro naturale: oltre 260 chilometri quadrati di savana racchiusi da alte pareti verdi. Al centro, il lago Magadi, salato e lucente, si anima al sole di fenicotteri rosa e decine di altri uccelli acquatici. Le montagne attorno, velate in alto da colature di nubi, vegliano come guardiani silenziosi su questo teatro di vita.
In the Ngorongoro area live the Masai, in their government, villages of circular huts built with mud and dung.
A curious fact our guide told us: to protect themselves from wild animals, the Maasai rub their skin with an oil whose scent is unpleasant to many species. It's an ancient form of coexistence, also made up of invisible scents and strategies.
Until the late 1950s, they also inhabited the Serengeti plains, but were relocated to allow for the creation of the national park, intended as a space reserved exclusively for wildlife. A choice made in the name of wilderness, considered a value to be protected above all else.
Here, nature is a shared heritage, a resource to be protected for the future, and also a source of wealth linked to tourism.
Today the Maasai live on the edge of the reserve, maintaining their traditions and coexistence with the animals, but bearing the burden of a long history of restrictions and displacement.
Serengeti, the heart of the savannah
And then the SerengetiThe name, from the Maasai language, means "endless plains." Once you're there, you realize it's not an exaggeration. The horizon seems endless. A sea of grass and dust dotted with the green of acacia trees. An area as large as our Trentino, crisscrossed only by dirt tracks. Here, travel is slow; jeeps advance at a moderate speed. The only lightning-fast movement can be that of a cheetah sprinting after its prey at 120 kilometers per hour.
The Serengeti is a mosaic of sights and sounds. The rustle of wheels in the dust, the roar that shatters the silence, the flock that suddenly rises. It's a landscape of such beauty that it requires patience; it may seem immobile, repetitive, but every meter can reveal a surprise.
I missed seeing it in June or July, at the height of the great migration, when millions of wildebeest and zebras cross rivers in a desperate race for survival. But every month, every season, offers wonders, a crossroads of destinies, different notes of a grandiose symphony.
Here, respect for nature is the first rule. Life flows like a giant carousel. You feel small. Everyone is a protagonist.
Birds, like the robin, the splendid African starling, and the lilac jay, fill the air with color and calls. Felines, my favorites, have a magnetic elegance. Antelopes are light and swift, always ready to pounce. Giraffes, tall and slow, move with elegance even while munching on the leaves of thorny acacia trees, and their eyelashes are enviable! Hippos remain motionless in the water for hours, but suddenly become aggressive over a pool. Elephants, silent and majestic, advance in cohesive groups, their every step measured. Each animal brings with it a unique trait: speed, grace, power, calm, alertness. A different way of inhabiting the savannah.
Not just qualities, but also behaviors, alliances, cunning, strategies, threats. Together they create the balance that holds this world together. Zebras and wildebeests live together and complement each other. The former can see far, the latter can sense invisible dangers. Together they protect each other.
It's said that wildebeests are a bit absent-minded, stubborn, and slow-witted—the similarity with our "gnucco-gnucchi" is so fitting it's laughable! Unlike zebras, they seem to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. If one member of the herd falls into a natural trap, it's easy for another to end up in the exact same spot a few minutes later.
I asked the guide what the most intelligent animal is. He replied, "The lion." Their hunting is highly strategic. They move in groups, selecting a victim from the herd of zebras and signaling each other with their tails for optimal coordination. Another interesting fact we learned about the king of the savannah is that, although he snubs us as prey, if he tastes human flesh, he'll be killed, lest he seek it again. Apparently, he finds it particularly palatable.
And then there are the everyday tricks, like a little monkey, a vervet monkey, who steals your breakfast near the lodge because he's learned he can. That's why the rule is clear: Do not feed the animals. Giving them food means altering the balance.
To those who ask me if I'm afraid of Africa, of its wildernessI answer no. I'm afraid of man, of the violence that's growing and spreading, even here, in the world we call "civilized." In Tanzania, a mosquito net is enough to separate you from the outside world. And if you let go of that baseless fear, you can enjoy the night. The calls of animals, the chirping of insects, the wind in the leaves. It's like returning to a distant time, when man was part of everything.
Hakuna Matata
If there is one expression that truly embodies the African spirit it is Hakuna MatataIt means "no worries," "without worries," an invitation to live without worries. We all know it thanks to The Lion King. In Tanzania, it's widespread. You hear it in farewells, in local songs like the famous Jambo Bwana, often sung in lodges. It's a hymn to not being consumed by thoughts, to not resist but flow. It's the lesson of the Serengeti.
Hello, Sir.
Hakuna matata, rafiki yangu,
furahia maisha, usiwe na hofu.
Tabasamu, cheza, imba na sisi,
hakuna matata, kila siku mpya.
No worries, my friend,
enjoy life, don't be afraid.
Smile, dance, sing with us,
Don't worry, every day is new.
Quick shots
Before the savannah, before the free-roaming animals, there were roads. The ones that lead from Arusha to Tarangire, the Serengeti, and Ngorongoro.
Along the way, I took several photographs. Imperfect, blurry, stolen through the window of our speeding jeep.
Faces, gestures, colors. Dusty streets. Children playing, some wearing sandals made from old slashed tires tied with string. Women selling fruit, coffee pickers. Boys on motorbikes. Others offering pieces of sugar cane to passengers on stopped buses, as a natural remedy for sleeping sickness caused by the tsetse fly.
Many Maasai walk along the edge or observe from afar, their silent and proud presence. They wear brightly colored clothes, often red, made of rough, checked fabrics, similar to blankets, wrapped casually around their bodies. They often accompany herds of cows or goats, and are frequently children. They always carry a staff. A simple object, yet charged with meaning. A support on long journeys, a means of defense, a symbol of authority and identity.
They are fragments of Tanzanian life, everyday portraits.
Mila Tented Camp
A special mention goes to Mila Tented Camp, a tented lodge we almost passed up, but which instead gave us the best hours of the trip. There I rediscovered the atmosphere of My Africa that I had always imagined and dreamed of.
