PublicationsRecent Publications featuring Rekero Tented Camp, Masai Mara, Kenya On safari in KenyaThe Independent
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The Times
Saturday January 24 2004
On safari with the experts
Brian Jackman gets to know a new generation of Masai guides
At the airstrip, in the hearts of the Masai Mara game reserve in Kenya, a fleet of safari vehicles is lined up, waiting to take incoming visitors to their camps and lodges. The driver-guides are dressed for the part in faded khaki – all except one, who sits at the wheel of his Toyota Land Cruiser wearing the blood-red robes of a Masai elder.
Jackson ole Looseyia is an Il Dorobo Masai, a clan of hunter-gatherers who live in the hills just outside the reserve. Fifteen years ago he survived by collecting wild honey. Today he is one of East Africa’s most sought-after safari guides, has visited England three times and travelled from coast to coast across America.
Although the Mara is a national reserve, the land belongs to the Masai, a tribe of pastoralists who livestock have traditionally co-existed with the migratory herds of East African plains game.
Wrapped in scarlet shukas, adorned with beads and with their ochre dreadlocks, the Masai moran, or warriors, still use their spears to good effect against lions and cattle rustlers alike. For many, the only concessions to the 21st century are their “thousand-milers” – makeshift sandals cut from dis-used car tyres. But now, unless eco-tourism can give them greater benefits, their lands could be claimed for agriculture and their semi-nomadic lifestyle will vanish along with the wildlife.
Increasingly, Masai families are moving out of their dome-shaped, dung-plastered huts into solid buildings with corrugated iron roofs, swapping their tribal dress for suits and sending their kids to school to become doctors, teachers or – in Jackson ole Looseyia’s case – a professional safari guide.
Not only is he fluent in three languages – English, Swahili and Maa (the Masai tongue) – but he can name every bird, beast and plant in Latin; what he doesn’t know about the Mara is not worth knowing.
On the way to Rekero, the tented camp where he is both a guide and a shareholder, we pause to watch a herd of buffalo. “Did you know a buffalo can produce 20 litres of saliva day?” he says. This, I discover, is Jackson’s style. He dispenses his knowledge in handy sound-bites.
Rekero is owned by Ron Beaton, a third-generation Kenyan who also runs a lodge on the reserve’s northern fringes. It is an idyllic campsite – the loveliest I have ever seen – in a secluded part of the reserve where other vehicles seldom venture. Blue flycatchers and golden orioles flit among the leaves. By day, herds of zebra come down to drink at the Talek River. There are no fences; ad at night, elephant, buffalo, hippo and lion regularly wander between the tents.
Next morning Jackson has planned a full-day game drive to the Mara Triangle, a remote and beautiful area bordering the Serengeti National Park, and on the way there I ask him about his life. “I think I was born in l967,” he says. “Nobody knows for sure.”
What is certain is that at the age when most British are starting school, Jackson was out in the bush all day, herding his father’s livestock in country where lions are common and four members of his family have been killed by buffalo.
Now the herdboy who wore nothing but animal skins is a man: urbane, witty, worldly-wise, a natural raconteur who would grace any dinner table. “Today I live in two worlds.” He says as we stop to admire the Matumba Boys – the two territorial males of the Ol Keju Ronkai lion pride. “In my original world I was a honey-hunter. Then I got a job at Rekero as a wildlife-spotter, accompanying safari clients on their daily game-drives. That is when Ron Beaton encouraged me to become a professional guide. He was like a second father.”
Jackson’s real father had lived off the land, hunting for meat with bow and arrow until he was caught poaching by Major Lyn Temple-Boreham, the Mara’s first game warden.
“Temple-Boreham said to my father, ‘Who are you?’ And my father replied, ‘I am the chief’. Then Temple-Boreham said, ‘Why didn’t you run away?’ And my father drew himself up to his full height and replied, ‘I never run away from a human being.’ Temple-Boreham put him in jail for eight years; but when he came out he gave him a gun and made him a ranger, and later he became Ron Beaton’s tracker.”
Beaton, whose father was Kenya’s first parks warden, is well known on the safari scene. When he left school he wanted to become a hunter but was persuaded instead to go to agricultural college in Cirencester. In 1974 he returned to farm in Masailand, and ten years later opened Rekero safari lodge with his wife Pauline.
His latest scheme is the creation of a new guide school that will teach young Masai students to become professional wildlife guides in what is, after all, their own reserve. The idea came about as a result of Beaton training his own guides at Rekero, and Jackson is living proof of how effective it can be. “Lots of our clients now specifically ask for Jackson to be their guide when they book with us,” says Beaton.
Fewer than 20 percent of the people employed in the Mara’s tourist industry are Masai, and Beaton hopes substantially to increase numbers by providing year-long training courses for 21 students at a rime. “It will help put the running of the reserve into the hands of the indigenous people,” he says, “and safeguard the area for eco-tourism.”
The location for this project is uncompromisingly wild – a remote tract of thornbush on the Koiyaki Masai Group Ranch, whose quarter-of-a-million acres lie on the Mara’s northern border. Every year, when the wildebeest migration arrives from the Serengeti, the herds spill out from the Mara and disperse across the Koiyaki plains. “There are no fences, so tourists go looking for lion and cheetah without realising they are no longer insde the Mara,” says Beaton. “Yet without this area on its doorstep, the reserve and its megafauna will find it hard to survive.”
Jackson represents a new generation of black African guides who are breaking into what was, even five year ago, still very much a “white” profession.
Internet Link: http://www.timesonline.co.uk.newspaper/,,175-973468,00.HTML
Harpers & Queen
Harpers Abroad
The Ultimate Travel Guide
The 150 Greatest Escapes in the World
Pg.20 – Eco Warriors. November 2003.
“Jackson Ole Looseyia – Based at Rekero tented camp in the Masai Mara in Kenya, Looseyia is fast-becoming one of the country’s top wildlife and cultural guides, his intimate knowledge of herbalism and bush-craft enthralling visitors.
British Airways
Highlife In Flight Magazine.December 2003.
A Boy in the Bush
Sorrel Downer and son get close to Nature in Kenya
George is 7 years old, visits Rekero Cottages, Masai Mara Conservation
Area
“We fly south to the Masai Mara Conservation area descending
to drop people and supplies at remote airstrips en route. Ron Beaton
leases land from the local Masai elders in this remote south western
corner. And like Lewa, his home, Rekero is a valued base for pioneering
conservationists.
Guides William and Jackson are waiting in a jeep to take us on safari
. George gets the Masai eye view of British colonialism, and how
one man is worth 49 cows (each representing a part of the body)
in the Masai judicial system (“that seems fair”), and
gets to hold some obsidian. He is riveted . As Jackson chats, we
are swishing through the grasslands towards purple skies, flickers
of lightening, a big stink and a crowd of vultures. Ten feet away,
tufted lion ears and a partially exposed antelope rib cage are visible
through the grass. One lion is grappling with a leg, one has the
springy gut, while others roll and loll about under the thorn trees………..”To
be proved brave warriors, young men, must fight a lion”, says
William, as we continue our jeep journey. “No, George, not
with a gun, with a spear”………… “Part
of becoming a warrior involves sleeping in the bush with nothing
to protect you but your spear and your spirit, all you see is animals
– meat that attracts all the predators. You must be strong
to survive”.
At Rekero Cottages, survival couldn’t be easier. There are
hot water bottles and thick blankets on the beds, as well as tea
trays. It is a happy mix of the wild and the civilised. I have a
glass of wine and chat to the Beatons while George examines skulls
and feeds cheese straws to the Galago in the rafters. Returning
to our cottages across the lawn, we are escorted by Masai warriors
carrying spears they sometimes have to use”.
The Sunday Telegraph
January 11, 2004
Weekend to Remember
“Home Before Sunrise”
Sarah Fairbairn was dying to see the Masai Mara’s huge wildlife
migration. Trouble was she could only spare a couple of days.
Julia and I, both huge lovers of the open plains of East Africa,
decided we wanted to see them again – and the great migration
of the wildebeest – as soon as possible. But with 7 children
between us, it would be impossible to get away for a proper holiday,
however patient our long suffering husbands might be. So something
a little mad was called for. We looked into the flights and found
that we could leave Heathrow Airport at 10 p.m. on Thursday, be
in the Masai Mara by 11 a.m. the following morning, stay until tea
time on Monday and be home in time for breakfast on Tuesday.
As soon as you arrive in the bush, it is as if you have never been
anywhere else. It is so intoxicating that everything in your ordinary
life ceases to cause anxiety or even contemplation.
We stayed at Rekero Tented Camp on the banks of the Talek River
just minutes from one of the main crossings for the wildebeest on
the Mara River. From here, we watched hundreds of zebra also making
their way across the water, while we sipped sundowners. At night
hippo and buffalo made their way silently through the camp. It was
a perfect weekend destination. Our tents were comfortable, we had
bucket showers, hot water bottles, and delicious food and wine.
Every morning we awoke to giraffe, zebra and gazelle drinking from
the water as the sun started to shed it’s golden light over
the horizon.
Our Masai guides were as excited by the migration as we were. On
Saturday morning having watched a pride of lion with six cubs, a
herd of protective elephants, numerous antelope as well as fat over-fed
crocodile and hippo – all before breakfast – we sat
on a hill to watch the spectacle of a crossing unfold. Countless
wildebeest galloped to the river called by some unknown signal.
Some walked in long sedate lines, which stretched as far as the
eye could see, but they all had just one aim – to get across
the brown swirling waters of the Mara River.
The dust rose in choking clouds, as their snorting and bellowing
became louder and more urgent. At last, encouraged by others on
the far bank the first intrepid few threw themselves off the high
earth banks into the fast flowing water . Hundreds followed a the
bellowing rose to a crescendo, rousing the interest of waiting crocodiles,
several bodies floated away as the chaotic scenes on the far bank
led to casualties among the weaker animals. We watched with hearts
in our mouths, forgetting our cameras and binoculars, urging the
stragglers up the steep banks to safety…….On Saturday
after supper, we sat for hours by the camp fire as some of the glories
of the night sky were pointed out. In the distance we could hear
the roars and snorts of lion and hippo and the occasional squeal
of something at the wrong end of a successful hunt……..then
on our last day, our guide took us on a three hour walk on the outskirts
of the Game Reserve wildebeest and zebra scattering at the sight
of us. During the hike, our guide explained the wonders of giant
spider’s webs, bushes that provide nourishment for the Masai
children herding their cattle and identified numerous footprints.
Hoofs & Horns( Australia)
The Cream of Town and Country Living
Summer 2004 (Sister Magazine to ‘Outback’)
Special Relaunch Issue
Safari in Style by Paul Myers
Spectacular scenery, superb accommodation and gracious hosts and guides make a lodge based or tented camp safari in Kenya a unique escape
There are many safari camps in the Masai Mara, but the only tented
camp, that enables visitors to be “on safari” while
enjoying some creature comforts, is the Beaton family’s Rekero
Camp on the Talek River, close to the swift flowing Mara River,
one of the major obstacles faced every year by a million and a half
wildebeest that migrate in the dry season from the Serengeti (in
Tanzania) to the Mara. With his wife Pauline, son Gerard and daughter-in-law
Rainee, Ron Beaton, a genial former hunter, raconteur, adventurer
and dedicated wildlife conservationist operates Rekero Tented Camp
inside the Reserve, supplemented by permanent guest cottages outside
in the Conservation Area. Seven upmarket tents, with bathroom facilities,
are scattered over several hundred metres almost right beside the
river, out of sight and sound of one another. Three permanent cottages,
some fifty kilometres away and several hundred metres higher accommodate
six to eight people in total and offer a different, more relaxed
experience.
If you are in the tented camp, (the place to be during the wildebeest
migration), breakfast or lunch are served either outside by the
fast flowing river, with the always delectable evening meal beautifully
presented in an adjacent large marquee………There
is no TV, limited communications, and (apart from the great personal
attention and food) just the sight and sounds of wildlife to occupy
your day. But make no mistake, Rekero is a unique experience and
one that anyone who connects with the great outdoors should take
in his or her lifetime.
ChristianFraser.BBC.Nairobi article.http://news,BBC.co.uk/2/Hi/Africa/3396423.STM
Interview December 2003.
Cultural Power
Mr. Beaton believes that eventually the Masai will go one step
further than the land management scheme they have agreed and privatise
the management of their land entirely. “I think privatisation
will come to the group ranches in the dispersal areas,” he
said. “We have seen it work in the reserve in the last two
years. But it is not something that can be done overnight. You are
dealing with an old generation that basically don’t understand
tourism and they still wield a lot of power under the cultural system.
But the younger generation understand that good management and good
economics is going to benefit them.” …..Young leaders
like Jackson ole Looseyia say it will only happen if future generations
are given the opportunity to go to school-instead of being sent
to look after cattle-and are allowed to take control.
:We cannot stay behind as the rest of Kenya is moving forward. We
need our young men to be running our districts. We need children
to be better educated, we need politicians and forward thinking
chiefs who can make changes.
Most important we need parents to understand the benefits of education
and what it means to our future here. There is a move in the right
direction-but a lot of people here still depend on their cows and
sons to guard them.
The Sunday Times
December 28, 2003
Weekend World Getaways for 2004
By Jeremy Lazell
……..Better yet weekend breaks are just what our cash
rich, time poor heart’s desire……..A few require
a day off work, but most start late on Friday, ensuring absolute
full value for your time, from pottery in Pembrokshire to the migration
in the Masai Mara
Safari, Kenya – 24th/25th July
Why? Because this is peak migration time and at Rekero Camp you’re
only two hundred yards from one of the main River crossing points.
The Sunday Telegraph
February 29, 2004
Travel
By Laura Bailey
My next stop was Rekero Cottages, at the foot of Kipeleo hill,
in the Masai Mara Conservation Area, which involved another spectacular
flight above the plains. William and Jimmy, two young Masai, were
at the airstrip waiting for me and our two-hour drive through the
Mara took us through herds of wildebeest and zebra. In contrast
to the golden browns of the Chyulus, the land here was lush and
green.
At the end of our drive, Rekero appeared like an oasis of calm:
green lawns, immaculate flowerbeds and tea and cake. I unpacked
and met Rainee Anderson, an artist who runs Rekero with her husband,
Gerard Beaton. They are perfect hosts and I felt instantly relaxed
and at home. Other guests arrived, two by two.
I awoke the next morning to the sound of birdsong, elephant snores
and unidentified grunts. Every day brought a new adventure: bush
drives at dawn, picnic brunches and long walks. I learned Swahili
songs and about Masai traditions. William joked that in his country,
women did all the work while men had "meetings". He also
told me about the rituals of courtship and the complex etiquette
of multiple marriages.
And then - my first lions! In the hot sun, the male nuzzled his
mate and pawed her back before the pair curled up contentedly.
Another day I visited the local primary school for an afternoon
of festivities. Gerard's father, Ron Beaton, a third-generation
Kenyan and a legend in safari circles, was being honoured with a
song and dance. Teenage Masai girls sat with me on the grass, resplendent
in their rainbow robes and trailing beads. Later I was taken to
a village where, in a hut that was so hot and smoky it made my eyes
smart, I was introduced to a mother who was feeding her newborn
baby. Her four other children crawled around us. Quick fire questions
followed, interrupted by infectious giggles. The' mother was intrigued
by my long hair, my "meaningless" jewellery and by the
fact that I live alone. In her world, no one is ever alone.
Two hours away was my next stop, Rekero's tented camp, where I was
met by another Jackson – Jackson Loosayia. A lion interrupted
-lunch, prowling the hillside across the river, so we abandoned
our Greek salads to shadow him downstream.
On our first drive we reached the river in time to witness a breathtaking
spectacle - dozens of zebra were in the process of crossing from
one side to the other and, as they did so, several were being caught
and killed by the crocodiles that home in on them like torpedoes.
Once in a while we see another vehicle on the horizon but no sign
of the "traffic jams" that are said to despoil the area.
Jackson proved to be the perfect guide. One morning he led me to
a leopard that slithered in and out of the shade before suddenly
surprising us by calmly strutting out of the bush and down the track
in front of us, like a supermodel on a catwalk.
Later, just before sunset. Jackson told us to slow down and hush. Ahead silhouetted against the tangerine streaked sky, were eight lions, some curled up in the grass; some scouting for dinner.
