The truth is, I wasn’t in any kind of immediate danger. But navigating the rugged African bush by foot isn’t for the faint of heart, either. As we approached the hillside where seven rhinos were grazing, Rianto (Borana Conservancy’s anti-poaching head of security) chambered a round in his AK-47 and we proceeded cautiously in a single file, keeping an eye out for cape buffalos and lions. A bit closer, he knelt down to scoop up sand into his palm. “You see what direction this is moving in?” he asked as it fell to the earth. It was blowing in the direction we didn’t want. If we pushed forward, the temperamental black rhino would catch our scent and likely begin charging in our direction. Instead, we observed the critically endangered species from a distance.
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In northern Kenya, this sort of experience that pairs thrill-seeking adventure with conservation efforts is beginning to take center stage. It speaks to the broader push for regenerative tourism that—unsurprisingly—finds its natural footing within the context of fragile African ecosystems. “There is no safari business without the regenerative side,” Tanya Carr-Hartley tells me. A born and raised Kenyan, she co-founded The Safari Collection with her husband Mikey in 2009. Within their portfolio of luxury lodges is Sasaab, a tented camp in the Samburu wilderness. The property has earned Global Ecosphere Retreat (GER) Status; a sustainability certification for nature-based tourism businesses by The Long Run. So has Lengishu, an exclusive-use family home owned by Joe and Minnie MacHale in the Borana Conservancy, where my rhino tracking was coordinated. Only 12 properties worldwide have achieved this certification thus far.
It was my first time coming to Kenya. Aside from an academic visit to Egypt 18 years ago, it was my first time exploring the African continent. And like everyone else I know, safari had been squarely at the top of my bucket list for as long as I could say hakuna matata (which, for the record, is Swahili). But with recent headlines highlighting the catastrophic effects of overtourism—particularly in Kenya’s iconic Masai Mara reserve—I was faced with the uncomfortable but necessary question: will I be aiding the problem, or the solution?
My trip planning was handled by the luxury travel connoisseurs over at Black Tomato, a team with a track record of crafting life-altering experiences in tandem with on-the-ground partners who care deeply about the communities clients are being sent into. A trip like this requires a series of small flights, vaccination recommendations, visas, and packing requirements, but Black Tomato sorted it all out soup to nuts. I took the KQ3 route operated by Kenya Airways (currently the only direct flight from JFK to Nairobi) and arrived at my first locale: Giraffe Manor.
Less of a safari and more of an intimate wildlife encounter, the private residence turned boutique hotel is famous for its endangered Rothschild giraffes that freely roam the 12-acre property, often poking their heads through windows to interact with guests. (The property is known to have a waitlist of well over a year, which is why working with a well-connected, well-liked travel operator comes in handy.)
But aside from letting 17-foot-tall ‘Ed’ crash my afternoon Earl Grey and scone on the patio, I was most interested in how a stay at the property empowered its namesake residents. In concert with the African Fund for Endangered Wildlife (AFEW), Giraffe Manor has helped to regenerate the declining Rothschild population through a breeding program that ultimately releases these giraffes into the wild. They also partner with the Giraffe Conservation Foundation (GCF), which stretches across the entire continent and has facilitated the successful translocation of giraffes to restore populations.
The following morning en route to Sasaab, I boarded a bush plane flying north toward the arid landscapes of the Samburu National Reserve and Westgate Conservancy. Just when the single-engine aircraft’s bumps, twists, and jolts were getting extra spicy, someone shouted out, “A zebra!” My first aerial wildlife sighting. It was a Grevy’s zebra, one of Samburu’s ‘Special 5’ that are found only in Kenya’s northern landscapes. Among the other four are the reticulated giraffe, Somali ostrich, gerenuk antelope, and beisa oryx. (As a side note, spotting a zebra from a bird’s eye view is a swift cure for small plane anxiety.)
Walking through the Swahili-style wooden entrance to Sasaab is like stumbling upon a jewel box in the desert. The open-air property sits above the Ewaso Nyiro River, where herds of elephants frequently come to bathe. “This is an elephant corridor and we’re here to safeguard this species,” Mikey tells me as we walk along the Mozambique belt to our inaugural sundowner. This is also where some of the oldest rocks in the area can be found. We climb to the top of one such rock where our guides Daudi and William whip up frosty gin and tonics. “This is a time to wash away the day’s dust,” Tanya says as the sun crawls beneath the skyline.
The next morning we set off in our open-sided safari vehicle before dawn in search of adventure. The sun rises while the moon still hangs in the sky and a tree peppered with olive baboons comes into focus. “It’s like a Christmas tree of monkeys,” Daudi says with a smile. For hours, we hew along thorny bushes, sandy roads, and grassy riverbanks spotting elephants, lions, zebras, a Nile crocodile, superb starlings, dik-diks, antelopes, guinea fowls, impalas, and other creatures I failed to spell correctly in my notepad. We take a break with a freshly-cooked bush breakfast surrounded by elephants, and eventually wrap up the day with a visit to the riverbank where Samburu tribal women are carrying out a rain dance.
“Traditionally, the Samburu people believe God lives in the mountains and rivers,” Daudi tells me as we make our way toward the group, who are adorned in colorful, beaded necklaces singing and swaying rhythmically in a circle. “We have very bad draughts, so the women go down to the river to ask for rain.” Only about 40 to 50 women are selected by the village for this responsibility, and it’s a cultural experience Sasaab offers to guests to help shine a light on the community that has coexisted with the wildlife for centuries.
The Samburu are semi-nomadic pastoralists who rely upon their livestock and the land for their livelihoods, but with prolonged drought, their traditional way of life is becoming increasingly threatened—and the same goes for wildlife. Conservation fees are baked into Sasaab’s accommodation rate, and these go to the Samburu tribe and wildlife management team. But beyond this baseline, the Safari Collection is also supporting the West Gate Conservancy’s work toward land regeneration techniques that greatly benefit both the Samburu and the wildlife. I’ll concede that ‘soil conservation techniques’ and ‘grazing management methods’ aren’t the sexiest phrases to come out of my mouth, but without them, so much is at stake. “You don’t fully understand it until you’re passionate about it,” Tanya explains.
Later that week, after a 15-minute Air Wilderness bush flight to Lengishu, I asked Anne-Kathrin Zschiegner (the executive director at The Long Run) how she defines regenerative tourism. Her nose scrunches a bit. “I think regenerative can be a buzzword. Everybody’s green, everybody’s sustainable, everybody’s regenerative, everybody’s net positive. There’s always going to be a new term, and I think it’s because it’s not a straightforward thing, everyone interprets it differently,” she tells me. In other words, a lot of aspects of sustainability are messy. “For example, how do you measure the transformative power of community engagement that changes people’s lives for the better? It’s not straightforward, it’s not black and white.”
Within the 32,000-acre Borana Conservancy, regeneration takes its form in black rhino conservation as well as community support. Between Borana and the neighboring Lewa Wildlife Conservancy, they have only lost one rhino to poachers since 2015, and their black rhino population is now stable and increasing. Joe and Minnie are one-ninth shareholders of the conservancy, and their property Lengishu is the only exclusive-use home that has earned The Long Run’s GER status. “We built an ecologically friendly house by a series of individual decisions that just seemed right to us,” Joe tells me, with some of these choices including running the entire property on solar panels, capturing rainwater for irrigation, constructing the home with natural and locally-sourced materials, and working hand in hand with the surrounding communities. “You must do right by the people whose land you are cohabiting on,” he adds. In addition to their partnership with the Borana Conservancy, Joe and Minnie also work with a mobile clinic and are funding a sanitary pad program at the nearby Lokuseru school.
The Lengishu property itself is resplendent. Four cottages are peppered across the property, six rooms in total, and they all face east overlooking a spectacular valley (all the more excellent if viewed from the respite of your clawfoot copper bathtub after an early morning game drive). All of the plants here are indigenous, and due to the positioning atop a hill, a lovely breeze sweeps throughout. Plus, because this is the MacHale family home, Minnie’s personal touches are found all throughout the various spaces, from the framed photographs by their son to the floor-to-ceiling tapestry she has hanging in the living area by the fireplace.
On the final day, we are dropped off at a private airstrip on the conservancy for a 45-minute East African Air Charters journey back to Nairobi. As the plane takes off, I squint my eyes searching for a farewell Grevy’s zebra. Instead, I spot a new kind of reassurance: Joe, Minnie, and our guides Solomon and Martin waving feverishly as we lift off into the clouds.
