Born Wild: The Extraordinary Story of One Man's Passion for Lions and for Africa
Born Wild is a story of passion, adventure and skulduggery on the frontline of African conservation. Following Tony Fitzjohn's journey from London bad boy to African wildlife warrior, the heart of the story is a series of love affairs with the world's most beautiful and endangered creatures -- affairs that so often end in pain, for to succeed in re-introducing a lion or leopard to the wild is to be deprived of their companionship. Tony tells of his twenty years in Kenya with George Adamson of Born Free fame - a time of discovery, isolation and frequent danger living far from civilisation. And when he was prevented from re-introducing any more animals into the wild and made unwelcome in the country he loved, Tony had to start anew in Tanzania.
to help us with our ambitions for Kora? 11. No Free Parking My old partner in the Mateus Rosé venture Mike Wamalwa never managed to serve Kenya as he would have wished. Aged only fifty-eight, he died in a London hospital just eight months into his vice-presidency. Heartbreaking as it was, it was important to celebrate his life and achievements rather than bemoan his early departure. It was magnificent that Mike had managed to achieve the ambition he had professed to then Vice President Daniel
their less shining parts. When most white Kenyans have sat on their butts, sure in the knowledge that they can reclaim their nationalities of birth at the drop of a hat, the Leakeys have embraced being Kenyan, involved themselves in politics and worked in the Kenyan civil service for the greater good of the country. They are almost alone in this regard and I admire them both. Perez told us that Leakey had been badly treated on capture and that recently he had been put on display at a fair in
that Shyman had been poisoned by the Somali poachers who were systematically killing all the rhinos in the reserve and poisoning the carcasses, an opinion informed by Shyman’s uncharacteristic behaviour and the fact that a rhino had been killed nearby a few nights previously. Shyman had always been a bit tricky compared to his brother Daniel and Lisa’s cubs, with whom he had grown up. He took after his shy and wary mother, Juma, but I had known him almost since the day of his birth and had never
handle. But then I stopped. I knew I shouldn’t do it. Here were my boys in the wide-open spaces right next to Meru National Park, on Pete Jenkins’s doorstep, with thousands of protected buffalo and antelope to mull over for lunch. They were strong, thriving, successful and free. I asked Chris to drive on, tears pouring down my cheeks. It was the hardest decision I had ever made. We never found Kaunda on that trip but I did fly over him a few months later with Fritz Strahammer, of Wings for
second night back, George sat on a rickety chair at his tiny table outside the mess. Made from a piece of quarter-inch ply with local poles and half a dozen nails, it was always falling apart. He chuckled away to himself a few times and eventually I asked: ‘George, what is it?’ ‘Oh, nothing really,’ he said. ‘Go on, tell me.’ So he told me this story. ‘If anyone drove Pete Jenkins to distraction it was Joy,’ said George. ‘When we arrived in Meru Park the other day, Pete drove us all over to