Ecumen Blogger Jim Klobuchar—The Worst Place Ever for a Flat

Just changing a flat tire is bad enough, but what if a lion is watching you do it?

We were halfway to our destination in the great Serengeti Plain of East Africa, transfixed by the wildlife that seemed to be moving effortlessly in the spreading sunlight. Lanky giraffes strolled the vast and yellowing countryside. Add zebra, elephant and so much more. 

If I’m tempted to forget those scenes, Mossho reminds me three or four times a year via the internet. Mossho is a kind of one-man travel agency and Land Rover driver in Africa’s Tanzania. As a teaser, he’ll remind me of the day we were riding to our overnight lodging on the far side of the Serengeti expanse. It’s a part of Africa bearing the heavy imprint of the roving Maasai clans that for thousands of visitors to this remarkable world seem to be the very embodiment of the African experience.

And you knew, of course, that the predators were not far away — the lions and the rest of the prowlers. But snug in our Land Rover, we had no special worry about lions as long as we stayed put and were suitably distant and respectable. 

So it was that we stopped here and there for photos and were now within 25 minutes of our overnight lodging. As our good and efficient native guide told us to check out the gazelles on our left, we all heard a thud. The Land Rover came to a halt, and the pleasant young guide announced:

“We have a flat rear tire. It shouldn’t take long to put on the spare, Jeem.  If you can give me a hand we can change the tire and be under way in a few minutes.”

I stepped outside while the young guide did a brief recon of the terrain in the undergrowth 30 or 40 yards to the rear of our parked Rover.

At about this time, we heard a not-so-muted grunt beyond a roadside stream.

Our young guide mumbled to me:

“It’s a lion and his mate, he said. They’ve got three or four baby lions with them, just a few hours old I’d say.”

As if to confirm this sighting, the big papa lion let out a growl.

“Uh,” I began.

“Right,” he said. “We’ve got to do this in a hurry. I’ll get started on the tire, and you should tell your people to keep all doors and windows closed and no loud talk.”

When I got back, he had a good start on removing the ailing tire.

“We have to be quiet taking out the spare:”

 “Amen,” I said.

 From 40 yards away, you could hear the lion doing some grunting.

We got the spare out of the car—not very quickly but very, very quietly.

We’d done most of what we needed to and were ready to get back into the Rover when the father lion stuck his teeth through the foliage about 30 feet away.

“Move back to the car,” the guide said, “slowly.”

He did the same. The others had opened the doors—somewhat.

 We crept in.

 The car started again. Quietly.

We left, and I called for three hip-hip-hurrays for the young driver.

I got five.

 Seven counting my own hip-hips.

I turned to look out from the back seat.

The lion was still staring. Watching from the rear view window, I’d swear I saw the lion shake his head and go back to the creek.