The Great Unexpected

Part 1: The Family

Great unexpected experiences were born during my ten days on safari in Africa. The greatest and most unexpected was the connection to my extended family.

I’m not saying that I now have intimate, profound relationships with all 24 family members who went on this trip-of-a-lifetime. But the family part of the family trip went unexpectedly well. Lately I have been seeing many articles and posts about family travel in my favorite magazines and blogs. Many of them talk of how family travel is a great bonding experience. Some of them talk about the reality of family travel—it can be stressful with family members of different ages, dispositions, attitudes, fears, needs and wants. How do you make it work?

I think the key is to lower your expectations. In fact, for me that is the key to many things in life. I came to this realization after a couple years in the Peace Corps in Cameroon when I saw that, compared to other volunteers, I had low expectations.

I didn’t join the Peace Corps to save or educate anyone other than myself. I joined for the free travel and to experience something different. I didn’t expect I knew anything or could do anything that would change a Cameroonian’s life. Or at least not in any way beyond how regular contact with other humans shapes all of us.

These low expectations served me well. I was content. Fulfilled. Unlike many volunteers who were frustrated that they couldn’t “make a difference.” Some to the point of going back home. Some who should have gone home but thought leaving meant failure and shame. So they stayed and emitted their misery daily. Not good for them or other volunteers or Cameroonians. And I wondered what it would be like for them if they could just let those lofty “humanitarian” expectations go and just be human. Just flow—happy some days, not so happy other days; doing good some days, making mistakes other days.

Maybe they would be pleasantly surprised at the simple connections they were making. And how good it felt to learn more about the world and people. And how those positive relationships did open doors to dialogue and sharing. And that sharing sometimes even did spark an idea. And that idea sometimes even made a difference. Just being a decent person and sharing your goodness does make a difference.

Apply those kind of expectations to a family trip and voila--good times. 

I expected there to be at least a few personality clashes among our group of 24. The group was made up of my mother’s family (me and my brother and our families) and my stepfather’s family (his three adult children and their families). We see my stepfamily about once or twice a year. The unexpected: Not one personality clash. We got along so well, especially the kids who ranged from ages 4 to 20, like a troop of baboons—same as those we watched for hours in Botswana—playing in each other’s hair, chasing, chattering, lounging about together.

I expected it would be difficult to travel in this large group. The unexpected: It was comforting. And we functioned together well, making our way on and off 10 airplanes and through all those airports like a journey of giraffe. I would say a parade of elephant but we had to be much faster than that.

I expected I would feel proud of and surrounded by my children as I usually do. (Even this expectation was debunked a bit as my children were absorbed into the group of kids; They became independent and didn’t need me until deep in the night when they heard hippos grunting past our tent or got a nosebleed at dinner or needed help finding their constant stream of lost things.) 

But I also expected to feel a little at odds being the only single parent. The unexpected: Traveling with this big family (a concept that was deliciously growing on us, as we reminded ourselves in whispers, “We are part of a big family”) was comforting. Everyone looked out for each other so well that the only thing that felt odd was this sense of security creeping up on me. I don’t know if I’m hyper alert or all parents are like this, but I sometimes secretly pretend I’m a cheetah mother, scanning the horizon and grabbing those cubs by the neck and keeping them close. But in this group, anytime I felt momentarily panicked about where one of my kids was, I only did a half-turn and found one hanging off the arm of an older cousin and the other connected by headphone wires to an iPod shared with another cousin.

Over the 10 days and during a total of 14 safari rides, we learned about the blunt reality of animal behavior and survival. Stories like one our favorite guide in at Xakanaxa Camp in Botswana, whose name is Water, told us about two male kudu. They fought until their horns got stuck together. They could not separate from each other. Then a lion came and killed one of them. The other might have felt lucky at first—he’s still alive and the rival kudu is dead. Unfortunately the dead kudu is still stuck to him. Just as bad a fate, probably worse. The guides found the two kudu dead—one torn up by a lion; the other I guess dead from the Poe-ish nightmare situation.

But for every story like that, there was a story of animals protecting their families. Protecting your family when you’re an animal in the wild is ... well, not just scanning a crowd to spot them and putting Band Aids on their boo boos. For instance, we saw a lioness with her son. The guides said the son was the last of her three children. The other two were killed by older male lions--that may even have been their uncles! The male lions fight for territory. The lioness was hiding her remaining son, ready to do anything to keep him alive. I suppose she wasn’t doing it out of love the way we understand love. Probably more of an instinct to maintain survival of the lineage.

But if that story doesn’t do it for you—how about this one? One day, we saw a baboon mother carrying her dead baby. It looked like a stuffed monkey head on a piece of stringy beef jerky. We watched and followed them in the jeep for almost an hour. She stayed with the troop as they moved across the delta but she was clearly in an awkward state just like a human in mourning. Other baboons would gently approach but then would move away. It seemed they were concerned and sorrowful but respectful of her need to be alone. Water said she would carry the dead baby for at least two weeks.

So what am I saying? That this big family—many of whom I only spend 4 hours a year with—is going to protect me? Carry my dead body around with them for two weeks? Well not exactly. I’ll still keep my expectations low and realistic (and sane). But I will also relish in this new unexpected sensation—I am part of a group, like a troop of baboon, a dazzle of zebra, a parade of elephant, a journey of giraffe, a bloat of hippo, a crash of rhino. My group is a loving, caring, scattered-around-the-U.S., human family who managed to come together in harmony for 10 days in Africa. 

After we saw this sign in the Johannesburg airport, my mom started thinking of a name for our group. 

She named our group: a serendipity. I thank my lucky stars that I am part of a serendipity of great humans.

Other names for groups of animals: Shrewdness of apes, Congress of baboons, Dissimulation of birds, Quiver of cobras, Implausibility of gnus, Piteousness of doves, Exaltation of larks, Leap of leopards, Smack of jellyfish, Mischief of rats. What would you name your family group?