My friends didn’t think I’d go through with a scorpion safari or make it through the night alone in a star bed. I proved them wrong, and I’d do it again.
My eyes widen as I hear hyenas heckle passing prey and leopards growl in the dark night. It sounds like they’re only steps from my bed. I’m sleeping solo on an elevated platform set above the sprawling savannah of Samburu, a lesser-known region found in the northern nook of Kenya, and my fear of the dark has me questioning if I’ll make it through the night.
I can’t stop thinking about the scorpions I’ve spotted on my stroll up to this spot. I can see the warm glow of the lodge that sits at the bottom of the hill, and it feels so far from where I’m supposed to sleep. Would they hear my cries for help if something were to happen to me?
It Started With a Scorpion Safari
Here’s what I thought I knew about scorpions before heading into the night to find them: They’re giant. They’re ugly. They will kill you.
The thought of encountering one up close conjured up flashbacks of Honey, I Shrunk the Kids–the kids fearing for their lives as they run through towering blades of grass from a deathly, dinosaur-sized scorpion. For as long as I can remember, anything with more than four legs has been my personal nightmare. A buzzing bee? Panic. A surprise spider? Immediate evacuation. I still don’t know how I was convinced to participate in such a terrifying task, but here I am now, intentionally looking for scorpions.
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As I step into the dark terrain, my heart pounds with every crunch of soil beneath my feet. I follow in the footsteps of my knowledgeable Kenyan guide, Benson Oldapash Kishoyian, camp manager at Basecamp Samburu, where I’m currently staying. He’s armed with a small UV light–and suddenly spots a pair of scorpions in their eerie, glowing stillness.
I blurt out, “Oh, they’re actually so small! That must mean they’re not too dangerous, right?”
Benson laughs. “Actually, the smaller ones are usually the most dangerous.”
This does not comfort me. He shares that this particular species is called the Parabuthus Kloppersie, or more commonly, the three-lined scorpion–a name that somehow manages to sound both elegant and ominous.
“They’re not looking for humans,” Benson shares. “They’re nocturnal and like to live tucked in the rocks in Samburu’s rugged landscape.” He explains that while their sting is quite painful, this particular species of scorpion is not deadly to humans.
Apparently, you can really only see the scorpions in the glow of a UV light. Otherwise, they’re practically invisible, their tiny exoskeletons blends with the dirt, as though they’re playing a sinister game of hide-and-seek. They freeze when the light’s on, but in the dark, they scamper sporadically. Benson clicks off the light to speak more about the species (too much light can be damaging to them), and while he talks, all I can think is, Is it moving towards me? Will it crawl up my pant leg? In the dark, I try to keep my cool, but I find myself hopping from foot to foot, desperately wishing I had the power to levitate. Or at the very least, I wish I’d worn thicker socks.
Our scorpion safari concludes, and the others in my small group return to the lively lodge that sits at the bottom of the dusty trail. But not me, I’m continuing up the trail, into the darkness, to where I’m supposed to sleep for the night.
Dozing off Under the Dark Sky
I’m among the first group of guests to stay at Basecamp Samburu, a newly-built Kenyan property set in Samburu’s remote Kalama Conservancy. I’m also the second person ever slated to sleep in the brand new star bed (one of my braver travel mates volunteered to go first). In photos, the wall-less room looks romantic, but in reality, I’m intimidated by its remoteness.
From below, the elevated star bed looks like a perched bird’s nest made of sticks, an elegantly unique design by renowned safari architect Mark Glen and his team at Northscape Kenya. The “room” is actually quite large, with a ground-level, enclosed bathroom equipped with a shower, sink, and flushing toilet. A wooden staircase takes you to the top, where an open-air bed sits center stage. There’s also a hot tub, but I don’t dare dip (because how would I run if a predator made its pursuit?).
While I sleep solo here, I take comfort in knowing that there’s a round-the-clock askari (local armed guard) pacing the perimeter. His sole focus is to keep the threatening wildlife away from my camp, but I wonder if he’ll doze off in the silence of the night. Maybe I should also keep watch, just in case. After a few laps around the platform, I settle into my bed and tuck under the covers, eyes wide open.
Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I’m suddenly distracted by the stars that freckle the night sky. The moon emerges from behind the hill, and the sky brightens. I can see the silhouette of Samburu’s sacred Ololokwe mountain in the distance, and I find comfort in the sky’s glow. I exhale and steady my breathing as the clicks of crickets replace the sounds of the perilous predators.
The night air is warm, and the buzzing bugs are kept at bay thanks to the mosquito net that drapes from the crown of my bed. The moon moves quickly across the sky, something I had never witnessed before, and tracking its trail keeps me distracted. Finally relaxed, my eyes flutter closed and I sleep heavily, alone, just me and the stars.
Then, as the sun rises above the horizon, I’m awakened by a warm breeze and awestruck by the cotton candy-colored sky that surrounds me. Proud, I sit up, smile widely, and stretch my arms. I made it through the night, and I actually enjoyed it. Peering over the edge of the platform, I realize that my surroundings are stunning–craggy cliffs, thorny vegetation, and sun-baked plains seen in the distance. I spot the askari, who waves me down for my return to camp. And suddenly, I’m sad that I can’t stay for one more night.