Grand Theft Safari by Precious McKenzie, Becka Moore Page A

art above the beds.
    â€œThis feels like Africa,” Tomas said as he rolled on the soft bed.
    â€œReally?” Dad laughed. “A big soft bed feels like Africa? You’ll be surprised when we get out to the bush in a few days.”
    â€œNo,” Tomas answered, “The artwork, the dark wood. It looks exotic, like Africa.”
    Mom read through the hotel brochure on the desk. “We have twenty-four hour electricity here, room service, a pool and a spa.”
    â€œSweet!” I exclaimed. We could escape the heat in a nice, cool swimming pool.
    â€œWait a minute,” Tomas interrupted. “What do you mean by twenty-four hour electricity? Is there any other kind of electricity?”
    Mom explained, “Not all parts of the world have electricity all of the time. They might have limited power supplies or outdated equipment. Electricity is a luxury. You should be thankful you have such a comfy life in America.”
    â€œEnjoy it,” Mom continued. “In four days, we’ll be in tents in the bush surrounded by insects and wild animals.” Mom was used to camping in rough country. It was part of her job as a biologist. She always joked that biologists don’t study pigeons in a city next to a luxury hotel. She liked being out in nature. I liked being out in nature, but I also liked a nice, soft bed and a warm shower too. I guess I wasn’t as tough as Mom.
    â€œTomorrow I need to stop by the university, to meet the research team and help load the trucks. But the three of you are welcome to explore Nairobi,” Mom said.
    â€œSounds like a plan, Carolina.” Dad smiled and patted Mom on the back affectionately. “We’ll be tourists while you work.”
    â€œHoney,” Mom said to Dad, “Be sure to hire a driver. Don’t wander around without a guide or a driver.”
    Dad gave Mom a frustrated face.
    â€œI’m serious,” Mom said. “Nairobi is a huge city. There are lots of criminals that will take advantage of tourists. There are many very dangerous neighborhoods.”
    â€œI want to go swimming,” Tomas demanded. He unzipped his suitcase and tossed his clothes all over the floor.
    â€œI’ll take them to the pool,” Dad told Mom. “You look like you could use a nap.”
    Mom did look exhausted. Weeks of planning for this trip, shopping, and packing had worn her out. Mom stretched out on one of the beds and was asleep before we had our swimsuits on.
    The next day, after breakfast, Mom hired a cab to go to the university to meet the research team. Dad sat with me and Tomas in the hotel room. He spread out travel guides in front of us.
    â€œWhat do you kids want to do?” he asked.
    â€œI want to hunt a lion,” Tomas said fiercely.
    â€œThat’s gross,” I scolded him. Sometimes Tomas could be so immature for a twelve year old.
    â€œHere’s what I found.” Dad broke up our argument. “We could tour a coffee plantation. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” Dad smiled. He really looked excited about visiting a coffee plantation.
    Tomas, under his breath, said, “Whoop-teedoo.”
    It was settled, though. Dad hired a driver and we went to the coffee plantation. Or rather, it was the Karen Blixen Museum. Dad is a history professor. We should have known history would be part of our field trip.
    Located just outside of Nairobi, the museum is really the old home of a Danish baroness, Karen Blixen. She and her husband moved to Kenya in 1917 to start a coffee plantation. The coffee plantation didn’t do so well because of a factoryfire and bad harvests. By 1931, the baroness moved back to Denmark.
    â€œIsn’t this fascinating?” Dad asked as we walked through the Blixen bungalow. “Just imagine how difficult it must have been to try to run a 600-acre coffee farm in 1920. And, they weren’t even Africans, they were foreigners. They had no clue what Africa would