Chelsea Handler - Uganda Be Kidding Me

While the girls were gone I arranged a massage for myself in my villa. The ninety minutes were up before I was ready, so I walked right over to Simone and Molly’s villa and called the spa from there, pretending I was one of them. Unfortunately for me, the same masseuse who had massaged me moments earlier showed up and looked at me quizzically, even though I had put on a baseball hat and sunglasses as a disguise. I pretended my sister had ordered the massage but that she had changed her mind at the last minute and I volunteered to take her place, so as to not waste any money. Getting two massages back to back from the same person wasn’t optimal, but the management at Londolozi left me with no other option.

Of course upon return, the girls informed me that they saw sixteen elephants—mostly mamas and babies—on the horizon waiting for the sun to rise while breast-feeding. I could have kicked myself if I could have moved my leg in any direction but straight. They also told me about the herd of zebras (ZEH-bras) they came upon while a herd of rhinos stood closely by bathing themselves in mud and then licking it off each other.

We then went shopping at the camp’s small store. Everyone proceeded to buy clothing they would never wear, useless knickknacks they would never unpack, and jewelry they would lose before the end of the trip. Sue bought a set of salad tongs for everyone she knew. She then kissed the manager of the store on the mouth as a thank-you for ringing up said items.

I purchased a gray shirt with the continent of Africa front and center, only because none of the clothes I had brought still fit me. I was now wearing a women’s large. I decided to go back to my room and take a pain pill for my leg, something I was proud that I had avoided in the ninety-six hours I had been abroad. After the girls were done shopping they found me on the main deck stuffing my face with breakfast items at two in the afternoon.

A small, blond nine-year-old boy walked in and sat himself at the table where the girls had joined me. He was fully equipped with binoculars around his neck and an animal-logging journal in his hands. His name was Westin and he had no guardian in sight, and it very quickly became apparent why. He never shut the fuck up. The only thing more annoying than underweight cats are kids who don’t know when to zip it.

His family came here every year for vacation, so we agreed to let him give us a tour of his lodge, which happened to abut our lodge, and a look at his very detailed journal of every animal you will find at Londolozi, scientific names included. One by one, we slowly made excuses to go, leaving Sue alone with him.

The five of us decided to bar-hop and investigate the other lodges that we hadn’t seen yet. Afterward, we deduced that everyone who worked at this resort was too good-looking. Simone questioned the ability of people this good-looking being able to effectively do their jobs while also protecting us from wild animals.

Being that it was our last day at the camp, I decided to participate in the afternoon ride. By this point, I had put on so much weight that after I walked back to my room, I got dressed by just throwing my bathrobe over my naked body. I had developed a diaperlike rash, which I believed was from wearing jeans that were cutting off my circulation. None of my safari clothes fit me. Every morning, I would try on all three pairs of pants I had brought hoping that somehow my weight had shifted while I slept, but to no avail. I borrowed a pair of Shelly’s jeans, which barely fit, but I ended up sending them to the laundry because they reeked of vodka and tomato juice. Why SkyMall hasn’t developed a proper safari thermos is an insult to animals, jeeps, Africa, and alcohol.

I started our afternoon safari ride by asking Rex what he would do if an animal were to attack us. Who would he protect first? This was my very indiscreet way of giving him room to make his intentions known. He promptly informed me that he would protect himself first.

Rex found and picked up impala poop (looks like little black blueberries), and ate it. Life told us how the Shangaan play a game where they see who can spit impala poop the farthest. Without any prompting, Sue put a couple of pellets in her mouth and started spitting them at us. Shelly then spent the next half hour dry-heaving at the thought of putting poop in your mouth.

We ended up watching two male giraffes fight with their necks for thirty minutes over a female giraffe. As boring as the battle was, we were shockingly excited. Hannah asked if giraffes ate meat. Molly rolled her eyes at me as if I knew how ridiculous a question that was.

Rex responded with great annoyance, “ No! ” He was on the verge of a mental breakdown, and Simone and I surmised that he was grumpiest in the afternoons because he was going through DTs from not being able to drink and drive. In the mornings he was more pleasant, because he was still drunk.

Life pointed out a kudu, which, compared to the animals we had already seen, was not that interesting. You would think after running safari camps for years and years, they would know to introduce you to the most boring animals first and then slowly introduce the Big Five—lions, tigers, and bears.

Out of sympathy for Rex, we told him we had seen enough animals and that we should all blow off some steam and get drunk. He didn’t take much convincing, and even Life seemed to perk up at the prospect of Rex letting loose.

Shelly seized this moment to whip out her satellite phone, which was the size of a small uterus, so she could patch herself in to a work conference call in Dallas. Shelly had taken things in the opposite direction from me by getting more serious each day with her safari garb, adding a belt, a broad-brimmed safari hat, binoculars, and a satellite phone to roll calls while we watched impala eat their own shit.

Rex claimed this was the first time he had ever seen someone on a conference call during safari. Life claimed this was the first time he had seen a phone.

Sue was sitting alone in the backseat of the jeep, pontificating out loud that she was consistently sitting alone in the backseat. Safari jeeps have three passenger benches that get higher the farther back the bench is. Sue claimed she was being treated like a ninety-year-old grandma with dementia who was taken for drives to keep her happy. She started to sing a hymn: “Grandma in the back, sunroof top, digging the scene with the gangster lean…”

We pulled over and had what had become our sunset “bush happy hour” complete with champagne, vodka, and African hors d’oeuvres. Everyone sat and lay their heads on each other’s laps. I propped my leg above a picnic basket and iced it while simultaneously grilling Rex about the seriousness of his relationship with Lilly and the possibility of seeing a snake. Being that it was our last night at their camp, Life joined us, and we were able to ask him questions about being a true Shangaan.

Hannah asked Rex if we were his favorite guests ever. He responded no, but my sexual instincts told me a different story.

Hannah then asked Life if he planned on taking on any more wives. He said no, citing expense as the reason. I took this opportunity to offer Hannah up for free. Life giggled, which was quite adorable, and looked away awkwardly in a way I took to mean, She isn’t my type. Hannah looked appropriately disappointed and then made an under-the-breath comment about him raping her later on that night.