“Out of Africa” / “The End of the Game”

There are few things that sadden me more than the inevitable fate of Africa’s wildlife at the hands of “civilization.” My message, here, touches on that theme while offering a broad-brush picture of Africa, past and present.

I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills,” opens the richly written and highly acclaimed memoir, Out of Africa, by Karen Blixen (pen name: Isak Dinesen). In a curious chain of circumstances, my life-long fascination with Africa and its wildlife has recently been rekindled by her story and by other recent events. Many will recall the magnificent 1985 film, Out of Africa, which starred a young Meryl Streep and Robert Redford, directed by Sidney Pollack. The story’s setting recounts the sweeping panorama that was East Africa and Kenya in the early days of its capitol, Nairobi.

It was in Nairobi that many Brits and other Europeans opened up new colonial frontiers for the British Empire. People came for a multitude of reasons: Land grants from the government, pure adventure, and the opportunity to start a new life in a new place – whatever the root motivation. And those who came and risked the hardships of raw Africa in the early twentieth century were either fools or hardy adventurers, determined and pre-destined to succeed, there.

One of those who could and did meet Africa’s challenge was the Scotsman, John Alexander Hunter, who quickly became the most celebrated “white hunter” and later game warden in Africa’s history. Hunter arrived in Nairobi from Scotland in 1908 seeking adventure and a livelihood. Indeed, there was a need for “animal control” during the early days when native Africans eked out an existence among the then-teeming wildlife that surrounded them. Men like Hunter dealt with marauding elephants and rhinos that destroyed crops of the Masai and the Kikuyu farmers. And there were the occasional man-eaters, lions which had tasted human flesh and found the taking too easy. In the early days of plentiful game, white hunters paid their bills by guiding hunting safaris of the rich and privileged. Few people had the foresight in the 1920’s and 30’s to envision the dire wildlife situation which exists today in Africa. J.A. Hunter saw it coming as he later turned to work as a game warden and “gun safety” for strictly photographic safaris. It was J.A. Hunter’s iconic little book, Hunter, that first triggered my personal African odyssey more than fifty years ago. For that story as related on my earlier blog post about J.A. Hunter, click on the following link:


One of Nairobi’s early settlers not destined to make East Africa their permanent home was Karen Blixen who published Out of Africa in 1937, six years after returning to her native Denmark. Her memoir of the years 1913 to 1931 spent on her coffee farm high near the foot of the Ngong Hills, a dozen or so miles from Nairobi, creates a brilliant collage of Africa, Kenya’s bountiful wildlife, and the inscrutable native Africans who served her and her homestead. She related well to the Kikuyu and Somali Africans who worked her farm and household, even forming close bonds with several of those who served inside her home. Nonetheless, she appreciated her ultimate limits in that regard as she noted, “On our safaris and on the farm, my acquaintance with the Natives developed into a settled and personal relationship. We were good friends. I reconciled myself to the fact that while I should never quite know or understand them, they knew me through and through, and were conscious of the decisions I was going to take, before I was certain about them, myself.”

Blixen’s eloquent depictions in the book serve not only as a personal memoir of a bigger-than-life true story, but as a brilliant tapestry of early colonial East Africa, the traditions of safari and Africa’s teeming wildlife, and the challenging surroundings which engulfed the author. Earnest Hemingway, no stranger to literary honors, thought so highly of Out of Africa and its merits that he proposed Blixen as a worthy contender for a Nobel Prize in literature.

There is another prophetic book about Africa which, despite my early naivete concerning the subject, I was prescient enough to purchase in 1965, the year of its initial publication. Its title: The End of the Game, by Peter Beard. It has become something of a cult title, yet despite the author’s unorthodox style, the book was prophetic about the end of “the game” in Africa. While expressing grave pessimism over the fate of Africa’s game animals, the book’s larger thrust is a poke at “the game” as played in Nairobi and elsewhere by the early, privileged white “invaders” from colonial Britain and Europe as they went about executing new “land grants” and confiscating land from the resident natives to build their empires. Does that sound familiar to students of the American West and its history? The pages of this book contain many glimpses of the early settlers in and around Kenya including Baroness (Karen) Blixen and her lover and platonic ideal, the storied, Oxford educated white hunter, Denys Finch Hatton. Blixen and Finch Hatton came from aristocratic, wealthy backgrounds in Denmark and England, respectively. Like so many others of privilege who comprised the early colonial settlements in Kenya, they seemed by background unfit and unprepared to deal, long-term, with the demands of African existence. Blixen and her Danish nobleman husband at the time, Bror Blixen, made the ill-informed decision to plant coffee at their farm, ignoring the fact that the land was too elevated for favorable results. That fact and a later, devastating fire that destroyed the farm’s coffee processing barn, doomed Karen Blixen’s success in Africa.

On the other hand, men like J.A. Hunter and H.K. Binks arrived in Africa already equipped with a steely inner-core and flexible attitudes, tempered by the experiences of a well-grounded, challenging early life at “home.”

H.K. “Pop” Binks came from Yorkshire and arrived in Nairobi in 1900, making him one of the town’s earliest white settlers. He lived very modestly in Nairobi with his wife “Binkie” until death claimed him in 1971. During his lifetime in Nairobi, Binks plied numerous trades, including local photographer, astronomer, and author. He exhibited the attitudes and adaptability that life in Africa demanded. I have read first-hand accounts concerning the initiative and resilience of Mr. Binks, and at least one educated voice who knew him personally claimed him to be “the most interesting person I ever knew.” In his book, African Rainbow, Binks stated: “I have been lonelier in the crowded streets of a city than in the great open spaces of Africa, with all wild things for companions.”

In 1965, I received a personal note from Mr. Binks in response to a letter I wrote to him at his Nairobi address. I had asked if he had any reminiscences of old Nairobi he could share with me – strictly because of my interest in East Africa and early settlers like him. He very kindly answered my “out of the blue” letter but explained he was already involved with a “home” publisher (perhaps his book, African Rainbow) and could not comply. He wished me luck in my search.

Needless to say, I was pleased and grateful that he cared enough to reply to me. I have kept that folded little note from Binks tucked in one of my J.A. Hunter books for over fifty years, now – a prized connection to the East Africa that once was.

Over time, Africa methodically weeded out its unfit would-be residents just as it has always done within its animal populations. Changing conditions hastened the demise of the colonials who enjoyed a privileged existence in old Africa. In a similar vein, evolving world and local conditions appear also to foretell the virtual demise of Africa’s crown jewel, its diverse animal populations, roaming free and wild.

Today, population pressure from within Africa threatens its wildlife like never before. Whereas J.A. Hunter was occasionally called upon to kill a marauding elephant or rhino intent on invading a local native village, today the local human populations expand inexorably outward occupying and fencing vast stretches of what were once grazing lands where animals roamed free. And today we must deal with organized poachers who continue to cull the finest wildlife specimens from the remaining small numbers still “protected” in game preserves.

Saving Africa’s wildlife can succeed only with world-wide support. Much lip service is paid, but a comprehensive, long-range plan and adequate moneys appear wanting.

The problems involved in protecting Africa’s wildlife are very challenging, yet, in the face of halting progress to date, it seems to me that man is a failed species, himself, if he cannot prevent the decimation of Africa’s (and nature’s) crowning glory. I venture to say, in that case, man will ultimately prove incapable of saving himself from himself. If so, perhaps we deserve no better fate as a species.

J. A. Hunter: The Adventures of a Game Warden in an Africa Which Is No More

Many a sun has risen and set since that day in the nineteen-fifties when I encountered the adventurous life of John A. Hunter in the book stacks of the San Mateo public library. Somehow – and I do not remember quite how – I had become enamored of the African bush and its wildlife while in high school, and I was exploring the downtown library stacks for some good books on the subject.


Hunter is the autobiography of one of Africa’s last and greatest professional “white hunters,” as they were called. True to the genre, J.A. Hunter, a Scotsman, came to Africa from Europe in 1908 seeking a life of excitement and purpose as did so many others. Published in 1952, the pages of this little book fairly brim with excitement and adventure as the author recalls one memorable incident after another in his long career as guide and game warden.

Among the many books on my library shelves – books on all manner of topics – this little volume occupies an honored spot on my den shelves. I bought this copy new, in a hole-in-the-wall bookstore in nearby Palo Alto just a few years after I had first discovered the book in our downtown library. Like the Africa so vividly described between the book’s covers, that little bookstore disappeared long ago as has the former quaintness of the rustic shopping center just kitty-corner from the Stanford University campus. So much has changed over the years since I purchased this book.

So, this little book holds many memories for me, actual and symbolic. I was captivated by J.A. Hunter’s exciting adventures in the bush back then and still am today. I could discern, even as a teenager, that this fellow was writing an honest account of life in the African bush as a professional hunter. His personality and integrity are reflected in his words; embellishment does not tarnish his depictions.


 J. A. Hunter: Last of a breed, and one of the best

No Place for Professional Hunters in Today’s Africa

I am extremely sensitive to the plight of Africa’s wildlife, today, convinced that we are on the threshold of destroying, forever, some of nature’s most majestic creatures. The times are dramatically changed from the days when wild animals roamed free and plentiful. Accordingly, I am against any big game hunting in Africa except that done with a camera. Much of J.A. Hunter’s professional hunting was done as a game control warden near Nairobi in the early days, a time when thinning the vast herds of wildlife was considered necessary both for the human residents of the region and the animals, themselves. Often, he was called upon to dispatch a rogue elephant or rhino (such as the one pictured on the book’s cover) which was marauding the native villages. There were lions, too, which had tasted human flesh and had to be dealt with – the storied “man-eaters.” Hunter later witnessed the rapidly changing outlook for Africa’s wildlife which threatened the very animals he had, long ago, learned to respect. He no doubt was appalled by the prospects that loomed for Africa’s irreplaceable wildlife. In the last years of his long career, he was employed as a safari “safety,” the only gun in the entourage of strictly photographic “shooters.”

Captain A.T.A. Ritchie who was the Game Warden of Kenya from 1923 to 1949 writes in the book’s Introductory Note about Hunter’s unique qualifications as a hunter. As to why J.A. was always given the tough, dangerous assignments, he stated it is because, “he has been fitted for it by his great qualities: unrivaled experience and knowledge of animal behavior, surpassing skill and speed in handling firearms, and most importantly perhaps an equable temperament and iron nerve, a formidable combination.” He goes on to say, “It is not for blood lust that has made him volunteer when dangerous game have had to be killed, for he has never enjoyed the taking of life; it is the thrill of the hunt and the danger of it that he revels in, and the practice of skill that alone maintains the thin line which separated superman from suicide.” I love that last sentence: “Thin line,” indeed, and ever-present as suggested by the accounts related in the book.

As interesting as Hunter’s adventures and close-calls with the “big five” of Africa’s wildlife are his associations with various hunting clients in the early days. One that stands out was an English girl named Fay. Hunter relates, “Some clients may be headaches but they are also a pleasure to be with. I remember a young English girl called Fay, barely out of her teens, whose greatest pleasure was to be on safari. Much snow has fallen on [Mount] Kilimanjaro since I took this girl hunting, but I can picture her before me now, dressed in semi-cowboy fashion, a silk bandana loosely tied around her dark hair, ends tucked into a shirt blouse, while a fancy-headed pigskin belt was wound around her slim waist to hold her cartridges. Fay was a true open-air girl: a fine fisherman, an excellent shot and a splendid rider. Her horses and dogs adored her. Vim and dash surrounded her like light around a lamp. No matter what came up, Fay was game for it….. Fay had unlimited energy and could hunt all day and play all night”

“Poor gay little Fay. When all other thrills failed to satisfy her she took to drugs. What finally happened to her, I have no idea. She was a girl of free morals, no doubt, but she was an excellent shot and a good companion. You can’t expect to find everything in a woman.”

 The Most Dangerous of the African Big-Five?

Hunter ranks the Leopard at the top of the list followed by the lion, the buffalo, the rhino, and finally, the elephant. The reader quickly appreciates the in-depth knowledge of animal behavior that J.A. Hunter had acquired during his years dealing with all five of these animals. For instance, he relates that the leopard is more cunning than the lion. A lion hiding in tall grass will bolt with a few small pebbles thrown in his general direction. A leopard will remain motionless until he is discovered at close quarters and forced to attack. Leopards will kill (goats and smaller cattle) for the sake of killing whereas a lion only hunts for what he will eat.

In chapter 16, he describes the time he and four moran (Masai warriors) were on the trail of a rogue leopard who had taken refuge in a shallow, rocky cave. This animal had caused much trouble for the local Masai. As two of the moran stood by with spears at the ready, the other two probed the cave’s entrance with a long sapling pole. “Suddenly a deep, coarse growl came from the cave, reverberating off the rocky sides. Immediately the leopard burst out like a bullet from a gun. As the leopard charged us he continued to utter a series of grunts, made by his breath’s intake and output. He knocked down the two Masai with the pole and then leaped for one of the armed moran. The man met the charge with a spear thrust. He missed. In an instant the leopard was on top of his shield, mauling him about the face with his forepaws and biting him in the shoulder. The man fell to the ground with the animal still clinging to him. The other moran stabbed at the leopard, his spear passing so close to me that the razor-like head cut my trousers. Instantly the cat turned on him and seized the man by the arm. Down he went, with the leopard ripping him open with both forepaws and hind legs, his teeth still buried in the man’s arm. All this took but seconds, far less than it takes to tell it. I pushed my rifle muzzle against the thick neck of the leopard and fired, blowing a hole through the mass of snarling savagery. So ended the worst cattle killer in that area. I was astonished at the amount of damage this leopard had been able to inflict on the Masai in a matter of moments [they both survived].”


The famed book reviewer of the time, Clifton Fadiman, wrote, “It [the book] takes its place as a classic in the field of animal behavior and psychology. It has the proportions of a prime human document and a record of a way of life that to most of us will seem strange to the point of near-impossibility.” He goes on to say, “I should like to confess that this is the kind of book – all reviewers have their blind spots – I would ordinarily bypass. I started it with skepticism. I finished it, quite lost to everything else, in one absorbed sitting.”

I have found via the internet that other people have discovered J.A. Hunter’s story, as well. The same positive reaction to it is inevitably expressed.

This book provides the reader with factual “escapism” at its best. I have long maintained that fact is stranger than fiction…and more interesting. Closing Hunter after a “read,” I find myself thinking, “What a life the man led! Can such adventure be found in today’s world?” I inevitably conclude that, perhaps it can, but not adventure with the same fine texture that old Africa could offer men like Hunter. And, finally, one cannot help but conclude that they just do not make many men like J.A. Hunter these days.