Death by baboon?! PART ONE

Today was a day that deserves words like 'harrowing', 'traumatizing', 'frightening', etc...

It started out just like any day...(prepare yourselves for a LONG but craaaazy story)
Tim, James and I planned on hiking to an old fort, Mang*ochi Fort, early this morning; it was a hike that was supposed to last a few hours. It turned into one of the most memorable days of my life. (And not memorable in GOOD way--memorable in a 'I'm-going-to-need-counselling' kind of way).

Tim, James, and I plus the boy next door, Mtulo all headed out, well fed, well rested and ready for a good long hike, planning to return sometime after lunch. On the way to the mountain base Tim asked me 'Did you bring your camera?'
"Psh! Did I ever!" I replied.

(Crossing a dam...early in the journey)

A few kilometers to the mountain base and we started up the mountain. The fort is located in a basin, surrounded by a few mountains. Sounds pretty cool, eh?
But soon into the hike, the nausea I'd been experiencing came back--with a vengeance. Here I was again; hiking a mountain with three young, fit guys. Shit.

(The path plateaued for a moment...for now I can keep up.)

I told the guys to take it down a notch, but the slower pace didn't help. Tim said 'We're half way to the top.' I wish.

Somewhere around half-way, I said "I have to stop. You guys go on." I was equipped with my trusty mace and whistle and Tim gave me his Leatherman, and James gave me his watch and journal for reading material.
(Oh....this is long....sorry...)

The guys literally start RUNNING up the mountain and I thank GOD I chose to wait for them there. I perch myself on a big boulder--about 12 feet above the ground--with a glorious view of the farming area below in front of me and the rest of the mountain behind me.
I read through most of James' journal (good reading...I'm mentioned twice. Nothing fancy...just mentioned). Next thing I know there's a louder-than-leaves-falling rustling behind me. I turn around and something is moving in the long grass...my heart stops...is it the folk-lore little men Tim warned me about before he left? Yitopotopos, the little men with long beards, best described as trolls?

Then the face of a baboon appeared through the baboon-coloured grass. My heart still pounded but I felt a little better when my movement scared him off.
He scampered off but I heard him calling or something a little while later.

Mace out.

Then a while later two more baboon appeared. These ones were a little frisky and unfortunately true to their monkey-character: curious.

Leatherman out and poised.

On high alert I start to wonder why I have this instinctual fear of baboons. I decide it's from the Disney's Tarzan when the baboons attack Jane and steal her boot. "Daddy! They stole my boot!"

Then perhaps the most terrifying sound I've ever had the displeasure, nay, horror of hearing was an animal making a low growl. The growl grew into a roar and then another unfortunate creature started to squeal and scream--much like a baby.
Ah. Shit. A lion is mauling a baby. Fantastic.

The sound grew closer, the long grass rustled, the roaring did not cease. My heart stopped. I understood why some people wet their pants when they're frightened.

TO BE CONTINUED...