"Wha, What the hell are you doing?!!" was the only thing I could manage to stammer. For the last 10 minutes I'd been distracted from writing in my journal by a commotion in the trees. It sounded like a velvet monkey argument – lots of screeching and tree branch rustling so I paid it little mind. In the last week during this safari I'd had many experiences with the little buggers, so any commotion out of my immediate area I ignored. But then a male, perched on a tent on my left, stood up and started screeching.

First I looked at him to make sure I wasn't the target of his anger. Then I looked across the compound and saw what had him so worked up. There were about eight females and babies in the trees, and six Masai were throwing rocks at them. At first I thought they were just trying to get them out of the camp, because they have a reputation as pests.

One had tried to grab a scissors out of my hand, while a mother with a baby clinging to her back tried to sneak into my tent. While pests, always trying to steal food, they were cute annoyances. Earlier in the day a juvenile velvet monkey had found a discarded jam can and, determined to get any leftover goodies, he stuck the can on his head and it was bobbing back and forth on his head as he tried to get out every morsel. I wish I'd had a camera to capture the picture of this little monkey with this giant can of jam on his head.

Out of the corner of my eye – I caught a glimpse of a machete flying through the air, making a fooff foof foff fooff foff sound as it whizzed into the trees. It was followed a moment later by another flying through the camp, just 20 yards in front of me. The second throw sent the male on my left into an absolute frenzy, and the mothers and babies on my right into a panic as they tried to flee for their lives.

Soon the Masai managed to stone a baby. This poor thing was hanging from a branch, stunned, and slowly one arm dropped. I watched, horrified, as his strength drained out of him and he fell in a heap to the ground. That's when I yelled. One of the Masai picked it up by it's tail, looked at me and tossed it out of my sight.

I started thinking, I probably have no place commenting, as it's not my country, I don't know their ways; perhaps the monkeys are food. But what put me over the edge is when the Masai started tormenting the others by swinging the baby by its tail. Each time the male and mother approached, the Masai threw machetes at them. I couldn't keep witnessing this, but being the only one in camp besides the Masai, I also couldn't figure out a way to stop it and had no choice but move to the other side of the camp, in tears and with my hands over my ears until this ordeal was over.

When my safari driver returned, I asked Major if this was the food of the Masai tribe. He said they were primarily vegetarians, living on blood, milk and roots. He seemed almost as shocked as I was when I shakily told my story. He'd heard they sometimes kill velvet monkeys for the pelts but had never heard of this happening in a safari camp.

I'd come on safari to see animals in their natural habitat, not chained by man in a zoo and relatively safe from the danger he brings, but unfortunately I learned that no matter where you go – even in the middle of the Masai Mara National Park in remote Kenya – you cannot escape the violence of man.

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