We received a PowerPoint presentation on our first night at the Maasai Mara Wildlife Conservation Project in Karibu, Kenya. There were names of organizations: The Mara Predator Conservation Program, The Mara Raptor Project, The Wildlife Conservation Program. There were acronyms: SELU (Spatial Ecology and Land-use Unit), WTC (Wildlife Tourism College). There were statistics: 64,000 acres, 850 landowners.

I won’t lie. It was hard to sit through. It took me back to my days at Ford Motor Company when I not only heard, but produced, many such presentations, using the same formula. Plus, I was jet-lagged and car-sick, having just arrived after an eight-hour drive from Nairobi.

I was hoping our host couldn’t hear me moan as she clicked on that all-too familiar orange logo.

The next morning, however. Well, let me tell you about the next morning. We sat in the Land Cruiser between a modest mud house and a field of wildebeests, zebras, giraffes, and so many more creatures.

The project’s manager, Elizabeth Githendu, spread her arms and pointed at the beautiful bushland around us: “This is the ideal situation: private property, wildlife and no fences. These property owners agreed to take down their fences and allow wildlife to thrive. This is top-tier humanity and grace. It is an example of what we are working to achieve.”

The rest of that day and the following, Elizabeth and Miton, our driver and field guide, drove us nearly 300 miles through the bushland and savannah that are owned by Maasai community members and home to healthy and growing populations of once-endangered African animals.

The conservancy system in Kenya is a delicate balancing act between land owners, wildlife and tourism. (Yes, tourism. I’ll explain that later.) It succeeds because the Maasai community, as Elizabeth and Miton explain, are willing participants. They believe they are part of nature. They take as little as they need and leave the rest to the animals.

Elizabeth looked up at a Desert Date tree shading our lunch in the savannah. “Take this tree, for example, they pick the fruit because it’s sweet and leave the tree standing with leaves intact for the nourishment of giraffes and the protection of leopards’ kills.”

Miton picked a small yellow fruit, peeled it and took a bite. You could almost see him remembering his childhood. “It’s been a long time.”

Because the Maasai are who they are, we counted 45 elephants (almost half of which were juveniles) in four hours on the Naboisho Conservancy. We saw hyenas and jackles and giraffes with their young. We saw a lion cub suckle from its mother. We saw a cheetah sleep in the shade with her two cubs. We saw a leopard finish off a wildebeest he had dragged up a tree, sprint down and strut unfazed between the nearly 20 tourist safari trucks circling him.

I came to Kenya as part of a small group of volunteers to learn about and contribute to the work of the Pardamat and Naboisho Conservancies. Soon, we will visit one of their headquarters. I’m betting there will be PowerPoint or two, and, if so, that will be fine by me. There’s no question, I am a long way from Dearborn.