This Week at Angama #374

With lush grass returning after the controlled burns and recent rains, the Mara is vibrant once again — a healthy population of grazers — and following closely behind the predators. This rejuvenation brings rare chances to spot elusive savannah characters like leopards, usually hidden by their shy, secretive ways.

Near the border, in a familiar sausage tree, we spotted a well-known resident — the daughter of the Salt Lick female. Draped elegantly on a branch, she was finishing off a gazelle caught the previous day, which was made evident as there was nothing left but a few stubborn bones and hooves. 

It was clear that she was relaxed. She took her time, meticulously grooming her face and paws before descending gracefully to the ground. Belly full, she found a comfortable spot beneath the tree for a well-earned rest.

Near Purungat Bridge, where the Maji Machafu females and the Inselberg males are known to roam, we caught up with two of the dominant males — Ruka and Ginger. These impressive lions are still going strong, having moved on from their earlier days when they held sway over the border region and the territory of the Egyptian Pride. Now settled further in this region, their presence remains commanding.

With more mouths to feed, securing a big game becomes essential. This is especially true with dominant males overseeing the territory, who are known for demanding their share first. So, when word reached us that the Egyptian Pride had brought down a buffalo at dusk, we made an early start the next morning, eager to catch up with the aftermath.

Two massive Nyati males, seven adult females, and several cubs had made quick work of their kill. Lions can consume up to 15% of their body weight in one sitting. For a pride of this size, a buffalo is just enough to go around — but only for a short while.

When we arrived, only one Nyati male and two lionesses stuck around, scraping off the last bits of meat, clinging to the remains of what was once a formidable beast. The Pride’s cubs had already gorged themselves, their round bellies giving away the feast they'd enjoyed. 

The lionesses led the cubs to the shade, ready to sleep off the meal. For the next three to five days, the pride might rest and recover, though with some females nursing, another hunt could come sooner than expected. As for scavengers, it is best to look elsewhere. What little was left wasn’t worth challenging, lions still licking their chops.

With the country experiencing steady rains, the Mara River has swelled, raging with high water levels. This surge is unsettling for many of its usual inhabitants. Hippos, typically comfortable in calmer stretches, seek refuge in flooded pools and backwaters outside the main channel. Meanwhile, birds thrive, taking full advantage of the newly formed wetlands to forage and feed. 

Nyctinasty is the movement of plant parts in response to light and dark. Sunlight triggers the petals to open, making the flower more visible to pollinators like bees, beetles, or flies. As light fades, the petals close to protect the flower’s reproductive organs from moisture, cold and nighttime predators.

In the Mara, water lilies are often seen closed in the early morning, only opening later as the temperature rises.

While observing these flowers in marshy areas, a small, striking black bird can be seen foraging in the open. The black crake feeds on insects, small fish, snails, and even tadpoles, using quick reflexes and keen eyesight to snatch prey from the water's surface. These birds have a glossy black plumage, vivid red legs, and a bright yellow bill and are typically monogamous and fiercely territorial. — Robert Sayialel

The sun gradually broke through the fog and acacia trees as we set out with guests for breakfast in the Tortilis Forest. Beneath the canopy, they enjoyed a bush-prepared meal, joined by a few beautiful visitors.

A pair of sun squirrels darted through the undergrowth, nibbling on flowers and fallen fruit as a spotted palm thrush, also known as the spotted morning thrush, sang to the rising sun.

A recent sighting had me questioning if the leopard really is the master of camouflage. While driving to Amboseli National Park, Tipape — a new trainee at Angama Amboseli — asked us to stop near some acacia mellifera. We figured he’d spotted a gerenuk or a dik-dik. Instead, he said, ‘I think I saw an owl.’ It was 13h00, we were doing 50km/h. I was sceptical.

We scanned the bushes. Then I saw it—a spotted eagle owl perched so still that it looked like part of the tree.

With mottled brown-and-white feathers, bright yellow eyes, and prominent ear tufts, this owl is a master of disguise. It often goes unnoticed while hunting insects, rodents, birds, and small reptiles, helping control pests in both wild and urban spaces.

Unlike most owls that nest in tree hollows, this predator sometimes nests on the ground. Though usually silent, its deep hoots echo through the night during the breeding season. That hot afternoon reminded us that nature still can surprise you — if you know where (and how) to look.

Baboons might not win gold medals in the looks department, but they sure know how to stick a landing. Especially the young ones born with springs for legs and absolutely no fear. This little baboon was all about flair. With his troop already on the move below, rummaging through the morning grass for breakfast, he made an entrance. Not a cautious climb down the tree like the others, oh no. He launched himself into the air like a furry little trapeze artist, limbs flung wide, face full of focus as if the whole forest was his stage. He clearly decided breakfast could wait; first came the show. 

In the hush of late morning, a wide-crowned acacia cast its shade over a sleeping elephant herd — trunks curled, ears still, breaths slow. At the edge of the canopy stood the matriarch. Calm but commanding, she stayed upright while the others rested, ears slightly flared, eyes watchful. She didn’t need to move or make a sound. Her stillness said it all: 'I’ve got you.'

We got lucky when we saw Memusi, one of the lionesses in the Sanctuary, as she charged in to reclaim her meal from a mob of vultures. From the looks of it, she’d made the kill, an unlucky pumba, early in the morning and hidden it in the bushes, likely planning to return later for a peaceful meal. But the ever-efficient clean-up crew had discovered it first. 

As the light faded and the vultures were deep in their buffet, Memusi suddenly burst out of the tall grass and charged in, scattering the scavengers in every direction. She paused beside the carcass as if assessing the damage, dragged it out from under the bush and hauled it off to a new hiding spot.

We followed at a distance, trying to see where she’d go — but in true lioness fashion, she vanished as if she’d never been there. A brief reminder that every meal must be earned, then defended.

The following morning, we spotted Male 263 moving with purpose through the tall grass, clearly following a scent trail. Before we could catch up, he slipped out of sight. We turned back to pick up his tracks — only to bump into Osunash, seemingly on the same mission. We decided to follow him instead, and what began as a calm pursuit quickly turned dramatic.

Out of nowhere, Male 263 burst from the grass and charged at Osunash, landing a few swift slaps to his face before striding back to where he’d first stopped. The confrontation ended as suddenly as it began. Both males settled down, watching each other from a respectful distance.

Nearly an hour passed before Osunash made a move. Approaching cautiously, he found Male 263 hidden once again in the grass. As he drew closer, Male 263 let out a low growl — still on edge.

When a lion picks up the scent of a female, especially one in oestrus, he might bare his teeth, curl his lips and raise his head in what looks like a grimace. But it’s actually the Flehmen response — a way to draw pheromones into the Jacobson’s organ on the roof of the mouth, allowing him to assess her reproductive status.

It seemed both males had caught wind of the same female — likely Noltulali, a lioness who’s been off our radar for a little while. It may look amusing, but that expression is serious business in lion society — a silent signal that courtship might get competitive.

Two weeks ago, we celebrated the success of Amboseli's growing cheetah population. Three remarkable mothers raised eleven cubs, all seeming to make it safely to adulthood. This week brought another exciting encounter: two male cheetahs right in the heart of Amboseli National Park, marking territory and watching for potential prey. 

It’s very possible these two could be the fathers of those cubs, and seeing them in such prime condition was a real treat, a reassuring sign of a healthy, balanced ecosystem. — Japheth Supeyo