This Week at Angama #375

The Egyptian Pride is at it again. This week, they made another successful buffalo kill. With each hunt, this Pride is becoming bolder and braver. Taking on a buffalo is no small feat. These massive herbivores are among the most formidable prey a lion can face. Weighing up to 900kg, with powerful horns and strong herd instincts, buffaloes are anything but passive. For lions, bringing one down is not just a hunt but a calculated risk. 

When we arrived at the scene, all seven lionesses and their cubs were gathered around the fallen giant. The kill was fresh, its life claimed to nourish another. Gentle growls and playful shoves echoed around the carcass as the cubs stuffed their faces, learning the social order of the pride with every bite. A buffalo can sustain a pride for days, giving them time to rest, bond, and rejuvenate. 

Not far from the feast, a young Thomson's gazelle calf, affectionately known as a 'Tommy', stood alone, seemingly abandoned. This is a common tactic among mothers, who often leave their vulnerable young hidden and motionless to avoid drawing the attention of predators. But this one didn’t go unnoticed for long. One of the lionesses approached, gently picked up the calf, and what followed was a brief, one-sided game of cat and mouse. With a swift tag, she effortlessly broke the foal’s startled run.

Eventually, with a heavy stomach and the sun beating relentlessly, the lioness carried the calf to a nearby cub. This was not an act of hunger; the pride had more than enough from the recent kill, but rather a teaching moment. She offered the live calf to the cub, encouraging a play hunt, a crucial lesson in stalking, chasing, and subduing prey.

The cub’s curiosity waned in the oppressive heat and soon retreated to the shade beneath its mother. With bulging bellies and the midday sun pressing down, the foal was left alone, tiny, bewildered, and spared — at least for now. We did not stay to see what happened next, but with scavengers not far away, it’s unlikely that Tommy survived. 

By the time we returned the next day, only one lion remained — a young male, once part of the Pride, still tolerated by the females. They’d eaten their fill and dozed nearby in the shade, allowing him his turn at the carcass. But he wasn’t alone. A tension of scavenger presence hung in the air. Hyenas taunted him from the periphery. Jackals lingered out of reach. Vultures circled above in anticipation. Still, the young lion didn’t flinch — remained unfazed, feasting with heavy pants in the unforgiving heat.

As the vultures inched closer, they discovered a piece of exposed stomach lining. A frenzy broke out among them, their squabbling cries drawing the attention of other predators. With a sudden charge, the hyenas scattered the birds and pounced on the prize. What followed was a chaotic tug-of-war, a fierce display of dominance as the two top scavengers lunged at one another, each desperate for a taste of what remained. 

We came across the three Siligi boys searching for a meal — their target — a lone impala. We watched as the coalition attempted a coordinated approach with practised stealth. But their plan was foiled. The impala spotted them in time, leading to a half-hearted chase that never stood a chance.

Momentarily scattered in the aftermath, their calls echoed across the plains as each cheetah took to nearby termite mounds, scanning the landscape for one another. Reunited but left hungry that day, hoping for a meal soon. 

Sure enough, the three Siligi boys managed to take down two young zebras the next day. While cheetahs don’t typically target zebras, especially adults, which are large, strong, and capable of delivering powerful, deadly kicks, they will seize the opportunity to hunt foals under the right conditions.

Using stealth and speed, the cheetahs would launch a surprise attack, singling out a young zebra and separating it from its mother with precision and coordination. One foal was more than enough to satisfy the trio. They abandoned the second carcass with full bellies, leaving it behind for the ever-watchful scavengers. 

Morning light is ideal for photography — warm, soft, and often accompanied by active birds and wildlife. This morning, fog added to the mood, casting a balanced tone across the landscape.

Survival often depends on cooperation in the wild, and baboons have perfected this through a remarkable social strategy. When a troop stops to feed or rest, it’s common to see one individual perched on higher ground or in a tree, scanning the surroundings. This isn’t random behaviour — it’s a sentry on duty.

The sentry’s role is to watch for predators such as leopards, lions, or even humans, allowing the rest of the group to relax or forage with reduced risk. This duty isn’t fixed to a single baboon; it often rotates among troop members, reflecting a shared sense of responsibility. The concept of a baboon sentry highlights the intelligence and cooperation found in primate societies.

You know that first big rain, when the earth shifts from dusty brown to lush green overnight? The downpour brings a surge of life, and that’s when the birds kick off their love stories. Suddenly, the air hums with insects, and fresh shoots burst through the earth. The buffet is open, ideal for soon-to-be parents, with more food to feed their chicks and thicker vegetation to protect them from predators.

I watched the lesser masked weavers get to work, their bright yellow bodies bobbing as each male wove grass and reeds into hanging little homes. It’s as if they’re saying, 'Look what I made — perfect for our future chicks.'

While on a game drive, we spotted a black-shouldered kite that stole the spotlight. It carefully picked twigs from a thicket, grasped them in its beak, and flew to its nest. Nearby, a pair of grey crowned cranes treated us to a slow-motion dance: head bows, gentle trumpeting calls, the regal routine against stormy clouds. It felt sacred.

Down by the water’s edge, an African fish eagle let out its iconic cry that sliced through the humid air. Then we saw them: a pair, side by side, heads gleaming white. They preened each other in perfect sync.

As the sun dips, golden light softens the land. I watched a lone baboon sit motionless on a mound, almost meditative. The backlight caught the fine hairs on its body, giving it a fiery halo. The camera captures the scene, but the feeling stays with you.

For most humans, twilight is a time to slow down and reflect. In the wild, it signals the start of a hunt. Prey animals like this baboon may seem calm, but dusk demands vigilance. As the sky darkens and the air cools, predators stir — lions stretch, hyenas perk up, and the balance of the bush shifts. For photographers, it’s a moment of perfect light and rising tension. Every frame tells a story. -Rio Marvin