This week, we journeyed deep into the Greater Reserve, searching for the larger herds that have already made their way ahead of the rest of the Migration. These pioneering groups often settle temporarily in the reserve before continuing west into the Mara Triangle, a route that demands that they brave the formidable Mara River.
Along the way, we passed scattered pockets of wildebeest and zebra, some grazing, others cautiously navigating the Sand River. As we pressed further, we spotted a colossal mass of wildebeest, numbering in the thousands, stretching across the plains in all directions. This is a living, breathing super mower, devouring grass as it moves. The sound of hooves, the grunts and snorts, and the sheer scale of movement is mesmerising.
As always, predators lurked in the shadows, ready to seize the opportunity brought on by this seasonal bounty. Along the treelines — favoured ambush spots for stealthy hunters — we encountered Luluka, the famed leopardess of the Maasai Mara.
Recognised widely through wildlife photography and documentaries, Luluka has become an icon of the reserve for her striking features and unusual visibility. She often allows rare glimpses into the secretive life of a leopard. Over the years, she’s been seen raising cubs such as Jilime and Olomunyak, captivating many with the unfolding dramas of motherhood and survival of the savannah.
As we began our drive back, a lone cheetah caught our eye. Perched elegantly atop a termite mound, she surveyed the vast savannah teeming with zebras and Thomson’s gazelles. Her body posture was unmistakable. Alert, focused, and poised for the hunt. The moment was charged with anticipation.
We held our breath, sensing we might witness one of nature’s most exhilarating spectacles. After moments, she descended from her vantage point, her shoulders low, and every movement measured. The stage was set. But what followed was unexpectedly anticlimactic. A sudden, half-hearted sprint triggered a chain reaction of alarm calls and frantic movement across the plains. Prey scattered in every direction, the energy of potential quickly dissolving into confusion.
Realising the chase was over before it began, the cheetah did not try to conceal herself. Her presence had already been announced, and the element of surprise was lost.
After several unsuccessful attempts in previous years, the Angama lioness, affectionately known as Nala by Guides in the Mara Triangle, has finally raised her offspring to adulthood — a significant triumph for a lioness who has endured considerable hardship and loss. With her cubs almost two years old, Nala has entered a new chapter.
She has recently been observed mating again, with the dominant male now controlling the territory following the departure of the Bila Shaka males. Their absence created a power vacuum, which was quickly claimed by a new coalition, including the Owino male. Their presence has ushered in the possibility of renewed stability.
This mating could begin rebuilding what was once a thriving pride for Nala. After the tragic loss of all her previous pride members, she now hopes for revival. If successful, her next litter will restore the legacy of the Angama pride, born from resilience, persistence, and the unrelenting will to survive.
Closer to Purungat Bridge, the Purungat Pride is taking full advantage of the early arrivals of wildebeest into the Triangle. We found the pride huddled around a fresh wildebeest kill just after dawn. The feast, however, was being dominated by none other than Nusu — one of the formidable Inselberg males.
Interestingly, while male lions can be possessive and assertive at the dinner table, they surprisingly tolerate cubs. Amid low growls and the occasional warning paw swipe when they get too greedy, the little ones managed to sneak bites from the carcass, even daring to squeeze in beside the male.
Male lions like Nusu, though often absent during the hunt, will claim the majority share. The females, who typically do the hard work of bringing down prey, yield to the males and feed later, understanding the importance of their role in exchange for protection against rival males and other threats.
Jackals are true masters in the cunning game of survival. While they are often seen scavenging from the remains left by larger predators, they are also highly skilled hunters. With remarkable endurance and surprising speed, they can wear down the vulnerable young of impalas and Thomson’s gazelles until they succumb to exhaustion. After a successful hunt, one jackal, belly full and jaws clamped around the remains, was seen trotting off with the leftovers — likely back to its den, for a waiting pup. —Robert Sayialel
In the golden hush of dawn, beneath the towering yellow-fever acacia forest toward the north-eastern corner of Kimana Sanctuary, a quiet procession unfolded — elephants, steady and deliberate, moving through the bush as they have for generations. These are the architects of the land, reshaping it with each step, each snapped branch, each tree leaned into for a mouthful of bark or leaves. Older bulls lead the younger along the ancient corridor that threads from the red soils of Tsavo and the lush slopes of the Chyulu Hills, down toward the swamps of Amboseli. Their massive forms weave through the yellow trunks, the scent of crushed grass and fresh dung thick in the air. The acacias yield and adapt to their passage, forming light-filled gaps and clearings, inviting new grasses and sheltering smaller creatures. This path through Kimana is more than a route — it's a vital artery.
Perched high in the yellow fever acacias, a rare raptor held its ground. The crowned eagle is seldom seen in this ecosystem, so spotting two juveniles, each on a separate tree, close together, felt almost unreal. Typically seen soaring at high altitudes, this time they were grounded along the stream by the hippo pool, where we’ve previously seen the martial eagle and African fish eagle nesting.
Among Africa’s raptors, the crowned eagle is unmatched in strength relative to size, capable of taking down monkeys, small antelopes, and even prey heavier than itself. Mated pairs are fiercely territorial, building colossal nests high in the forest canopy, and raising a single chick over nearly a year — a testament to their deliberate way of life. Though found across sub-Saharan Africa, they prefer the dense cover of evergreen and gallery forests. Sadly, their kingdom is shrinking. Habitat loss, human-wildlife conflict, and superstition have placed this magnificent hunter on the near-threatened list. Yet in many cultures, the crowned eagle is still revered — a symbol of power, mystery, and the untamed spirit of the wild.
We spotted this juvenile male saddle-billed stork in the swamps of Amboseli with another bird clutched in its beak. Still in his immature plumage, the young stork showed signs of learning to hunt effectively. While saddle-billed storks usually feed on fish, frogs, and small reptiles, they are opportunistic feeders and will take birds when the chance arises. This sighting speaks to the stork's adaptability and growing skill as it matures into a capable wetland predator.
Guide Sabore and his young guest, Alessandro, came across Male 263 early one morning as he intently tracked a female in the north-eastern part of the Sanctuary. They decided to follow, and their patience was rewarded — he led them straight to a new lioness who had arrived overnight or in the early morning. She looked strong and in excellent condition, noticeably larger in build than our two resident females, Memusi and Noltulali.
The Lion Guardians later identified her as Tothona. As a cub, she was known for her shy and nervous nature, which is how she earned her name. Her mother, Nenkoyiankalani, was recently collared for monitoring because of her unpredictable movements and behaviour.
Although Tothona appeared pregnant, the dominant males were still showing interest. Sadly, even if she chooses to give birth within the safety of the Sanctuary, the harsh reality remains — if the cubs aren’t theirs, the males are likely to kill them.
They were fortunate to spot a striped hyena — an elusive resident of the Sanctuary that has only been seen a handful of times, and rarely well enough to photograph. But with Guide Sabore’s sharp eyes and 11-year-old guest Alessandro’s quick reflexes, they captured a few solid images before it disappeared into the bush. Unlike its louder, more social cousin — the spotted hyena — the striped hyena is a solitary figure, tiptoeing through dry savannahs and arid scrublands from North to East Africa. It’s more petite and slender than expected, with powerful legs and a shaggy mane running the length of its back, which it can raise to double its silhouette when alarmed. Bold, brushstroke-like stripes offer ideal camouflage in thorny undergrowth and the shifting light of dusk and dawn.
Often misunderstood and steeped in superstition, striped hyenas are naturally shy, avoiding conflict and relying on subtle body language and soft vocalisations instead of whoops and cackles typical of their kin. In places like Kimana Sanctuary, they coexist with humans on the edges of settlements, usually glimpsed by chance and almost always under the cover of night. These hyenas don’t clamber for attention, so it feels like stumbling upon a secret for those fortunate enough to witness one.
The resident crocodiles at the hippo pool are growing noticeably larger and seem increasingly more relaxed, peacefully coexisting with their hefty neighbours. The hippos themselves appear to be doing just as well. We spotted them lounging in the shallows, including a playful calf peeking out from behind its mother.
Crocodiles and hippos have shared waterways across Africa for generations. Witnessing their quiet coexistence is a powerful reminder of how different species can adapt and even thrive together in the same space.
Birdlife thrives along the Kimana stream and at the pond — among them, the spur-winged geese. Often mistaken for a small turkeys, they're Africa’s biggest geese, weighing nearly seven kilograms. Adaptable and wide-ranging, they aren't long-distance migrants, but nomads, guided by the rains. Arriving in loose flocks when Amboseli’s wetlands swell. You’ll often see them paddling between lily pads or basking on muddy islands, right at home in the shifting wetlands of East Africa.
Their namesake spur — a sharp point at the bend of each wing — isn't for flight, but for fighting. Males are territorial during the breeding season, and clashes can turn lethal. Nests are usually hidden in dense grass or tucked-away hollows near water, where broods are raised.
In the grasses of the Sanctuary lies a fascinating small predator — the European beewolf, also known as the bee-killer. This striking insect is a large, solitary wasp commonly found in sandy lowland heaths and coastal dunes. Once extremely rare, with only a few scattered populations in southern England, the beewolf has dramatically expanded its range over the past few decades. Unlike many other wasp species, male beewolves gather in a form of lek. Each male defends a small territory on this communal display ground and releases pheromones to attract passing females. Conversely, the females excavate nesting burrows in sandy soils, either on flat ground or along banks. They specialise in hunting honeybee workers, which they paralyse with a sting before carrying them back to their nests as food for their developing larvae. —Japheth Supeyo
Filed under: This Week at Angama
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The Angama Shamba