This Week at Angama #390

Zebras continue to pour into Kimana Sanctuary in astonishing numbers. This seasonal gathering feels like our version of the Migration, a quieter echo of the drama unfolding far to the northwest in the Maasai Mara. As the Sanctuary’s grasslands shimmer in the dry light, zebras dominate the scene, outnumbering giraffes, antelopes, and even the occasional scattered cattle. 

A zebra's secret lies not in strength or speed, but in how they feed. Unlike ruminants like antelopes or giraffes with complex four-chambered stomachs designed for slow, selective eating, zebras are monogastric and have just one. As hindgut fermenters, they use an enlarged cecum and large intestine full of microbes to break down tough grasses that other herbivores ignore. While ruminants pause to re-chew, zebras graze on steadily and relentlessly.

This gives them the upper hand in harsh conditions. They can survive — even thrive — on the driest, most depleted patches of grassland, drawing nutrition from forage most others can’t stomach. As other species move on in search of better pastures, zebras remain, turning dust and straw into energy. 

A new young male lion has recently entered the Sanctuary, and his striking resemblance to Osunash has caught the Guides' attention  — many believe he could be Osunash’s son from a different pride during his time in Amboseli National Park. So far, there haven’t been any confrontations between him and the resident lions, and we hope it stays that way, especially with cubs now in the picture.

Interestingly, we have noticed that Noltulali has been spending time near Male 263 — perhaps a protective move, keeping close to a dominant male could be her way of safeguarding the cubs from the newcomer, who could pose a threat if he encounters them. 

Male 263 seems to have fully embraced his role as a father. He is often seen with Noltulali and the cubs, offering much-needed protection from the many threats surrounding them.  

Full of energy and curiosity, the little ones are proving to be quite the handful for their mother, especially when she tries to get them to stay put so she can hunt or rest. After spending the day tucked under a bush or in the shade of a tree, the cubs come alive at sunset, tumbling in play and practising their stalking skills, a natural cat instinct. The older cub appears to understand and follow Noltulali’s cues, but the two younger ones seem blissfully defiant, paying little attention to her.  

In response to their mischievous ways, Noltulali will carry one in her mouth while the other trails behind, only to dash right back to their favourite play spot when she sets the first one down.  

One of our more elusive and strictly nocturnal residents — the bat-eared fox — made a rare appearance this week. We caught a brief glimpse as it darted across open ground, likely heading back to its den after a night of foraging. Though part of the canid family, these foxes behave and feed quite differently from their relatives. Instead of hunting mammals, they specialise in insects, particularly termites, which they dig up with astonishing speed and precision. They’ll also feed on beetles, scorpions, small rodents, and the occasional lizard.  

Their oversized ears aren’t just for show — they provide acute hearing to detect the faintest movements underground, helping them locate prey even beneath the soil. Bat-eared foxes also stand apart from other fox species by their dental structure, boasting between 46 and 50 teeth, more than any other placental mammal. It’s always a privilege to glimpse these shy, efficient insectivores as they step briefly into the light before vanishing into their underground world. 

It’s not unusual to come across a large gathering of vultures grounded in silence, wings tucked, eyes watchful — with the occasional marabou stork towering among them. At first glance, it may seem they’re waiting for something to die, but these scavengers are simply playing their part in nature’s intricate rhythm. Often, such assemblies signal the presence of a nearby carcass, hidden from view or still under guard by a predator.

Vultures, particularly the white-backed species, are patient opportunists — willing to wait hours until lions or hyenas move on. Sometimes, it’s a matter of timing: in the cool morning, they may ground themselves to warm up before taking to the skies to catch thermals. At other times, they’ve already fed and are now resting, preening, or socialising, relying on the safety of numbers. This quiet congregation, then, is not idle loitering, but a testament to how scavengers cooperate, communicate, and conserve energy in a landscape that rewards patience and strategy. — Japheth Supeyo

A morning drive took us toward the border in search of the large herds, and along the way, we were delighted to encounter the Egyptian Pride basking and playing in the soft golden light of dawn. In this season of abundance, when food is plentiful and the pride is well-fed, even the adult females find time to indulge in playful interactions with one another and their cubs. 

It was a joyful display of bonding, a lioness leapt with her mouth wide open, landing playfully onto the face of another lion, sparking a spirited chase across the dew-kissed grass. Soon, they were tumbling and rolling, paws swatting and tails flicking, reinforcing the social ties vital for the pride’s unity and survival. 

We were fortunate to capture the moment in striking backlit images. When the sunlight catches the grass and fur just right, this technique produces some of the most dramatic wildlife photographs.

As many crossings continue along the Mara River, at Mti Moja, Lookout and U-crossing points into the Mara Triangle from greater Mara, some herds enter the Triangle straight across the border in spectacular numbers.  

In recent days, we first sighted the herds massing across the border in Tanzania, gathering in anticipation along the riverbanks. Then, almost on cue, they surged forward in spectacular numbers, spilling into the Mara Triangle. The landscape quickly transformed into a sea of movement, tens of thousands of wildebeest and zebra carpeting the savannah as they grazed northward. 

With an endless buffet of prey on offer, these two cheetah brothers are thriving as they trail the migrating herds near the border region. Recently fed, they lounged contentedly in the open yet remained alert, their ears twitching to the rhythmic grunts of wildebeest. 

Two days later, we encountered the brothers again, this time in a far more charged setting. Crouched low in the tall grass, eyes fixed on a nearby large herd of zebras and wildebeest – it was an ambush in the making. Then, in an instant, everything exploded into chaos as the herd erupted: hooves thundered, dust billowed, and the herd bolted in all directions.

Seizing the moment, one cheetah made a swift, clean kill, while the other targeted a much larger wildebeest, likely as a calculated distraction. Wildebeest are known to defend themselves, even against formidable predators like lions, making them a risky choice for the more delicate cheetah. But the tactic worked.

The brothers remained alert as they began to feed, surrounded by thousands of watchful eyes. They took turns keeping watch, wary of hyenas, lions, or other opportunists drawn by the telltale signs of a successful hunt. 

With an abundance of easy kills this season, elusive hunters who often go unnoticed for weeks or even months suddenly emerge from hiding. One such predator is Osidai, the dominant male leopard of the BBC area, whose absence from our recent blogs has been quite noticeable. Angama guest, Ayana was fortunate enough to witness and photograph this majestic leopard, perched confidently in a tree with a young wildebeest kill hoisted securely beside him. 

Far from the buzz and chaos of the Migration unfolding in the southern reaches of the Triangle, a quieter, more intimate story is playing out in the north. The River Pride is quietly marking new beginnings with the arrival of cubs. Angama Guide Jeremy was fortunate to witness a lioness gently carrying her cub by the scruff of the neck. This fleeting moment pulled back the curtain on a world we seldom see: the gentle, instinctive care beneath the power and muscle of a lioness.

At the Kaburu and Main crossing points, zebras continue to make their way from Mara North Conservancy into the Triangle in small but steady numbers. These cautious crossings have not gone unnoticed by the ever-patient crocodiles that lurk beneath the river's surface. 

Stirred by the promise of frequent meals, the massive reptiles — positioned at strategic positions along the Mara River — waste no time. With each attempted crossing, tension builds — often, there’s a casualty. Once a zebra is caught in the vice-like grip of a crocodile’s jaws, escape is nearly impossible. The window of abundance is brief for these predators, and every chance is seized ruthlessly.

A captured zebra often creates a crucial window for others to cross. As crocodiles focus on their struggling prey, the distraction allows others to dash through the waters — some slipping by unharmed, others charging straight through the chaos, trampling over the feeding frenzy in desperation to reach the far bank.

Amidst the commotion, a tiny foal approached the river, closely shadowing its mother. It’s a heart-stopping moment as we realise this will be the young one’s first river crossing. Clinging tightly behind its mother, the foal steps into the current, the journey fraught with danger. 

With each cautious stride, the mother shields her baby, her body a protective barrier against the swift, pulling force of the river. Other zebras following close behind create an additional buffer, reducing the risk of the little one being swept away. After what feels like an eternity, the foal stumbles onto solid ground, greeted by a wave of relief and celebration from those watching. – Robert Sayialel