This Week at Angama #396

The Mara has been drenched in torrential rain, transforming its golden plains into glistening green. The downpours have shifted great herds, which are now gathering along the Sand River, which is now swollen and running swiftly as even bigger herds are pushed steadily back across the border. 

For those at the river, crossing has not come easily. One of the ageing Inselberg males has taken up residence right in the sandy banks, lying in wait for an easy meal. His decision to linger so boldly in the open feels like a telling sign of age — a predator trading the advantage of stealth for the comfort of opportunity. 

Further upstream, the Maji Machafu Pride played their own waiting game at the Mara River's distinctive U-bend crossing. Unaware of the trap ahead, a lone zebra came to drink and walked straight into their carefully laid ambush. 

After the swift takedown, the sun was beating down, and one lioness attempted to drag their prize into the shade of the thickets, seeking relief from the midday sun. The lioness was content to rest and recover after the kill. Like the ageing Inselberg male, this pride had chosen patience and placement over pursuit, a reminder that in the Mara, survival often belongs to those who know when to wait. 

After weeks lingering near the escarpment, the Siligi boys finally turned south to greet the returning herds. One morning, fresh from a balloon ride and en route to breakfast, we found the coalition surprisingly close by. Tempted, we trailed them for a while as they shadowed a mixed herd of wildebeest and zebra, pausing only to spray and scent-mark a tree — an act that drew quite the audience of curious onlookers. 

The brothers looked well-fed, so we assumed the morning’s drama was over and continued our journey. Yet, true to the unpredictable rhythm of the Mara, the boys wasted no time in proving us wrong. Not long after, they brought down another wildebeest, with Guide Jeremy the only one quick enough to make the call and witness the feast.

Two days later, the brothers had drifted further south, hugging the escarpment's edge until they reached more familiar ground near the Kenyan-Tanzanian border. Two of the males broke into a burst of play, while the third watched them from a distance — still composed, almost regal. Perhaps this is a sign that he is beginning to assume the coalition's leadership mantle. 

Guide Johnny and long-time friend of Angama, Nicholas Pawson, witnessed one of nature’s rarest and most secretive moments. At first, Johnny noticed an elephant mother driving away her grown calf, a curious behaviour, since mothers usually keep their young close. On closer inspection, he realised the reason: an amniotic sac was hanging from the elephant’s hind legs. Excitement and anticipation filled the air as they watched in awe, an elephant preparing to give birth, an extraordinary event that few are ever privileged to see in the wild.

Perched on a bare branch, two grey-headed kingfishers launched into the air, displaying a dazzling, synchronised flight. Their electric-blue wings flashed open in unison, catching the sunlight as they dove gracefully toward the ground. 

Part courtship ritual, part territorial flex, it was brief but mesmerising. Each beat of their wings painted brilliance across the sky, a fleeting spectacle that is as thrilling to observe as it is challenging to capture through the lens. 

We were fortunate to witness the River Pride females carefully moving their remaining cubs after the heartbreaking loss of one little one to a buffalo during the night before. The surviving youngsters were full of bounce, vanishing into the long grass with every jump,  forcing their mother to keep a deliberate pace, ever watchful to ensure no cub was left behind. 

We were fortunate to witness the River Pride females carefully moving their remaining cubs after the heartbreaking loss of one little one to a buffalo during the night before. The surviving youngsters were full of bounce, vanishing into the long grass with every jump,  forcing their mother to keep a deliberate, watchful pace to ensure no cub was left behind. 

Amid this tender procession, we observed something unusual: a nursing lioness hissing sharply at the pride’s oldest female when she ventured too close to the cubs. A rare display of tension within the pride. Such behaviour is rooted in the powerful instinct of maternal care. She secures her reproductive success by fiercely guarding her litter, conserving her milk, shielding them from potential threats, and putting their survival above all else. She strengthens the pride itself in the long run. 

Leopards are masters of self-reliance, but when injury tips the odds against them, even these elusive cats are forced to scavenge. Such was the case with a newcomer we encountered near the Salt Lick.  
 
He was lingering around the remains of a buffalo carcass left behind by the Border Pride two days earlier, though his meal was already picked clean. As we arrived, he slipped quietly into the reeds, revealing a pronounced limp in his front left leg. Though not particularly shy, his caution was evident; with such an injury, waiting in the open was a risk he could not afford. We suspect his misfortune may have come at the claws of the territory’s dominant and formidable resident: the Salt Lick male. 

After several weeks of absence, one of the Taliban males finally resurfaced, and we found him on honeymoon. The female’s pride was not immediately evident, which is unsurprising given that this formidable coalition holds sway over at least three prides across the Mara Triangle. It is a true testament to the strength of numbers and the unbreakable bond of brotherhood.  
 
When we first came across the pair, they looked thoroughly spent, lounging in the grass with barely a flicker of energy. It took a good half hour of patient waiting before they stirred to mate again, a clear sign that their marathon may have drawn to a close. 

Impalas are famous for their spectacular display of pronking, a high, springy leap where all four legs lift off the ground at once, often repeated in rapid bursts. It might look playful, but it’s a survival tactic, a way to confuse predators by showing off their agility and fitness, making themselves harder targets to catch.

For anyone watching, pronking is a true delight; they seem weightless as they bounce across the savannah, clearing astonishing heights and distances with effortless grace. Photographing it is another story — blink, and they’re gone. But that’s part of the thrill: the chase behind the lens is almost as exhilarating as theirs. —Japheth Supeyo

On an early game drive in Kimana Sanctuary, we encountered the three resident lion cubs tucked safely under the steady gaze of their mother, Noltulali. 

Their innocence was almost disarming, tiny bodies sprawled while the morning light warmed their coats. From the tall grass, Male 263 emerged with authority, his steady walk ending in a patch of shade where he settled to rest. The scene felt calm and still, as if time had slowed in tribute to the growing lion pride.

But cubs rarely stay still for long. As Noltulali led them toward the road, the quiet was broken by a burst of energy. The three tumbled into play, pouncing, chasing, and rolling over each other in a blur of paws and dust. 

When they finally paused, one cub found delight in something as simple as a dried grass root, batting and tossing it in curiosity.

Later that evening, one of the older cubs put on its best impression of a stealthy predator, lowering its little head and stalking a zebra grazing ahead. To the cub, it must have felt like the first step into the glorious life of a hunter. Meanwhile, the zebra kept feeding, blissfully unaware or perhaps simply unbothered by the miniature lion shadowing it from behind. 

We came across the striking red and yellow barbet, a bird that seems to carry a painter’s palette on its feathers. Found primarily within the Kimana Sanctuary around the Amboseli ecosystem, these birds are masters of excavation, digging tunnels into the ground where they nest and raise their young.

These birds are highly vocal, with males and females producing synchronised duet calls in perfect rhythm. Despite their small size, their bright plumage and lively voices make them one of the most unforgettable residents of the savannah. 

Later in the week, the drama of the savannah unfolded right by the lodge when a zebra kill was discovered early in the morning. By evening, Osunash had claimed the carcass, feeding with the authority of a lion who knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. As night fell, his deep, resonant roars echoed close to camp, and the king's presence was felt throughout the night.

While driving in Amboseli National Park, Guide Salash came across a concentration of pied kingfishers perched together, their sharp eyes locked on one of their own. Among the four, one had triumphantly secured a fish in its beak. Though the term 'concentration' is the official collective noun for kingfishers, it almost seemed literal in this moment, as the others appeared deeply absorbed in deciding who, if anyone, might share in the hard-won catch. 

Salash captured a striking image of a flamboyance of flamingos, their elegant pink forms mirrored in the rippling waters as they fed. These are lesser flamingos, the smallest yet most numerous of their kind. They dip their beaks upside down to filter out algae from the shallow lake; this is their primary food source.

Later, his eye caught a squadron of pelicans strolling along the water’s edge, their stately walk and long bills gave them a dignified presence. Nearby, a lone hippo surfaced with a dramatic yawn that revealed its cavernous mouth and formidable tusk-like teeth. The scene was captured at just the right moment in a single frame. The pelicans looked almost like clumsy parade marchers, while the hippo proved this was still its kingdom.  —Rio Marvin