This Week at Angama #401

There’s a promise of rain in the air, with clouds steadily gathering from the east. Like much of the country, this region experiences two main rainy seasons: the long rains in April and May, and the short rains between October and December.

We are on the cusp of the short rains, which typically begin in late October or early November. Once predictable, these patterns have become increasingly erratic, a subtle but undeniable reflection of the shifting climate. Still, the scent of moisture and the slow build of thunderclouds bring a familiar sense of renewal. 

Close to camp, giraffes and other wildlife pass beneath the towering shadow of Mount Kilimanjaro. As the first light, Africa’s highest peak reveals itself in breathtaking clarity.

Mornings are often the best time to witness the mountain in all its glory, before clouds gather and cloak its summit, a daily illusion that sometimes leaves guests wondering whether the mountain was ever there.

Though the clouds are building, the rains haven’t yet arrived, and the grass still dries beneath the warming sun. Elephants turn to the trees for nourishment, their trunks stretch high to pluck the tender green shoots from the upper branches of acacias, a favourite delicacy during these leaner times.

It’s remarkable watching them sway their massive bodies to reach just a little higher, using strength and precision to strip leaves and pods. 

Some elephants are beginning to show the strain. Their hip bones protrude as the dry months tighten their grip on the savannah. A few individuals appear noticeably skinny, the once-full curves of their bellies hollow inward, like this young male feeding on hard, less preferred elephant grass. But not for long, as rain lingers on the horizon, soon to bring relief and renewal to the herds. 

Memusi's cub has been spending more time with Nothuli's cubs. The young ones play together under Nothuli's watchful eye so Memusi can hunt.

Recently, Osunash and Male 263 have been seen mating with Memusi. By doing so, she employs an age-old survival strategy. She mates with multiple males to obscure paternity and keep her cubs safe.

Ordinarily, a lioness with surviving cubs would not resume mating until her offspring are between one and a half and two years old, when they’ve been weaned and gained more independence. In Memusi’s case, however, another attentive female caring for her cub seems to have accelerated her return to breeding readiness. — Robert Sayialel

The River Pride males continue to delight our guests, embodying the spirit of brotherhood and strength that defines a lion coalition. Their companionship is built on years of shared triumphs and trials. Each day, they move through their territory with confidence, synchronised strides, and affectionate head rubs, a reminder of the unbreakable bond that keeps them united.

Beneath the forest belt at the base of the Oloololo Escarpment, elephants and other animals move through the trees of flowering Craibia brownii. Their pale, fragrant clusters shine against the canopy and are easily noticed from Angama’s North Camp deck.

Craibia brownii is an indigenous forest-margin tree of East Africa, and at this time of year, its blooms are conspicuous along the escarpment where you drive down into the park.

The elephants linger and feed under the trees, taking advantage of the area's mineral-rich vegetation and soils. Records of elephants eating these flowers are scarce, but their broad browsing diet makes feeding on buds, flowers, pods, and foliage here entirely plausible.

We’ve witnessed impressive numbers of wildebeest gathering along the borderline. True to their collective name, a 'confusion' of wildebeest, the unpredictable rains have kept them in constant movement, unsure whether to head north or south.

Watching them ebb and flow across the plains, their decisions seemingly as fluid as the shifting weather, has been fascinating and delightful, a vivid reminder of how instinct and environment dance together.

Guide Jeremy and his guest, Charlie, encountered a rare and gripping scene along the river. A lone topi, bearing fresh wounds likely from a big cat encounter, had somehow managed to escape and make it to the riverbank. Exhausted and bleeding, it attempted to cross, a final act of survival, but its strength soon gave out. Just after reaching the opposite bank, the topi lay down to rest and quietly succumbed to its injuries.

It didn’t take long for the ever-watchful crocodiles to appear, drawn by the scent of opportunity. Within minutes, the carcass was dragged into the water, the stillness of the moment giving way to the violent thrashing of reptilian power. In nature, nothing is wasted; the river reclaimed what life had let go. 

Female impalas show remarkable cooperation and social structure when raising their young. Mothers often leave their fawns together in small groups like a nursery, spreading out to feed or stand guard in different directions.

This communal care system allows the young ones to rest, play, and interact safely under the collective vigilance of the herd. Each female takes part in watching for danger, their sharp eyes and ears constantly scanning the surroundings. The bond and trust within these groups are essential for survival, especially in the predator-rich savannah. The nurseries show that impalas’ strength is not only in their speed but in their intelligence and unity to protect each other.

The saddle-billed stork is one of Africa’s most striking birds, easily identified by its long, red, black bill topped with a vivid yellow saddle. Though males and females look nearly identical at first glance, there are subtle but clear differences. The male has dark brown eyes and small yellow wattles, fleshy growths hanging just below the bill at the saddle's base. On the other hand, the female has bright yellow eyes and lacks wattles altogether, giving her face a cleaner appearance.

The savannah often showcases extremes, and none are more striking than the contrast between the kori bustard and the ostrich.

Standing tall among the golden grasses, the kori bustard holds the title of Africa’s and the world’s heaviest flying bird, with males weighing up to 20 kilograms. Despite its bulk, it can take to the air with powerful, deliberate wingbeats, though it prefers to stay grounded, walking slowly and gracefully as it searches for insects, seeds, and small reptiles. 

On the other hand, the Ostrich is the largest living bird, a true giant of the open plains. It measures up to 2.8 metres and can run over 70 km/h. Unlike the bustard, it cannot fly, but its long, muscular legs make it a master of the ground.

Side by side, these two birds perfectly capture the diversity of adaptation in the Mara’s ecosystem. One conquers the skies despite its weight, the other traverses the plains with speed and strength. 

This curious female giraffe wandered to our vehicle, leaning so close that we could admire the details on her gentle face. Long, elegant eyelashes framed her enormous, liquid-brown eyes, perhaps the most beautiful in the animal kingdom. They flutter lightly with each blink, helping shield her sensitive eyes from dust, thorns, and the glare of the African sun.  

Up close, you could see intelligence in her gaze, and her features were mesmerising, her muzzle's soft textures and her coat's intricate patchwork. —Japheth Supeyo