This Week at Angama #407

Some African sunrises reward early risers with scenes that linger longer into the day. In those quiet moments, the horizon glows with a gentle fire, revealing silhouettes of ancient acacia trees and, if you’re lucky, the majestic outline of an elephant greeting the dawn. On some mornings, a soft veil of mist drapes across the open plains, transforming the landscape into something almost otherworldly. 

Last week, we highlighted the contrast between the two lion males, M263 and Osunash, particularly in their methods of securing food. Osunash tends to fend for himself, while M263 fully embraces the social structure of a pride male, following the females, offering protection, and benefiting from their hunting success. 

While driving through the Sanctuary in the search for lions, the silence was pierced by the unmistakable squeal of a warthog in distress, close enough to make our hearts jump.

When we arrived at the scene, we found one of the lionesses, the cubs, and M263, all with bloodied mouths and paws.

Their meal, however, had been interrupted; a buffalo charged in and chased them off the kill. The lioness scanned the dense thicket but quickly spotted the lurking buffalo. Prioritising the safety of her cubs, she retreated with them at once. 

But the hungry male had other plans. With an empty stomach demanding attention, he saw an opportunity to grab a meal before the females and cubs regrouped. We followed him, and within minutes, he reappeared, dragging a warthog firmly in his jaws, determined to haul it off to feed alone.

Our hearts sank; we had hoped to see the cubs enjoy the reward of their mother’s hard work. He ripped into the carcass, devouring hefty chunks as fast as he could tear them free. 

Midway through his feast, three small heads popped up behind him. To our relief, he tolerated their presence and allowed the cubs to feed beside him. The lioness who had made the kill was kept at bay by a firm growl, reminding her that the pecking order must be respected.  Such is the reality of pride life. The females do the hunting, yet often eat last, long after the males and cubs have had their fill, if anything remains at all. 

When the cubs grew too bold, M263 delivered a few light swipes, nothing serious, just enough to remind them who was in charge. 

Once his stomach was full, he relinquished what little remained. The females hurried in to salvage scraps, the cubs tussling over every bite. At least the youngsters wouldn’t go hungry today. But the lioness would need to secure another meal soon, before the ever-hungry male trailing behind them claimed the next kill for himself.

We can now confidently confirm that the lone female cheetah, Motonyi, is pregnant. The clearest sign is her now-visible nipples, which become more pronounced as the pregnancy progresses.  

In cheetahs, physical changes are often subtle during the early stages, but the belly typically becomes noticeably fuller during the final 3–4 weeks of their approximately three-month gestation period. 

With these signs, enlarged nipples and a gradually rounding belly, it's clear that she’s near giving birth. Now more than ever, she needs to be extra vigilant and secretive to avoid other predators and start exploring potential denning sites. 

This is an exciting and critical phase, as she prepares for the arrival of her cubs. 

The Pangani longclaw, is a striking member of the pipit family, is found in East Africa, and commonly seen in Kenya around Nairobi, Amboseli, and the Kimana Sanctuary toward Tsavo East National Park. It closely resembles the yellow-throated longclaw, but can be distinguished by its typically orange throat, though some individuals do show a yellow variation. 

Just outside The Photographic Studio, you might spot a red-headed Agama soaking up the sun or swallowing its catch before darting off. This lizard is highly adaptable, thriving in rocky areas, savannahs, and even around human settlements, where it basks on walls, rocks, and rooftops.  

During the breeding season, their display will feature even more intensely fiery colours, with bobbing heads and quick push-ups to attract mates and defend their territory. — Robert Sayialel

Our early drive started with a show, a small, unexpected drama. A lilac-breasted roller had caught itself an early feast: a fat, wriggling locust. The roller looked almost theatrical, perched with its prize in the morning light.

‘The early bird catches the worm’ couldn’t have been any clearer. It kept hitting the locust on the ground, doing exactly what rollers do: trying to soften and break it into manageable pieces. Then it tossed it into the air and caught it again with perfect timing.

We reached the 50-kilometre junction and followed the Kambi ya Mungu route, a stretch we are familiar with. Sometimes the Angama Safari Camp is set along this very route, and every time I’m there, it feels like the Mara strips life down to what really matters, raw beauty, and that deep, grounding silence that only the wild can give you.

Not long after, the day offered us another scene. A black-headed heron had caught a blind snake. It seemed like a lucky morning for the birds, each hunter with a prize.

The snake twisted and fought with everything it had, but the heron’s grip was steady, precise, almost like a pair of pliers clamping down. It took its time, working slowly to overpower and swallow the struggling snake. We eased away, leaving the heron to its victory, allowing the day to unfold to whatever else nature had in store for us. 

As we drove, a soft movement on the distant horizon caught our eyes, the Egyptian Pride. They were strolling as the sun climbed, the heat pressing down on the plains, and the lions clearly needed a cooler place to sleep out the day.  From our vantage point, the scene came together perfectly. The entire Pride stretched in a loose line across the grasslands, and further in the background, a herd of elephants grazed calmly. 

We noticed the herd's behaviour shift when the wind blew the scent of lions towards them. The adults tightened their formation, creating a protective ring with the calf safely in the middle; shielded by the matriarch and the allomothers. 

From Cobra’s Corner, heading toward Nyati 1 on the right, a lone Savannah Gardenia (Gardenia volkensii) stood in its usual elegance. Its rounded crown offered the shade every big cat dreams of. And sure enough, beneath it lay three Nomadic lions, fast asleep with full bellies, deep in heavy slumber, lions slip into after a successful hunt, the kind where even the buzzing flies go unnoticed.

We left them to their dreams and began making our way back to the Lodge. But the Mara wasn’t finished with us yet. Along a narrow stream, a great egret perched above the water, its white plumage perfectly mirrored in the dark, still surface below.  

Later in the week, we came across a lone black-backed jackal on its morning stroll. It walked neatly along a vehicle track, carefully avoiding the cold dew on the grass. Its nose stayed low, buried in a trail of scent, wholly absorbed in whatever story the ground was telling it. 

It hadn’t noticed our track approaching from the opposite direction. Then it lifted its head and found our safari vehicle right in front of it. It froze; ears high, eyes sharp, weighing us up. 

But just as quickly, it decided we weren’t worth the worry. With the confidence only a jackal can carry, it stepped aside and resumed its slow, deliberate sniffing, as if nothing had interrupted its morning mission.  

We pushed deeper into the plains when Jeremy suddenly lifted his binoculars, his posture sharpening with intent. 'There,' he whispered, and the world narrowed to a single point on a distant termite mound — the Siligi Brothers. Three shadows carved against the morning light, eyes locked onto a dazzle of zebras shepherding their fragile foals.  

The shift was subtle at first; a low stalk, a tightening of muscles, then the plains erupted. They broke into a trot, accelerating into a full-speed charge, not toward the zebras but a panicked herd of wildebeest nearby. 

Dust exploded beneath hooves, zebras screamed warnings, and the wildebeest calves became the focus of that lethal sprint. For a moment, the Mara shook; pure instinct, pure chaos and pure survival. 

Then in an instant, silence reclaimed everything. The Siligi Boys stood victorious, each with a prize held between their jaws; not one kill, but two simultaneous takedowns. 

A successful cheetah hunt unfolded as a rare, almost impossible double triumph. The brothers tore urgently into their hard-won meal, aware that vultures were already spiralling down and that every second counted before bigger forces arrived. 

After eating their fill, they walked with authority toward a desert date tree, marked their territory, just like the lions before them, and the cheetahs finally settled under that same Savannah Gardenia, the unofficial five-star lounge for anyone in the Mara with a full belly. —Rio Marvin