This Week at Angama #408

Kimana Sanctuary has been wrapped in cold, misty mornings that melt into scorching afternoons, a pattern that often signals a seasonal shift. By midday, that calm gives way to blazing sunlight, transforming the open savannah into a shimmering heatscape.

This strong contrast, known as a diurnal temperature range, is fed by the Sanctuary’s lush pockets of vegetation, dew-laden grass, and cooling night breezes. The ecosystem feels poised for change, and the wildlife seems to sense it too. 

Among the first to announce this shift are the colourful newcomers gracing our skies, the white-fronted bee-eaters. Their constant chatter, courtship flights, and bursts of colour are captivating to watch as their emerald wings, warm chestnut chests, and bright foreheads catch the light as they flit between perches.

These aerial acrobats are masters of mid-air hunting, plucking bees and wasps with precision. Before eating a bee, they grip the insect tightly and tap it against a branch to disarm the sting.

What makes these bee-eaters truly captivating, though, is their social world. They live in bustling colonies, all working in cooperation. Helpers, siblings, older offspring, even non-relatives, assist breeding pairs by feeding chicks, guarding burrows, and sounding alarm calls.

On an evening safari, Guide Sabore and guest Sylvia were treated to a rare sighting of an African crested porcupine, Africa’s largest rodent. It fans out its quills in a rustling warning when it feels threatened.

Despite their spiky armour, porcupines are gentle night-time foragers, nibbling on roots, fruits, bark, and tubers, and living in lifelong pairs that raise their soft-quilled porcupettes together in long-used burrows.

Meanwhile, amongst the lions, Noltulali and her daughters offered a warm and reassuring sight this week. After a couple of days of looking, we finally caught up with them, bellies round and full, sprawled lazily in their playground after what must have been a successful hunt.

Noltulali has been diligently babysitting and took the opportunity to slip off for a moment of peace and recovery in the shade. The young females bounced around with the energy only well-fed cubs can muster. The males, however, remained elusive; all we found were their fresh tracks heading toward the Mnara, perhaps on their way for a drink? 

Another splash of colour lit up the landscape this week with the Northern Carmine Bee-eater. Few birds match its vivid carmine plumage and turquoise-blue wings, a combination that seems almost painted by hand.

These bee-eaters are specialists of the skies, performing elegant dives to snatch termites and other flying insects, repeatedly returning to branches. Their arrival coincides with the bursts of termite activity triggered by the showers. Migrants like these birds rely heavily on these emergences, making them one of the Sanctuary’s most dependable indicators.

And finally, Motonyi has given us a new mystery to follow. A few days ago, we watched her attempt a hunt, moving with the focus and determination she’s quickly becoming known for. By evening, she vanished into the thickets, and since then, our tracking efforts have come up empty.

Such disappearances can mean only a handful of things, and one possibility fills us with hope: she may be searching for, or has already found, a secluded birthing den. As a first-time mother, this next chapter of her journey will be one of instinct, caution, and deep transformation. All we can do now is wait and watch, letting her write her own story in her own time. —Jay Supeyo 

An early morning safari, this week started with a hyena family. While the rest of the clan were out searching for food, one female hyena stayed behind to babysit the rest of the cubs as they tumbled around her, practising the social skills that they’ll need to survive.

Although distractions surrounded her, you could tell how alert she was with every rustle in the bushes made her lift her head, ready to act on instinct. 

In hyena society, females are the leaders, being larger, stronger, and more dominant than the males. They raise the young, protect the den and dictate the rhythm of the clan. The males, on the other hand, rarely participate in childcare; their role is situated on the edges of the clan, while the females drive the family forward.

At the hippo pool, the morning calm broke long before it arrived. Two young hippos had seized the spotlight, their massive bodies rolling and surging through the shallow water. What first looked like playful splashing turned out to be a sparring session, a rehearsal for the real battles that define hippo life. 

They lunged at each other with open jaws, pushing and twisting as if each needed to prove a point. It wasn’t actual aggression, not yet. Instead, it was practice, instinctive preparation for the territorial fights that would determine their mate and place in the hierarchy.  

As the sun was getting hotter, Guide Jeremy lifted his binoculars to a lone lioness draped across the massive branches of a baobab tree. Tree-climbing lions aren’t a common sight, so to see a full-grown female perched comfortably above the ground felt almost unreal.

From her vantage point, you could see her enjoying the deep relief of the shade, and from the relentless flies below, it was the perfect position to scan the plains for potential prey.  

The landscape is transforming to a deeper shade of gold as temperatures begin to rise. It has been three weeks without a drop of rain in the Mara, and every creature is beginning to feel the weight of the dry season settling in.

At one of the remaining seasonal waterholes, we saw a small elephant calf pressed tightly into the shade of her mother, seeking relief from the relentless heat. The herd gathered around them and moved slowly, conserving energy. The adults, coated in dried mud, use the little moisture left to cool their bodies and protect their skin. Even in these harsh conditions, the elephants remain calm and connected; the herd waits patiently, instinctively for the skies to break open again.

Another morning, we watched a southern ground hornbill locked in a patient battle with a tiny lizard that had outsmarted danger by squeezing into a crack of a dead log. The hornbill tried every angle; stabbing, probing, circling its long beak, tapping determinedly at the wood. But the lizard held its ground, hidden deep in a pocket too tight for fate to reach. Eventually, the hornbill gave up and strutted off in dignified defeat. 

Later that afternoon, luck balanced the scales. We came across another southern ground hornbill proudly carrying a frog, its well-earned prize. Every hunt is a gamble, and every outcome tells a story. —Arnold Omondi