This Week at Angama #410

As we usher in the new year under generous skies with widespread rains sweeping across the Mara, we watch as it breathes new life back into the long-thirsty land. The parched plains are slowly turning green, dust is settling, and seasonal streams are beginning to flow once more. With every downpour, the landscape is renewed, bringing relief to wildlife, replenishing grazing grounds, and setting the stage for a vibrant start to the year ahead.

This week, a new year also brought new life for this young giraffe. Giraffe calves enter the world in dramatic fashion, dropping nearly two metres to the ground at birth. Within minutes, however, they begin the remarkable process of standing — an essential skill in a landscape where predators are ever-present. Within an hour, most calves can walk, and soon after, they can run alongside their mothers.

Born just a few days ago, this calf was still wobbly on its long, unsteady legs. It followed closely behind its mother, awkwardly splashing its hooves through a shallow, muddy stretch that she had expertly leapt across moments before. In these early days, every movement is a lesson. The calf learns where to place its hooves, how to keep pace, and how to navigate the world one step at a time, guided by a mother whose experience ensures survival.

With at least four large herds of buffalo roaming the Mara Triangle, the region’s top predators are compelled to take on these formidable adversaries to sustain themselves and their cubs. With high-risk and high-reward, buffalo hunts are typically attempted only by large, well-coordinated prides. The Egyptian Pride, which dominates the heart of the Triangle, has the numbers and coordination required to challenge this incredibly fierce big game.

In the current cooler weather brought on by the rains, we encountered the Pride resting in an open ground in the middle of the day, far from any shade. One by one, the lions rose from a light midday slumber, stretching their spines and scanning the plains. Unbeknownst to a nearby group of resting ‘dagga boys’, danger was already closing in.

Using the cover of silence and precise teamwork, one lion crept to within touching distance, startling the massive buffalo from their rest. Realising too late that they were surrounded, the herd erupted into panic, thundering across the plains. As the chase unfolded, one buffalo faltered, and the lions swiftly isolated it from the group, exactly the opportunity they needed.

Outnumbered, the struggling buffalo was set upon from all sides. The lions took turns latching onto its flanks and rump, using their combined weight to destabilise it. A fully-grown buffalo can weigh over 600 kilograms, and it often takes several lions hanging on at once to bring such an animal down. Through coordinated effort and relentless pressure, the Pride eventually forced the giant to the ground.

Still wary of the buffalo’s deadly horns, some lions focused on disabling it from behind, digging into its back and attempting to immobilise it. In a dramatic turn, the buffalo summoned a final surge of strength and struggled back onto its feet, triggering another chaotic dance of survival. Lions distracted it from the front while others leapt onto its back, inflicting further damage and steadily draining its strength.

After repeated attempts, the buffalo’s resistance finally gave way. Weakened by exhaustion and the sheer weight of its attackers, it collapsed once more. This time, the lions ensured it was fully subdued before settling in to feed.

An elephant bull in musth is a truly awe-inspiring sight. Surging with testosterone, these giants command the savannah, their presence undeniable. On occasion, we encounter them having claimed the road itself, leaving us with little choice but to reverse and wait patiently until the bull decides to yield and move on.

On this particular encounter, the bull had been steadily advancing toward a small group of females, driven by his search for a receptive cow in oestrus. His trunk, remarkably sensitive and endlessly flexible, swept the ground where the herd had passed, tracing their footsteps and searching for the faintest chemical hint of fertility left behind. Every movement spoke of focus and intent.

Within the group, another male was also in musth. He, too, had been circling the females, testing the air and ground in his own search. When his efforts proved fruitless, his attention shifted to the approaching bull. With testosterone levels peaking, the two males quickly locked eyes and began to size each other up, engaging in a tense standoff.

Heads held high, ears spread wide, they assessed strength, size, and resolve before deciding whether to commit to a full-bodied clash. Often, these confrontations are settled before a single blow is exchanged. A subtle shift, a pause too long, or a step backwards is enough for one bull to concede, retreating to avoid the risk of serious injury.

Towards the Maji Machafu area, we encountered the Maji Machafu Pride in the early hours of the morning, just after a night of heavy downpour. The landscape was fresh and glistening, the grass still wet, and the ground soft with mud. At the heart of the scene were four cubs, one noticeably larger than the others, all fully immersed in playful chaos. They wrestled, pounced, and tumbled over one another, their joy unmistakable as they splashed through the damp grass.

Close by, one of the females kept a vigilant watch, her calm presence allowing the cubs the freedom to play while remaining alert to any potential danger. Moments like these are vital for young lions, as play builds strength, coordination, and social bonds that will later shape their roles within the pride.

As the morning unfolded, the female began to call softly, low and purposeful. From the surrounding cover, other pride members slowly revealed themselves, answering her summons. Almost instantly, the cubs responded to her cue. Their playful energy gave way to obedience as they gathered close, falling into line beside her. Together, the Pride moved off through the rain-washed landscape, the cubs trotting to keep up as they rejoined the rest of their family. - Robert Sayialel

On a quiet, short walk along the pathways leading toward the Guest Suites, a small, almost easily missed moment unfolded at my feet. Resting lightly on a blade of grass were two ‘skimming bluets' — delicate, narrow-winged damselflies — locked together in a mating embrace known as in copula. In this posture, their slender bodies curved toward one another, forming a near-perfect heart, a fleeting symbol etched in blue against the green.

Damselflies are masters of subtle beauty. Their wings, held closed like fine glass panes, shimmered as the light shifted, revealing soft washes of blue that seemed to have been painted rather than grown. The heart shape they formed was no coincidence — evolution has shaped this precise connection to ensure successful mating. These insects are indicators of healthy wetlands, their presence speaking softly of clean water and balanced habitats.

During a recent encounter, I watched a bull elephant resting in the quiet of the day. What struck me most wasn’t the sheer size of this gentle giant, but the way it used its trunk even in sleep. Unlike when they’re awake, lifting branches, pulling down trees, or delicately picking up some fruit, the trunk at rest seemed to melt toward the ground, almost like a soft, flexible stand supporting the elephant’s stillness. It bent and relaxed in ways you rarely see when the animal is active.

It’s wildly fascinating to think about how elephants start life with trunks they barely control. Calves spend weeks just learning to lift it, bend it, and explore the world through it. They throw it around, tug at leaves, and seem endlessly curious about how it works. Over time, those early clumsy experiments turn into astonishing mastery: they can manipulate the tiniest objects or wield the trunk’s full strength to move trees.

Seeing a sleeping bull reminded us that the trunk is not just a tool — it’s a living, evolving extension of the elephant itself. In sleep, it surrenders its strength and complexity, folding gently to the earth.

As we wandered through the Sanctuary with Guide Leshan, following the soft trails of the Kimana pride, we stumbled upon a heartwarming scene that spoke volumes about memory, safety, and the subtle rhythms of the wild. The three growing lionesses had returned to a place deeply etched in their lives: the very spot where they were born.

Perched atop a fallen tree, the trio sat close together, alert yet relaxed, eyes scanning the surroundings as if keeping watch over one another. This was more than just a perch; it was their safe haven, a place that had nurtured them since birth. For these cubs, that log was a symbol of trust, the kind of trust that develops over weeks of tender maternal care. Here, they had learned that no matter where the mothers ventured, they would always return with sustenance, and the world beyond this spot was never quite so daunting.

Watching them brought a wave of nostalgia. This is the same tree we first spotted them on months ago, when they were just tiny, clumsy bundles of fur discovering the world. Now, they had grown, but the essence of that memory—the safety, the warmth, the certainty—remained unshaken. It’s a small but powerful reminder of how wildlife, much like us, is tethered to spaces that nurture trust and security.

The following day revealed another layer to the story of the Pride. Not far from their familiar maternal spot, Male 263 lay sprawled in an open clearing, utterly relaxed, his presence unmissable. From a distance, he watched—quietly, deliberately, as the cubs remained near their safe haven and the females moved off in search of nourishment. Though he appeared at ease, his role was anything but passive.

This kind of paternal involvement is often understated in the wild, yet it is deeply significant. By holding ground and keeping rival males at bay, M263 creates space for the females to hunt and return, reinforcing the very trust the cubs associate with their maternal spot. It is this unseen thread of protection that allows memory and safety to coexist.

Together with Noltulali and the rest of the pride, he has become part of a shared responsibility, each member contributing in their own way to the raising of three young lionesses.

The short but heavy rains that have been sweeping across the Amboseli ecosystem have transformed Kimana Sanctuary almost overnight. What was once dusty and subdued has burst into a green haven, fresh pastures, soft grasses, and the unmistakable scent of renewal. And with this change came movement.

Elephant families have begun streaming in from Amboseli National Park and the surrounding conservation areas, responding instinctively to the promise of water and food. Their arrival has been gradual yet unmistakable, marked by large herds, tightly bonded family units, and many young calves moving cautiously in the shadow of their mothers. This seasonal shift is a familiar rhythm here, one we’ve witnessed in previous years, as the rains at this time of year redraw the map of opportunity across the landscape.

The same rains that have greened the Sanctuary and drawn in elephants have also awakened life at a much smaller scale. With ponds and temporary pools forming along roads and low-lying areas, conditions have been perfect for terrapins to hatch. Fresh water now dots the landscape, offering these tiny reptiles their first chance at survival.

It was at one of these puddled stretches that we encountered a moment easy to miss if you weren’t paying close attention. A tiny terrapin, so fresh it looked as though it had only just emerged, popped out of a small pond on the road, clearly startled by our sudden presence. For a brief second, it froze, wide-eyed, as if trying to understand why the world had suddenly changed.

Fortunately, we saw him in time. A quick word to the Guide, a gentle shift to the side, and we gave him the space he needed. With quiet determination, the little terrapin made his way toward another nearby pool, disappearing into the safety of water that will sustain him for now. -Jay Supeyo