This Week at Angama #411

This week, Mother Nature truly put us to the test, reminding us that when she takes, she can also give. As we are still processing the news of Super Tusker Craig’s death, Motonyi revealed her long-awaited surprise. One evening, after the guides finally discovered her den, she emerged with her three tiny furballs in tow. Watching them tumble across the hillside, scrambling over rocks, chasing and playing with one another, was nothing short of magical.

For the longest time, we had waited, wondering if Motonyi had truly given birth, and this moment became a testament to hope and patience.

Now, excitement fills the air as we look forward to watching how Motonyi will nurture, teach, and raise her cubs. True to her instincts, she has done her homework. Motonyi has explored nearly every inch of Kimana Sanctuary, staying in countless spots, learning where danger may lie — lions, hyenas, and other threats to her young. It is no coincidence that she chose to settle on the northern hills.

Her chosen den is perfectly placed. Perched among rocky outcrops atop a gentle hill, she has commanding views over the grasslands below. From the boulders, she can scan the plains in every direction. The grass never reaches the hill itself, leaving a wide, open buffer where nothing can approach unseen. Any danger reveals itself long before it draws near, giving her the precious advantage of time—to move, to hide, to protect.

We had set out early, the kind of early where the world is still holding its breath. With Guide Jeremy at the wheel, we had our very first sighting to begin the day: a delicate little swift perched neatly on a stick, catching the first hints of warmth.

Still shaking off the night, it stretched into one of the biggest yawns we’ve ever seen — a moment that earned knowing smiles from everyone in the vehicle. We were all up early, equally curious about what the day might offer.

Not far from there, a flock of ostriches came into view, scattered across the plains with Kilimanjaro standing watch behind them. The Sanctuary simply never disappoints. -Jay Supeyo

Buffalo and hippo sit high on the lions’ menu in the Triangle, and this week the Egyptian Pride proved just how formidable they are. After gorging themselves on a successful buffalo kill last week, the Pride turned their attention to an even more dangerous target, a hippopotamus.

Hippos are most vulnerable in the early morning hours, when they lumber back toward the river after grazing through the night. It is during this brief window that lions seize their chance. Working together, the Pride surrounded their massive target, each lion taking turns piling on weight, overwhelming the hippo through sheer numbers, much as they had done with the buffalo.

As the sun climbed higher and the heat began to press down on the plains, the scene slowly changed. One by one, the lions abandoned the kill, retreating toward patches of shade beneath nearby orange-leaved croton shrubs. Bellies full and energy spent, they sought rest from the growing heat. As always, one unfortunate lioness was left behind, tasked with the thankless job of guarding the carcass.

Each time she attempted to retreat toward shade, jackals bickered and darted closer, while vultures hovered and hopped around the carcass, ever ready to rush in. Their boldness forced her to turn back repeatedly, her heavy, full stomach dragging as she charged the scavengers away. It became a tiring back-and-forth dance replayed again and again under the unforgiving sun.

The stalemate finally shifted when a male lion appeared, trotting purposefully into the scene. His imposing presence immediately commanded respect, scattering the scavengers and claiming the carcass without challenge. Late to the feast, he first settled down to rest beside it, conserving energy before feeding. For the jackals and vultures, it meant a long, anxious wait, one that would only end once the king himself had eaten his fill.

Toward the northern reaches of the Triangle lay the carcass of another hippopotamus. This one was not brought down by predators but rather died from unknown causes. For days it lay exposed beneath the sun, strangely unnoticed by the River Pride and even most scavengers. Over four days, the immense body swelled steadily, bloating with trapped gases until it looked ready to burst.

When we returned days later, the change was impossible to miss. Long before the carcass came into view, the overpowering stench announced that the lions had finally discovered it. By then, the flesh had rotted beyond what even these resilient predators could stomach. The two lionesses present made only tentative attempts to feed, chewing at patches of skin that still appeared marginally usable, carefully avoiding the worst of the decomposed mass.

In the wild, not every carcass becomes a feast. Decomposition can advance quickly in the heat, and even apex predators are selective, avoiding meat that could make them sick. The carcass will still play an important role in the ecosystem, eventually nourishing insects and the soil itself. What could not sustain the lions would, in time, be reclaimed by the smaller life forms that quietly keep the savannah in balance.

As the hippo debacle unfolded, the Maji Machafu Pride, with its lively cubs in tow, were walking along the Mara River during the cooler morning hours. The scene was full of youthful energy, sub-adults and young cubs leapt onto one another in mock battles, tumbling and chasing with enthusiasm. The pride commanded a 'Do not alight' spot near the river, reminding visitors that this is their turf.

Amid the chaos and play, a more serious ritual was quietly underway. A mating pair within the pride was focused on ensuring the next generation. After resting briefly, the lioness rose and began to walk, the male immediately following close behind. With low growls and focused intent, the pair initiated the mating process, their vocalisations drawing the attention of the rest of the pride.

In the northern reaches of the Triangle close to Kichwa Tembo, a shy leopard had hoisted her kill high into the branches of a tree, safely stashed away from scavengers below. True to her elusive nature, she remained wary of the onlookers who lingered, quietly hoping she would return to her meal.

Patience and respectful distance eventually paid off, and she re-emerged and began her ascent, muscles flowing effortlessly as she climbed. From her perch, she paused to scan her surroundings, alert to every sound and movement, before settling in for another unhurried feeding session.

Once satisfied, she descended just as gracefully, her powerful claws gripping the rough bark as she made her way down with practised ease. With her stash safely secured high above the reach of scavengers, she slipped back into the shadows, confident that she could return later to feed again.

At Maji Machafu, another leopardess lay quietly basking in the morning sun, constantly turning her head as she scanned every angle of her surroundings. Recent reports suggested she had been seen with two new cubs, making her focus and caution all the more understandable. In the distance, a dazzle of zebra grazed peacefully, unaware they were being watched from afar.

We settled in for our morning picnic breakfast, keeping a careful eye on the area where we had last seen her. Then, as if on cue, the zebras began drifting in her direction. Like a ghost, the leopardess melted into the grass, vanishing almost completely. Only moments later, her head reappeared ever so slightly, positioned perfectly along the path the zebras were about to take, with nothing more than a small tree offering cover.

With bated breath, we watched as the dazzle passed close to the crouched predator. One by one, they moved past, and it was clear she was waiting for the perfect moment, targeting a foal rather than an adult, whose powerful kicks and bites make them far more dangerous prey. Then, in a split second, the stillness shattered.

The zebras exploded into a frantic run, and through the tall grass we caught glimpses of a stationary young foal gripped firmly in the jaws of a seasoned hunter. Seconds later, the foal lay upside down, the kill swift and decisive.

In the chaos that followed, the dazzle split in two. The mother of the foal ran back, circling wide and calling desperately for her young, carefully avoiding where the ambush had occurred. There was no reply. Death had come so quickly that we barely had time to process what we had witnessed.

Such is the precision and efficiency of a leopard in the wild. With her prize secured, the leopardess dragged the carcass away from prying eyes, ensuring a vital meal, likely for herself and her hidden cubs. -Robert Sayialel