This Week at Angama #423

Early morning this week in Kimana Sanctuary, the grass still heavy with dew, the silence carried tension. A pair of jackals stood alert, ears sharply tuned, each movement calculated.

Along the airstrip, the pair weaved through the tall grass as if tracing an invisible boundary. Patrol is survival here, a routine of territory, instinct, and hunger. A flicker in the grass, a careless movement from prey, that’s all it takes. Until then, they moved on, silent and steady, part of the landscape yet always searching.

Whilst driving to Amboseli National Park, the transformation brought by recent rains was clear. What was once dry and harsh now breathes with life, and in that life, the young are beginning to take their place.

Under a wide acacia canopy, giraffe calves move with a mix of curiosity and caution. Their long legs are still finding themselves, their necks swaying as they learn the language of balance. Two lean into each other, gentle contact, a quiet exchange that speaks of bonding, of trust built early in life. Around them, the rest of the herd holds structure.

In the background, zebras graze undisturbed, a reminder of coexistence between different species sharing the same space, reading the same signals, responding to the same environment. It’s a living network, subtle but deeply connected.

What stands out most is the number of calves everywhere you look. It means the rains came at the right time, food is available, and the mothers are strong enough to raise them. There’s something powerful about witnessing this stage of the circle of life, before the hardships fully set in, before the tests of drought, predators, and time. Right now, it’s growing. It’s learning. It’s potential.

Midweek in the Sanctuary, a quieter presence revealed itself through the tall green grass.

Lesser kudu listen before they move, relying more on hearing than sight. Their large, radar-like ears turn constantly, catching the smallest sound. Stripes and shadow work together, breaking up their outline until they blend into the thicket.

Their instinct is to stay still — and often, that’s enough. When it isn’t, they disappear in long, effortless bounds. Unlike many antelopes of the open plains, they prefer cover, bushland, and places where visibility is limited.

Here in the Sanctuary, sightings remain special. Only a small number move within this landscape. It’s not a population you take for granted. The habitat is holding, the conditions are right, and with time, there’s hope their numbers will grow.

On the other side of the Sanctuary, Guide Salash spotted Noltulali and the three cubs, resting high on a dry, fallen tree, with the vast backdrop of Kilimanjaro watching over them.

The dead branch has become their favourite resting place, a perfect vantage point. From here, Noltulali keeps watch. The cubs, still learning, mirror Noltulali's posture and behaviour as they climb, balance, and observe. It’s play, but it’s also preparation. For the cubs, this is a classroom. For Noltulali, it’s a strategy.

In the flow of a water stream, a terrapin lay half-submerged, resting on a rock, absorbing the warmth of the sun. These small freshwater turtles spend much of their time basking, regulating body temperature and supporting digestion. At the slightest disturbance, they slip back beneath the surface, disappearing almost instantly. When not resting, they move through the water, feeding on a mix of aquatic plants, insects, and small invertebrates.

Fischer’s lovebirds have chosen a tree right next to the Lodge as their new home. This week, we watched them build their nest in small, quick movements — flying out and returning with strips of bark or grass, each piece carefully selected and placed. What looks chaotic from a distance becomes precise up close, the pair working closely together, the female often tucking nesting material into her feathers to carry several pieces at once.

The structure of the tree matters: forks, cavities, and tight branch networks give stability and concealment. The pair works closely together, reinforcing their strong bond.

When one gathers material, the other arranges it. It’s cooperation at its simplest and most effective. There’s also timing behind it. Building now means preparing for breeding when conditions are right, now that food is available and the environment can support the next generation. —Arnold Omondi

Before every game drive, Angama’s seasoned Guides always ask one simple question: What is at the top of your wish list? More often than not, the answer is the same: leopards. Elusive, shy, and masters of concealment, they are perhaps the most sought-after sighting in the Mara. For Ashti Persaud, a returning guest to Angama Mara visiting with her family for the third time, the leopard had remained just out of reach. Despite two previous visits filled with incredible wildlife, this particular dream had yet to be fulfilled.

Leopard sightings can be fleeting, sometimes lasting only moments before the cat melts back into the shadows. Luck plays its part, but so does persistence. And while we know a few individuals who tolerate human presence and reward patience, finding them is never guaranteed.

After two days of searching, time was running out. Yet, the safari had already delivered in abundance: remarkable encounters with the Siligi cheetah brothers, herds of elephants, hippos, crocodiles, hyenas, lions, and even black rhinos. Still, the leopard remained missing from the list. Determined to make the most of their final opportunity, the family set out with a picnic lunch, committing to a long drive across the Triangle.

To make things even more challenging, the recent rains have transformed the landscape with lush, green, tall grass. Leopards favour areas with good tree cover, and in such terrain, the search becomes even more demanding.

Attention turned upward, scanning trees where they often rest, survey their territory, or stash their kills away from scavengers. Guide Alfred Shungur searched tirelessly, binoculars sweeping across every promising tree, every shaded edge, every rise in the landscape. Across waterways, through luggas, and over rolling hills, the search continued. Hope lingered — after all, there is such a thing as third time lucky.

Then, as they cut through an opening in the Nyumba Nane hills, a familiar silhouette appeared in a lone sausage tree. There he was, the Salt Lick male — one of the most relaxed and photogenic leopards in the Triangle. Time seemed to slow as Ashti captured frame after frame, finally witnessing the animal that had eluded her for so long.

A fallen elephant in the savannah is never just the end of one life; it is the beginning of a powerful chain of events. For predators and scavengers, this is a signal for an opportunity too great to ignore. A carcass of this size becomes a rare and valuable feast, capable of sustaining multiple species for days.

When we arrived, the Egyptian Pride had already taken possession of the carcass. Bellies full and spirits high, the younger members of the pride seemed almost overwhelmed by the sheer abundance before them. Cubs climbed atop the massive body, playfully exploring and even resting on it.

For them, it was both a meal and an experience, a moment of plenty in a world often defined by effort and uncertainty. But such abundance rarely goes uncontested. In the days that follow, the scent of the carcass will carry far across the plains, drawing in a host of scavengers. Hyenas, vultures, and other opportunists will inevitably arrive, each eager to claim their share. And with them come tension, growls in the night, circling shadows overhead, and the constant threat of confrontation. For now, the Egyptian Pride holds control. Eventually, in the heat of the day, the balance will shift, and the carcass will become a stage for the raw, aggressive interactions between scavengers.

While the Egyptian Pride made the most of their unexpected windfall, the Purungat Pride was also enjoying the success of their own, feeding on a freshly killed buffalo alongside one of the Inselberg males. These males are seldom seen, as they move fluidly between the Triangle and the Greater Mara, making their appearances all the more special.

As part of the pride fed, other members moved through the surrounding area. Tension rose when a wandering hyena crossed the path of the lions. Two lionesses immediately took interest, quietly closing in and cornering the hyena within a thicket. It was a brief but intense burst of movement, snarls, and the unmistakable wails of the trapped hyena echoing from the bushes.

Just as quickly as it began, the encounter ended. Against the odds, the hyena managed to escape, emerging shaken but unharmed from the ambush. It was a fortunate outcome, as such encounters can easily turn fatal, especially if male lions are involved, as they are far less tolerant and often unforgiving toward intruding scavengers. —Robert Sayialel