This Week at Angama #392

At the edge of the glassy lakes in Amboseli, a fish eagle clutched half a catfish in its talons. Alice, Angama Amboseli Head Guide, watched as the bird adjusted its grip before taking off, wings stretched wide, skimming over the water. The reflection doubled its beauty — power above, power below — a fleeting moment of symmetry that dissolved as quickly as it appeared. 

Not long after, Alice came across a puzzling sight: a wildebeest herd crowding around a pack of hyenas. Usually, herbivores scatter at the hint of predators. But safety comes in numbers, and wildebeest, like many herd animals, will sometimes press in, not out — testing the limits of intimidation. After the hyenas dispersed, the question remained unanswered: was it defiance or curiosity? 

The unusual sightings didn't end there. As they later approached the swamp on their way out of Amboseli National Park, they were met by chaos: a herd of elephants charging out of the swamp at full tilt. No predator was in sight, but their urgency was real. Interestingly, the youngest calf was out front, leading the dash. Perhaps the safest place of all, as it was shielded by a hundred tonnes of panicked mothers and aunts thundering behind. 

August usually signals the end of winter in Amboseli, yet the cool mornings linger. However, by afternoon, the sun presses down, and every creature seeks relief. A zebra was seen rolling in the dust — not lazily but with force, kicking up a cloud of ashy dust. Dust is both shade and shield: cooling the body and covering it with sand that suffocates the tiny pests that make life in the bush itchy business. 

Before leaving the park, they spotted the Sita Bora. These six cheetahs move together, a formidable force in a landscape where solitary hunters usually tread alone. Their name, meaning 'Six Best,' borrows from the legendary Tano Bora coalition of five males in the Mara, famed for their extraordinary teamwork and daring hunts. This coalition may yet write their own story in Amboseli, and this week they were seen thriving, feasting together after a successful hunt, each cub growing stronger under their mother’s watchful eye. 

Back in Kimana Sanctuary, the safari ended with the resident lions. The two males were sprawled in the grass, golden in the afternoon light. For a moment, Male 263 lifted his head, eyes narrowing at the approaching vehicle. Uninterested, he returned to his nap, the rhythm of his breathing syncing with his brother’s. 

But lion politics are rarely so restful. Just a week ago, we spotted an intruder we’ve been following for the past week. The Lion Guardians helped us identify him, and this time, Guide Salash spotted him in the long grass with elephants bearing down on him.

His name is Tuily, and he trekked a very long way from Kitirua plains, which is very close to the Kenyan Tanzanian border. He might have been chased off from his pride and decided to make the long journey in search of new territory. A clash, possibly with the resident males or lionesses, left its mark: a cut on his face, an ear torn, and a bite mark on one of his front limbs. Still, he lingers. The air is thick with the possibility of conflict or alliance — time will decide which. 

In brighter news, the three cubs with Noltulali are looking extremely healthy. The eldest with a full belly wobbled alongside the family, while the younger two indulged in their play fights. Noltulali looks very well-fed, suggesting plenty to share. Memusi, meanwhile, has been conspicuously absent, perhaps taking on the role of hunter while Noltulali guards both litters. Between them, the cubs are thriving. 

Not all meals are so idyllic. The cleanup crew — a bunch of white-backed vultures — were found by Guide Salash circling and tearing into the remains of a kill. Whether left by the lionesses or by Motonyi, the elusive female cheetah. Either way, nothing goes to waste here. 

Motonyi was soon spotted, head high, scanning the horizon. She has learned how to weave a careful path between the lions, avoiding conflict while keeping her hunting grounds fruitful. This quiet mastery allows her to persist here, against the odds. 

The elephants continue their steady trek into the Sanctuary from the Northeast, drawn by the river, which is a consistent source of nourishment. Some families linger, basking in the cool relief and rich grazing. Their presence is a reminder of how this ribbon of water sustains not only elephants, but every life that threads through this landscape during the dry season. -Japheth Supeyo

This week, we encountered the young Owino male lion resting on a termite mound. From his elevated throne,  his golden mane caught the soft glow of the morning sun. He looked intently into the distance, watching a herd of buffalo.  

His amber eyes followed their every movement, patiently waiting. He eventually rose, stretched, and padded away in authority. His path led him to Muuaji, the older male of the coalition, and as the two met, they brushed their manes against one another in a tender gesture of affection and trust, a silent reaffirmation of their bond. 

Unlike most lion coalitions, which are usually formed by brothers born into the same pride, the story of Muuaji and young Owino is one of unusual companionship. Muuaji had taken Owino in as his brother despite their different origins, forging an alliance that defies the typical order of lion society.

Coalitions are crucial in the world of lions, for it is only through unity that males can hold and defend territory, ensuring the survival of future prides. Seeing the two lions walk together, shoulder to shoulder, it felt less like a show of dominance and more like watching an unlikely friendship built on trust, survival, and the comfort of simply not being alone in the wild. 

As we rolled into the edge of Muuaji’s territory, we were surprised to find one of the Nyati boys lounging at Shieni. Now, that was strange — these lions usually keep to their vast turf and don’t bother venturing so close to Muuaji’s backyard. It instantly raised questions: was this a friendly visit, an attempt at expansion, or just a case of a lion deciding to take an unplanned detour?

I couldn’t help but laugh. This big, serious lion was here, unaware that a few sticks had turned him into royalty, with a crown on his head. In that moment, he wasn’t just another male guarding territory; he was a king crowned by Mother Nature herself. 

While walking around the lodge, Arnold, one of Angama’s intern photographers, spotted an African paradise flycatcher fluttering around the camp. Strikingly colourful and elegant medium-sized passerine bird that’s a spectacle to watch. The male, especially during the breeding season, carries long, ribbon-like tail streamers that can extend more than twice the length of its body, while the female is more modest with shorter tails.

These birds are found across woodlands, riverine forests, and gardens, they are masters of aerial acrobatics, darting swiftly to snatch insects mid-flight. They build delicate, cup-shaped nests, carefully bound with spider webs and lined with soft materials, where they lay two to three speckled eggs. Their melodious calls and graceful movements make them one of the most enchanting sights in the African bush. As you walk along the pathway, look up in the trees to find beautiful flycatchers and many other wonderful birds. 

Later in the week, while on a safari drive, we were treated to one of those rare and delicate moments in the wild. The sight of a newborn impala calf, only minutes old and still tucked in, while figuring out the new environment.  

Female impalas usually time their births to align with the rainy season, after a six to seven-month gestation, ensuring plenty of fresh grass to support both mother and calf. What fascinated me most was the instinctive ritual that plays out: the mother will leave the safety of her harem to give birth in solitude, tucking her vulnerable little one away in thick cover where it can remain hidden from predators during those crucial first days of life.

Watching this tiny creature, still damp and unsteady, was humbling to know how quickly life begins in the bush; the calf will soon be suckling, and within hours, even capable of short bursts of speed to escape danger. If the fawn is born when there are few other young around, then the mother will stay with it in seclusion for a few days, or even a week or more, before returning to the herd. If there are many other fawns, she may return her to the herd in a day or two, where a nursery group may form.  

Nursery groups are safer because predators have more difficulty selecting an individual. By around one year of age, males will be forced out of their mothers’ groups and find their place in bachelor herds, while females will often stay close, ensuring the survival and growth of the next generation. Witnessing that story's very first chapter, just minutes after birth, felt like a gift. 

Sammy, one of Angama’s photographers, stumbled upon a dramatic scene. The Silgi males, a powerful coalition of cheetahs, had just brought down a wildebeest and were still on the fresh kill. Their faces, smeared with blood, told the story of both struggle and success, while the air around them buzzed with the raw energy of the hunt.

For a while, the coalition had not been sighted in the Mara Triangle, leaving many to wonder where they had vanished. Now, with bellies to fill and the great herds within reach, they had returned, in this corner of the savannah. 

The timing of their reappearance was no accident. Most of the wildebeest had begun pouring into the Mara Triangle, and like skilled tacticians, the Siligi boys followed the abundance of prey. It’s always fascinating how these coalitions adapt their movements to the rhythm of Migration, disappearing for weeks, only to return when the land is once again teeming with opportunity. -Rio Marvin