Happiness Settles in the Heart of the Maasai Mara

This year, we’re breaking our habit of traveling solo—Yolande wants to improve her wildlife photography skills, something she obviously can’t do with me since I swapped my old Pentax film camera and Beaulieu Super 8 for a pair of Leitz lenses long ago. Since we couldn’t join our friend Max to observe the second-largest migration in Africa—sassabies and other cobs in the vast floodplains and marshes of Gambella National Park in Ethiopia and Boma in South Sudan—we decided to look for a tour operator specializing in the more famous Maasai Mara/Serengeti migration. The International Festival of Montier-en-Der is the perfect place for this kind of encounter, and we met several renowned tour operators and photographers there, including MDH, with whom we hit it off right away. To celebrate our 70th birthdays (already!) and after breaking the bank, we booked with the agency that handles our friend’s business. We flew out on October 5th to Nairobi, where we were greeted by the driver who would accompany us throughout this short stay. His name is Mickaël, he’s Kikuyu, a family man, always smiling, thoughtful, and perfectly fluent in English. At 8:30 AM, after a restful night and a hearty breakfast, we climbed into his large 4x4 for groups of 6 to 8 passengers and set off through the bustling streets of the capital toward the famous Maasai Mara National Reserve, which we had visited before—I came in 1974, and we both returned in 1980. What a long time ago! We don’t recognize anything about the city, its teeming suburbs, the countryside, or even the bush. Traffic is chaotic, and it only gets worse when the road drops along the escarpment, where Mike unilaterally decides on a coffee break near an impressive row of huts painted in the red and white colors of a famous (but addictive, not to mention dreadful) beverage. The landscape is breathtaking near the colossal Rift Valley, with the Longonot volcano to the north and Suswa to the south. By late morning, we enter Narok, the capital of the Maasai people, and around 2:40 PM, we arrive at Sekenani Gate—the adventure begins.

Hello everyone!

we decided to present the 25 pages of my ramblings, complete with Yolande's photos,

What a great idea! 🙂 (Same thing a little later for Zambia? ) I’m happily joining in for the Masai Mara (and a third opinion on this provider...) Muriel

The beginner photographer is also a painter (paintress? paint-dauber? 🤪) with talent. A memory of some finely executed works featured in a previous travel journal...

In that same journal, the beginner photographer admitted to not being very tech-savvy... so might she need some tips on how to insert and display full-size the photos attached as thumbnails? To judge for yourself whether beginner is overused by the modest wordsmith, who, for now, is taking the lion’s share.

Hi Nathalie,

With pleasure—this story is a joint effort, so I’ll handle the photos and Jacky will take care of the text. There might be a slight delay for the photos; I hope that won’t be an issue. I’m waiting for Kola, the technician, to help me insert the photos into the text.

Best regards, Yolande

Hi Muriel,

The photographer is going to try to fix the photo display issue—I think she found a kind soul to help. As for me, I’ve decided that IT is just too complicated for my taste. I’m much more comfortable with "the pen," even if my writing stays simple. So, you’ll need to brace yourself to read all 25 pages! If this first attempt works out, we’ll dive into Zambia next, but it’ll be the same struggle since that text wasn’t originally meant for VF’s columns either. Lockdown has given me time to catch up on updating my latest notes. Ethiopia 2015 and South Africa 2016 then 2017 are on the agenda, but lockdown might not last long enough! I’ll try to present them more as a travel journal than a full narrative, taking inspiration from Régis’s great layout (more like the Masai Mara than the Philippines).

This third installment on the Masai Mara has nothing to do with the previous two, especially in terms of the provider—as you’ll see in the coming days.

Best regards, Jacky.

Hi Kola, A fine demonstration of my computer incompetence. I sent you a first message but it never arrived. What a memory!!! The "paintress"—big word for "amateur painter only"—had taken a bit of a break for over a year and had decided to get back into it. So, she returned to the studio at the beginning of March... great idea. Thank you for offering to help me insert the photos into the text. It’ll actually let me add captions, and maybe it’ll be more readable too. Have a good day. Best regards, Yolande

Hi Yolande,

To display a photo within the text—and thus blend the storyteller’s and illustrator’s talents equally—half the process is already done since the images are visible as attached thumbnails.

When the photo has just been uploaded, a clickable blue banner "Add to text" appears below it. Position the cursor where you’d like to insert the photo in the text, then click that banner. Click "Preview" to check the result: the photo will display in full size. You can add a caption if you like... ...and then carry on with your story. 🙂

Thanks so much, Kola!

We’ll use the first day of the trip to include some photos in our travel journal.

Hi Yolande and Jacky, This is going to be a double pleasure for me to follow this travel journal: First, it’ll let me enjoyably pass my confinement days 😎 Second, it’ll let me dream about what I could have seen and discovered these next two weeks since we had a trip planned to the Maasai Mara 🤪 Thanks to you both

Here we go!

Cattle graze in the area, under the watchful eye of their owners and near wildebeest, zebras, impalas, gazelles, and topi, without disturbing each other—at least, not visibly. Further on, there are elands, a large herd of buffalo, a family of warthogs, elephants in a thicket—there’s never a dull moment. Mickaël is very attentive but not used to photographers’ whims, never stopping exactly where the light and angle are best. Plus, he seems unsure about which direction to take, as we exit the park toward Bushra only to re-enter near a rundown hut and a rusty, twisted barrier where we still have to show our permits, receipts, and passports to grumpy rangers. The herders here are more discreet, staying at the park’s edge, their livestock barely mixing with the many wild animals grazing as far as the eye can see across the rolling plains. You can spot zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, large herds of wildebeest, buffalo wallowing in the marshes, and in the distance, a cluster of Toyotas. As in any African sanctuary, where there’s a crowd, there’s a feline—sure enough, in front of the 12 vehicles parked in a semicircle on the roadside, a cheetah and her four cubs lie about twenty meters from the track. Mom is stoic, clearly used to this, but the little ones stare at the strange machines bothering them with agitation.

Not a fan of this kind of situation, we leave quickly, much to our driver’s surprise, who was waiting his turn to get as close as possible. *Weird folks*, he must be thinking. The vast savanna around us regains its tranquility, as all the tourists in the area rush in for the family photo. That leaves us plenty of time to observe the nearly overlooked thousands of herbivores populating these expanses—mostly wildebeest, zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, hartebeest, and topi.











I like close-up shots.



Cattle graze in the area, under the watchful eye of their owners and near wildebeest, zebras, impalas, gazelles, and topi, without disturbing each other—at least, not visibly. Further on, there are elands, a large herd of buffalo, a family of warthogs, elephants in a thicket—there’s never a dull moment. Mickaël is very attentive but not used to photographers’ whims, never stopping exactly where the light and angle are best. Plus, he seems unsure about which direction to take, as we exit the park toward Bushra only to re-enter near a rundown hut and a rusty, twisted barrier where we still have to show our permits, receipts, and passports to grumpy rangers. The herders here are more discreet, staying at the park’s edge, their livestock barely mixing with the many wild animals grazing as far as the eye can see across the rolling plains. You can spot zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, large herds of wildebeest, buffalo wallowing in the marshes, and in the distance, a cluster of Toyotas. As in any African sanctuary, where there’s a crowd, there’s a feline—sure enough, in front of the 12 vehicles parked in a semicircle on the roadside, a cheetah and her four cubs lie about twenty meters from the track. Mom is stoic, clearly used to this, but the little ones stare at the strange machines bothering them with agitation.



Not a big fan of this kind of situation, we leave quickly, much to our driver’s surprise, who was waiting his turn to get as close as possible. *Weird folks*, he must be thinking. The vast savanna around us regains its tranquility, as all the tourists in the area rush in for the family photo. That leaves us plenty of time to observe the nearly overlooked thousands of herbivores populating these expanses—mostly wildebeest, zebras, Thomson’s gazelles, hartebeest, and topi.

We have a meet-up in the woods where we’ll camp for the night, but Mike doesn’t know the spot, so we drive in circles for a while before spotting the lanky silhouette of MDH’s assistant coming toward us through the tall grass, where three huge buffalo are resting. They bolt at his arrival or the sound of the engine. We follow him through the maze of the gallery forest and end up in a clearing. Our host greets us with the legendary phrase, “Mr. and Mrs. B…, I presume!” He offers us a drink and introduces us to Motoron. A strange nickname for a proud warrior, you might say? His mother named him that because at birth, he was near death and only started living after several “jolts.” He’s about thirty years old, polygamous—more precisely, “trigamous”—with no children but owns a nice herd of cattle. His English is excellent, his face is kind and smiling, and his gaze is sharp. He’s well-regarded, having hunted three lions and is considered an unmatched tracker. He’s a cook, dishwasher, butler, and—as I mentioned earlier—a tracker, but above all, the master of the place since his family owns this patch of land. He’s been guiding our photographer since he was young, so they know each other perfectly. The first contact is friendly, which bodes well for the rest, both with the young man and his elder, whom I’ll describe in a few words since I don’t think he’d want much said about him. He’s a bit younger than us, renowned as one of the best wildlife photographers in the world (the remarkable books he’s made with his wife prove it), a specialist in this area where he’s been working for thirty years—so much so that he’s been named an honorary citizen of Kenya, allowed to go off-track with some restrictions, camp inside the park, and is an expert on this region, like some of his peers. He only hosts two photographers, four or five times a season—one in the morning and one in the evening—which is a dream come true for Yolande, since I didn’t even pack a disposable 12-shot camera. He doesn’t roam the bush looking for scoops or tons of images but focuses on two or three subjects, or even one, per outing, in search of the exceptional shot, since he’s seen and done it all here. Besides the richness of the place, we came to witness the famous Mara crossings that English speakers call “crossings.” The rains have been heavy in the neighboring Serengeti, so the herds are late in starting their wild journey, and we’ll likely miss these poignant but brutal scenes. Oh well—the show promises to be nonstop! Mister M immediately saw we were used to outdoor life but still gives us the usual advice: safety rules and recommendations about the shower and toilets, where besides toilet paper, you need a lighter to dispose of it—I won’t go into detail. Yolande and I will sleep on the roof rack of our 4x4, our host on his, and our Kikuyu and Maasai each under a ground tent. Though the two ethnic groups have stopped fighting and show a cordial understanding, they haven’t reached the point of sharing the same canvas. The old Land Rover, specially equipped for photography (on the driver’s side and through the sunroof), will be for Yol, the student, and her teacher, who’s more interested in people who listen than in those who’ve seen and done it all, as there are many on safari. The other vehicle is for the rest of the team—no crowding, and I love that above all: “happiness settles in”!

While our Kenyan friends set up camp and prepare dinner, the three of us head out to admire the day’s last colors, so characteristic of Africa, and observe the wildlife all around our quarters for a first lesson near a trio of impressive buffalo, then a gathering of hartebeest, zebras, wildebeest, gazelles, and topi getting ready for the night. The images are magical in the sunset, among the dark silhouettes of the acacias. When I say images, I don’t mean those trapped in Canon or Nikon lenses but those my eyes behold. We return at dusk—the temperature is mild, and the atmosphere is delightful. The table is set under the awning, lit by spotlights. We toast to this initiation into the wild, then share an excellent meal: an appetizer, a dish made with lobster pieces (yes!) and shrimp (too bad the chef found the seafood sauce’s aroma unpleasant and threw it out), accompanied by braised vegetables and a great fresh fruit salad. Our host is a gourmet who’s organized his life so he lacks for nothing, even in the heart of the bush.

You’d almost forget you’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wild and dangerous animals—except for Mickaël, for whom this is all new. He’s never slept in a tent, never dined in the bush, let alone in the middle of a park, and I can tell he’s very anxious! For us, everything’s great—we savor our coffee and this first starry night, punctuated by the African serenade dominated by the “Nightnoises”: the hippopotamus’s grunt, the lion’s roar, the jackal’s yip, the birds of prey’s hoots, and especially the hyena’s cackle. To my taste, the crickets’ chirping is missing, but there aren’t any right now. At 10:20 PM, after a “Number One” just steps from the vehicle—you can never be too careful—we climb onto our roof.

Still, a little apprehension for me!

Hi Isabelle,

Glad you're setting off on this long journey to the Masai Mara—it won’t be like Régis’s trip or Claire’s, but unfortunately, it’s no longer possible right now since the "Maître" has left!

Best regards, Jety34.

Good evening Régis,

I see the program was packed this year and largely dedicated to diving. While I was really passionate about the activity, it’s been a long time since I put away my fins, and apart from a few dives in Corsica, my last explorations were ages ago—at Panglao with a French instructor, though certainly not the same one as you. I still remember an exceptional and vibrant drop-off. My best dives were at Sanganeb (1979) off the coast of Port Sudan.

At the end of the year, we’ll have "Masai Mara, the return."

Best regards, Jacky.

Sleep was restorative, though punctuated by frequent awakenings at the slightest rustle and the mesmerizing calls that accompanied them. We opened our eyes around 5:00 AM and left the site after a hearty breakfast—artists on one side, spectators on the other. Day had barely broken, yet six or seven cars were already weaving through the tall grass in search of a hypothetical leopard, whose growl Motoron had heard around midnight near our camp. He pointed out that these vehicles were breaking the rules: to be here so early, they must have left their lodges well before dawn, and worse, they weren’t just off the path—they were combing the terrain to feed an excessive feline addiction, crushing vegetation and possibly the small animals living there. A hyena fled with its characteristic lurching gait, far from the commotion, and we were the only ones to pay it any attention—understandably, since it’s my favorite animal. Our destination was Olare Orok River, the hunting grounds of a cheetah well-known to all visitors. The magnificent male was right on time, but a dozen or so vehicles were already tailing him. He trotted calmly toward a gazelle, which, alerted by the rumble of engines, quickly moved away—no luck this time. I told my friends I didn’t want to linger in this growing crowd and preferred a less prestigious but quieter approach. There’s plenty of that here, since most people barely glance at herbivores (a photo of each species, then it’s all about the Big 5), while *everything* interests me. Luck was on our side: not far away, in an isolated valley, we came across a damalisque mother giving birth. The scene was moving, especially when the baby tried to stand on its wobbly legs. In an hour, it would be able to trot alongside its mother, but it was best not to disturb them too much—we might attract a predator or our guide, who had already drawn a crowd of admirers: 20 or 25 cars, with more arriving! The river was nearly dry, and the few waterholes were occupied by buffaloes wallowing in the mud. A hippo grazed nearby, while eight lions digested their latest meal, stretching, yawning, and cuddling. It was a beautiful scene, even if a bit static, and we were the only ones near this family of sixteen.





Thomson’s gazelle calf

We rejoined our companions, who, after chasing the perfect sunrise shot—like a giraffe’s silhouette against the flaming circle of the sun—had come to this area to observe the felines. A group of elephants, consisting of two adults, two adolescents, and four newborns, moved cautiously on the opposite bank, protecting their young, as the matriarch had surely sensed the presence of predators. Near the spot called “Tiaktiak,” by a flooded stretch, we spotted two magnificent males with long, dark manes—the alphas of the pride—feasting on a wildebeest carcass. A pair of hyenas and a marabou stork waited for an opportunity to snatch a scrap of flesh, skin, or bone.

Overexposed photographic experiment of the lion pride



Around 9:00 AM, after a strong coffee and a handful of biscuits, our crew left us to fetch water for showers and supplies waiting somewhere unknown. We set off on our own to explore an area Mikaël didn’t know well, having only visited a few times before with the agency he works for. No matter—we drove at random, since animals were everywhere, and all of them fascinated us: from the small striped mongooses in the river ravines to the elephants we’d seen earlier, to the hippos wallowing in a black, stinking pool, buffaloes, and other herbivores. The track along the river had been abandoned by tour operators, which we didn’t mind, especially since the wildlife was abundant nearby—giraffes, hippos, lions, elands, and the inevitable zebras, wildebeests, gazelles, and damalisques. It was the amphibious giants that intrigued us most, particularly a baby hippo, a cute pinkish-gray bundle of at least 50 kilos. We wondered how it wasn’t crushed by its relatives, given all the jostling in that tiny waterhole. Every time I see one of these creatures, I’m reminded of a misadventure during our canoe descent of the Zambezi from Chirundu to the Mozambican border, where we came face-to-face with a mother and her newborn. That baby was big but, above all, pink as a pig. We probably owed our safety more to the fact that the little one was sleeping on its mother’s back than to our frantic paddling.

What’s missing is the smell.





Topis on alert

It was nearly noon, and we had to meet up with our friends for lunch. The place was called “Intrepid Picnic Site,” and since Mike didn’t know where it was, it took us a while to find it. The table was set under an acacia tree by the river, whose name I didn’t catch—though for those enchanted by *Out of Africa*, this was the place, or almost! A family of hippos lived in the riverbed, while two enormous crocodiles basked on the opposite bank. Michel noted that these were common specimens and that he’d show us more impressive ones later. I estimated the biggest at 3.52 meters, while my neighbor guessed 3.54—but no one volunteered to settle the bet! The simple, hearty, and pleasant meal was followed by a technical lesson I was excused from, and then a nap—or rather, a moment of relaxation that suited me better.



No corporate speak here

At 3:40 PM, we packed up as a freshening wind pushed heavy gray clouds northward, laden with the long-awaited rains. Motoron took charge, his sharp eyes and unerring instinct, combined with perfect knowledge of the terrain, leading us to Madame Cheetah and her three cubs, about four months old, he explained. No need to venture into the bush—they were less than ten meters away, and we had them all to ourselves. The ancient jalopy (the owner will forgive me for calling it that, but next to the gleaming 4x4s from the lodges, it stands out—you can’t miss it!) naturally had priority to position itself for the best shot and wait for the perfect pose. We gave them space and continued our stroll back to camp, encountering a hyena (a female, our guide thought), a pair of southern ground hornbills (or *bucorves*) searching for their next meal, a herd of elephants, buffaloes, a mixed lion den where we counted fifteen residents lounging in apathetic poses, a secretary bird, more elephants, hippos, a monstrous crocodile in the river, and always a multitude of ungulates.

The Acinonyx gang is plotting something.







Oh, he’s making off with the loot!





Comfort and cuddles.





Just before nightfall, we returned to our quarters. The camp was quickly set up while the chef prepared dinner. He really knew his way around the recipes Chris, our host’s wife, had selected. A merciless critique of the day’s photos followed the delicious meal (whose details I didn’t note—I felt bad for my Titite, but we’d been warned: the professor is uncompromising). Once he’d closed his laptop, we chatted about our lives, Africa, wildlife conservation, and other topics before heading to bed—getting to know each other better. A thought for poor Mikaël, who looked dismayed in front of the unspeakable mess in his tent: it was ruined, and he’d have to share a room with his tent-mate. I think one of them snores, but there are others in the group who do too!

Some gorgeous photos, special mention for the sunset! 🙂

Thanks Jacky for this beautiful post—we’re practically living the adventure with you! ;) I love the little cheetahs; the photos are stunning, Yolande. 🙂

I couldn’t resist those little cheetahs either 😍 ...and reading 25 pages like these is just fine with me 😄. Muriel

Good evening,

Thanks everyone for the compliments on the photos and also for appreciating the text, which is still far from a classic travel journal with practical info (this trip wasn’t really suited to that).

Best regards and see you soon, Jety34.

The lions and hippos roared non-stop, keeping us from sleeping through the night. We got up for breakfast to be ready as soon as the sun rose. To the east, around ten colorful balloons emerged on the horizon for a flyover of the teeming steppe: at least this spectacle was silent and caused no harm to the wildlife or flora, except in case of an emergency landing! For our part, we were spoiled—animals were everywhere in large numbers, and at last, some birds: two yellow-billed storks fishing in a pond, two ground hornbills trotting through the grass, a flock of guinea fowl pecking in front of us, and several little birds I didn’t have time to identify. The highlight was, of course, this jackal mom and her pup, but they bolted as we approached, maybe because we were driving a bit too fast—Motoron had announced that a female leopard was lurking in the forest bordering the Talek River.

Gorgeous sunrise.

We sped toward this hypothetical goal, driving against an endless column of wildebeest. Once again, I noticed that this big cat is the star of the bush, and nothing else matters when its presence is reported somewhere. I kept quiet, knowing the Maasai’s main role is as a tracker, and he was there, aided by his phone and sharp eyesight, scouting for his boss. The stream was sunken and trickled between sandbanks and rocks, our arrival scattering several hyenas, a community of banded mongooses (that’s also the name for the mungo, with lots of youngsters), herds of zebras, and a solitary heron. Only the giraffes weren’t spooked by our truck—especially the two males fighting, one slamming its head into the other’s neck and vice versa. The final round was pretty surprising because it ended with mating: I couldn’t tell if the loser was the one submitting or the other way around. The expert would think like Brennus, the Gallic chief who defeated Rome in 387 BC: “Woe to the vanquished.” News of Cabosso’s presence had alerted the neighborhood, and fifteen to twenty cars suddenly appeared out of nowhere, speeding to line up beside us without daring to move toward the bushes, since we ourselves were stopped on the track. When we decided to leave, some shifted and moved slightly into the tall grass, but the spotted princess had surely slipped deep into the thickets.

This hippo passes right by the car.

Banded mongooses, unfortunately in the grass.





Around 8:30 AM, after a coffee break, MDH decided to head into town—not far, since we were just a stone’s throw from the border—because his engine had suddenly started sputtering. His lieutenant went with him, which would give him a chance to check if his wives were in good shape (something he should already know, since when he’s not tracking or chatting with his teammate or me, he’s on the phone—the bill must be steep). The main subject for photographers that early morning was a colony of hyenas living nearby in a den overlooking a marshy area lined with reeds. Yolande, knowing I’m a huge fan of hyenids, especially the spotted one called *crocuta*, offered to take me there, but they’d either moved or were snoozing underground. In the plain, we spotted a cheetah—two cars were already on-site, but they gave us the spot. The animal’s muzzle was covered in blood, and it was panting; it had just caught its prey and torn off a bite or two but wasn’t at ease, constantly looking behind it. It wasn’t us or the African and white-backed vultures perched in the trees that worried it, but a lioness prowling on a ridge to our left. She’d no doubt witnessed the hunt and was thinking of scoring a free meal. She sauntered over confidently toward the bush where our sprinter had taken refuge. The cheetah stood up and slunk away, dejected. I think she was sneaky because she paid no attention to the carcass and kept following our poor cheetah, who picked up the pace. She, in turn, sped up, but in this game, she lacked speed and eventually gave up the chase, disappearing into a dip in the terrain. Maybe she’d have preferred some feline on her menu instead of gazelle? Jackals took advantage of the confusion to snatch a piece but had to step aside for the many scavengers waddling around this meager feast.

Nervous cheetah—she spots a lioness.

The intruder chases her off without taking her prey.

Now everyone helps themselves!



We headed toward Freeman Camp via the acrobatic and steep crossing of a *wadi*, where a magnificent lioness was strutting. We arrived a little before noon, and Michel and his guard welcomed us: the engine wasn’t coughing anymore, but its owner was—thanks to excessive cigarette use. We quickly left the reception area to settle in the bush for a snack and a first shower at the back of the truck, just before a heavy downpour and deafening thunder. Dressed in new clothes, I drew admiration from Motoron, who joked, “You look like a British!” Comparing me to an Englishman—hard to take, even if, far from their gloomy island, they’re said to be better-mannered than the French!

Jacky’s favorite animal.

At 2:30 PM, without the chief mechanic (who was under the hood), we set off to explore a soggy black-soil area locally called *Black Cotton*. Driving wasn’t easy, and our big truck lurched sideways, skidded, stalled, but kept going thanks to its power. Elephants at the edge of the woods rolled in this mud wallow, their clumsy antics delighting us—but they were too far for a photo, even a souvenir shot. “It won’t turn out well,” Yolande told me! We settled for our eyes and binoculars—no problem for me!

First encounter with lechwe antelopes near their habitat, since the river was just a stone’s throw away. This beautiful antelope supposedly enjoys a privileged status with predators because its meat tastes like mud—apparently, you can be a carnivore and still have refined tastes. On the horizon, at the end of a vast flat expanse teeming with thousands of animals, we kept seeing the same ones, but today, we also had a multitude of impalas—especially bachelor groups—and herds of elephants with lots of babies. I think the snorer was Mike, because our Maasai didn’t want to end the trip in his company. That’s why we made a detour to his village, where he had a backup tent.

He’s had his fill of Amarula!



Little topi family.

Lechwe in the rain.

Hunting party.

Around 5:00 PM, we reached an airstrip near Hippo Pools, entirely covered in *pistia* or water lettuce. A rich birdlife—herons, ibises, egrets, Egyptian geese, Gambian geese, hamerkops—shared the area with hippos, whose heads, adorned with little green rosettes, were all you could see. Definitely a great photo subject! We caught up with Michel and followed him on a track turned into an ice rink.

Miss Hippo!





At 6:25 PM, we arrived at our campsite on the high bank of an oxbow lake of the Mara—barely twenty meters separated us from a female elephant and her newborn, which she was cuddling and washing with the murky water. The site was stunning, the meal excellent, and the clearing sky enchanting as soon as Simba (lion) and Fisi (hyena) began their unmistakable calls. Setting up the tent—tiny as it was—was a real puzzle for Mikaël, but luckily, a kind soul came to his rescue. What followed was an interesting and surprising discussion about Michel’s plans (we’ll keep the subject quiet), as well as his encounters—sometimes enriching, sometimes unbearable.

Unforgettable sunset.

Hello,

Thanks, Jacky and Yolande, for that beautiful four-hand concert. I enjoy the text as much as the images, so I’m waiting for the next part to wander a bit more with you—provided the text and images keep up! What impatience!

PS: Could you DM me the name of your local operator? Infinite thanks, as vast as the southern sky’s vault. I know I’m sucking up!