A Brief Kenyan Migration

It sounds unfair, but on this trip Kenya is a means to an end as we traverse east from Uganda into Tanzania. But for my wife, Jess, Kenya will always be a special place. She spent a month here in 2007 on project work helping to construct school buildings. She also reminds me that she almost lost a finger whilst peeling a yam with a machete. She seems strangely proud of both of these Kenyan achievements. 

We enter the country via the eastern Malaba border with Uganda by car. Our first impression is not the best, the border is mayhem and we are told by our border agent that life will be easier if we offer a bribe to help get us through. From what we can understand the bribe prevents our car and luggage from being searched from top to bottom, so the £5 cost is a frustratingly acceptable alternative. We completely disagree with it, but it’s sadly still all too common in many parts of Africa. 

We travel on to Kisumu, a large town on the edge of Lake Victoria. We stay in a surprisingly western hotel, getting our first reminder of home after three weeks on the road. Generally, the beds up until this point on our travels through Uganda have ranged on a scale from hard to solid, but as I lie supine on the large king bed in Kisumu I realise just how much I’ve missed the cushioned mattresses I’ve become accustomed to. It’s probably no good for my back, but god it feels good. We have a delicious meal and then walk to the nearby mall to do some shopping, but mainly to buy Mars Bars and Snickers. It’s also our two year wedding anniversary and I can almost convince Jess that I planned this perfectly timed and relaxing stop on purpose. Almost. 

The next day we start one of our longest drives so far, approximately five hours, south from Kisumu down to Talek, a small village on the southern edge of the Masai Mara. Initially, the road is tarmaced and the scenery is beautiful, the tea plantations run off into the distance on gently rolling hills that are reminiscent of parts of Sri Lanka. 

As we progress the road turns to dirt. Eventually, we encounter the joyous C14 road, which should really be referred to as a dried up riverbed. In places it literally is. I love it, and the battered 4×4 Land Cruiser we’ve rented performs excellently, but it takes an age to cover even the shortest of distances. Gradually the road improves and we make it on to better dirt roads. As we turn a bend to pass through one of the northern Mara conservancies (land rented temporarily from the government to run as a private game reserve or for farming) we see our first Zebra, these animals having been conspicuously absent from Uganda. It’s a nice introduction that tells me we’re close to the Masai Mara. As we drive on we see elephants in the distance and giraffe grazing on the trees.

(A lonely bull elephant in a northern Mara Conservancy, Kenya)

In this area you also find people and cattle co-existing with the wild animals roaming the landscape. The Masai people we start to see are distinct and obvious to tell apart from those we’ve seen in the previous weeks. They’re thinner and taller and their hair is dense and short. They proudly wear their beautiful red patterned shawls draped around them, thrown casually over one shoulder. A wizened man catches my eye alongside the road, he’s easily over 80 but still taller than me. His sun darkened skin is deeply creased all over his face. He walks slowly along with a tall thin stick that he uses to push his small herd of cattle along the road. There’s no question, we’re nearly there. There’s the occasional fence, but not many, and most seem makeshift, I’d fancy my chances for cattle if I was a lion. 

We spend the rest of the day driving further south, looping around towards the bottom of the National Park, travelling through isolated privately run conservancies. They don’t cost us anything to move through, which we really weren’t sure about from prior reading. Eventually, after a few incorrect google-inspired detours, we make it to our homestay on the outskirts of Talek village. It’s a slightly sad and uninspiring town itself, with plenty of plastic rubbish discarded in random piles by the roads. Not quite what you’d expect from bordering Masai Mara. Thankfully, we’re staying with a Masai family, but in a relatively modern house outside of the town itself. As we pull up after a long drive I realise we have a problem, our rear drivers side tire is almost flat. It’s late afternoon, so we check in and then try to navigate our way back to the main village as quickly as we can to get it fixed. I was told at the homestay that the normal repair cost should be around 300 Kenyan shillings. 2,500 Kenyan shillings and 2 hours later, I’ve completely lost my cool with the infuriating mechanics who appear to be able to find a new fault with the car on a whim. The sun is setting and even if we leave now it’ll be dark by the time we get back to the Homestay. After a few more crossed words in broken English, we eventually get the car back and set off. By the time we enter the first turning out of the village the sun has already dropped below the horizon. It’s almost impossible to see the small dirt road tracks ahead, the lights on the car are weak, seemingly obscured by an ill-fitting front bull bar. We get lost twice and I almost drive us straight through a barbed wire fence before skidding to a halt and becoming engulfed by our wake of dust. I sit with my head jutted forward over the steering wheel peering into the blackness. I wonder how happy I would have made the mechanics if I’d actually driven over the barbed wire. Each time we get lost we back track and manage to find our way forward again. We’re never very far from civilisation and in no real danger, but it feels remote and otherworldly nonetheless. We finally make it back to the homestay where we have dinner with the owner and a group of Spanish tourists that have since arrived.

After dinner we head outside to make a small fire in a pit by burning thorny acacia branches we find lying around. As we sit chatting beside the crackling fire we hear hyenas laughing and communicating from either side of us. Reassuringly, the Masai guys beside us couldn’t seem to care less. 

The next morning we get up early and head to the Talek gate of the Masai Mara, arriving at 6:30am. After what feels like a lifetime even though it’s only half an hour, we get entry permits and pick up a local guide. As we move into the park the sun is rising over the horizon, casting an orange glow over everything. In the sky, 10-20 hot air balloons are hovering at different heights across a barren sea of dry beige grass swaying in front of us. It’s a breathtaking sight, with giraffes and zebras gently grazing in the foreground. 

(Arriving into the Masai Mara reserve in the morning via the Talek Gate)

We drive further into the park, our Masai guide leading us through a complex series of narrow dirt tracks, using nods, hand gestures and a his words of English to direct us. He tells us to stop and we see a bush rocking from side to side. We are assured it’s lions mating. In this heat I’m impressed by their endurance. We sit silently for a few minutes watching, albeit somewhat awkwardly. Eventually they reveal themselves, a large male and female. It’s mid-morning and the sun is up, so they move slowly and search for shade. In the time we’ve been watching though the number of other 4x4s joining us is becoming oppressive, the smell of exhaust fumes and the sound of ticking engines rapidly ruining the serenity. It’s a frustrating reality when visiting the main national parks in most parts of the world, not just Africa, but made worse by the increasing presence of mobile phone reception even in the most remote areas. Guides and drivers quickly communicate the locations of the big cats, and with lightening speed they converge and jostle to provide their paying, and hopefully tipping, clients with the best views of the action. Our guide films cars breaking the law by driving off the tracks to get closer to the animals. He zooms in on number plates and drivers faces and reassures us he’ll show the guards when we leave. The experience is a far cry from the tranquil descriptions so vividly described by the Owens in their 1984 book ‘Cry of the Kalahari’. But it’s not enough to ruin the experience, and it’s unrealistic to expect to find yourself completely isolated with apex predators in one of the worlds most famous national parks, especially when you’re only visiting for a few days. The only consolation was watching a male lion urinate up the side of one of the excessively encroaching Land Rovers. Serves them right. 

(A male lion urinates on a jeep that got in his way, Masai Mara, Kenya)

We decide to move on, progressing further into the park in the hope of finding somewhere quieter. The main reason most visitors come at this time of year (July) is the great migration, where millions of wildebeest make the journey from the Serengeti into the Masai Mara, crossing the treacherous Mara River along the way. As you watch the apparently endless string of wildebeest and zebra stretching off into the distant grass-covered savanna you can’t help wondering who’s telling who what to do. Why are they following each other and how do they know what direction to go in? It’s a similar thought to when I learnt that a baby spiders brain has only around 50,000 cells, but it’s born able to spin a complex web. There’s some aspects to nature that beggar belief. 

We spend the rest of the day working our way west over towards the Mara River, finding a pack of lazing hyenas in a riverbed, one chewing desperately on the remnants of a juvenile wildebeest skull.

(Hyenas laze in the midday sun. One chews on a juvenile buffalo skull. Masai Mara, Kenya)

As we drive we see many zebra and wildebeest meandering over the plains, but at the main banks of the Mara river we sadly don’t find any animals crossing. As we track back, somewhat disheartened, our guide directs us to a small tributary and our disappointment evaporates. Wildebeest and zebra are working their way down to us from the horizon, showing a remarkable level of order as they march towards the shallow stream. They descend the far bank one after the other, sliding down and jostling for space. Some stop cautiously in the shallow water, savouring the rare chance to drink. When we arrive there are already roughly 30-50 animals on our side of the bank, when we leave only half an hour later they number in the thousands. They huddle in a large herd hundreds of meters wide. Seemingly reluctant to move on, but then, as if in response to some unidentifiable cue, one of them takes the lead and the herd once again begins to move off gradually in an ordered linear fashion. It’s a great day and we fall in love with the Masai Mara. We celebrate by tracking down a bottle of Argenitian Malbec in Talek village, but I still can’t help but sneer as we trundle past those infuriating mechanics. 

(Wildebeest and zebra crossing a small Mara River tributary, Masai Mara, Kenya)

The next day we sadly have to move on from the Masai Mara, but we are on the southern side and need to navigate north towards Tanzania via the Isibania border crossing. Thankfully, the guards at the smaller park entrance adjacent to Talek village tell us we can cross the reserve for free provided we make it to the gate on the other side in under two hours. On the drive we see a few other animals, but nothing we haven’t seen the day before. As we exit the gate at the other side the road deteriorates rapidly and I have to stop and try to figure out a way forward. My wife asks  “what’s that?” and points about 8 feet in front of the car. Curled up is a small black backed jackal, the first we’ve seen so far. A second one meanders up alongside and we watch for a few minutes. They are both juvenile, slightly bigger than a large house cat. We continue the journey for another 3 hours on dirt roads until we get close to the Tanzanian border. It brings a rapid end to a short lived but wonderful migration through Kenya. 

(Juvenile black-backed jackal sleeps at the side of a bumpy road. Musiara gate to the Masai Mara, Kenya)

(Top image: Herd of zebra, Masai Mara, Kenya)