the mara remembered.
Hello peeps!
During travel, I felt some days on the road felt ordinary—just transit, meals, and waiting for the next highlight. And then some days rise above, days that carve themselves into memory so deeply you can still smell the dust and hear the laughter years later. This was one of those days.
From the first sip of coffee at dawn to the last crackle of the campfire at night, the Mara showed us its truest self: wild, raw, and unforgettable. A day where elephants thundered across the plains, where a cheeky bird nearly stole our lunch, and where the warmth of Maasai smiles carried us deeper into the heart of Africa than any game drive ever could.
breakfast and early start.
By 7:00am, camp was buzzing with clinking cups and sleepy chatter. Breakfast was quick but hearty, enough to fuel us for what was promised to be a long day. At 7:30 sharp, we piled into the safari vehicle. As already had her camera strap around her neck, Ida was still adjusting her scarf, and Tita looked like she was wondering why she agreed to this early schedule in the first place.
I muttered in my head, “If we survive another full day, it’ll be a miracle—or at least a coffee commercial.”
morning safari adventure.
The Mara greeted us in full glory. Giraffes swayed in slow motion against the morning sun. Zebras clumped nervously, forever waiting for a predator to change the script. Lions, majestic and unbothered, stretched on the rocks like spoiled cats.
Then came the rumble. A sound low and deep, the kind that makes the ground vibrate under your feet. Elephants. A matriarch led her family across the plains, her calves stumbling to keep up, ears flapping like sails.
Tita whispered, “It’s Dumbo and his cousins,” and I nearly dropped my handheld camera from laughing.
lunch beneath the acacia tree.
By noon, the heat pressed down on us like an oven. Our guide found shade beneath a lone acacia tree, and there we unpacked lunch—sandwiches, fruit, water. Simple, but out here it tasted like a banquet.
We sat in a circle, food on our laps, shoes coated with dust. As kept stealing my mango slices, while Ida teased me for trying to guard them like treasure.
Then came an unexpected guest: a bold bird, hopping closer and closer, clearly eyeing our sandwiches. Every time one of us looked away, it inched forward like a tiny thief.
“Look at that guy,” As laughed, pointing, “he’s plotting a heist.”
I muttered silently, “Rule number three of safari survival—your lunch is never safe. Not from friends, not from birds.”
Above us, the acacia branches swayed, giraffes grazed in the distance, and the horizon stretched out endlessly. For a moment, silence and laughter lived side by side.
afternoon encounters.
The Mara never let us rest. A cheetah crouched in the grass, her body a taut bowstring ready to snap. Hyenas prowled like shadows. Wildebeest dashed across our track, forcing us to slam the brakes—Ida shrieked dramatically, then laughed so hard she nearly slid off her seat.
As the golden light settled over the plains, I leaned back and whispered to myself, “Remember this with your eyes, not just your lens.”
evening with the maasai tribe.
As the sun dipped low, we entered a Maasai village. Red shúkàs glowed like fire in the fading light. The leader welcomed us, listening as we shared our journey—our long buses, golden hours, lions on rocks. In return, he told stories of cattle, tradition, and community.
Then came the children, wild with laughter. They tugged our hands, tried on our sunglasses, and squealed when we let them peek through our cameras. As and Tita taught them silly poses, while Ida was already plotting how to adopt at least one of them.
In my head: “Forget lions. These kids are the real show-stoppers.”
dinner and campfire.
By nightfall, we returned to camp. Dinner was hearty—stews, rice, and stories passed around the table like dessert. When plates were cleared, we gathered by the campfire.
The flames cracked and sparked, the night air cool against our dusty skin. Above, the Mara sky stretched wide, pierced with stars. We sat in a circle, sometimes talking, sometimes just listening to the fire. Ida teased me for almost dozing off mid-conversation, As hummed under her breath, and Tita kept poking the fire like she was the official flame-keeper.
And me? I leaned back, watching sparks drift into the dark, muttering silently, “If the Mara had a soundtrack, this would be the encore.”
But the Mara wasn’t done with us yet. Tomorrow would test us in a different way—a journey deeper into the reserve, where patience, dust, and the unexpected would weave a story of their own. And if we thought the acacia tree lunch thief was bold… we had no idea what was waiting for us.
Speak to you soon!
Emir xx
