Mara Migration

What does the annual migration of up to two million wildebeest into the Masai Mara, through the Mara river, have in common with teenage discos?

We've been planning to see the wildebeest migration for the last three years. The Masai Mara is only five hours drive from Nairobi, but the prices for a family of four if you choose not to camp are eye wateringly expensive. And somehow, while we camp elsewhere in Kenya, I've found it difficult to get over-enthusiastic about camping independently in the middle of a national park brim-full of lions and other predators.  So we opted for a posh lodge, for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Posh Lodge was idyllic. In its own conservancy, without a perimeter fence, it was open to all (animal) comers.
'Just make sure you stay in your tent at night.'
At night in our safari tent you could hear the lions coughing, the hyenas hooping, all from very very nearby.  Off on our dawn gamedrives we met the pride of thirteen lions as they woke up, not two miles from our tent, a family of hyenas playing at their hide, a cheetah and her cubs.  But we've now been on lots of gamedrives, can spot and identify the game, what we were really keen on was to see the migration, to see the wildebeest power through the Mara river, to brave a crossing in which many perish.

The migration is a natural phenomenum, following seasonal timings not dates in the calendar. The wildebeest move when the grass in the Serengeti plains has got dried up and exhausted, following the rains, seeking the new shoots in the Mara. But some years, if the Serengeti grass keeps on giving, then the migration doesn't happen or happens very much later.  This year it's been underway for at least the last two weeks, perfect timing for us we thought.

Driving from Posh Lodge to the Mara river we drove through thousands and thousands of wildebeest and zebras who'd already crossed the landmark river. Some had only half a tail, - the rest still in some crocodile's mouth. Others had big gashes on flanks but had managed to get away. One addled bloated croc lay in the shallows with a zebra leg still dangling from its mouth.  And some wildebeest, babes, mums, stood alone, apart from the flock - a danger sign, with lions looking on, and safety being in the herd, one of a crowd, - but searching disconsolately for their mum or babe, missing, presumed dead.  Left alone, left behind, exhausted after a 300 mile trek, you could see that their chances were going to be slim.

Around the campfire we'd heard travellers' tales of the previous day's crossing. Watching the zebras who made it, the wildebeest who got to the edge, and got swallowed by the canny crocodile waiting on the higher ground on the other side. What I hadn't understood, till we got to the river, was that some days, in full flood of the migration, with all the thousands of wildebeest at the river's edge, some days the crossing doesn't happen.

We got to the river by 9, having left the camp at 630. And spent most of the day at one of the three crossings, or driving between them, seeking where today's party might be happening. The wildebeest got ready in their protective columns, like children waiting in line for the day's school. They approached the water - go on, you go first, no you, go on - and backed back again. For hours. The body language was that of a teenage disco. Scary moves in community, committment hedged around.
'Would you like to dance with my friend over there?' 
We watched grizzled wildebeest stride forward, with tentative yearlings in their footsteps, take the air, sniff, scan, - and retreat. There weren't the fond farewells, mother to babe, one might expect in human rites of passage. But fear was in the air and testosterone, and for the onlookers a real sense that these wildebeest understood what was at stake.  After a few hours the wildebeest started running in their columns up to the water. Here we go... And then the frontrunner looked at the river, at the crocs and did a graceful swerve, so the wildebeest ran in a large mile-wide circle, round and round, like crazed circle dancers for the next hour.  We've got to run off this testosterone somehow.

What stopped the wildebeest attempting the river, fulfilling their migration, getting to the green grass, on the day we were there? It was a Sunday, so local families as well as experienced safariguides were out in force.  Twice cars parked so tightly on the bank above the crossing place that experienced guides were muttering,
'There's no place for the wildebeest to get out.'
Imagine finishing the Tour de France, and having your way to the perilious final sprint finish blocked by onlookers. So it was. And where were the wardens to stop this from happening? It's the peak season, there are only three crossing places, not too much to ask to have a warden monitoring each of the places, making it possible for the animals to cross? But the Mara wardens, so we were told, get paid off by the big hotels to look away. I don't know if its true, but find it amazing given the tourist dollars coming in, the number of jobs depending on this, that it isn't better patrolled. If the animals decide not to cross that's up to them, that's gamewatching. But if their way is blocked by recalcitrant idiots, so they can't cross, well that is a tragedy.

Eventually we switched our attention back to the wildebeest who'd made the crossing, were on the greener bank. But rather than resting on their laurels after a dangerous crossing safely navigated, hunkering down on deck chairs, they too were running round in circles. For a while it looked that those who'd made the crossing the previous day might be crossing back.  Look at me....And that happens too - testosterone again? - that animals don't eat their fill before crossing back in a few weeks time, sometimes, regularly, they do the crossing multiple times.  Not the brightest creatures, wildebeest, but courageous beyond.

There were lions around. Scores of crocodiles in the water and on the secure ground, lurking. Maybe there just weren't enough wildebeest for it to feel safe.  Maybe they waited till the tourists went for their dusk sundowners, and made the crossing then.  And us? We drove home and watched the airbrushed version on a Great Migrations National Geographic DVD. Not the same, but better than nothing!