In the yellow early morning light, we sail under the canopy of acacia thorns, Land Rover tires silently casting fine clouds of dust in our wake. Lewis allowed us to stop and scanned the horizon with his binoculars, a pair of worn British Army steel helmets. We were in the Samburu National Reserve in northern Kenya and this is always my favorite part of a safari: just after sunrise, entering a game park with the taste of morning coffee and cookies still lingering and a basket full of promising brunch by my side.

Lewis whistled softly. “Vultures,” he said. “About two miles away, I think on the bank of the river.”

I looked too and could see in the distance what looked like three or four brown mirrors lazily circling above the trees. More came and joined the whirlpool as I watched, as if waiting to be sucked into the center and out of sight. But none landed.

Lewis started the engine and we drove on, turning toward the river and following a red dirt track that snaked through the tall grass. The animals appeared in numbers. Millions actually. From the lake of pink flamingos that dance ballet in Nakuru to the incredible spectacle of the wildebeest migration of Masai Mara. But these were guaranteed. “Sport driving is like fishing,” Lewis had told me. You can get lucky on your first outing and see something special.

So, let’s go back to Samburu. The sun came out quickly and I had to remove my fleece as we followed the winding path along the river. The Land Rover groaned and staggered through a dry stream, and in a matter of minutes we were under the vultures, to a clearing where the river turned sharply south. Standing less than fifty meters away, head lowered and sunken eyes staring at the circling birds, was a huge lioness. One side of his face was turning black with blood and his breathing was heavy, his chest throbbing with exertion.

Lewis cut the engine and we fell silent. Slowly, the lioness caught her breath and looked around. By now he had chosen the tawny forms of at least four cubs who were patiently waiting with another great lioness. It was like everyone was waiting for something, like I was missing something.

Then I saw it. The first lioness turned and walked slowly towards the rest. Behind her was the body of an adult Grevy’s zebra. The lions had killed at dawn and would feast here for several days. The lioness stopped, looked at the zebra and the flying scavengers, and didn’t go on. She wasn’t in the mood to share yet. A jackal trotted hopefully in a wide circle around the group, being watched closely by the other lioness. We waited long enough to absorb the scene and then we left.

Later on the way we met a group that had not seen any big cats and Lewis informed his guide of our find:

“Kunaye masharufu!” [There are lions!] (‘masharufu’ means ‘beard’ in Kiswahili)

“Wapi?” [Where?]

“Kando already finished.” [On the riverbank.]

“Wangapi?” [How many?]

“Saba. Watoto watano, wake up wawili.” [Seven. Five cubs and two lionesses.]

The other guide smiled and his clients looked at us hopefully, unsure what our news was.

“Wapi?” [Where?] The driver asked enthusiastically.

“Barabara iliyo karibu na mto”. [The road near the river.]

“Unaenda upande wa kulia kidogo” [Go a little bit to the right.]

“Corner of Wako hapo kwa”. [They are right there at the corner.]

“Asante heals! Kwaheri!” [Thanks! Bye!]

They sped away and Lewis looked at me and smirked …

“Guerba leads, others follow!” He chuckled.