Maasai Mara

Kenya’s fabled Maasai Mara, home to the Great Migration, is a wildlife wonderland. Buckle up for a s afari drive across the savannah to s teal glances at hyena, wildebeest, zebra, elephant and even the rare white rhino.

Chuk chuk chuk chuk chuk. And silence. Joseph Koyie, my guide, turns o the engine and rummages for his binoculars all without breaking his stare. His eyes are wide, his mouth ajar, and he flutters his free hand to signal that there’s something up ahead. Suddenly, everything is very still.

“I can’t believe this. It’s been such a long time since I last saw one,” he whispers. It takes me a few seconds to clock what he’s in awe of. And then I see it. A few yards from our car, grazing under the shadow of an acacia tree: a white rhino. For the next few minutes, we watch in awe. The rare mammal — nearing extinction due to rampant poaching — couldn’t be any less interested in us if he tried. But, he’s no less mesmerising for his INDIFFERENCE.

It’s dusk in the Maasai Mara in southwestern Kenya, and I’m out on my first ever safari drive. On this balmy November’s day, the last rays of sun are slowly ebbing away, the clouds now pu s of purple and red. Out here in the vast expanse of the savannah, it’s just us, the rhino, and the odd impala. It’s serenity I’ve never felt before.

“There are only nine white rhinos leŠ here,” explains Joseph, snapping me out of my hakuna matata moment. Being this close to Africa’s plethora of storybook animals feels both magical and lucky, and Joseph knows just when and where to go to witness this vast wonderland at its wildest.

The 30-something guide and head naturalist at Sanctuary Olonana is also a Maasai warrior, and lives in the nearby village of Loita with his wife and children. Today, he’s swapped his traditional tribesman’s shuka shawl for the lodge’s all-beige uniform. When I ask him if he’d ever leave this place, he restarts the engine, puts away his tattered map and replies with an unyielding shake of the head.

The next day, it’s an early start and as we head o , Joseph promises big things. “We won’t go longer than 10 minutes without seeing an animal here,” he grins proudly.

A few minutes into our morning, a pack of mongooses emerge from the red oat grass up ahead, running around and squealing. A little further on, we see a dozing spotted hyena and I stretch over the side of the car to get a closer look. He grumbles.

Up ahead is a wildebeest: the bulky icon of the annual mass-migration that moves north through the Serengeti, over the Tanzania-Kenya border, and into the Maasai Mara. “This animal was made using the leŠovers of all the others,” Joseph jokes. “He has the face of a locust, the tail of a zebra, the belly of a cow and the beard of a goat.”

And just moments later, we spot a family of elephants. They trudge across the road, almost within touching distance of our car. We follow them to a muddy pool where, for the next 30 minutes, we watch them fill up their trunks with water and douse each other’s thick, wrinkly skin.

In these last few moments of my first safari, the Maasai Mara seems the ultimate cliche — a dreamlike expanse of animals, sunset and vast, rolling savanna. But it couldn’t be more real. As the light drains from the plains, the elephants retreat; their water party over, they begin their journey home. Joseph restarts the engine, and we follow suit. Chuk chuk chuk chuk chuk.

HOW TO DO IT: Abercrombie & Kent o ers one night at Gira e Manor in Nairobi and three nights at Sanctuary Olonana in the Maasai Mara on an all-inclusive basis, including internal and international flights with British Airways. From £5,995 per person.