It was on the 25th of June that I first seriously considered going to the Masai Mara in Kenya, and by the 16th of July, we found ourselves landing in Nairobi. What had long been a distant dream was suddenly unfolding in reality.
Death affects people differently. For me, the unexpected loss of my close cousin and my mother-in-law turned into a sharp reminder that life is fragile, fleeting, and deeply unpredictable. In that moment of grief, my husband and I realised that life is short and unexpected, and if something is truly important to us, it should never be postponed. Travel, especially to places that touch the soul, was one of those things.
Since childhood, Africa has occupied a magical place in my imagination. Its vast wilderness and teeming wildlife had coloured my dreams long before I could locate Kenya or Tanzania on a map. All my favourite movies as a child—most of them animal films—had their stories rooted in Africa. I did not know where exactly the Masai Mara lay, but I knew that someday I had to be there, among the wild things.
The dream was old, but the decision to finally go was sudden.
Kenya is not a cheap destination, and July is the peak of the season. That’s when the Great Migration takes place — over a million wildebeest and zebras cross from Tanzania’s Serengeti into Kenya’s Masai Mara, creating one of the most spectacular wildlife spectacles on earth. We knew prices would be higher, but the pull of the season, combined with our emotional resolve, left us undeterred. After all, decisions of the heart are never purely rational—they are always emotional.
I wanted to share this journey with my family: my husband, my brother, my nephew, and my mother. All of us share a love for the wilderness, and it felt right to experience Africa together. As a bonus, groups of six fit perfectly in the classic safari cruisers, making it practical as well as personal.
Of course, the trip came with challenges. First, we had very little time to plan. Second, my nephew has severe gluten and dairy allergies, which often complicate travel. As it turned out, the latter was not a problem at all. To our pleasant surprise, Kenya offered gluten-free options almost everywhere, from lodges to safari camps. The first challenge—time—was eased thanks to One Above, a destination management company we were fortunate to know. They helped us plan our itinerary, arrange vehicles and guides, handle transfers, and secure hotel bookings. We decided to add one more destination—Ol Pejeta Conservancy—before Masai Mara, because it offers better chances of spotting the elusive black rhino.
Kenya also requires Indians (among other nationalities) to take the Yellow Fever vaccination, which we made sure to get before travelling. Securing hotel reservations in the Mara at the last minute felt nothing short of miraculous. The stars seemed to be aligning.
We landed in Nairobi on the 16 July. Knowing the safari days ahead would be intense, we had already planned to spend our first night in the city, resting. The next morning, we set off for Ol Pejeta Conservancy.
Having visited many forests in India, and being lucky with good sightings, I thought I knew what to expect. But African safaris were a revelation.
In India, dense foliage often hides animals, turning every sighting into a game of patience and chance. In contrast, the African landscape stretched endlessly into golden grasslands under a sky so wide it felt infinite. With hardly any trees to obstruct the view, animals were visible across great distances—majestic silhouettes moving against the horizon.
At Ol Pejeta, we saw rhinos almost immediately, both black and white, grazing calmly in the sun. To stand so close to these prehistoric-looking giants was awe-inspiring. We also spotted a lion family lounging together, their tawny coats blending seamlessly with the grass.
Our journey from Ol Pejeta to Masai Mara was by a small chartered plane. There were only five of us passengers, and the pilot himself came to inform us that the flight was ready. The experience was quaint and intimate, almost like stepping back into an older, simpler era of travel.
Nothing could have prepared me for the magic of Masai Mara. From the very moment we entered the reserve, the air itself felt charged with possibilities. We chose to head straight out for a safari rather than first checking into our lodge, and that decision turned out to be a blessing.
Within hours, we witnessed what many seasoned travellers wait days for—a leopard with its fresh kill. The sleek predator was attempting to drag a wildebeest up the lower branches of a tree, away from scavengers. Leopards are notoriously difficult to spot, even more elusive than lions, and to see one on our first day felt like a benediction.
The following days unfolded like a dream sequence. We saw herds of wildebeest and zebras stretching endlessly in every direction—literally rivers of life moving across the land. Their hooves created a thunderous rhythm, a sound that reverberated through the plains and straight into the heart.
We watched hyenas hunting in coordinated packs, wild boars darting nervously through the grass, elegant giraffes silhouetted against fiery sunsets, and cheetahs scanning the horizon with piercing eyes. And of course, there were lions—entire families—eating, sleeping, roaring, and reminding us why they are called kings of the jungle.
There was something profoundly humbling about watching these animals in their natural rhythm—unbothered by human presence, yet commanding reverence with every movement. The Masai Mara was not a zoo, not a curated exhibition—it was life unfolding raw and unfiltered, as it had for thousands of years.
Each day in Kenya brought with it a renewed sense of awe. The landscapes were vast and primal, the skies an ever-changing canvas of light, the wildlife both fierce and fragile. For me, the trip was not just about ticking a box on my bucket list. It was about reconnecting with the wild, with the essence of life itself.
In the silence of the grasslands, broken only by distant roars or the rush of hooves, I felt an unusual clarity. The world is bigger than our daily worries, richer than our routines, and infinitely more wondrous than we allow ourselves to believe.
Travelling to Masai Mara also deepened the bonds within my family. Sharing those once-in-a-lifetime moments together—pointing out a cheetah on the hunt, holding our breath as elephants walked past our cruiser, laughing at warthogs trotting with their tails held comically upright—made the journey unforgettable in ways beyond photographs.
As our days in Kenya came to an end, I realised that the trip had given me more than memories. It had given me perspective. Standing in the wild heart of Africa, watching life in its purest, rawest form, I was struck by how deeply interconnected everything is—the predator and prey, the grasslands and rivers, the people and the animals.
Masai Mara was everything I had imagined as a child and far more. It was not just about animals or landscapes—it was about being wonderstruck at the very miracle of existence.
If there is one thing the trip taught me, it is this: don’t wait. Dreams are not meant to gather dust. Life is fragile, and the world is vast and beautiful beyond measure. Go while you can. Go where the wild things are.
