🦁 What is Lion Tracking in the Maasai Mara?

What you’ll learn and do:

Lion tracking in the Maasai Mara offers a uniquely immersive way to experience the wild. Rather than simply observing from a distance, I had the opportunity to follow the movements and behaviors of lions with the help of an expert safari guide deeply familiar with the prides of the region. While this wasn’t part of a formal conservation research team, it felt just as meaningful—especially given my strong connection to Kenya and my deep appreciation for the Mara’s quieter, rain-washed seasons. These intimate, respectful encounters allow for a deeper understanding of the landscape and its wild inhabitants, which is what makes the experience truly unforgettable.

The Hunt- “A Witness to the Wild"

What I witnessed was one of nature’s most raw and emotionally complex dramas—It wasn’t just about a hunt- it was layered, and a true test of both my observational eye and empathy.

Moments like that stay with me. They're hard to process because they force you to sit inside that uncomfortable space between beauty and brutality, instinct and suffering.

It was my last day in the Masai Mara. The kind of morning that feels like a quiet farewell—the light soft, the air thick with the scent of distant rain. I didn’t expect to see what I saw. I wasn’t ready for it, not really. Meaning, I had seen hunts before, but this really superseded what I was about to witness.

A group of young male lions had found an old buffalo—separated from the larger herds, moving through the plains with a few other bulls, each of them outcasts in their own way. These weren’t the strong, dominant beasts of the prime herds. They were survivors, bonded by age and exclusion.

The young male lions struck. A blur of muscle, dust, and instinct. The old bull fought back with everything he had. His companions, grizzled and scarred, didn’t run. They tried to save him. Again and again, they charged, scattering the lions, forming a wall of old strength. But time is cruel in the wild, and eventually, even loyalty has limits.

Then came the hyenas.

An army of them, their hackles raised, their calls piercing the air like sirens from another world. It went through me—not just the sound, but the chaos. The hyenas weren’t just scavengers. They were contenders, clashing with the lions over a kill that hadn’t yet come. The lines between predator and prey blurred in the dust.

And then—a strange shift. The young lions gave up? Or rested for a while? They walked off, settled under a tree like nothing had happened. It was surreal. For a moment, the old buffalo stood again. Torn, bleeding, but alive.

All the hyenas continued nipping at the poor buffalo, there was no escape. And then, the lionesses came.

The entire pride, silent and focused. The hyenas suddenly scattered into the brush, watching but not daring. The females surrounded the buffalo. For two long hours, they watched him. Waited. He stood alone, exhausted, still defiant. 

And finally, when he ran—perhaps hoping for one last chance—they took him down.

The whole scene lasted three and a half hours. A drawn-out struggle. A slow unraveling. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever witnessed in the wild.

I never like to see suffering. As much as I understand the rhythm of life out here, the raw necessity of the hunt, I still felt for that buffalo. I still do.

But the pride fed that day. After who knows how long without food, the lions—mothers, cubs, the whole lineage—ate. And in that, there was something else: relief. The wheel turned, the wild endured.

This is what the Mara does—it shows you the truth, unedited. It doesn't flinch, and it doesn’t let you look away. And when you leave, you carry it with you—not just the footage or the photographs, but the feeling of it. This is the kind of sighting that reminds you just how complex wildlife is. Raw and unforgettable. And that’s what stays.

But there’s something else I feel compelled to add—something not about the animals, but about us.

When you're fortunate—or confronted—by a moment like this, it’s critical to remember your role. You are a witness, not a participant. Your presence should never alter the course of nature.

Do not intervene. No matter how hard it is to watch. As gut-wrenching as it can be, interference robs the wild of its process and can cause more harm than good—for both predator and prey.

Stay quiet. Silence matters. Keep voices low, movements minimal. These are moments of high tension for the animals. Your behavior can tip a balance.

Don’t push too close. Let your guide position the vehicle at a respectful distance. Just because your lens can zoom in doesn’t mean you should.

No cheering. No gasps. No dramatics. Respect what’s unfolding as sacred, even if it’s brutal. This isn’t entertainment. It’s life in its most honest form.

And finally, absorb it all with humility. You’ve just been given a window into a world very few truly see. Carry it with reverence. Let it inform how you speak of the wild, how you support conservation, and how you see yourself as part of—not separate from—nature’s design.

Because in the end, it’s not just about seeing lions or buffalo. It’s about honoring the entire ecosystem—its fragility, its ferocity, and its deep, unapologetic truth.

The Hob House Coast – Malindi’s Hidden Treasure

One of the brightest highlights of my time on the Kenyan coast was spending time with my dear friend Kelly Aburi—the founder, chef, host, and visionary behind The Hob House Coast in Malindi, as well as the beloved Hob House Nairobi, which is both highly rated and firmly rooted in Kenya’s culinary and cultural landscape.

Her coastal sanctuary is a haven of authentic Lebanese flavors, where every dish is infused with heritage, heart, and the delicate precision of an artist. Meals are unhurried, soulful, and meant to be savored—a reflection of Kelly herself. But The Hob House is more than just a destination for food lovers—it’s an intimate, design-forward bed & breakfast where every room tells a story. Each space is thoughtfully curated with hand-picked textiles, calming palettes, and a personal touch that makes guests feel both transported and deeply at home.

Just steps away lie wide stretches of powdery white sand and crystalline turquoise waters—the kind that hush your thoughts and stretch time into something slower, sweeter, more present.

The Malindi coast has long held a special place in my heart, and Kelly’s space captures its essence with quiet elegance. It’s a place where culture meets comfort, where nourishment is both physical and soulful, and where meaningful connection—through food, conversation, and beauty—is the real luxury.

If you ever find yourself wandering the Swahili coast, The Hob House Coast is not just a stop—it’s a memory waiting to be made.