Perched on the summit of Naabi Hill, I slowly turn a full 360 degrees, and take in the endless sea of grass that stretches as far as I can see in all directions. A stiff, damp wind whistles through the stunted trees at the foot of this granite outcropping, and leans against my shoulders. From the west, the advancing rain storm paints a tall, narrow grey curtain between the high clouds and the thirsty ground. As it nears, it widens to take in the whole quadrant of my view.
I clamber down from my perch before the full brunt of the storm hits, and take refuge in the cosy confines of our Land Cruiser, eating the hotel’s box lunch with Robert and our guide Baraka while the rain drums on the roof and washes the red soil of this morning’s drive off of the windows.
At first glance, it looked like the huge mixed herds of ugly grey-black Bearded gnus (wildebeest) and elegant black-on-white zebras and the large family groups of delicate, skittish Thompson gazelles were stationary. But each step they took was in the same direction. Each casual saunter to a new clump of grass took them closer to the southern grasslands. It was as if an unseen force was gently drawing us all in one direction.
The first few drops splash warmly on my cheeks and darken the dusty rock at my feet. It is the start of the short rains in Tanzania and while a few, infrequent showers have eased up the first few green shoots, the soil is thirsty for more.
I clamber down from my perch before the full brunt of the storm hits, and take refuge in the cosy confines of our Land Cruiser, eating the hotel’s box lunch with Robert and our guide Baraka while the rain drums on the roof and washes the red soil of this morning’s drive off of the windows.We had two days to spend crisscrossing the Serengeti on game drives, and while the list of animals we spotted grew quickly to two columns in my notebook, there was something else that left an impression on me. There was the sense of subtle, yet concerted movement … more felt than seen.
We would stop the car by the side of the pitted dirt road, turn off the engine, and feel the stillness wash over us; the gentle sway of last year’s dried grass on the rolling landscape, the faint songs of the grassland birds, and the contented grazing of the animals all around us. But as we ourselves became still we began to feel the pull towards the south.
Serengeti National Park is home to vast herds of animals that are constantly on the move, migrating clockwise through the year in search of fresh grass. We were not visiting during the time of the spectacular mass migrations, with millions of wildebeest crossing rivers at the same time. But still there was movement.
At first glance, it looked like the huge mixed herds of ugly grey-black Bearded gnus (wildebeest) and elegant black-on-white zebras and the large family groups of delicate, skittish Thompson gazelles were stationary. But each step they took was in the same direction. Each casual saunter to a new clump of grass took them closer to the southern grasslands. It was as if an unseen force was gently drawing us all in one direction.
The rhythms of life are not all gentle. We witnessed an adult baboon charge the fringe of a group of Thompson gazelle's and grab a young foal. Despite its mother's frantic efforts to free her baby, the primate proceeded to tear apart the young animal while it bleated and struggled.
Parked by the side of the road, with endless rolling vistas around us, we felt if only for a moment that we were part of this eternal flow.
