In July 2022 I returned to the Masai Mara. I arrived just as the Great Migration was beginning to unfold, with the first herds moving north from the Serengeti. There were already signs of what was to come: thousands of wildebeest and zebra gathering on the plains, and the first tentative attempts to cross the rivers. The great crossings were still to come, though, and somehow the trip became less about the migration itself and more about the lions that called the Mara home.
The migration was still to come, but for me, the lions became the defining story of the Mara.
One pride in particular had recently been taken over by a new coalition of brothers. The young males were powerful, confident and constantly present, having displaced the previous males and established themselves as the new rulers of the pride. Their arrival had changed everything. They spent much of their time with the females, mating repeatedly and seemingly without any sense of urgency about what lay ahead.
Watching them, it was easy to forget that the Mara is always changing. A pride can belong to one set of males for years, only for a new coalition to arrive and rewrite its story almost overnight. These brothers were at the beginning of that chapter: strong, ambitious and full of the confidence of lions that had just won their place.
The migration would eventually dominate the Mara, bringing vast herds of wildebeest and zebra and, with them, an abundance of prey for the predators. But for me, it was the lions that became the defining memory of that visit.
The Mara is often photographed at its most spectacular during the river crossings, but its real character lies in moments like these: the politics of a pride, the rise and fall of males, and the quiet drama that plays out every day across the grasslands.
