It is that time of the year when
the stage is set for the Greatest Pageant on Earth. That time of the year when
an ancient tradition is upheld and performed with centuries-practised ease, and
yet, one that is fraught with hardships and adversities galore. Hordes of
wildebeest are preparing for their passage from the spent savannahs of
Serengeti to Maasai Mara to feast on manna, in what has been an indispensable
rite of passage since time immemorial. In
East Africa, wildebeest herds and along with them multitudes of zebras and
gazelles are now filling up the horizon of the endless plains and blurring the
boundaries of Tanzania and Kenya as they embark on an annual pilgrimage.
Following the scent of the rains
and red oat grass that springs from the bosom of the soil in Mara, these mammals
embark on a cyclical migration that will ensure their survival and perpetuation
of their progeny and species. The animals may not heed borders but they do have
to surmount the boundaries of the Mara River that interrupts their migratory route.
It is while crossing the Mara that an epic saga unfolds – of predator and prey,
of triumph and decay, of leap of faith and fate, of life and death; but mainly
of survival. Cats – lions and leopards - lie in ambush on land and crocodiles under
water to indulge in an orgy of feast that spells the dance of death for the
protagonists.
Year after year, when the long
rains start in Kenya, the anticipation mounts even among the tourists, the
frenzy equalling what is building in the ranks of the gnus (as wildebeests are
called due to their onomatopoeic grunting).
While most may see wave upon waves of wildebeest simmering on the vast expanse,
they may not necessarily witness the spectacle by the river that gives the
event that edge. Getting to witness a river crossing is a matter of fortuity. By
calendar, migration occurs anytime between July to September (old-timers,
Kenyans, tell us how the onset used to be early June a decade back and has gone
off-kilter since), but the river crossing itself is a mercurial moment. Within a
span of a day, one set of tourist may witness surcharged drama at river Mara where
the other may come upon a sterile scene.
For the three years that we were
in Kenya we tried to time our visit to coincide with the event. I must admit to
being deficient of intuition or super-sensory perception of the gnus and considering
that bookings had to be done months in advance it was a chance in a million we
were up against. In 2009, after a rain check, we visited end-July only to find everything
quiet on the Mara front. The river itself was at ebb due to below average
rainfall. Away from the river, at places, we came upon single files of gnus –
nervous and uncertain - criss-crossing the plains in obvious confusion. These
were early stragglers who had lost their way. In 2010, to be on the
safe side, we made the Mara trip in September. This time round we were a tad
late and while we did not see the river crossing we saw congregations of mega-herds
dotting the horizon. So last year, we
hit Mara in August and hoped in hell.
And this is what we saw.
