The second day of our trip was my first real taste of the worst part of a safari—waking up far too early and facing the wrath of an ice age.
I remember falling asleep in the warmth of my parents’ arms. To make us more comfortable, the hotel staff had tucked hot water bags under our blankets. It was cozy, soothing, and perfect. But by morning, I woke up shivering, unable to leave the bed. I no longer cared about seeing wild animals; all I wanted was to stay wrapped up in that fragile warmth.
It felt as though the earth had swallowed me in my sleep, let me drift in its molten core, and then spat me straight into an Antarctic glacier lake. The feeling was so real that even my parents struggled to move their frozen bodies.
“It must be the tent,” my dad said. “No solid walls, and even the cottage is just balanced on wooden stilts with no foundation.”
“Poor soldiers who halted in tents,” my mom murmured. “It’s hard to believe they endured wars in such harsh conditions.”
But we’re not soldiers, Mom. Why suffer like this?” I protested.
“That’s part of the adventure, my dear. Adventures are full of challenges! Come, wake up now,” Dad declared as he jumped out of bed. He went straight to his jacket in search of his remedy for the chill. When he didn’t find it, he opened his suitcase and pulled out a black pouch. Still no cigarettes. Finally, he turned toward Mom and groaned,
“Come on now, I need to smoke, I really need to! Where are they?”
“What? Didn’t I just hear someone say adventures are full of challenges? Why not take this as one?” Mom replied, leaving Dad disgruntled—and saving me from being caught.
Apparently, he had stashed more of those deadly rolls, but Mom had already thrown them away, not realizing there were still some in his jacket pocket.
We shivered our way through the process of getting ready. I layered up—first an inner vest, then a shirt, then my fleece jacket. I pulled on my gloves and slipped my earmuffs into place. Despite our intentions, we didn’t make it out as early as planned.
At 6:30, we sat down for breakfast, savoring steaming cups of tea and coffee whose warmth rose like smoke into the fog, along with sandwiches, parathas, and omelettes.
By 7:00 a.m., we finally reached the parking lot, where Martin was waiting with the Land Cruiser—its roof already rolled open for the adventure ahead.
Rani and I headed straight for the farthest seats at the back. I couldn’t understand why her parents had dressed her in a black, line-striped yellow co-ord sweater and trousers, complete with a matching cap. She looked exactly like a bee—and I was convinced she’d end up attracting some wild animal. I told her as much and warned her to stay seated instead of bobbing her head out of the roof every other minute.
As the car began to move, the elders immediately stood up. Soon, it was rushing furiously over the wavy paths, the trails hemmed in on both sides by tall, dense grasses. I stayed seated at the back with Rani—she gazed out through the right window while I kept watch on the left. The cold bit into us, and with the grasses towering around, there were hardly any animals to be seen. All we could sense was the sting of the morning wind against our faces, the vast sky just beginning to blush with yellow, and the constant banter and chatter of the elders.
I saw Rashi Aunty make her way to our seats and climb onto the narrow space between Rani and me. She stood tall, spreading her arms wide to feel the wind against her face. I couldn’t quite figure out what pose she was going for—something between Titanic, maybe Shah Rukh Khan’s signature move, or perhaps a scarecrow with that wide-rimmed hat. Even Jesus Christ crossed my mind. But before I could settle on an answer, her hat suddenly blew off.
“Oh no, my hat!” she screamed. At first, no one noticed, but then Uncle Ravi heard her and asked Martin to stop. The car was zooming too fast for him to catch the words clearly.
“Let it be, we can’t get it back,” she sighed.
“No, no—we can! I can see it right by the road,” Uncle Ravi insisted.
So Martin was asked to stop, and he carefully reversed the cruiser along the narrow path. After a short while, when Uncle Ravi finally spotted the hat lying at the edge of the road, Martin brought the vehicle to a halt.
The cold air felt dense, and an uneasy silence had settled over us. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something scary was about to happen—especially since Martin wasn’t immediately opening the car door to retrieve the hat. He glanced left, right, and through the rearview mirror, as if making sure no wild animal would leap at him the moment he stepped out. When he finally did open the door, he bent down as quickly as possible, snatched up the hat in an instant, and slammed the door shut with a thud.
The elders let out a collective sigh of relief—until Rani suddenly screamed, “Eeehhh!” A strange insect had flown straight onto her arm. Her face flushed a deep red, and the tiny green creature looked no bigger than a pea. If there was any color in that savanna, it seemed to have concentrated entirely on Rani.
I saw Rashi Aunty reaching to grab the insect and throw it away—but then it hit me: this was my chance to be a hero. A good deed for the day, perhaps even a life-saving one. I decided to act before Rashi Aunty could, but fear waits for no one.
The adrenaline of fright had clearly shifted to Rani. As soon as she saw the insect crawling on her arm, she swatted it away in one swift, panicked motion.
The insect flew off like a cricket ball struck out of the boundary and landed in the driver’s lane. We completely forgot about it—until later, when it crawled onto my mother’s shoe, then over her leg and stung her on the knee.
“Ouch!” Mom exclaimed, catching the insect in her hands and slowly brushing it out from the folds of her clothes.
“Oh my God, is that poisonous?” Dad asked, panic in his voice—and I wasn’t any calmer.
“No, not at all,” Martin reassured us. “It’s just like an ant sting.”
After a while, Mom felt better, the pain subsided, and we rolled up the windows. I couldn’t resist blaming Rani, whispering to her that it was all her fault—her bright-colored outfit had obviously been attracting the insects.
Rani remained upset for a while—until we started spotting animals in the wild.
First, there was a large ostrich, sitting gracefully before suddenly standing up like a ballet dancer. The cruiser halted, and we stayed silent to snap photos. But the moment Martin turned the engine back on, the ostrich bounced like a spring, dashed off in a flurry, and all its grace vanished. We couldn’t stop laughing.
After that, the sightings kept coming: elegant gazelles, towering giraffes, sparkling zebras, ghostly vultures, agile antelopes, and even a massive herd of wild buffaloes.
We stopped near the elephants and took pictures of exotic birds—the hornbill and others. For the first time, I saw birds walking like mammals—not perched in trees, but striding along the ground and slipping into the tall grasses whenever cars pulled up beside them.
“Why are they hiding in those grasses?” Rani asked.
“Because they’re scared of us,” Mom replied.
“But they should be used to people watching them by now, shouldn’t they, Mom? So why are they still scared?” I wondered aloud.
“Well, you’re right, my dear,” Uncle Ravi said. “I think they’re irritated. Imagine people constantly coming into your home while you’re busy with your routine—cooking, cleaning, studying, playing—and then taking pictures of you without permission. Wouldn’t that be annoying?”
“Exactly!” I said. “Then why do we do the same to them?”
“Oh, Ravi! Why do you have to start this now?” Dad groaned, clearly aware that Uncle Ravi had sparked my curiosity.
Uncle Ravi chuckled and promised he would continue the discussion later, during lunch. Meanwhile, we kept looking for animals—and finally, we spotted the true kings of the forest.
We came across a long line of safari vehicles along the road. As we moved closer, we spotted a massive, old lion walking in the center of the circle the cars had formed. It seemed either injured or simply too old, as it walked with a noticeable limp. Its mane was a deep brown rather than beige, and it didn’t seem dangerous at all. We all watched quietly as the lion slowly made its way past the vehicles and disappeared into the tall grasses.
Later, following another line of safari vehicles, we spotted a leopard perched atop a tall acacia tree. It was napping in the cool shade, likely taking its afternoon rest. We zoomed in with our phone cameras to get a better look, but with a long queue of vehicles waiting for their turn, we had to leave after a short while.
By afternoon, it had gotten hot, and we started shedding layers—gloves and earmuffs came off long ago, and now jackets and sweaters followed. Even Rani removed her sweater, looking normal in her brown top and trousers.
It was time for lunch, but first, we made a stop at a small toilet space perched atop a hill. I noticed my hair had turned beige from the dust, and we all washed and wiped our faces clean. Then we headed toward the river for a picnic-style lunch.
Where the vehicles halted, the river ran alongside a wooded area. Groups laid out mats under tree shade to enjoy their meals, with food packed by their respective resorts. Ours included sandwiches, eggs, chips, juice, pasta, and bananas. I was wary of wild animals, but only curious monkeys were around.
Rani, scared, was seated in the center of us all, while I sat near the end of the vehicle. Martin helped us spread the mat and provided water bottles. It wasn’t as comfortable as dining at the resort, but as Uncle Ravi said, “This too is an adventure.” I sat beside him, eager to hear the story he had promised to continue.
“I saw in Harry Potter how Harry helped a snake escape from the zoo,” I began. “We know animals don’t like being in a zoo—but how do we know they enjoy the safari? How is it better?”
“Zoos are not a natural habitat,” Uncle Ravi explained. “Animals are caged there. Here, this is a forest, their natural home. Yes, we disturb them when we observe and photograph them, but we are not being cruel. National reserves and safari parks protect animals from poaching.”
“What is poaching?” Rani asked.
“Poaching is hunting and killing animals to steal their skin, bones, teeth, or claws to sell for money,” he replied.
“So, national parks are good for animals?” I asked.
“Yes, if humans act responsibly. Safaris allow animals to roam freely while letting people explore wildlife safely—much better than zoos.”
“That’s enough knowledge for today. Now eat before the monkeys steal our food,” Dad said, standing up from the mat.
After lunch, as we rolled up the mat to leave, a monkey suddenly grabbed the water bottle Rani was carrying. She screamed and fell onto her back. I instinctively shooed the monkey away and rushed to help her up. This time, she didn’t cry—her surprise and gratitude showed in the small tear glistening at the corner of her eye. I handed her my water bottle. For once, instead of pushing her into danger, I had protected her.
Uncle Ravi patted my back, Rashi Aunty called me brave, and even Mom and Dad looked proud. Martin praised my courage. I beamed, knowing I had completed my good deed of the day. Rani’s sulky expression melted into joy.
Later, we spotted more animals, and I even heard a hyena howling—but it was nothing compared to Rani’s earlier shrieks.
In the evening, we gathered around a bonfire in the sunken sitting area of the hotel’s dining lobby. Under the night sky, we sipped hot drinks, listened to music, and shared ghost stories.
After dinner, we tiptoed back to our cottages, half-expecting a monster to leap from the trees. As soon as we reached our cottages, we ran inside. Rani and her parents went into theirs, wishing us good night, while Mom, Dad, and I headed to ours. I checked the day’s photos while my parents packed. Tomorrow, we would leave Masai Mara for Lake Naivasha and visit a Maasai village, where we might even join their folk dances—I couldn’t wait to see their homes and lifestyle.
As we slipped under the blankets, with the hot water bag soothing my legs, my parents quickly drifted into deep sleep. Before closing my eyes, I glanced at Mom’s wrist—she had been bitten by an insect. For a fleeting moment, I imagined she might develop superpowers like Spider-Man, but it was nothing, her skin unbroken.
Disappointed, I turned toward my father’s side, watching his smoke-starved, exhausted face as he slumbered peacefully.
Read Episode 1: Episode 1 : The Insufferable Rani
Read Episode 2: Episode 2: The Journey begins