The knock comes softly, just two taps against the door, followed by the familiar whisper of “Good morning… coffee.”
The dawn chorus is already in full rehearsal outside my tent. White-browed robin-chats are warming up in the croton bushes, and emerald spotted wood doves repeat their slow, rhythmic murmurs. Even without opening my eyes, I know it’s still dark outside. The cool hour before the sun begins its daily rise into warmth and light.
I slide open the door, letting the crisp dawn air drift in, and wrap my hands around the warm mug left on the tray outside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee rises in the steam and coaxes me awake. I enjoy a freshly baked lemon shortbread biscuit and take my time with the warm coffee, admiring the sounds of the bush.
When the cup is finally empty, I ease into getting ready, preparing for a day that will begin on foot. I dress in neutral-coloured clothing, soft layers chosen for comfort and subtlety, and feel myself settling into the quiet rhythm of the morning. I flash my torch and moments later the askari appears, a Maasai security guard who has been patrolling the camp all night. He escorts me to the main area where the campfire is flickering, sparks rising like fireflies.
The walking team is already gathered, silhouettes moving around the flames with the ease of people who know this hour intimately. The warmth of the fire is welcome against the brisk morning air. Two potjie pots sit directly over the flames, with porridge inside slowly thickening. Jaffles sizzle on long-handled irons, the smell of toasting bread mixing with the campfire smoke.
It’s still dark enough that the stars haven’t yet faded, but the horizon hints at softness. We enjoy our breakfast whilst sharing stories of the animal sounds we heard in the night, and my adrenaline spikes a little remembering the sounds of lions roaring not far from camp. We excitedly finish the last of our breakfast, and then we prepare for our walk.
My guides Lewis and Lenkoko hand me my gaiters and help to fasten them, and I make use of the available Asilia water bottle slings. The sun has now begun to rise as light hits the land. A silver mist hangs low across the plains, and the grass shimmers with clear beads of dew. Ahead is only the vastness of Mara Naboisho Conservancy. I’m excited and already in awe.
We step away from the campfire and receive our safety briefing next. “Stay behind me in a single line. Listen to all instructions. Do not run. Keep your voices low. We watch, but we don’t intrude. We observe, but we keep our distance”. We form a line and follow our guides as we begin our walk out of camp.
The first stretch is always the quietest, not for lack of sound, but for the sharpening of the senses. Our footsteps seem louder than usual as we move across the plains, pausing often. Not because we are tired, but because there is so much to see. Lewis crouches and points to an impression in the mud – a medium size print with visible claw marks. “Hyena,” he says, tracing the outline with a fingertip. I would have stepped right over it without noticing. He shows me how the tuft of a single bent grass blade reveals the direction it was moving.
Lewis stops, head tilted slightly, listening. Before I can ask, he names them in order: Red-necked spurfowl. White-browed coucal. African fish eagle. Identifying the birds without even seeing them. Soon after we come across zebra grazing, and a herd of impalas standing poised. Ears forward until they decide we’re nothing to worry about and return to pulling at the fresh shoots of grass.
Further in the distance three giraffes walk in unison. They stop and glance our way for a while, before continuing their path. None of the animals scatter, none of them flee. We are simply coexisting. Close enough to observe, and far enough to show respect.
As we continue our walk the finer details of the bush begin to reveal themselves. A dung beetle rolling a perfect sphere passes by, ants are creating busy highways, and a towering termite mound appears. Lenkoko runs his hand along its surface, explaining how these living cathedrals breathe, regulate temperature, and host entire micro-ecosystems invisible to the casual passerby.
We continue onwards and pass clusters of tiny blooms along the path, but it’s the wild jasmine that stops us in our tracks. We take turns leaning in, each of us inhaling the sweetness of its petals. Lewis tells me it’s used to make wild jasmine tea, prized for its delicate fragrance. It’s no surprise, then, that it’s also a favourite treat of elephants. Moments later, we discover just how true that is. We round a bend and see a fresh trail of snapped stems and scuffed earth. The very animals who favour these flowers must have passed through not long ago.
A gentle rustle carries through the bushes ahead, followed by a splash of water. We approach carefully, using the wind to our advantage. Within minutes, we spot a small group of elephants drinking at a natural spring. They spray themselves with water, coating their grey skin to prepare for the heat of the day ahead. The elephants have no idea we are here. We stand in absolute stillness, sharing the moment and remaining invisible. When they finally wander off into the thickets, it feels like watching a secret world fold itself closed again. We turn away too, leaving no trace, letting their path remain their own.
As we continue walking, the landscape begins to shift with the warming day. The sun sits higher now, catching on the tall grasses and turning them a soft, molten gold. Birdsong brightens and the air feels lighter. We cross over a ridge and there, tucked beneath the canopy of a Balanites tree, is a full bush breakfast set up. Beside the table, a converted horsebox stands open, beautifully converted into a travelling bar. As we approach, I’m handed a cold hand towel and a breakfast mimosa, a welcome reward after our 5km walk.
We settle into our chairs, boots stretched out, soaking in the view. We enjoy a cooked breakfast as conversations drift easily. Once we are finished, a nearby vehicle pulls up ready to drive us back to camp. The drive is short, passing through the landscape we walked through at dawn.
Back in camp, I head straight for the outdoor shower, where cool water cascades over me in contrast to the now hot sun above. I then sit out on my deck, wrapped in my robe feeling refreshed and accomplished – as though I have slipped into the very rhythm of the wild itself. Early rising, slow awakening, and steadily walking into a new day.
There is little that connects you to the surrounding landscape in the same manner that a walking safari accomplishes. Talk to us to ensure this experience features in your next East Africa safari.
