Epic 8 Day Kenya Safari Adventure, Masai Mara, Amboseli & Nairobi National Park
Some journeys begin long before departure. For us, Kenya lived in the imagination for years—a place of lions slipping through golden grasses, elephants under ancient acacias, and birds glittering like living jewels. We dreamed not just of sightings but of connection: to linger, to photograph, to listen as the land revealed its stories. Kenya is often called the heart of the African safari experience, and it’s easy to see why. The country is a canvas of contrasts: the endless plains of the Maasai Mara, where the Great Migration roars across the savannah; the snow-dusted crown of Mount Kilimanjaro, rising above Amboseli’s elephant herds; and the vibrant cultural traditions of the Maasai and Samburu, whose lives remain deeply tied to the rhythms of the wild. With luxury camps tucked into untamed landscapes and the thrill of sunrise game drives, Kenya seemed the perfect place for our very first safari.
Our journey traced three distinct landscapes. First, Nairobi National Park, where lions rest in the grasslands with skyscrapers shimmering in the distance. Then, the Maasai Mara, home to sweeping plains and dramatic encounters with big cats. Finally, Amboseli, the “Land of Giants,” where elephants wander in stately procession beneath Africa’s most iconic mountain. Each destination offered its own rhythm, its own cast of characters. But a safari is about more than wildlife. It’s about people too—the Maasai guides who share ancestral wisdom, the warmth of lodge staff who make you feel at home, and the chefs who introduce you to flavors like ugali, beef curry, and the sweet Dawa cocktail. These encounters, woven with kindness and laughter, added richness to every day. Safaris aren’t tidy stories. They’re a lesson in patience and humility, in embracing the unpredictable. In the quiet waiting, in the scanning through binoculars, in the sudden appearance of life on the horizon—you find the true rhythm of Kenya.
Day 1: Arrival in Kenya & Nairobi National Park
The first day of our Kenya adventure felt like a carefully orchestrated overture—long flights, a late-night arrival, and then, before we could even adjust to the time zone, an early morning birding excursion at Nairobi National Park. We landed close to 11 p.m., expecting exhaustion, but excitement erased jet lag. A quick check-in at the Hilton near the airport gave us a pause to reset, though sleep came reluctantly after a midnight introduction to Tusker beer, our unofficial companion for the week ahead.
By 5 a.m. we were up again, greeted by Diana from Cisticola Tours, one of the few female birding guides in Kenya. Having her lead us felt meaningful—her passion for the Rift Valley was clear from the start. As the park gates opened at sunrise, we were welcomed not by big animals but by birdsong, bats dangling overhead, and the promise of smaller wonders. Over three hours we spotted more than two dozen species, from the elegant Jackson’s widowbird to the dazzling purple grenadier and the ethereal African paradise flycatcher. Our rhythm emerged quickly: one glued to binoculars, the other to a camera, both calling out, “Stop, stop, stop!” whenever wings flashed. The park also carried heavier lessons. At the ivory burning site, where Kenya destroyed tons of seized ivory and rhino horn, we stood quietly, reminded that conservation is rooted in sacrifice as much as admiration. Soon it was time to move on—Wilson Airport awaited for our short Safarilink flight to the Maasai Mara.
The hop was equal parts drowsiness and awe—one of us nodding off, the other pressed to the window, tracing the Rift Valley unfolding below. Landing at Kichwa Tembo’s private airstrip felt cinematic: jeeps lined up, drivers waiting, and in the middle of it all, Dennis, our guide for the coming days. Banana chips, coffee, and cookies greeted us, along with a sense of camaraderie that made us feel less like tourists and more like family. Camp arrival was another revelation. Instead of a perfunctory check-in, we were welcomed with a rendition of “Jambo Bwana” and steaming Kenyan tea. Our butler, Zippy, charmed us instantly, promising Tusker and Kenya Cane cocktails, and arranging for authentic dishes we’d soon crave. With Maasai hosts like Alex and Saitoshi, friendships began forming almost immediately.
By afternoon, elephants wandered near our cottage, and at 4 p.m. Dennis whisked us away on our first Mara drive. It was a gentle introduction: giraffes arching against the sky, zebras trotting past acacias, lilac-breasted rollers flashing their rainbow hues, and crowned cranes striding with regal calm. No chases, no drama—just the Mara’s steady heartbeat easing us into its rhythm. As twilight descended, Maasai dancers filled the night with song and energy, inviting us to join for a moment. Later, lulled by the sounds of the bush, we finally surrendered to sleep. We had crossed continents, spotted lifers, made new friends, and stepped into something far greater than ourselves. Read more on daily diaries
Day 2: First Full Day in Maasai Mara
Day two was the kind of day you dream about long before you set foot in Africa—the first full day of safari in the Maasai Mara. We woke at 5 a.m. to the chatter of hyraxes and a gentle knock from Josh, our housekeeper, who arrived with cookies, coffee, and hot chocolate. Dennis had packed a picnic breakfast, and with cameras ready we climbed into the jeep alongside our new friends. Dawn over the Mara was a spectacle in itself, the horizon igniting with fire as we drove toward the reserve. The Mara is more than beautiful—it is iconic. Rolling savannahs, acacia-dotted plains, and river valleys form a stage where the drama of lions, elephants, leopards, and wildebeest plays out. Knowing this made our first encounter all the more electrifying. Dennis, tuned into the radio, led us to a pride of lions on a fresh buffalo kill. Dozens of jeeps queued, but rules allowed only five at a time. When it was finally our turn, the scene stunned us: lions feasting, muzzles red in the morning light. Later, when the crowd thinned, we circled back for an even closer view. Four cubs, about a year old, padded down to drink at a stream. One by one, they came so close to our jeep that even a phone camera could capture their whiskers. For a moment, we felt like part of their pride, enveloped by their playful energy. By the time we realized we were starving, it was nearly 10 a.m.
Dennis found a shady tree and laid out pancakes, bacon, sausages, and fruit before whipping up omelets in the bush. As if breakfast with lions wasn’t enough, he soon spotted a cheetah mother with two cubs, shyly tucked into the grass. Even a glimpse of their spotted coats felt like magic. Back at camp, lunch was another feast—ugali, sautéed greens, and beef curry prepared by Zippy and the chef. After a short rest, we headed out again, this time just us and Dennis into Mara North Conservancy.
The conservancy offered intimacy the reserve could not—fewer jeeps, more space, and encounters that felt private. We watched elephants mock-fighting, tusks clashing in a playful duel, while two young lions dozed in the grass. When one lion grew bold and stalked toward the elephants, they charged with trumpeting fury, chasing him off in a blur of dust. Wild Africa at its rawest. As the sun sank into a fiery horizon, we paused often, soaking in skies painted in gold and violet. Back at camp, the day wasn’t over. A Maasai community had set up a small evening market, their beadwork glowing in the lamplight. We bought keepsakes, tokens woven with stories, before returning to another warm dinner under canvas. That night we slipped easily into sleep, replaying lions in shadow, elephants in play, and skies that seemed made just for us. Read more on daily diaries
Day 3: Big Cat Drama in the Mara
Some safari days feel scripted, as if the wilderness knows you’ve been waiting your whole life for it. Day three in the Maasai Mara was one of those rare chapters. At dawn, bush babies bounded across our tent roof as Josh arrived punctually at 5 a.m. with hot drinks and cookies. Breakfast was packed to go, leaving us free of schedules. Our friends had gone aloft in a balloon, leaving just the two of us with Dennis, our guide, to chase the morning light. Not ten minutes past Oloololo gate, a martial eagle greeted us from an acacia perch—a regal prize for birders. Yet the real drama was still ahead. Word crackled through the radio: lions had shifted overnight. We drove past balloons drifting against crimson skies until we found them—most of the pride heavy with buffalo meat. Then came the moment that shook us. Two jeeps climbed a rocky hill, the “African massage” jostling us all the way. At the crest, we discovered a coalition of four males defending a fresh buffalo kill. Two younger lions tried to muscle in, and in a blur of snarls and dust the brothers lunged, biting and bullying the intruders into retreat. The roars rattled our bones. At just fifty meters, it was raw, frightening, exhilarating—all at once.
As the fight quieted, scavengers gathered—jackals, hyenas, vultures, waiting for scraps. Then a faint cry pierced the air: a newborn buffalo calf, lost and searching, stumbled into the scene. Its mother lay dead. A subadult lion gave chase, but one of the males seized the calf and carried it back to the carcass. Its cries echoed, heartbreaking and inevitable. The lesson was stark: here, survival is uncompromising.We drove on in silence, until lighter company lifted our spirits—a cheetah mother with her cubs, serene in the shade. Soon after, another call lured us to a leopard. A muscular male emerged from cover, leaping onto termite mounds as if posing for us. For twenty magical minutes we followed him, his pale underbelly glowing against the grass, until he melted back into the bush.
Back at camp, lunch felt celebratory, though even our jeep bore scars—the suspender had snapped on those rocky climbs. By afternoon it was repaired, and we rejoined our friends for another drive. Mara still had gifts: two black rhinos grazing in the distance, completing our Big Five. The photographer in us buzzed with triumph; the traveler whispered gratitude.As the day closed, Dennis found us a perfect sundowner spot. With glasses of Chardonnay and gin and tonics in hand, we toasted a blazing Mara sunset, the sky awash in gold and fire. On the way back, one last surprise appeared: a newborn hyena, whisked to safety by protective parents. Dinner was warm and abundant, Zippy and the chef filling plates as the sounds of the Mara drifted through the night. Lying in bed beneath canvas walls, we whispered thanks. In one unforgettable day, the Mara had shown us beauty and brutality, grace and violence—the full measure of wild Africa. Read more on daily diaries
Day 4: The Struggle of the Cheetah
Day four in the Mara began like a safari dream—a golden sunrise spilling across the savannah, hot air balloons drifting silently on the horizon, dew glistening on the grass, and birdsong threading through the stillness. Yet this wasn’t a morning for idle meandering. Our mission was clear: to witness a cheetah hunt, perhaps even capture that fleeting, iconic moment when the world’s fastest land animal soars mid-stride, all four paws suspended above the earth. Not long after dawn, we found a cheetah perched on a termite mound. Dennis, our guide, noted its hunger. Cheetahs hunt by day, unlike their nocturnal cousins, to avoid lions and hyenas. Other jeeps soon lost patience and drove off, but we stayed. Hours later, the cat finally slipped into the brush. We followed, briefly distracted by a nearby male lion, before returning to our vigil.
Then came the chase. Silent and precise, the cheetah stalked impalas and gazelles until one wandered too close. In a sudden blur of speed, it launched, body coiled like a spring, closing in on its prey. But the gazelle bolted uphill, gaining precious seconds. The cheetah faltered, collapsed on a mound, sides heaving in defeat. The attempt had failed, and hunger lingered. It was a stark reminder that even apex predators walk a razor’s edge between survival and loss. Our hearts grew heavier when we later spotted a lactating female cheetah, ribs faintly visible. Somewhere, cubs waited for her to return. She too attempted a hunt, but topis raised the alarm and warthogs scattered, ruining her chance. Watching her fade into the grass, thirsty and weary, was sobering. Patience, persistence, and heartbreak defined the morning.
Back at camp, we skipped the evening drive, choosing instead to absorb the quieter rhythms of Kichwa Tembo. At the bar, vervet monkeys raided sugar bowls, their mischief drawing laughter. Nearby, blue monkeys lounged in the trees—a male watching serenely, a mother cradling her baby, a curious youngster peering at us with bright eyes. On the road, a massive olive baboon guarded its territory. Near the staff quarters, the long-promised tree hyraxes appeared, round and inquisitive, studying us with equal curiosity. Above them, a marabou stork perched in silhouette, ancient and still, overseeing the dusk. The day, though heavy with the cheetahs’ struggles, ended in peace. We watched the sun dissolve into crimson and gold, its reflection shimmering across the pool. Dinner was hearty and warm, flavored with the generosity of Kenyan hospitality. That night, as the Mara’s nocturnal chorus rose around us, we drifted into sleep humbled by the day. The Mara had shown us that beauty here is inseparable from struggle. Read more on daily diaries
Day 5: Farewell to the Mara, Journey to Amboseli
Leaving the Mara was harder than we imagined, but Day Five gifted us enough magic to soften the farewell. Josh’s familiar knock came before dawn, a tray of hot drinks accompanied by the eerie chorus of hyenas. Their nocturnal concerts had become a nightly ritual, and it felt fitting to leave Maasai Mara to their wild orchestra. Dennis was ready for one last drive before our flight south. Our hopes: to glimpse the elusive Marsh Pride and visit the legendary Mara River crossings. The lions kept hidden that morning, blending seamlessly into the grasses. Still, the Mara never sends you away empty-handed. Giraffes nibbled at acacias, zebras grazed calmly, and impalas bounded through thickets. Birds painted the air with quick flashes of color. For the first time all trip, we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast back at camp—a small luxury after so many bush picnics.
Mid-morning brought a new adventure: a hike up the Oloololo Escarpment with Maasai guide Saitoshi and an armed ranger. The trail wound upward through shaded paths where red-tailed monkeys leapt effortlessly from tree to tree. Our guides shared stories of medicinal plants, traditions, and the delicate balance between modern and ancestral lives. From the top, the Mara stretched below like a living quilt of plains and rivers. Saying goodbye from that height felt ceremonial, a final bow before departure. Our flight south was short but unforgettable. From Kichwa Tembo’s airstrip, we soared one last time above the Mara before landscapes shifted into rocky hills and arid plains. Then came a surprise: Lake Natron. Its waters glowed pinkish-red, dotted with flamingos feeding in the shallows—an otherworldly shimmer seen best from the air.
By the time we approached Amboseli, excitement had replaced sadness. Though Kilimanjaro hid coyly behind clouds, below us elephants roamed in abundance—towering adults and wobbly calves moving in family groups across the plains. We touched down around 2 p.m. and drove to Ol Tukai Lodge, a haven in the heart of elephant country. Its verandas overlooked wetlands alive with hippos and waterbirds, while its thatched halls, adorned with African artifacts, radiated warmth. Meeting Moses, our new guide and an ornithologist by training, was another gift—his enthusiasm for birds matched our own.
That evening’s game drive welcomed us into Amboseli’s rhythm. The light turned molten gold as elephants emerged from swamps, their massive forms glowing in the sunset. We passed flocks of flamingos, jacanas stepping delicately across marshes, pelicans and herons cutting across the sky. At markers #42 and #44, the iconic “elephants with Kilimanjaro” spots, the mountain stayed veiled in clouds, but the elephants gave us a perfect scene against a burning horizon. Later, as we returned to the lodge, Kilimanjaro revealed herself at last, glowing faint pink in the fading light. It was a fleeting moment of grace, a perfect welcome to Amboseli—a day that began with lions and laughter in the Mara and ended beneath the gaze of Africa’s highest peak. Read more on daily diaries
Day 6: Amboseli Legends
Some safari days feel scripted by nature itself, and our first full day in Amboseli was one of them. Dawn broke in hues of pink and gold as we met Moses in the lodge lobby, steaming coffee in hand. The plan was ambitious: three game drives—morning and evening for big game, with a mid-morning session devoted to birds. Within minutes of leaving Ol Tukai, we stumbled upon a sight to melt even the most seasoned traveler’s heart: a lion pride feeding on a hippo carcass. Three tiny cubs, barely three months old, tumbled on unsteady legs, squeaking out mock roars and dashing after their father. Their mother soon corralled them back to suckle, and we sat spellbound by the intimacy of the scene. From there, the morning shifted to birdwatching. The wetlands brimmed with life: African fish eagles cried overhead, jacanas tiptoed across lily pads, spoonbills glinted in the sun, and crowned cranes danced with grace. We tallied more than 35 species, each one a small treasure for birders and photographers. A juvenile martial eagle near the lodge gate punctuated the outing with regal poise.
By lunchtime, word came: Craig, Amboseli’s legendary super tusker, had been spotted. We raced to Tawi Conservancy, where the dust shimmered in the heat. And then, there he was. At 51 years old, his tusks so massive they scraped the ground, Craig was everything we had dreamed of and more. To stand close enough that blades of grass from his trunk brushed us was surreal. A living legend, he carried the weight of history, the successor to Big Tim, who had passed in 2020. It was not just a sighting, but a communion with Africa’s elephant heritage. As if the day hadn’t already given us enough, news of cheetahs spread across the radio. Soon we found them—four sleek brothers lounging on termite mounds under their mother’s watchful eye. She was nudging them toward independence, but for now they remained playful, sunlit, and at ease. Only a few jeeps shared the moment, making it feel deeply personal.
Before dusk, we returned for one last look at Craig, reluctant to part with him. Flamingos painted the shallow lakes in shades of pink and white as the horizon blazed with color, turning Amboseli into a living canvas. Back at camp, we ended the day with Dawa cocktails, raising a quiet toast. As we downloaded our photos, it struck us—we hadn’t simply recorded a safari. Read more on daily diaries
Day 7 – Amboseli’s Grandeur
The last day of safari carries a special weight, every moment sharpened by the knowledge it’s the end. Our morning in Amboseli began with the sky ablaze in pink and orange, Kilimanjaro slowly emerging from clouds. For photographers, it was a dream: golden light spilling across the plains, long shadows stretching wide, and Africa’s tallest mountain towering in the distance. Our first stop was the hippo kill site from the day before. The lionesses were still feeding, while three playful cubs bounded fearlessly about. They darted under culverts, pounced on each other, and even approached our jeep before retreating to their mother’s side. Against the grandeur of Kilimanjaro, the scene felt like stepping into a live documentary. Next came the classic Amboseli pursuit: elephants with Kilimanjaro. At mile marker 42, a herd appeared, calves peeking between towering legs. Hearts racing, we waited for the perfect frame. Yet just as the scene aligned, the herd veered away and clouds thickened, veiling the peak. It was the essence of wildlife photography—beautiful, humbling, and never fully within your control.
Back at Ol Tukai, we lingered over breakfast, a luxury after so many dawn departures. Later, we traded big game for the quiet marvels of Amboseli’s wetlands. Here, birdlife thrived: herons—goliath, squacco, black-headed, grey—stood at water’s edge, while kingfishers flashed turquoise and white before plunging for fish. Flocks of flamingos shimmered pink across the lagoons, jacanas tiptoed on lily pads, grebes bobbed on the surface, and the stately saddle-billed stork strode like royalty through reeds. Overhead, the African fish eagle’s cry echoed, commanding the plain. Hours slipped away in the quiet joy of birdwatching.
The afternoon brought our final drive. Spirits lifted as we once again sought elephants framed against Kilimanjaro. Two herds moved steadily across the grasslands, calves nudging one another close to their mothers. Though the postcard-perfect alignment never came, the elephants’ quiet authority, bathed in molten light, felt like the true gift of Amboseli. By sundown, the park had given us everything—lions, elephants, flamingos, landscapes, and lessons in patience. Back at the lodge, we raised a final toast, knowing the essence of safari isn’t in capturing the perfect shot but in the awe and unpredictability of the wild. The playful cubs, shimmering wetlands, and elephants wandering beneath Africa’s highest peak would remain etched in memory long after the cameras were packed away. Read more on daily diaries
Day 8 – Farewell to Kenya
Departure days are always bittersweet, but our final hours in Kenya felt more like an encore—part farewell, part celebration. Amboseli’s air was crisp and clear that morning, and as if on cue, Mount Kilimanjaro revealed herself in full splendor, her snow-capped peak rising above the mist like a majestic wave goodbye. At the airstrip fence, a Thick-knee bird stood like a sentry, one last reminder that Kenya never stops surprising. Soon we were airborne, Amboseli’s golden plains giving way to Nairobi’s urban sprawl. Rather than dwell on endings, we chose joy. At Wilson Airport, Simon from Cisticola Tours greeted us with warmth. His story—discovering birding at Thomson’s Falls and turning it into a calling—was inspiring, and perfectly suited for our final excursion: a birding safari in Nairobi National Park.
Within minutes, the birdlife dazzled. A lilac-breasted roller flaunted its electric colors, while an African fish eagle soared overhead, its cry commanding the skies. Egyptian geese, whistling ducks, and weaver birds filled ponds and branches, while hornbills strutted along woodland edges. The morning unfolded into a rolling feast of color: sunbirds shimmering like jewels, widowbirds floating over grasslands like ribbons, grenadiers and waxbills darting in flashes, and bishops stitching scarlet and gold into the trees. Simon’s sharp eyes found rarities too—quail finches and coucals—helping us reach an astonishing 88 species in one day, our personal best. Though the focus was birds, the park reminded us of its larger residents. In a moment of pure luck, Simon shouted for us to stop. From behind a thicket, a black rhino appeared, calm and deliberate, walking parallel to our jeep before vanishing as quickly as it had come. Even a vehicle just minutes behind would have missed it. The encounter felt like a private blessing, one last unforgettable gift from Kenya.
By evening, we traded the bush for a lively send-off at Nairobi’s famed Carnivore Restaurant. Waiters circled with skewers stacked with beef, lamb, chicken, ostrich, and even crocodile, carving portions straight to our plates. The atmosphere buzzed with energy, laughter, and the hum of voices from locals and travelers alike—a fitting reminder that Kenya’s culture is as rich as its wildlife. Later that night, boarding our flight home, we were tired but exhilarated. Simon tucked farewell gifts into our bags: Kenya Cane rum and fruity Kenyan coffee. But what we carried most couldn’t be packed—the sound of lion cubs playing, the sight of Craig’s sweeping tusks, the shimmer of flamingos across Amboseli’s wetlands, and the endless chorus of birdsong. Kenya had given us her wild spirit, and as we leaned back into our seats, we whispered a promise to return. Read more on daily diaries
Every journey ends twice—once when the plane lifts off, and again when the memories settle. Leaving Kenya, we felt both. The deeper departure came later, when mornings no longer began with coffee at dawn or nights with lions roaring in the dark. Kenya gave us more than we imagined. We had come for the Big Five, and we found them. Yet it was the smaller wonders that etched themselves most deeply: the lilac-breasted roller flashing like a jewel, flamingos painting lakes pink, a shy hyrax family watching from a rooftop, vervet monkeys raiding sugar bowls with reckless glee. These were not extras—they were the heartbeat of the land. The people shaped the story as much as the wildlife. Josh’s gentle wake-up calls, Zippy’s laughter and care, Dennis’s sharp instincts, Moses’s bird wisdom, Simon’s eagle eyes—all wove their lives into ours. Travel, is never just about animals or landscapes. It is about those who share them with you.
What stayed with us most was the rhythm of the wild: cubs learning to roar, cheetah mothers straining to hunt, elephants guiding calves, scavengers waiting their turn. Nature’s honesty was raw—both harsh and beautiful—and it left us humbled, connected, and grateful. And so, we whispered a promise. This was not goodbye, only a pause. And one day, we’ll return.