Last December, I went on a once-in-a-lifetime safari in the Serengeti. I had always dreamed of seeing lions in the wild, but nothing could have prepared me for what actually happened.
Our group set out at sunrise, bouncing along the dusty trails in an open-top Land Rover. We saw graceful giraffes munching from tall acacia trees, elephants marching like royalty, and zebras running in hypnotic patterns. By afternoon, the golden plains shimmered in the heat, and we stopped for a bush lunch near a quiet watering hole.
But it was that night that changed everything.
Our guide, Juma, offered to take us on a rare night safari—a risky but thrilling ride. The moon was high, and the stars felt so close you could almost scoop them up. Then we heard it—a deep, distant roar. Then another. Then silence.
Juma killed the engine.
From the tall grass, two glowing eyes appeared. Then four. Then eight. A pride of lions, moving silently around us like shadows. I held my breath. No one moved. The matriarch lioness walked right up to our vehicle… and sniffed my shoe! She looked up, eyes meeting mine for a second that felt like a lifetime, and then—just as calmly—turned and walked away.
We sat there, stunned, until Juma whispered, “They’ve accepted us tonight.”
We drove back in silence, the stars blazing above us, our hearts pounding with awe and respect. That night, I didn’t just see Africa—I felt it. Wild. Raw. Alive.