We saw seven lions today. Not together, all in one sighting, but throughout the day. Two males, four females and a cub. 

One of those females in a dramatic show of strength and survival showed us what it is to live in the Maasai Mara. 

The drama started with a couple of adult hyenas chasing a two-month-old gazelle. They appeared to have lost it into the heavy bush. But then they ran into the bush and started whooping and squealing, calling for others. Before long, the pack of nine that we had just counted and logged were behind those thick bushes and trees getting a taste of the gazelle. 

We were about to drive off when the hyenas switched to their familiar evil-sounding laugh, which grew louder and more relentless. And then a slow low bellow. I thought it was the hyenas changing pitch. But it clearly was not, to those who know.

“Do you hear the lion?” Miton whispered, pointing to the bushes. 

Whaaaa? A lion? No, I don’t hear a lion.

Then I did. That unmistakable commanding roar I heard for the first time four years ago in South Africa. Here it was again, all tangled up with these hysterical laughing creatures. It went on for nearly an hour – this high stakes battle between nine hyenas and one female adult lion for the remains of a warthog the lion had killed for herself. Actually, two warthogs.

Then the roars stopped and it was just the evil laughter, which settled into something of a victory cry.

The lion emerged slowly from the bush, blood on the side of her face. She headed for the nearby stream. The hyenas went back and forth, in and out of the bushes. Eventually, they all surfaced, most with varying pieces of the kill. And they kept up the fight, amongst themselves.

This was all before breakfast.